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BOOK VII.
221

From main to main, from pole to pole
Beneath, them bow, beneath them roll.'
These words, at night's still hour addrest,
Latinus locks not in his breast:
Along Ausonia's country side
The voice of fame had spread them wide
Already when the Trojans moored
Their fleet on Tiber's river-board.

Æneas and the chiefs of Troy,
And Ilium's hope, the princely boy,
Their weary limbs at leisure laid
Under a tree's alluring shade,
Set forth the banquet, and bespread
The sward beneath with cakes of bread
(Jove gave the thought), and heap with store
Of wilding fruit their wheaten floor.
So when, all else consumed, at last
The failure of their scant repast
Compelled the wanderers to devour
Their slender garniture of flour,
Attack the fated round, nor spare
The impress of the sacred square,
'What! eating up our boards beside?'
In merry vein Iulus cried.
That word at once dissolved the spell:
The father caught it as it fell,
With warning look all utterance stilled,
And marvelled at the sign fulfilled.
Then 'Hail, auspicious land' he cries
'So long from Fate my due!
All hail, ye Trojan deities,
To Trojan fortunes true!
At length we rest, no more to roam.
Here is our country, here our home.