When thirty rolling years have run their race, Thy son Ascanius, on this empty space, Shall build a royal town, of lasting fame, Which from this omen shall receive the name. Time shall approve the truth.--For what remains, And how with sure success to crown thy pains, With patience next attend. A banished band, Driven with Evander from the Arcadian land, Have planted here, and placed on high their walls; Their town the founder Pallanteum calls, Derived from Pallas, his great grandsire's name: But the fierce Latians old possession claim, With war infesting the new colony. These make thy friends, and on their aid rely. To thy free passage I submit my streams. Wake, son of Venus, from thy pleasing dreams; And, when the setting stars are lost in day, To Juno's power thy just devotion pay; With sacrifice the wrathful queen appease: Her pride at length shall fall, her fury cease. When thou return'st victorious from the war, Perform thy vows to me with grateful care. The god am I, whose yellow water flows Around these fields, and fattens as it goes: Tyber my name--among the rolling floods, Renowned on earth, esteemed among the gods. This is my certain seat. In times to come, My waves shall wash the walls of mighty Rome." He said; and plunged below. While yet he spoke, His dream Æneas and his sleep forsook. He rose, and, looking up, beheld the skies With purple blushing, and the day arise. Then water in his hollow palm he took From Tyber's flood, and thus the powers bespoke:-- "Laurentian nymphs, by whom the streams are fed, And father Tyber, in thy sacred bed Receive Æneas, and from danger keep. Whatever fount, whatever holy deep, Conceals thy watery stores--where'er they rise, And, bubbling from below, salute the skies-- Thou, king of horned floods, whose plenteous urn Suffices fatness to the fruitful corn, For this thy kind compassion of our woes, Shalt share my morning song, and evening vows. But, oh! be present to thy people's aid, And firm the gracious promise thou hast made." Thus having said, two galleys, from his stores, With care he chuses, mans, and fits with oars. Now on the shore the fatal swine is found-- Wonderous to tell!--She lay along the ground: Her well-fed offspring at her udders hung; She white herself, and white her thirty young. Æneas takes the mother and her brood, And all on Juno's altar are bestowed.[2] The following night, and the succeeding day, Propitious Tyber smoothed his watery way: He rolled his river back, and poised he stood, A gentle swelling, and a peaceful flood. The Trojans mount their ships; they put from shore, Borne on the waves, and scarcely dip an oar. Shouts from the land give omen to their course, And the pitched vessels glide with easy force.