She said no more. The trembling Trojans hear, O’erspread with a damp sweat and holy fear. The prince himself, with awful dread possess’d, His vows to great Apollo thus address’d: “Indulgent god, propitious pow’r to Troy, Swift to relieve, unwilling to destroy, Directed by whose hand the Dardan dart Pierc’d the proud Grecian’s only mortal part: Thus far, by fate’s decrees and thy commands, Thro’ ambient seas and thro’ devouring sands, Our exil’d crew has sought th’ Ausonian ground; And now, at length, the flying coast is found. Thus far the fate of Troy, from place to place, With fury has pursued her wand’ring race. Here cease, ye pow’rs, and let your vengeance end: Troy is no more, and can no more offend. And thou, O sacred maid, inspir’d to see Th’ event of things in dark futurity; Give me what Heav’n has promis’d to my fate, To conquer and command the Latian state; To fix my wand’ring gods, and find a place For the long exiles of the Trojan race. Then shall my grateful hands a temple rear To the twin gods, with vows and solemn pray’r; And annual rites, and festivals, and games, Shall be perform’d to their auspicious names. Nor shalt thou want thy honours in my land; For there thy faithful oracles shall stand, Preserv’d in shrines; and ev’ry sacred lay, Which, by thy mouth, Apollo shall convey: All shall be treasur’d by a chosen train Of holy priests, and ever shall remain. But O! commit not thy prophetic mind To flitting leaves, the sport of ev’ry wind, Lest they disperse in air our empty fate; Write not, but, what the pow’rs ordain, relate.”