Flying they follow, and pursuing shun; Broken, they break; and, rallying, they renew In other forms the military show. At last, in order undiscerned they join, And march together in a friendly line. And, as the Cretan labyrinth of old, With wandering ways, and many a winding fold, Involved the weary feet, without redress, In a round error, which denied recess; So fought the Trojan boys in warlike play, Turned and returned, and still a different way. Thus dolphins, in the deep, each other chase In circles, when they swim around the watery race. This game, these carousals, Ascanius taught; And, building Alba, to the Latins brought, Shewed what he learned: the Latin sires impart To their succeeding sons the graceful art: From these imperial Rome received the game, Which Troy, the youths the Trojan troop, they name. Thus far the sacred sports they celebrate: But Fortune soon resumed her ancient hate; For, while they pay the dead his annual dues, Those envied rites Saturnian Juno views; And sends the goddess of the various bow, To try new methods of revenge below; Supplies the winds to wing her airy way, Where in the port secure the navy lay. Swiftly fair Iris down her arch descends, And, undiscerned, her fatal voyage ends. She saw the gathering crowd; and, gliding thence, The desert shore, and fleet without defence. The Trojan matrons, on the sands alone, With sighs and tears Anchises' death bemoan: Then, turning to the sea their weeping eyes, Their pity to themselves renews their cries. "Alas!" said one, "what oceans yet remain For us to sail! what labours to sustain!" All take the word, and, with a general groan, Implore the gods for peace, and places of their own. The goddess, great in mischief, views their pains, And in a woman's form her heavenly limbs restrains. In face and shape, old Beroë she became, } Doryclus' wife, a venerable dame, } Once blessed with riches, and a mother's name. } Thus changed, amidst the crying crowd she ran, Mixed with the matrons, and these words began:-- "O wretched we! whom not the Grecian power, Nor flames, destroyed, in Troy's unhappy hour! O wretched we! reserved by cruel Fate, Beyond the ruins of the sinking state! Now seven revolving years are wholly run, Since this improsperous voyage we begun; Since, tossed from shores to shores, from lands to lands, Inhospitable rocks and barren sands, Wandering in exile, through the stormy sea, We search in vain for flying Italy. Now cast by Fortune on this kindred land, } What should our rest and rising walls withstand, } Or hinder here to fix our banished band? } O country lost, and gods redeemed in vain, If still in endless exile we remain! Shall we no more the Trojan walls renew, Or streams of some dissembled Simoïs view?