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220 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 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

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,