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And hence the warrior race, whose sway
Should make a subject world obey.
At length with gladness he exclaims:
'Speed, gracious Heaven, a parent's aims
And thine own sign! I grant your prayer,
Kind guest, nor scorn the gifts you bear.
You shall not lack, while mine the throne,
Rich soil and plenty like your own.
Let but Æneas, if he feel
For us and ours so warm a zeal,
Would he be friend and firm ally,
Approach, nor shun our kindly eye:
For know, that treaty may not stand
Where king greets king and joins not hand.
Now list, and to your monarch take
What further answer here I make.
A maiden child is mine, whose hand
May mate with none of this our land,
Thus heaven declares with many a sign,
And voices from my father's shrine:
Our fate, they say, has yet in store
A bridegroom from a foreign shore,
Whose mingling blood shall raise our name
Above the empyrean frame.
That he, your chief, is fortune's choice,
So speaks my heart, my hope, my voice.'
He ceased, and bade be brought for all
Fleet horses from his royal stall:
Three hundred in the stable stood
With glossy coat and fiery blood:—
The servants hear, and straightway lead
For every chief a gallant steed:
A purple cloak each courser decks,
And golden poitrels grace their necks:
For Venus' son the monarch's care
Provides a car and princely pair,