CIV. "Seven hills her single rampart shall embrace, Seven citadels her girdling wall contain, Thrice blest, beyond all cities, in a race Of heroes, destined to adorn her reign. So, with a hundred grandsons in her train, Thrice blest, the Mother of the Gods, whose shrine Is Berecynthus, rides the Phrygian plain, Tower-crowned, the queen of an immortal line, All habitants of heaven, and all of seed divine. CV. "See now thy Romans; thither bend thine eyes, And Caesar and Iulus' race behold, Waiting their destined advent to the skies. This, this is he--long promised, oft foretold-- Augustus Caesar. He the Age of Gold, God-born himself, in Latium shall restore, And rule the land, that Saturn ruled of old, And spread afar his empire and his power To Garamantian tribes, and India's distant shore. CVI. "Beyond the planets his dominions lie, Beyond the solar circuit of the year, Where Atlas bears the starry-spangled sky. E'en now the realms of Caspia shuddering hear His coming, made by oracles too clear. E'en now Maeotia trembles at his tread, And Nile's seven mouths are troubled, as in fear She shrinks reluctant to the deep, such dread Hath seized the wondering world, so far his fame hath spread. CVII. "So much of earth not Hercules of yore O'erpassed, though he the brass-hoofed hind laid low, And forth from Erymanthus drove the boar, And startled Lerna's forest with his bow; Nor he, the Wine-God, who in conquering show, With vine-wreathed reins, and tigers to his car, Rides down from Nysa to the plains below. And doubt we then to celebrate so far Our prowess, and shall fear Ausonian fields debar? CVIII. "But see, who, crowned with olive wreath, doth bring The sacred vessels? By his long, grey hair And grizzled beard I know the Roman King, Whom Fate from lowly Cures calls to bear The mighty burden of an empire's care, In peace the fabric of our laws to frame. Now, Tullus comes, new triumphs to prepare, And wake the folk to arm from idlesse fame, And Ancus courts e'en now the popular acclaim. CIX. "Would'st thou behold the Tarquins? Yonder stands Great Brutus, the Avenger, proud to tear The people's fasces from the tyrant's hands. First Consul, he the dreaded axe shall bear, The patriot-father, who for freedom fair Shall call his own rebellious sons to bleed. O noble soul, but hapless! Howso'er Succeeding ages shall record the deed. 'Tis country's love prevails, and glory's quenchless greed.