Medulla Poetarum Romanorum Or, the Most Beautiful and Instructive Passages of the Roman Poets. Being a Collection, (Disposed under proper Heads,) Of such Descriptions, Allusions, Comparisons, Characters, and Sentiments, as may best serve to shew the Religion, Learning, Politicks, Arts, Customs, Opinions, Manners, and Circumstances of the Antients. With Translations of the same in English Verse. By Mr. Henry Baker |
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Funerals.
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 | Medulla Poetarum Romanorum |  |
Funerals.
Mean time, the Trojan Troops with weeping Eyes,To dead Misenus pay his Obsequies.
First, from the Ground a lofty Pile they rear,
Of Pitch-Trees, Oaks, and Pines, and unctious Fir:
The Fabrick's Front with Cypress Twigs they strew,
And stick the Sides with Boughs of baleful Yew.
The topmost Part his glitt'ring Arms adorn:
Warm Waters, then, in brazen Cauldrons born,
Are pour'd to wash his Body, Joint by Joint,
And fragrant Oils the stiff'ned Limbs anoint.
With Groans and Cries Misenus they deplore:
Then on a Bier, with Purple cover'd o'er,
The breathless Body, thus bewail'd, they lay,
And fire the Pile, their Faces turn'd away:
(Such rev'rend Rites their Fathers us'd to pay.)
Pure Oyl, and Incense, on the Fire they throw,
And Fat of Victims, which his Friends bestow.
These Gifts, the greedy Flames to Dust devour,
Then, on the living Coals, red Wine they pour:
And last, the Relicks by themselves dispose,
Which in a brazen Urn the Priests inclose.
Old Chorineus compass'd thrice the Crew,
And dip'd an Olive Branch in holy Dew,
Which thrice he sprinkled round; and thrice aloud
Invok'd the Dead, and then dismiss'd the Crowd.—
—Æneas took his Way,
To where the breathless Corps of Pallas lay,
By old Acætes watch'd.—
All his Attendants, and with them a Crowd
Of Trojans stand around: the Trojan Dames
(As is their Custom) scatter'd loose their Hair,
Moaning. But when below the lofty Roof
Æneas enter'd, to the Stars they raise
A gen'ral Groan aloud, and beat their Breasts:
And all with Shrieks the high Pavilion rings.
To where the breathless Corps of Pallas lay,
By old Acætes watch'd.—
All his Attendants, and with them a Crowd
Of Trojans stand around: the Trojan Dames
(As is their Custom) scatter'd loose their Hair,
Moaning. But when below the lofty Roof
Æneas enter'd, to the Stars they raise
403
And all with Shrieks the high Pavilion rings.
Weeping a while, he bids them bear away,
The cold lamented Coarse: and from his Troops
Assembled all, a thousand Men selects,
On the last mournful Honours to attend,
And with his Father's Tears to join their own:
Small Consolation for such mighty Woe,
Yet due, in Justice to the helpless Sire.
The cold lamented Coarse: and from his Troops
Assembled all, a thousand Men selects,
On the last mournful Honours to attend,
And with his Father's Tears to join their own:
Small Consolation for such mighty Woe,
Yet due, in Justice to the helpless Sire.
Others a soft light Bier, (with quick Dispatch,)
Of oaken Twigs, and twisted Osiers weave,
And cover with an Arch of bending Boughs
The high-rais'd Bed. There the dear Youth they lay
Sublime on verdant Leaves: Like some fair Flow'r,
Soft Violet, or languid Hyacinth,
Crop'd by a Virgin's Hand: whose beauteous Gloss
Still blooms unfaded, tho' the Parent Earth,
Moist Nourishment and Strength, no more supplies.
Two 'broider'd purple Vests Æneas brings:
In one of these he wraps the breathless Youth,
(The last sad Honour!) with the Other veils
His muffled Hair, devoted to the Flames.
Then copious Spoils, the rich Rewards of War,
Gain'd in Laurentian Fields, he piles on Heaps,
And in long Order bids the Pillage move:
Adds Steeds, and Darts, from Foes in Battle won,
And Victims, with cramp'd Hands behind them bound,
Doom'd with their Blood the Manes to appease,
And tinge the fun'ral Fires. The Chiefs themselves,
Commanded, bear the Trunks with hostile Arms
All cover'd, and with hostile Names inscrib'd.
Acætes, with the Load of Age, and Grief,
Bending, moves slow, supported on each Side:
Now beats his Breast, now tares his wither'd Cheeks,
And faint, and prostrate, grovels on the Ground.
The Chariots in Procession follow next,
Smear'd with Rutulian Blood: Behind them, stripp'd
Of his rich Trappings, goes the Warrior Steed,
Æthon: and big round Drops roll down his Face.
Some bear his Lance, and Helmet: (for the rest
Turnus, proud Victor, keeps:) The mourning Troop
Succeeds: the Trojan and the Tyrrhene Chiefs,
And with inverted Spears, th' Arcadian Train.
When all the solemn Pomp had pass'd along,
Æneas stood, and thus, deep groaning cry'd:
Eternally Farewell, illustrious Prince!
Great Pallas! ever honour'd, ever mourn'd:
Hail, and Farewell.—
Of oaken Twigs, and twisted Osiers weave,
And cover with an Arch of bending Boughs
The high-rais'd Bed. There the dear Youth they lay
Sublime on verdant Leaves: Like some fair Flow'r,
Soft Violet, or languid Hyacinth,
Crop'd by a Virgin's Hand: whose beauteous Gloss
Still blooms unfaded, tho' the Parent Earth,
Moist Nourishment and Strength, no more supplies.
Two 'broider'd purple Vests Æneas brings:
In one of these he wraps the breathless Youth,
(The last sad Honour!) with the Other veils
His muffled Hair, devoted to the Flames.
Then copious Spoils, the rich Rewards of War,
Gain'd in Laurentian Fields, he piles on Heaps,
And in long Order bids the Pillage move:
Adds Steeds, and Darts, from Foes in Battle won,
And Victims, with cramp'd Hands behind them bound,
Doom'd with their Blood the Manes to appease,
And tinge the fun'ral Fires. The Chiefs themselves,
Commanded, bear the Trunks with hostile Arms
All cover'd, and with hostile Names inscrib'd.
Acætes, with the Load of Age, and Grief,
Bending, moves slow, supported on each Side:
Now beats his Breast, now tares his wither'd Cheeks,
And faint, and prostrate, grovels on the Ground.
The Chariots in Procession follow next,
Smear'd with Rutulian Blood: Behind them, stripp'd
Of his rich Trappings, goes the Warrior Steed,
405
Some bear his Lance, and Helmet: (for the rest
Turnus, proud Victor, keeps:) The mourning Troop
Succeeds: the Trojan and the Tyrrhene Chiefs,
And with inverted Spears, th' Arcadian Train.
When all the solemn Pomp had pass'd along,
Æneas stood, and thus, deep groaning cry'd:
Eternally Farewell, illustrious Prince!
Great Pallas! ever honour'd, ever mourn'd:
Hail, and Farewell.—
—Throning to the Gates
Th' Arcadians rush, and by th' accustom'd Rite
Snatch fun'ral Torches. In long Order rang'd,
A Train of Flames illumines all the Road,
And far and wide discriminates the Fields.
To meet that sad Procession, slow advance
The Trojan Troops, and join their wailing Friends.
Them when th' Arcadian Matrons saw arriv'd
Within the Walls, with Shrieks and loud Laments,
Repeated, all the frantic City rings.—
Th' Arcadians rush, and by th' accustom'd Rite
Snatch fun'ral Torches. In long Order rang'd,
A Train of Flames illumines all the Road,
And far and wide discriminates the Fields.
To meet that sad Procession, slow advance
The Trojan Troops, and join their wailing Friends.
Them when th' Arcadian Matrons saw arriv'd
Within the Walls, with Shrieks and loud Laments,
Repeated, all the frantic City rings.—
| Medulla Poetarum Romanorum | |