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Young Priam first, Polites' heir,

Well pleased his grandsire's name to bear,

Leads his gay troop, himself decreed

To raise up an Italian seed:

He prances forth, all dazzling bright,

On Thracian steed with spots of white:

White on its fetlock's front is seen,

And white the space its brows between.

Then Atys, next in place, from whom

The Atian family descend:

Young Atys, fresh with life's first bloom,

The boy Iulus' sweet boy-friend:

Iulus last, in form and face

Pre-eminent his peers above,

A courser rides of Tyrian race,

Memorial gift of Dido's love.

Sicilian steeds the rest bestride

From old Acestes' stalls supplied.

The Dardanids with mingling cheers

Relieve the young aspirants' fears,

And gaze delighted, as they trace

A parent's mien in each fair face.

And now, when all from first to last

Beneath their kinsfolk's eyes had past,

Before the assembled crowd,

Epytides shrills forth from far

His signal-shout, as if for war,

And cracks his whip aloud.

In equal parts the bands divide,

And gallop off on either side:

Then wheeling round in full career

Charge at a call with levelled spear

Again, again they come and go,

Through adverse spaces to and fro;

Circles in circles interlock,