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278 Yet O ye gods, and O great Jove,

Have pity on a father's love

And hear Evander's prayer:

If 'tis your purpose to restore

My Pallas to my arms once more;

If living is to see his face,

Then grant me life, of your dear grace:

No toil too hard to bear.

But ah! if Fortune be my foe,

And meditate some crushing blow,

Now, now the thread in mercy break,

While hope sees dim and cares mistake,

While still I clasp thee, darling boy,

My latest and my only joy,

Nor let assurance, worse than fear.

With cruel tidings wound my ear.'

His speech grows faint, his limbs give way;

His slaves their master home convey.

Now through the open gates at last

The mounted company had passed:

Æneas and Achates lead:

The other lords of Troy succeed.

Young Pallas in the midst is seen

With broidered scarf and armour sheen:

Like Lucifer, the day-spring's star,

To radiant Venus dearest far

Of all the sons of light,

When, bathed in ocean's wave, he rears

His sacred presence 'mid the spheres,

And dissipates the night.

The matrons on the rampart stand:

Their straining eyes pursue

The dusty cloud, the mail-clad band

Far flashing on the view.