Deep in the palace, of long growth, there stood A laurel’s trunk, a venerable wood; Where rites divine were paid; whose holy hair Was kept and cut with superstitious care. This plant Latinus, when his town he wall’d, Then found, and from the tree Laurentum call’d; And last, in honour of his new abode, He vow’d the laurel to the laurel’s god. It happen’d once (a boding prodigy!) A swarm of bees, that cut the liquid sky, Unknown from whence they took their airy flight, Upon the topmost branch in clouds alight; There with their clasping feet together clung, And a long cluster from the laurel hung. An ancient augur prophesied from hence: “Behold on Latian shores a foreign prince! From the same parts of heav’n his navy stands, To the same parts on earth; his army lands; The town he conquers, and the tow’r commands.” Yet more, when fair Lavinia fed the fire Before the gods, and stood beside her sire, Strange to relate, the flames, involv’d in smoke Of incense, from the sacred altar broke, Caught her dishevel’d hair and rich attire; Her crown and jewels crackled in the fire: From thence the fuming trail began to spread And lambent glories danc’d about her head. This new portent the seer with wonder views, Then pausing, thus his prophecy renews: “The nymph, who scatters flaming fires around, Shall shine with honour, shall herself be crown’d; But, caus’d by her irrevocable fate, War shall the country waste, and change the state.”