Page:An Essay on Virgil's Æneid.djvu/57

Rh That winged to the Court shou’d come Like sweet, in ’ Room; With the rich Gifts the Tyrian Queen inspire, And kindle in her Veins the raging Fire. Her dread of ’s Arts, who guards the Place, Her just Suspicions of the treach’rous Race, Break, each revolving Night, her golden Rest: And thus the suppliant Queen the God addrest.


 * Son! my Strength, my Pow’r! who fire above

Immortal Breasts, nor dread the Bolts of. To thee I fly, thy Succour to implore; Court thy Protection, and thy Pow’r adore. How haughty ’s restless Rage has tost Your Brother round the Seas, and ev’ry Coast, Is but to mention what too well you know, Who sigh’d my Sighs, and wept a Mother’s Woe. Him, in her Town, the Tyrian Queen detains, With soft Seducements, from the Latian Plains. But