Page:Virgil's Pastorals, Georgics and Aeneis - Dryden (1709) - volume 2.djvu/117

When Venus saw, she with a lowly Look,
Not free from Tears, her Heav'nly Sire bespoke.
O King of Gods and Men, whose awful Hand,$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
Disperses Thunder on the Seas and Land;315
Disposing all with absolute Command:
How cou'd my Pious Son thy Pow'r incense,
Or what, alas! is vanish'd Troy's Offence?
Our hope of Italy not only lost,$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
On various Seas, by various Tempests tost,320
But shut from ev'ry Shoar, and barr'd from ev'ry Coast.
You promis'd once, a Progeny Divine,
Of Romans, rising from the Trojan Line,
In after-times shou'd hold the World in awe,
And to the Land and Ocean give the Law.325
How is your Doom revers'd, which eas'd my Care;
When Troy was ruin'd in that cruel War?
Then Fates to Fates I cou'd oppose; but now,
When Fortune still pursues her former Blow,
What can I hope? What worse can still succeed?330
What end of Labours has your Will decreed?
Antenor, from the midst of Grecian Hosts,
Could pass secure, and pierce th' Illyrian Coasts:
Where rowling down the Steep, Timavus raves,
And through nine Channels disembogues his Waves.355
At length he founded Padua's happy Seat,
And gave his Trojans a secure Retreat:
There fix'd their Arms, and there renew'd their Name,
And there in Quiet rules, and crown'd with Fame.