No hate remains with me to ruin’d Troy. I war not with its dust; nor am I glad To think of past events, or good or bad. Your presents I return: whate’er you bring To buy my friendship, send the Trojan king. We met in fight; I know him, to my cost: With what a whirling force his lance he toss’d! Heav’ns! what a spring was in his arm, to throw! How high he held his shield, and rose at ev’ry blow! Had Troy produc’d two more his match in might, They would have chang’d the fortune of the fight: Th’ invasion of the Greeks had been return’d, Our empire wasted, and our cities burn’d. The long defence the Trojan people made, The war protracted, and the siege delay’d, Were due to Hector’s and this hero’s hand: Both brave alike, and equal in command; Aeneas, not inferior in the field, In pious reverence to the gods excell’d. Make peace, ye Latians, and avoid with care Th’ impending dangers of a fatal war.’ He said no more; but, with this cold excuse, Refus’d th’ alliance, and advis’d a truce.” Thus Venulus concluded his report. A jarring murmur fill’d the factious court: As, when a torrent rolls with rapid force, And dashes o’er the stones that stop the course, The flood, constrain’d within a scanty space, Roars horrible along th’ uneasy race; White foam in gath’ring eddies floats around; The rocky shores rebellow to the sound.