He smiled, in answer, The kind of smile that clears the air, and kissed her. “Fear not, my daughter; fate remains unmoved For the Roman generations. You will witness Lavinium’s rise, her walls fulfill the promise; You will bring to heaven lofty-souled Aeneas. There has been no change in me whatever. Listen! To ease this care, I will prophesy a little, I will open the book of fate. Your son Aeneas Will wage a mighty war in Italy, Beat down proud nations, give his people laws, Found them a city, a matter of three years From victory to settlement. His son, The boy Ascanius, named Ilus once, When Troy was standing, and now called Iulus, Shall reign for thirty years, and great in power Forsake Lavinium, transfer the kingdom To Alba Longa, new-built capital. Here, for three hundred years, the line of Hector Shall govern, till a royal priestess bears Twin sons to Mars, and Romulus, rejoicing In the brown wolf-skin of his foster-mother, Takes up the tribe, and builds the martial walls And calls the people, after himself, the Romans. To these I set no bounds in space or time; They shall rule forever. Even bitter Juno Whose fear now harries earth and sea and heaven Will change to better counsels, and will cherish The race that wears the toga, Roman masters Of all the world. It is decreed. The time Will come, as holy years wheel on, when Troy Will subjugate Mycenae, vanquish Phthia, Be lord of Argos. And from this great line Will come a Trojan, Caesar, to establish The limit of his empire at the ocean, His glory at the stars, a man called Julius Whose name recalls Iulus. Welcome waits For him in heaven; all the spoils of Asia Will weigh him down, and prayer be made before him. Then wars will cease, and a rough age grow gentler, White Faith and Vesta, Romulus and Remus, Give law to nations. War’s grim gates will close, Tight-shut with bars of iron, and inside them The wickedness of war sit bound and silent, The red mouth straining and the hands held tight In fastenings of bronze, a hundred hundred.” With that, he sent down Mercury from heaven That Carthage might be kindly, and her land And new-built towers receive them with a welcome, And their queen, Dido, knowing the will of fate, Swing wide her doors. On the oarage of his wings He flies through the wide sweep of air to Libya, Where, at the will of the god, the folk make ready In kindliness of heart, and their queen’s purpose Is gracious and gentle.