Kitap 9
Nor knew 'twas Xanthus: deep in grass he placed,
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Careless, his footstep; but the herdsman cried
Thou tread'st the dust of Hector.' Stones confused
Lay at his feet in sacred shape no more:
'Look on the altar of Jove,' thus spake the guide,
God of the household, guardian of the home.'
O sacred task of poets, toil supreme,
Which rescuing all things from allotted fate
Dost give eternity to mortal men!
Grudge not the glory, Caesar, of such fame.
For if the Latian Muse may promise aught,
Long as the heroes of the Trojan time
Shall live upon the page of Smyrna's bard,
So long shall future races read of thee
In this my poem; and Pharsalia's song
Live unforgotten in the age to come.
When by the ancient grandeur of the place
The chieftain's sight was filled, of gathered turf
Altars he raised: and as the sacred flame
Cast forth its odours, these not idle vows
Gave to the gods, 'Ye deities of the dead,
' Who watch o'er Phrygian ruins: ye who now
Lavinia's homes inhabit, and Alba's height:
Gods of my sire AEneas, in whose fanes
The Trojan fire still burns: pledge of the past
'Mysterious Pallas,The 'Palladium' or image of Pallas, preserved in the temple of Vesta. (See Book I., 662.) of the inmost shrine,
Unseen of men! here in your ancient seat,
'Most famous offspring of Iulus' race,
'I call upon you and with pious hand
Burn frequent offerings. To my emprise
Give prosperous ending! Here shall I replace
'The Phrygian peoples, here in glad return
'Italia's sons shall build a Pergamus
And from these stones shall rise a Roman Troy.'
He seeks his fleet, and eager to regain
Time spent at Ilium, to the favouring breeze
Spreads all his canvas. Past rich Asia borne,
Rhodes soon he left while foamed the sparkling main
Beneath his keels; nor ceased the wind to stretch
His bending sails, till on the seventh night
