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 awaySuch reverend rites their fathers us’d to pay.
But soon they found an object to deplore: Misenus lay extended the shore; Son of the God of Winds: none so renown’d The warrior trumpet in the field to sound; With breathing brass to kindle fierce alarms, And rouse to dare their fate in honorable arms.
Yet, since the gods had destin’d him to die, At least he led the way to victory: First for his friends he won the fatal shore, And sent whole herds of slaughter’d foes before; A death too great, too glorious to deplore.
…in his golden bed, With these alluring words invokes his aid; And, that her pleasing speech his mind may move, Inspires each accent with the charms of love: "While cruel fate conspir’d with Grecian pow’rs, To level with the ground the Trojan tow’rs, I ask’d not aid th’ unhappy to restore, Nor did the succor of thy skill implore; Nor urg’d the labors of my lord in vain, A sinking empire longer to sustain, Tho’much I ow’d to Priam’s house, and more The dangers of Aeneas did deplore.
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We deplore the government’s treatment of political prisoners.