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Rh Two massy goblets will I give;

Rich sculptures on the silver live;

The plunder of my sire,

What time he took Arisba's hold;

Two chargers, talents twain of gold,

A bowl beside of antique mould

By Dido brought from Tyre.

Then too, if ours the lot to reign

O'er Italy, by conquest ta'en,

And each man's spoil assign,—

Saw ye how Turnus rode yestreen,

His horse and arms of golden sheen?

That horse, that shield and glowing crest

I separate, Nisus, from the rest

And count already thine.

Twelve female slaves, at your desire,

Twelve captives with their arms entire,

My sire shall give you, and the plain

That forms Latinus' own domain.

But you, dear youth, of worth divine,

Whose blooming years are nearer mine,

Here to my heart I take, and choose

My comrade for whate'er ensues.

No glory will I e'er pursue,

Unmotived by the thought of you:

Let peace or war my state befall,

Thought, word, and deed, you share them all.'

The youth replied: 'No after day

This hour's fair promise shall betray,

Be fate but kind. Yet let me claim

One favour, more than all you name:

A mother in the camp is mine,

Derived from Priam's ancient line:

No home in Sicily or Troy

Has kept her from her darling boy.