Her fame, they said, should proudly blaze
A streaming light to after days,
But dim should be the nation's star,
O'erclouded by a mighty war.
The king, by prodigies distraught,
His father Faunus' temple sought,
A sacred grove displayed to sight
Beneath Albunea's growing[errata 1] height,
Which echoes with a brawling stream,
And breathes aloft sulphureous steam.
Hither Œnotria's tribes repair,
To seek heaven's help in man's despair,[errata 2]
Then, when the minister divine
Has placed the offering on the shrine,
And, seeking sleep, at midnight lain
On the stripped skins of cattle slain,
Strange shapes before his eyes appear,
Strange voices whisper in his ear,
He communes with the sons of bliss,
Or talks with Acheron's dark abyss.
So now, when king Latinus came
His parent god's response to claim,
A hundred sheep he slew, and lay
Stretched on their wool till night's decay,
When sudden from the grove's deep gloom
Burst on his ear the voice of doom:
'Ambition not, my son, to pair
With Latian prince thy royal heir,
Nor satisfy an easy quest
With nuptial bowers already drest:
Lo! foreign bridegrooms come, whose fame
To heaven shall elevate our name:
The sons who from their loins have birth
Shall see one day the whole broad earth,
