"O Thou, whose nod and awful bolts attest O'er Gods and men thine everlasting reign, Wherein hath my AEneas so transgressed, Wherein his Trojans, thus to mourn their slain, Barred from the world, lest Italy they gain?
Surely from them the rolling years should see New sons of ancient Teucer rise again, The Romans, rulers of the land and sea.
So swar'st thou; Father, say, why changed is thy decree?
XXXII.

"That word consoled me, weighing fate with fate, For Troy's sad fall.

Now Fortune, as before, Pursues the woe-worn victims of her hate.
O when, great Monarch, shall their toil be o'er?
Safe could Antenor pass th' Illyrian shore Through Danaan hosts, and realms Liburnian gain, And climb Timavus and her springs explore, Where through nine mouths, with roaring surge, the main Bursts from the sounding rocks and deluges the plain.
XXXIII.

"Yet there he built Patavium, yea, and named The nation, and the Trojan arms laid down, And now rests happy in the town he framed.
But we, thy progeny, to whom alone Thy nod hath promised a celestial throne, Our vessels lost, from Italy are barred, O shame! and ruined for the wrath of one.
Thus, thus dost thou thy plighted word regard, Our sceptred realms restore, our piety reward ?" XXXIV.

Then Jove, soft-smiling with the look that clears The storms, and gently kissing her, replies; "Firm are thy fates, sweet daughter; spare thy fears.
Thou yet shalt see Lavinium's walls arise, And bear thy brave AEneas to the skies.
My purpose shifts not.