From conquer'd Corinth, rich with Grecian spoils.

And yet another, fam'd for warlike toils,
On Argos shall impose the Roman laws, 1151
And on the Greeks revenge the Trojan cause;
Shall drag in chains their Achillean race;
Shall vindicate his ancestors' disgrace,
And Pallas, for her violated place.
Great Cato there, for gravity renown'd,
And conqu'ring Cossus goes with laurels
crown'd.

Who can omit the Gracchi? who declare
'The Scipios' worth, those thunderbolts of

war,

1161

'The double bane of Carthage? Who can see
Without esteem for virtuous poverty,
Severe Fabricius, or can cease t'admire
The plowman consul in his coarse attire ?
'Tir'd as I am, my praise the Fabii claim;
And thou, great hero, greatest of thy name,
Ordain'd in war to save the sinking state,
And, by delays, to put a stop to fate!
Let others better mold the running mass
Of metals, and inform the breathing brass,
And soften into flesh a marble face; 1170
Plead better at the bar; describe the skies,
And when the stars descend, and when they
rise.

But, Rome, 't is thine alone, with awful

The gods too high had rais'd the Roman state,

Were but their gifts as permanent as great. What groans of men shall fill the Martian field!

How fierce a blaze his flaming pile shall yield!

What fun'ral pomp shall floating Tiber see, When, rising from his bed, he views the sad solemnity!

1209

No youth shall equal hopes of glory give,
No youth afford so great a cause to grieve;
The Trojan honor, and the Roman boast,
Admir'd when living, and ador'd when lost!
Mirror of ancient faith in early youth!
Undaunted worth, inviolable truth!
No foe, unpunish'd, in the fighting field
Shall dare thee, foot to foot, with sword
and shield;

Much less in arms oppose thy matchless force,

When thy sharp spurs shall urge thy foaming horse.

Ah! couldst thou break thro' fate's severe decree,

1220

A new Marcellus shall arise in thee!
Full canisters of fragrant lilies bring,
Mix'd with the purple roses of the spring;
Let me with fun'ral flow'rs his body strow;
This gift which parents to their children

owe,

This unavailing gift, at least, I may bestow!"

And how concluded by the godlike man: For I shall sing of battles, blood, and rage, Which princes and their people did engage; And haughty souls, that, mov'd with mutual hate,

62

In fighting fields pursued and found their fate;

That rous'd the Tyrrhene realm with loud alarms,

And peaceful Italy involv'd in arms.
A larger scene of action is display'd;
And, rising hence, a greater work is weigh'd.

Latinus, old and mild, had long possess'd
The Latian scepter, and his people blest:
His father Faunus; a Laurentian dame 70
His mother; fair Marica was her name.
But Faunus came from Picus: Picus drew
His birth from Saturn, if records be true.
Thus King Latinus, in the third degree,
Had Saturn author of his family.
But this old peaceful prince, as Heav'n de-
creed,

Was blest with no male issue to succeed: His sons in blooming youth were snatch'd by fate;

One only daughter heir'd the royal state. Fir'd with her love, and with ambition led,

80

The neighb'ring princes court her nuptial bed.

Among the crowd, but far above the rest,

To mend the scanty meal, their cakes of flour.

Ascanius this observ'd, and smiling said: "See, we devour the plates on which we fed."

The speech had omen, that the Trojan race Should find repose, and this the time and place.

161

Eneas took the word, and thus replies,
Confessing fate with wonder in his eyes:
"All hail, O earth! all hail, my household
gods!

Behold the destin'd place of your abodes!
For thus Anchises prophesied of old,
And this our fatal place of rest foretold:
When, on a foreign shore, instead of meat,
By famine forc'd, your trenchers you shall
eat,

Then ease your weary Trojans will attend,
And the long labors of your voyage end. 171
Remember on that happy coast to build,
And with a trench inclose the fruitful field.'
This was that famine, this the fatal place
Which ends the wand'ring of our exil'd

210

They go commission'd to require a peace,
And carry presents to procure access.
Thus while they speed their pace, the prince
designs

His new-elected seat, and draws the lines.
The Trojans round the place a rampire cast,
And palisades about the trenches plac'd.
Meantime the train, proceeding on their
way,

From far the town and lofty tow'rs survey; At length approach the walls. Without the gate,

They see the boys and Latian youth debate The martial prizes on the dusty plain: Some drive the cars, and some the coursers rein;

220

Some bend the stubborn bow for victory, And some with darts their active sinews try.

A posting messenger, dispatch'd from hence,

Of this fair troop advis'd their aged prince, That foreign men of mighty stature came; Uncouth their habit, and unknown their

name.

The king ordains their entrance, and ascends His regal seat, surrounded by his friends.

The palace built by Picus, vast and proud,

Supported by a hundred pillars stood, 230 And round incompass'd with a rising wood.

There kings receiv'd the marks of sov'reign pow'r;

In state the monarchs march'd; the lictors bore

Their awful axes and the rods before.
Here the tribunal stood, the house of pray'r,
And here the sacred senators repair;
All at large tables, in long order set,
A ram their off'ring, and a ram their meat.
Above the portal, carv'd in cedar wood, 241
Plac'd in their ranks, their godlike grand-
sires stood;

Old Saturn, with his crooked scythe, on high;

And Italus, that led the colony;

And ancient Janus, with his double face, And bunch of keys, the porter of the place. There good Sabinus, planter of the vines, On a short pruning hook his head reclines, And studiously surveys his gen'rous wines;

Then warlike kings, who for their country fought,

250

And honorable wounds from battle brought. Around the posts hung helmets, darts,

and spears,

And captive chariots, axes, shields, and bars,

And

broken beaks of ships, the trophies
of their wars.

Above the rest, as chief of all the band,
Was Picus plac'd, a buckler in his hand;
His other wav'd a long divining wand.
Girt in his Gabin gown the hero sate,
Yet could not with his art avoid his fate:
For Circe long had lov'd the youth in
vain,

260

Till love, refus'd, converted to disdain: Then, mixing pow'rful herbs, with magic