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Two massy goblets will I give;
Rich sculptures on the silver live;
The plunder of my sire,
What time he took Arisba's hold;
Two chargers, talents twain of gold,
A bowl beside of antique mould
By Dido brought from Tyre.
Then too, if ours the lot to reign
O'er Italy, by conquest ta'en,
And each man's spoil assign,—
Saw ye how Turnus rode yestreen,
His horse and arms of golden sheen?
That horse, that shield and glowing crest
I separate, Nisus, from the rest
And count already thine.
Twelve female slaves, at your desire,
Twelve captives with their arms entire,
My sire shall give you, and the plain
That forms Latinus' own domain.
But you, dear youth, of worth divine,
Whose blooming years are nearer mine,
Here to my heart I take, and choose
My comrade for whate'er ensues.
No glory will I e'er pursue,
Unmotived by the thought of you:
Let peace or war my state befall,
Thought, word, and deed, you share them all.'
The youth replied: 'No after day
This hour's fair promise shall betray,
Be fate but kind. Yet let me claim
One favour, more than all you name:
A mother in the camp is mine,
Derived from Priam's ancient line:
No home in Sicily or Troy
Has kept her from her darling boy.