And spare the remnant of a pious race! } We come not with design of wasteful prey, To drive the country, force the swains away: Nor such our strength, nor such is our desire; The vanquished dare not to such thoughts aspire. A land there is, Hesperia named of old-- The soil is fruitful, and the men are bold-- The Œnotrians held it once--by common fame, Now called Italia, from the leader's name. To that sweet region was our voyage bent, When winds, and every warring element, Disturbed our course, and, far from sight of land, Cast our torn vessels on the moving sand: The sea came on; the South, with mighty roar, Dispersed and dashed the rest upon the rocky shore. Those few you see escaped the storm, and fear, Unless you interpose, a shipwreck here. What men, what monsters, what inhuman race, What laws, what barbarous customs of the place, Shut up a desert shore to drowning men, And drive us to the cruel seas again? If our hard fortune no compassion draws, } Nor hospitable rights, nor human laws, } The gods are just, and will revenge our cause. } Æneas was our prince--a juster lord, } Or nobler warrior, never drew a sword-- } Observant of the right, religious of his word. } If yet he lives, and draws this vital air, Nor we, his friends, of safety shall despair, Nor you, great queen, these offices repent, Which he will equal, and perhaps augment. We want not cities, nor Sicilian coasts, Where king Acestes Trojan lineage boasts. Permit our ships a shelter on your shores, Refitted from your woods with planks and oars, That, if our prince be safe, we may renew Our destined course, and Italy pursue. But if, O best of men! the Fates ordain, That thou art swallowed in the Libyan main, And if our young Iülus be no more, Dismiss our navy from your friendly shore, That we to good Acestes may return, And with our friends our common losses mourn." Thus spoke Ilioneus: the Trojan crew With cries and clamours his request renew. The modest queen a while, with downcast eyes, Pondered the speech, then briefly thus replies:-- "Trojans! dismiss your fears; my cruel fate, And doubts attending an unsettled state, Force me to guard my coast from foreign foes. Who has not heard the story of your woes, The name and fortune of your native place, The fame and valour of the Phrygian race? We Tyrians are not so devoid of sense, Nor so remote from Phœbus' influence. Whether to Latian shores your course is bent, } Or, driven by tempests from your first intent, } You seek the good Acestes' government, } Your men shall be received, your fleet repaired, And sail, with ships of convoy for your guard: Or, would you stay, and join your friendly powers }