The Aeneid Of Virgil: Book 11 Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AABBCCDDEEFGHIJJDKLL MMNOPQRRSTUUVGWWXYBB ZZA2A2DDVVB2VC2C2D2D 2GGLLE2E2MMF2F2G2G2H 2H2I2I2J2J2VGWWOOGVD DDDK2K2L2M2D2D2N2O2P 2P2Q2B2EEFFWWR2DXXAA N2S2RRAAB2B2T2T2EEAA U2U2DD2VVV2W2K2K2X2X 2E2E2D2D2Y2Y2P2P2U2U 2Z2Z2DDH2H2RRC2C2A3A 3E2E2B3B3K2K2LLC3D3E 3

SCARCE had the rosy Morning rais d her headA
Above the waves and left her wat ry bedA
The pious chief whom double cares attendB
For his unburied soldiers and his friendB
Yet first to Heav n perform d a victor s vowsC
He bar d an ancient oak of all her boughsC
Then on a rising ground the trunk he plac dD
Which with the spoils of his dead foe he grac dD
The coat of arms by proud Mezentius wornE
Now on a naked snag in triumph borneE
Was hung on high and glitter d from afarF
A trophy sacred to the God of WarG
Above his arms fix d on the leafless woodH
Appear d his plumy crest besmear d with bloodI
His brazen buckler on the left was seenJ
Truncheons of shiver d lances hung betweenJ
And on the right was placed his corslet bor dD
And to the neck was tied his unavailing swordK
A crowd of chiefs inclose the godlike manL
Who thus conspicuous in the midst beganL
Our toils my friends are crown d with sure successM
The greater part perform d achieve the lessM
Now follow cheerful to the trembling townN
Press but an entrance and presume it wonO
Fear is no more for fierce Mezentius liesP
As the first fruits of war a sacrificeQ
Turnus shall fall extended on the plainR
And in this omen is already slainR
Prepar d in arms pursue your happy chanceS
That none unwarn d may plead his ignoranceT
And I at Heav n s appointed hour may findU
Your warlike ensigns waving in the windU
Meantime the rites and fun ral pomps prepareV
Due to your dead companions of the warG
The last respect the living can bestowW
To shield their shadows from contempt belowW
That conquer d earth be theirs for which they foughtX
And which for us with their own blood they boughtY
But first the corpse of our unhappy friendB
To the sad city of Evander sendB
Who not inglorious in his age s bloomZ
Was hurried hence by too severe a doomZ
Thus weeping while he spoke he took his wayA2
Where new in death lamented Pallas layA2
Acoetes watch d the corpse whose youth deserv dD
The father s trust and now the son he serv dD
With equal faith but less auspicious careV
Th attendants of the slain his sorrow shareV
A troop of Trojans mix d with these appearB2
And mourning matrons with dishevel d hairV
Soon as the prince appears they raise a cryC2
All beat their breasts and echoes rend the skyC2
They rear his drooping forehead from the groundD2
But when neas view d the grisly woundD2
Which Pallas in his manly bosom boreG
And the fair flesh distain d with purple goreG
First melting into tears the pious manL
Deplor d so sad a sight then thus beganL
Unhappy youth when Fortune gave the restE2
Of my full wishes she refus d the bestE2
She came but brought not thee along to blessM
My longing eyes and share in my successM
She grudg d thy safe return the triumphs dueF2
To prosp rous valor in the public viewF2
Not thus I promis d when thy father lentG2
Thy needless succor with a sad consentG2
Embrac d me parting for th Etrurian landH2
And sent me to possess a large commandH2
He warn d and from his own experience toldI2
Our foes were warlike disciplin d and boldI2
And now perhaps in hopes of thy returnJ2
Rich odors on his loaded altars burnJ2
While we with vain officious pomp prepareV
To send him back his portion of the warG
A bloody breathless body which can oweW
No farther debt but to the pow rs belowW
The wretched father ere his race is runO
Shall view the fun ral honors of his sonO
These are my triumphs of the Latian warG
Fruits of my plighted faith and boasted careV
And yet unhappy sire thou shalt not seeD
A son whose death disgrac d his ancestryD
Thou shalt not blush old man however griev dD
Thy Pallas no dishonest wound receiv dD
He died no death to make thee wish too lateK2
Thou hadst not liv d to see his shameful fateK2
But what a champion has th Ausonian coastL2
And what a friend hast thou Ascanius lostM2
Thus having mourn d he gave the word aroundD2
To raise the breathless body from the groundD2
And chose a thousand horse the flow r of allN2
His warlike troops to wait the funeralO2
To bear him back and share Evander s griefP2
A well becoming but a weak reliefP2
Of oaken twigs they twist an easy bierQ2
Then on their shoulders the sad burden rearB2
The body on this rural hearse is borneE
Strew d leaves and funeral greens the bier adornE
All pale he lies and looks a lovely flow rF
New cropp d by virgin hands to dress the bow rF
Unfaded yet but yet unfed belowW
No more to mother earth or the green stem shall oweW
Then two fair vests of wondrous work and costR2
Of purple woven and with gold emboss dD
For ornament the Trojan hero broughtX
Which with her hands Sidonian Dido wroughtX
One vest array d the corpse and one they spreadA
O er his clos d eyes and wrapp d around his headA
That when the yellow hair in flame should fallN2
The catching fire might burn the golden caulS2
Besides the spoils of foes in battle slainR
When he descended on the Latian plainR
Arms trappings horses by the hearse are ledA
In long array th achievements of the deadA
Then pinion d with their hands behind appearB2
Th unhappy captives marching in the rearB2
Appointed off rings in the victor s nameT2
To sprinkle with their blood the fun ral flameT2
Inferior trophies by the chiefs are borneE
Gauntlets and helms their loaded hands adornE
And fair inscriptions fix d and titles readA
Of Latian leaders conquer d by the deadA
Acoetes on his pupil s corpse attendsU2
With feeble steps supported by his friendsU2
Pausing at ev ry pace in sorrow drown dD
Betwixt their arms he sinks upon the groundD2
Where grov ling while he lies in deep despairV
He beats his breast and rends his hoary hairV
The champion s chariot next is seen to rollV2
Besmear d with hostile blood and honorably foulW2
To close the pomp thon the steed of stateK2
Is led the fun rals of his lord to waitK2
Stripp d of his trappings with a sullen paceX2
He walks and the big tears run rolling down his faceX2
The lance of Pallas and the crimson crestE2
Are borne behind the victor seiz d the restE2
The march begins the trumpets hoarsely soundD2
The pikes and lances trail along the groundD2
Thus while the Trojan and Arcadian horseY2
To Pallantean tow rs direct their courseY2
In long procession rank d the pious chiefP2
Stopp d in the rear and gave a vent to griefP2
The public care he said which war attendsU2
Diverts our present woes at least suspendsU2
Peace with the manes of great Pallas dwellZ2
Hail holy relics and a last farewellZ2
He said no more but inly thro he mourn dD
Restrain d his tears and to the camp return dD
Now suppliants from Laurentum sent demandH2
A truce with olive branches in their handH2
Obtest his clemency and from the plainR
Beg leave to draw the bodies of their slainR
They plead that none those common rites denyC2
To conquer d foes that in fair battle dieC2
All cause of hate was ended in their deathA3
Nor could he war with bodies void of breathA3
A king they hop d would hear a king s requestE2
Whose son he once was call d and once his guestE2
Their suit which was too just to be deniedB3
The hero grants and farther thus repliedB3
O Latian princes how severe a fateK2
In causeless quarrels has involv d your stateK2
And arm d against an unoffending manL
Who sought your friendship ere the war beganL
You beg a truce which I would gladly giveC3
Not only for the slain but those who liveD3
I came not hither but by Heav n s commaE3

Publius Vergilius Maro



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