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Rh Best to have fixed them on the spot

Where Ilium's embers still are hot,

Laid down their limbs by Xanthus' flood,

And dwelt where once their city stood.

O Father! look on wretched men;

Give us our native streams again,

And let our progeny repeat

The old, old tale of Troy's defeat!'

Then, by her rage to utterance stirred,

Imperial Juno took the word:

'And must I then my silence break

And buried griefs to life awake?

What god above or man below

Your good Æneas forced to go

To war, and be Latinus' foe?

Grant that to Italy he went

By fate or mad Cassandra sent:

Who bade him quit his camp and trust

His life to every stormy gust,

Leave to a boy's weak hands to guide

The war and o'er his walls preside,

Seduce the Tyrrhenes, and molest

The peace of nations long at rest?

What force, what tyranny of ours

To such misventure led?

Where then were Juno's baleful powers,

Or Iris downward sped?

'Tis shame Italians should engirth

Your infant Troy with sword and fire,

That Turnus on his parent earth

Should come and go at his desire,

Though nymph Venilia gave him birth

And blest Pilumnus was his sire:

And shall not Troy in turn fool shame

To ravage Latium's fields with flame,