1 "All the hope of Greece, and the confidence in which the war began, ever centred in Pallas' aid.
2 Then lord Anchises with welling tears began: 'O my son, ask not of the great sorrow of thy people.'
3 Thus Apollo began, and yet speaking retreated from mortal view, vanishing into thin air away out of their eyes.
4 Thus much he spoke; and meanwhile the broad light of returning day now began to pour in, and chased away the night.
5 With thee it began; overborne by my tears, thou, O my sister, dost load me with this madness and agony, and layest me open to the enemy.
6 The son of Hyrtacus began thus: 'Euryalus, now for daring hands; all invites them; here lies our way; see thou that none raise a hand from behind against us, and keep far-sighted watch.'
7 Aeneas, though the charge presses to give a space for burial of his comrades, and his mind is in the tumult of death, began to pay the gods his vows of victory with the breaking of the East.
8 And now almost in the last space, they began to come up breathless to the goal, when unfortunate Nisus trips on the slippery blood of the slain steers, where haply it had spilled over the ground and wetted the green grass.
9 What time Aeneas began to shape his fleet on Phrygian Ida, and prepared to seek the high seas, the Berecyntian, they say, the very Mother of gods, spoke to high Jove in these words: 'Grant, O son, to my prayer, what her dearness claims who bore thee and laid Olympus under thy feet.'
10 Seeing them close-ranked and daring for battle, I therewith began thus: "Men, hearts of supreme and useless bravery, if your desire be fixed to follow one who dares the utmost; you see what is the fortune of our state: all the gods by whom this empire was upheld have gone forth, abandoning shrine and altar; your aid comes to a burning city."
11 Aeneas stood wrathful in arms, with rolling eyes, and lowered his hand; and now and now yet more the speech began to bend him to waver: when high on his shoulder appeared the sword-belt with the shining bosses that he knew, the luckless belt of the boy Pallas, whom Turnus had struck down with mastering wound, and wore on his shoulders the fatal ornament.