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and the man I sing, who ﬁrst,

By Fate of Ilian realm amerced,

To fair Italia onward bore,

And landed on Lavinium’s shore:—

Long tossing earth and ocean o’er,

By violence of heaven, to sate

Fell Juno’s unforgetting hate:

Much laboured too in battle-ﬁeld,

Striving his city’s walls to build,

And give his Gods a home:

Thence come the hardy Latin brood,

The ancient sires of Alba’s blood,

And lofty-rampired Rome.

Say, Muse, for godhead how disdained,

Or wherefore wroth, Heaven’s queen constrained

That soul of piety so long

To turn the wheel, to cope with wrong.

Can heavenly natures nourish hate

So ﬁerce, so blindly passionate?

There stood a city on the sea

Manned by a Tyrian colony,

Named Carthage, fronting far to south

Italia’s coast and Tiber's mouth,

Rich in all wealth, all means of rule,

And hardened in wars sternest school.

