Of various hues the stately porch entwine.
Stung by the bitter tidings, in despair
Before the gods he kneels, and pours a suppliant's prayer.

XXVII. "Great Jove, to whom our Moorish tribes, reclined
On broidered couch, the votive wine-cup drain,
See'st thou or, Father, are thy bolts but blind,
Mere noise thy thunder, and thy lightnings vain?
This woman here, who, wandering on the main,
Bought leave to build and govern as her own
Her puny town, and till the sandy plain,
Our proffered love hath ventured to disown,
And takes a Trojan lord, AEneas, to her throne.

XXVIII. "And now that Paris, tricked in Lydian guise,
With perfumed locks and bonnet, and his crew
Of men half-women, gloats upon the prize,
While vainly at thy so-called shrines we sue,
And nurse a faith as empty as untrue."
He prayed and clasped the altar. His request
Jove heard, and to the city bent his view,
And saw the guilty lovers, lapt in rest
And lost to shame, and thus Cyllenius he addressed:

XXIX. "Go, son, the Zephyrs call, and wing thy flight
To Carthage. Call the Dardan chief away,
Who, deaf to Fate, his destined walls doth slight.
This mandate through the wafting air convey,
Not such fair Venus did her son pourtray,
Nor twice for _this_ from Grecian swords reclaim
One born to rule Italia, big with sway
And fierce for war, and spread the Teucrian name
Through Teucer's sons, and laws to conquered earth proclaim.

XXX. "If glory cannot tempt him, nor inflame
His soul to win such greatness, if indeed
He takes no trouble for his own fair fame,
Shall he, a father, envy to his seed
The towers of Rome, by destiny decreed?
What schemes he now? what hope the chief constrains
To linger 'mid a hostile race, nor heed
Ausonia's sons and the Lavinian plains?
Go, bid him sail; enough; that word the sum contains."

XXXI. Jove spake. Cyllenius to his feet binds fast
His golden sandals, that aloft in flight
O'er sea and shore upbear him with the blast,
Then takes his rod--the rod of mystic might,
That calls from Hell or plunges into night
The pallid ghosts, gives sleep or bids it fly,
And lifts the dead man's eyelids to the light.
Armed with that rod, he rules the clouds on high,
And drives the scattered gales, and sails the stormy sky.

XXXII. Now, borne along, beneath him he espies
The sides precipit