The father; there, with Easterns in array,
The daughter's husband. O my sons! be friends;
Cease from the strife; forbear the unnatural fray,
Nor turn Rome's prowess to her own decay;
And thou, the foremost of our blood, be first
To fling the arms of civic strife away,
And cease for lawless victories to thirst,
Thou of Olympian birth, and sheath the sword, accurst.

CXII. "See who from Corinth doth his march pursue,
Decked with the spoils of many a Grecian foe.
His car shall climb the Capitol. See, too,
The man who lofty Argos shall o'erthrow,
And lay the walls of Agamemnon low,
And great AEacides himself destroy,
Sprung from Achilles, to requite the woe
Wrought on old Ilion, and avenge with joy
Minerva's outraged fane, and slaughtered sires of Troy.

CXIII. "Shalt thou, great Cato, unextolled remain?
Cossus? the Gracchi? or the Scipios, ye
Twin thunderbolts of battle, and the bane
Of Libya? Who would fail to tell of thee,
Fabricius, potent in thy poverty?
Or thee, Serranus, scattering the seed?
O spare my breath, ye Fabii; thou art he
Called Maximus, their Greatest thou indeed,
Sole saviour, whose delay averts the hour of need.

CXIV. "Others, no doubt, from breathing bronze shall draw
More softness, and a living face devise
From marble, plead their causes at the law
More deftly, trace the motions of the skies
With learned rod, and tell the stars that rise.
Thou, Roman, rule, and o'er the world proclaim
The ways of peace. Be these thy victories,
To spare the vanquished and the proud to tame.
These are imperial arts, and worthy of thy name."

CXV. He paused; and while they pondered in amaze,
"Behold," he cried "Marcellus, see him stride,
Proud of the spoils that tell a nation's praise.
See how he towers, with all a conqueror's pride.
His arm shall stem the tumult and the tide
Of foreign hordes, and save the land from stain.
'Tis he shall crush the rebel Gaul, and ride
Through Punic ranks, and in Quirinus' fane
Hang up the thrice-won spoils, in triumph for the slain."

CXVI. Then thus AEneas spoke, for, passing by,
He saw a comely youth, in bright array
Of glittering arms; yet downcast was his eye,
Joyless and damp his face; "O father, say,
Who companies the hero on his way?
His son? or scion of his stock renowned?
What peerless excellence his