Arms, and the man I sing, who, forced by Fate, And haughty Juno's unrelenting hate, Expelled and exiled, left the Trojan shore. Long labours, both by sea and land, he bore, And in the doubtful war, before he won The Latian realm, and built the destined town; His banished gods restored to rites divine, And settled sure succession in his line, From whence the race of Alban fathers come, And the long glories of majestic Rome. O Muse! the causes and the crimes relate; What goddess was provoked, and whence her hate; For what offence the queen of heaven began To persecute so brave, so just a man; Involved his anxious life in endless cares, Exposed to wants, and hurried into wars! Can heavenly minds such high resentment show, Or exercise their spite in human woe? Against the Tyber's mouth, but far away, An ancient town was seated on the sea, A Tyrian colony; the people made Stout for the war, and studious of their trade: Carthage the name; beloved by Juno more Than her own Argos, or the Samian shore. Here stood her chariot; here, if heaven were kind, The seat of awful empire she designed. Yet she had heard an ancient rumour fly, (Long cited by the people of the sky,) That times to come should see the Trojan race Her Carthage ruin, and her towers deface; Nor thus confined, the yoke of sovereign sway Should on the necks of all the nations lay. She pondered this, and feared it was in fate; } Nor could forget the war she waged of late, } For conquering Greece against the Trojan state. } Besides, long causes working in her mind, And secret seeds of envy, lay behind: Deep graven in her heart, the doom remained Of partial Paris, and her form disdained; The grace bestowed on ravished Ganymed, Electra's glories, and her injured bed. Each was a cause alone; and all combined To kindle vengeance in her haughty mind. For this, far distant from the Latian coast, She drove the remnants of the Trojan host: And seven long years the unhappy wandering train Were tossed by storms, and scattered through the main. Such time, such toil, required the Roman name, Such length of labour for so vast a frame. Now scarce the Trojan fleet, with sails and oars, Had left behind the fair Sicilian shores, Entering with cheerful shouts the watery reign, And ploughing frothy furrows in the main; When, labouring still with endless discontent, The queen of heaven did thus her fury vent: "Then am I vanquished? must I yield?" said she: "And must the Trojans reign in Italy? So Fate will have it; and Jove adds his force; Nor can my power divert their happy course. Could angry Pallas, with revengeful spleen, The Grecian navy burn, and drown the men? She, for the fault of one offending foe, The bolts of Jove himself presumed to throw: With whirlwinds from beneath she tossed the ship,