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Rh Yet once, but once your succour lend:

'Twas you the wretch would make his friend,

To you his secret thoughts confide:

You only know his softer side.

Go now, my sister, suppliant go,

And thus accost our haughty foe;

Not I with Greece at Aulis joined

To sweep his Trojans from mankind;

I sent no fleet to Ilium's coast,

Nor vexed Anchises' buried ghost;

Why should he change his ears to stone,

And close their portals on my moan?

One boon I sue for—let him bide

Till fair the breeze and smooth the tide.

Not now I ask him to restore

The ancient marriage he forswore,

Resign his lovely Latian town,

Or abdicate Italians crown.

My prayer is for a transient grace,

To give this madness breathing-space,

Till fortune's discipline shall school

My vanquished heart to grieve by rule.

Vouchsafe this aid, the last I crave,

And take requital from my grave.'

So pleads she: and her woful prayers

Again, again her sister bears:

He stands immovable by tears,

Nor tenderest words with pity hears.

Fate bars the way: a hand above

His gentle ears makes deaf to love.

As some strong oak, the mountain's pride,

Fierce Alpine blasts on either side

Are striving to o'erthrow:

It creaks and strains beneath the shock,

And from the weather-beaten stock

Thick leaves the ground bestrow: