Page:An Essay on Virgil's Æneid.djvu/48

44 To that blest Shore we steer’d our destin’d Way, When sudden, dire rows’d the Sea; All charg’d with Tempests rose the baleful Star, And on our Navy pour’d his wat’ry War; With sweeping Whirlwinds cast our Vessels wide, Dash’d on rough Rocks, or driving with the Tide: The few sad Relicks of our Navy bore Their Course to this unhospitable Shore. What are the Customs of this barbarous Place? What more than Savage this inhuman Race? In Arms they rise, and drive us from the Strand, From the last Verge, and Limits of the Land. Know, if divine and human Laws you slight, The Gods, the Gods will all our Wrongs requite; Vengeance is their’s; and their’s to guard the Right. was our King, of high Renown; Great, Good, and Brave; and War was all his own. If still he lives, and breaths this vital Air, Nor we, his Friends and Subjects, shall despair; Nor