Classic Poem

Thus Macareus — Now with a pious Aim
Had good Æneas rais'd a fun'ral Flame,
In Honour of his hoary Nurse's Name.
Her Epitaph he fix'd; and setting Sail,
Cajeta left, and catch'd at ev'ry Gale.
He steer'd at Distance from the faithless Shore
Where the false Goddess reigns with fatal Pow'r;
And sought those grateful Groves, that shade the Plain,
Where Tyber rouls majestick to the Main,
And fattens, as he runs, the fair Campain.
His Kindred Gods the Hero's Wishes crown
With fair Lavinia , and Latinus Throne:
But not without a War the Prize he won.
Drawn up in bright Array the Battle stands:
Turnus with Arms his promis'd Wife demands
Hetrurians, Latians equal Fortune share;
And doubtful long appears the Face of War.
Both Pow'rs from neighb'ring Princes seek Supplies,
And Embassies appoint for new Allies
Æneas , for Relief, Evander moves;
His Quarrel he asserts, his Cause approves.
The bold Rutulians , with an equal Speed,
Sage Venulus dispatch to Diomede .
The King, late Griefs revolving in his Mind,
These Reasons for Neutrality assign'd. —
Shall I, of one poor Dotal Town possest,
My People thin, my wretched Country waste;
An exil'd Prince, and on a shaking Throne;
Or risque my Patron's Subjects, or my own?
You'll grieve the Harshness of our Hap to hear;
Nor can I tell the Tale without a Tear.