Oh thou! whose sacred, and eternal Sway,
Aw’d by thy Thunders, Men, and Gods obey;
What have my poor exhausted Trojans done?310
Or what, alas! my dear unhappy Son?
Still, for the Sake of Italy, deny’d
All other Coasts, and barr’d the World beside?
Sure, once you promis’d, that a Race divine
Of Roman Chiefs should spring from Teucer’s Line;315
The World in future Ages to command,
And in their Empire grasp the Sea and Land.
Oh! sov’reign Father, say! what Cause could move
The fixt unalterable Word of Jove!
Which sooth’d my Grief, when Ilion felt her Doom,320
And Troy I balanced with the Fates of Rome.
But see! their Fortune still pursues her Blow;
When wilt thou fix a Period to their Woe?
In safety, bold Antenor broke his Way
Thro’ Hosts of Foes, and pierc’d th’ Illyrian Bay,325
Where,
