The Aeneid of Virgil, page 120 by Virgil
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as sons renew the hereditary game.
LXXXII. Thus far to blest Anchises they defrayed
The funeral rites; when Fortune turned unkind,
Forsook her faith. For while the games were played
Before the tomb, Saturnian Juno's mind
New schemes, to glut her ancient wrath, designed.
Iris she calls, and bids the Goddess go
Down to the Ilian fleet, and breathes a wind
To waft her on. So, borne upon her bow
Of myriad hues, unseen, the maiden hastes below.
LXXXIII. She eyes the concourse, marks the ships unmanned,
And sees the empty harbour and the shore.
While far off on the solitary strand
The Trojan dames sat sorrowful, and o'er
The deep sea gazed, and, gazing, evermore
Wept for the Sire. "Ah, woe! the fields of foam!
The waste of waters for the wearied oar!
Oh! for a city and a certain home;
A rest for sea-worn souls, for weary 'tis to roam!"
LXXXIV. So, not unversed in mischief, from the skies
Amidst the gathered matrons down she came,
In raiment and in face to mortal eyes
No more a Goddess, but an aged dame,
The wife of Doryclus, of Tmarian fame.
E'en venerable Beroe, once blest
With rank, and children and a noble name.
So changed in semblance, the celestial guest
Mixed with the Dardan dames, and thus the crowd addressed:
LXXXV. "Oh, born to sorrow! whom th' Achaian foe
Dragged not to death, when Ilion was o'erthrown!
O hapless race! what still extremer woe
Doth Fortune doom the living to bemoan?
Since Ilion fell, seven summers nigh have flown,
And we o'er every ocean, every plain,
Past cheerless rocks, and under stars unknown,
Oft and so oft are driven, as in vain
Italia's shores we grasp, and welter on the main!
LXXXVI. "'Tis Eryx' land, Acestes is our host.
What hinders for the homeless here to gain
A home--an Ilion for the one we lost?
O fatherland! O home-gods saved in vain,
If still in endless exile we remain!
Ah! nevermore