Lest we should lose the first auspicious gales. The prophet blessed the parting crew, and, last, With words like these, his ancient friend embraced:-- "Old happy man, the care of gods above, Whom heavenly Venus honoured with her love, And twice preserved thy life when Troy was lost! Behold from far the wished Ausonian coast: There land; but take a larger compass round, For that before is all forbidden ground. The shore that Phœbus has designed for you, At farther distance lies, concealed from view. Go happy hence, and seek your new abodes, Blessed in a son, and favoured by the gods: For I with useless words prolong your stay, When southern gales have summoned you away." Nor less the queen our parting thence deplored, Nor was less bounteous than her Trojan lord. A noble present to my son she brought, A robe with flowers on golden tissue wrought, A Phrygian vest; and loads with gifts beside Of precious texture, and of Asian pride. "Accept," she said, "these monuments of love, Which in my youth with happier hands I wove: Regard these trifles for the giver's sake; 'Tis the last present Hector's wife can make. Thou call'st my lost Astyanax to mind; In thee, his features and his form I find. His eyes so sparkled with a lively flame; } Such were his motions; such was all his frame; } And ah! had heaven so pleased, his years had been the same." } With tears I took my last adieu, and said,-- "Your fortune, happy pair, already made, Leaves you no farther wish. My different state, Avoiding one, incurs another fate. To you a quiet seat the gods allow: You have no shores to search, no seas to plough, Nor fields of flying Italy to chase-- Deluding visions, and a vain embrace! You see another Simoïs, and enjoy The labour of your hands, another Troy, With better auspice than her ancient towers, And less obnoxious to the Grecian powers. If e'er the gods, whom I with vows adore, Conduct my steps to Tyber's happy shore; If ever I ascend the Latian throne, And build a city I may call my own; As both of us our birth from Troy derive, } So let our kindred lines in concord live, } And both in acts of equal friendship strive. } Our fortunes, good or bad, shall be the same: The double Troy shall differ but in name; That what we now begin, may never end, But long to late posterity descend." Near the Ceraunian rocks our course we bore, The shortest passage to the Italian shore. Now had the sun withdrawn his radiant light, And hills were hid in dusky shades of night: We land, and, on the bosom of the ground, A safe retreat and a bare lodging found. Close by the shore we lay; the sailors keep Their watches, and the rest securely sleep. The night, proceeding on with silent pace, } Stood in her noon, and viewed with equal face }