"To Phoebus then and Trivia's sacred name, Thy patron powers, a temple will I rear Of solid marble, and due rites proclaim And festal days, for votaries each year The name of guardian Phoebus to revere.
Thee, too, hereafter in our realms await Shrines of the stateliest, for thy name is dear.
There safe shall rest the mystic words of Fate, And chosen priests shall guard the oracles of state.
XII.

"Only to leaves commit not, priestess kind, Thy verse, lest fragments of the mystic scroll Fly, tost abroad, the playthings of the wind.
Thyself in song the oracle unroll." He ceased; the seer, impatient of control, Strives, like a frenzied Bacchant, in her cell, To shake the mighty deity from her soul.
So much the more, her raging heart to quell, He tires the foaming mouth, and shapes her to his spell.
XIII.

Then yawned the hundred gates, and every door, Self-opening suddenly, revealed the fane, And through the air the Sibyl's answer bore: "O freed from Ocean's perils, but in vain, Worse evils yet upon the land remain.
Doubt not; Troy's sons shall reach Lavinium's shore, And rule in Latium; so the Fates ordain.
Yet shall they rue their coming.

Woes in store, Wars, savage wars, I see, and Tiber foam with gore.
XIV.

"A Xanthus there and Simois shall be seen, And Doric tents; Achilles, goddess-born, Shall rise anew, nor Jove's relentless Queen Shall cease to vex the Teucrians night and morn.
Then oft shalt thou, sore straitened and forlorn, All towns and tribes of Italy implore To grant thee shelter from the foemen's scorn.
An alien bride, a foreign bed once more Shall bring the old, old woes, the ancient feud restore.
XV.