Book 7
is of Olympian seed. To thine abode
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Trojan Aeneas sent us. How there burst
o'er Ida's vales from dread Mycenae's kings
a tempest vast, and by what stroke of doom
all Asia's world with Europe clashed in war,
that lone wight hears whom earth's remotest isle
has banished to the Ocean's rim, or he
whose dwelling is the ample zone that burns
betwixt the changeful sun-god's milder realms,
far severed from the world. We are the men
from war's destroying deluge safely borne
over the waters wide. We only ask
some low-roofed dwelling for our fathers' gods,
some friendly shore, and, what to all is free,
water and air. We bring no evil name
upon thy people; thy renown will be
but wider spread; nor of a deed so fair
can grateful memory die. Ye ne'er will rue
that to Ausonia's breast ye gathered Troy.
I swear thee by the favored destinies
of great Aeneas, by his strength of arm
in friendship or in war, that many a tribe
(O, scorn us not, that, bearing olive green,
with suppliant words we come), that many a throne
has sued us to be friends. But Fate's decree
to this thy realm did guide. Here Dardanus
was born; and with reiterate command
this way Apollo pointed to the stream
of Tiber and Numicius' haunted spring.
Lo, these poor tributes from his greatness gone
Aeneas sends, these relics snatched away
from Ilium burning: with this golden bowl
Anchises poured libation when he prayed;
and these were Priam's splendor, when he gave
laws to his gathered states; this sceptre his,
this diadem revered, and beauteous pall,
handwork of Asia's queens.” So ceased to speak
Ilioneus. But King Latinus gazed
unanswering on the ground, all motionless
save for his musing eyes. The broidered pall
