To raise and to defend the Tyrian towers, } My wealth, my city, and myself, are yours. } And would to heaven, the storm, you felt, would bring On Carthaginian coasts your wandering king. My people shall, by my command, explore The ports and creeks of every winding shore, And towns, and wilds, and shady woods, in quest Of so renowned and so desired a guest." Raised in his mind the Trojan hero stood, And longed to break from out his ambient cloud; Achates found it, and thus urged his way:-- "From whence, O goddess-born, this long delay? What more can you desire, your welcome sure, Your fleet in safety, and your friend secure? One only wants; and him we saw in vain Oppose the storm, and swallowed in the main. Orontes in his fate our forfeit paid; The rest agrees with what your mother said." Scarce had he spoken, when the cloud gave way, The mists flew upward, and dissolved in day. The Trojan chief appeared in open sight, August in visage, and serenely bright. His mother goddess, with her hands divine, Had formed his curling locks, and made his temples shine, And given his rolling eyes a sparkling grace, And breathed a youthful vigour on his face; Like polished ivory, beauteous to behold, Or Parian marble, when enchased in gold; Thus radiant from the circling cloud he broke, And thus with manly modesty he spoke:-- "He whom you seek am I; by tempests tossed, And saved from shipwreck on your Libyan coast; Presenting, gracious queen, before your throne, A prince that owes his life to you alone. Fair majesty! the refuge and redress Of those whom Fate pursues, and wants oppress! You, who your pious offices employ To save the reliques of abandoned Troy; Receive the shipwrecked on your friendly shore, With hospitable rites relieve the poor; Associate in your town a wandering train, And strangers in your palace entertain. What thanks can wretched fugitives return, Who, scattered through the world, in exile mourn? The gods, (if gods to goodness are inclined-- If acts of mercy touch their heavenly mind,) And, more than all the gods, your generous heart, Conscious of worth, requite its own desert! In you this age is happy, and this earth, And parents more than mortal gave you birth. While rolling rivers into seas shall run, And round the space of heaven the radiant sun; While trees the mountain-tops with shades supply, Your honour, name, and praise, shall never die. Whate'er abode my fortune has assigned, Your image shall be present in my mind." Thus having said, he turned with pious haste, } And joyful his expecting friends embraced: } With his right hand Ilioneus he graced,[97] } Serestus with his left; then to his breast } Cloanthus and the noble Gyas pressed; } And so by turns descended to the rest.