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And reign'd in Greece: That Priam's captive fon
Succeeded Pyrrhus in his bed and throne.
And fair Andromache, reftor'd by fate,

Once more was happy in a Trojan mate.

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I leave my gallies riding in the port,

And long to see the new Dardanian court.

By chance, the mournful queen, before the gate,
Then folemniz'd her former husband's fate.

Green altars, rais'd of turf, with gifts she crown'd,
And facred priests in order stand around,

And thrice the name of hapless Hector found.
The
grove
itself refembles Ida's wood,
And Simois feem'd the well-diffembled flood.
But when, at nearer distance, the beheld
My fhining armour, and my Trojan shield,
Aftonish'd at the fight, the vital heat

Forfakes her limbs, her veins no longer beat:

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She faints, the falls; and, fcarce recovering ftrength,
Thus, with a faultering tongue, fhe fpeaks at lengths
Are you alive, O goddefs-born! fhe faid,
Or if a ghost, then where is Hector's fhade?
At this fhe caft a loud and frightful cry:
With broken words I made this brief reply :
All of me that remains appears in fight,
I'live; if living be to loath the light.
No phantom; but I drag a wretched life;
My fate refembling that of Hector's wife.
What have you fuffer'd fince you loft your lord?
By what strange bleffings are you now restor❜d?

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Still

Still are you Hector's, or is Hector fled,
And his remembrance loft in Pyrrhus' bed?
With eyes dejected, in a lowly tone,
After a modeft paufe, fhe thus begun :

Oh only happy maid of Priam's race,

Whom death deliver'd from the foes embrace!
Commanded on Achilles' tomb to die,
Not forc'd, like us, to hard captivity;
Or in a haughty mafter's arms to lie.
In Grecian fhips unhappy we were borne:
Endur'd the victor's luft; fuftain'd the fcorn:
Thus I fubmitted to the lawless pride
Of Pyrrhus, more a handmaid than a bride.
Cloy'd with poffeffion, he forfook my bed,
And Helen's lovely daughter fought to wed.
Then me to Trojan Helenus refign'd:
And his two flaves in equal marriage join'd.
Till young Orestes, pierc'd with deep despair,
And longing to redeem the promis'd fair,
Before Apollo's altar flew the ravisher.
By Pyrrhus' death the kingdom we regain'd:
At least one half with Helenus remain'd;
Our part, from Chaon, he Chaonia calls :
And names, from Pergamus, his rifing walls.
But you, what Fates have landed on our coaft,

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What gods have sent you, or what ftorms have tofs'd? Does young Afcanius life and health enjoy,

Sav'd from the ruins of unhappy Troy?

O tell

O tell me how his mother's lofs he bears,

What hopes are promis'd from his blooming years,
How much of Hector in his face appears?

She spoke and mix'd her speech with mournful cries:
And fruitless tears came trickling from her eyes.
At length her lord defcends upon the plain,

In pomp attended with a numerous train :

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Receives his friends, and to the city leads,
And tears of joy amidst his welcome sheds.
Proceeding on, another Troy I fee;
Or, in less compafs, Troy's epitome.

A rivulet by the name of Xanthus ran :
And I embrace the Scaan gate again.
My friends in porticos were entertain❜d,

And feafts and pleasures through the city reign'd.
The tables fill'd the fpacious hall around,

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And golden bowls with fparkling wine wete crown'd. Two days we pass'd in mirth, till friendly gales, Blown from the fouth, fupply'd our fwelling fails.

Then to the royal feer I thus began :

O thou who know'ft, beyond the reach of man,
The laws of heaven, and what the ftars decree, 460
Whom Phoebus taught unerring prophecy,

From his own tripod, and his holy tree :
Skill'd in the wing'd inhabitants of air,
What aufpices their notes and flights declare:
O fay; for all religious rites portend
A happy voyage, and a profperous end;
And every power and omen of the sky
Direct my course for deftin'd Italy.

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But

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But only dire Celano, from the gods,
A dismal famine fatally forebodes:
O fay what dangers I am first to shun,
What toils to vanquish, and what course to run.
The prophet first with facrifice adores
The greater gods; their pardon then implores :
Unbinds the fillet from his holy head;
To Phœbus next my trembling steps he led,
Full of religious doubts and awful dread.
Then, with his god poffefs'd, before the fhrine,
Thefe words proceeded from his mouth divine :
O goddefs-born (for heaven's appointed will,
With greater aufpices of good than ill,
Fore-fhows thy voyage, and thy courfe directs;
Thy fates confpire, and Jove himself protects):
Of many things, fome few I fhall explain,
Teach thee to fhun the dangers of the main, 485
And how at length the promis'd shore to gain.
The reft the Fates from Helenus conceal;

:

490

And Juno's angry power forbids to tell.
First then, that happy shore, that seems so nigh,
Will far from your deluded wifhes fly :
Long tracts of feas divide your hopes from Italy.
For you must cruife along Sicilian fhores,
And ftem the currents with your ftruggling oars:
Then round th' Italian coaft your navy steer,
And, after this, to Circe's ifland veer.
And last, before your new foundations rife,

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Muft pafs the Stygian lake, and view the nether fkies.

Κοιν

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Now mark the figns of future ease and rest,
And bear them fafely treasur'd in thy breast.
When in the fhady fhelter of a wood,
And near the margin of a gentle flood,
Thou shalt behold a fow upon the ground,
With thirty fucking young encompass'd round;
The dam and offspring white as falling fnow :
Thefe on thy city fhall their name bestow,
And there fhall end thy labour and thy woe.
Nor let the threat'ned famine fright thy mind,
For Phœbus will affift, and fate the way will find.
Let not thy course to that ill coaft be bent,
Which fronts from far th' Epirian continent;
Thofe parts are all by Grecian foes poffefs'd:
The favage Locrians here the fhores infeft.
There fierce Idomeneus his city builds,
And guards, with arms, the Salentinian fields.
And on the mountain's brow Petilia ftands,
Which Philoctetes with his troops commands.
Ev'n when thy fleet is landed on the shore,
And priests with holy vows the gods adore;
Then with a purple veil involve your eyes;
Let hoftile faces blaft the facrifice.

Thefe rites and customs to the reft commend,
That to your pious race they may descend.
When parted hence, the wind that ready waits
For Sicily, fhall bear you to the straits:
Where proud Pelorus opes a wider way,
Tack to the larboard, and ftand off to fea:

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