Page:Aeneid (Conington 1866).djvu/251

I swear it by Æneas' fate,
By that right hand which makes him great,
In peace and war approved alike
A friend to aid, a foe to strike,
Full oft have mighty nations—nay,
Scorn not a suppliant's mean array,
Nor deem that wreaths and lowly speech
The freedom of our boast impeach—
Full oft with zeal and earnest prayers
Have nations wooed us to be theirs;
But heaven's high fate, with stern command,
Impelled us still to this your land.
Here Dardanus was born, and here
Apollo bids our race return:
To Tyrrhene Tiber points the seer
And pure Numicius' hallowed urn.
These presents too our hands convey,
Scant relics of a happier day,
From burning Ilium snatched away.
From this bright gold before the shrine
His sire Anchises poured the wine:
With these adornments Priam sate
'Mid gathered crowds in kingly state,
The sceptre and the diadem:
Troy's women wrought the vesture's hem.'

Thus as Ilioneus moves his suit,
Latinus' face is fixed and mute;
He sits as rooted to the ground,
And turns his eyes in wonder round.
Not Priam's crown nor purple wrought
So deeply stirs his princely thought:
His daughter's bed—on that he dwells,
And Faunus' riddle spells and spells:
Aye, this the chief the Fates prepare
From foreign parts his throne to share,