LITMIR.BIZ

      Arms, and the man I sing, who, forc’d by fate,

       And haughty Juno’s unrelenting hate,

       Expell’d and exil’d, left the Trojan shore.

       Long labours, both by sea and land, he bore,

       And in the doubtful war, before he won

       The Latian realm, and built the destin’d town;

       His banish’d gods restor’d to rites divine,

       And settled sure succession in his line,

       From whence the race of Alban fathers come,

       And the long glories of majestic Rome.

       O Muse! the causes and the crimes relate;

       What goddess was provok’d, and whence her hate;

       For what offence the Queen of Heav’n began

       To persecute so brave, so just a man;

       Involv’d his anxious life in endless cares,

       Expos’d to wants, and hurried into wars!

       Can heav’nly minds such high resentment show,

       Or exercise their spite in human woe?

      Against the Tiber’s mouth, but far away,

       An ancient town was seated on the sea;

       A Tyrian colony; the people made

       Stout for the war, and studious of their trade:

       Carthage the name; belov’d by Juno more

       Than her own Argos, or the Samian shore.

       Here stood her chariot; here, if Heav’n were kind,

       The seat of awful empire she design’d.

       Yet she had heard an ancient rumour fly,

       (Long cited by the people of the sky,)

       That times to come should see the Trojan race

       Her Carthage ruin, and her tow’rs deface;

       Nor thus confin’d, the yoke of sov’reign sway

       Should on the necks of all the nations lay.

       She ponder’d this, and fear’d it was in fate;

       Nor could forget the war she wag’d of late

       For conqu’ring Greece against the Trojan state.

       Besides, long causes working in her mind,

       And secret seeds of envy, lay behind;

       Deep graven in her heart the doom remain’d

       Of partial Paris, and her form disdain’d;

       The grace bestow’d on ravish’d Ganymed,

       Electra’s glories, and her injur’d bed.

       Each was a cause alone; and all combin’d

       To kindle vengeance in her haughty mind.

       For this, far distant from the Latian coast

       She drove the remnants of the Trojan host;

       And sev’n long years th’ unhappy wand’ring train

       Were toss’d by storms, and scatter’d thro’ the main.

       Such time, such toil, requir’d the Roman name,

       Such length of labour for so vast a frame.

      Now scarce the Trojan fleet, with sails and oars,

       Had left behind the fair Sicilian shores,

       Ent’ring with cheerful shouts the wat’ry reign,

       And plowing frothy furrows in the main;

       When, lab’ring still with endless discontent,

       The Queen of Heav’n did thus her fury vent:

      “Then am I vanquish’d? must I yield?” said she,

       “And must the Trojans reign in Italy?

       So Fate will have it, and Jove adds his force;

       Nor can my pow’r divert their happy course.

       Could angry Pallas, with revengeful spleen,

       The Grecian navy burn, and drown the men?

       She, for the fault of one offending foe,

       The bolts of Jove himself presum’d to throw:

       With whirlwinds from beneath she toss’d the ship,

       And bare expos’d the bosom of the deep;

       Then, as an eagle gripes the trembling game,

       The wretch, yet hissing with her father’s flame,

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