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THE ÆNEID.

Build you the walls decreed by fate,
And let them, like ourselves, be great,
Nor shrink, how long soe'er it be,
From this your wandering o'er the sea.
Change we our dwelling: not to Crete
Apollo called your truant feet.
There is a land, by Greece of old
Surnamed Hesperia, rich its mould,
Its children brave and free:
Œnotrians were its settlers: fame
Now gives the race its leader's name,
And calls it Italy.
Here Dardanus was born, our king,
And old Iasius, whence we spring:
Here our authentic seat.
Rise, tell your sire without delay
Our sentence, which let none gainsay:
Search till you find the Ausonian land,
And old Cortona: Jove has banned
Your settlement in Crete.'
Amazed by wonders heard and seen
(For 'twas no dream that mocked my eyes.
No—plain I seemed to recognize
Their cinctured locks, their well-known mien,
While at the sight chill clammy sweat
Burst forth, and all my limbs were wet)
That instant from my couch I rise,
With voice and hands implore the skies,
And offer at the household shrine
Full cups of unadulterate wine.
My worship ended, glad of soul,
I seek my sire, and tell the whole.
At once he owns the ambiguous race,
The rival sires to whom we trace,
And smiles that ancient lands have wrought
Such new confusion in his thought: