Virgil

Blessings on your young courage, boy; that's the way to the stars.

I am Aeneas, duty-bound, and known

Above high air of heaven by my fame,

Carrying with me in my ships our gods

Of hearth and home, saved from the enemy.

I look for Italy to be my fatherland,

And my descent is from all-highest Jove.

What race of men is this? What land is so barbarous as to allow this custom?

He said; and feeds his hungry heart

With shapes of unsubstantial art.

Learn fortitude and toil from me, my son,

Ache of true toil. Good fortune learn from others.

Nursing an undying wound deep in her heart.

Through various hazards and events we move.

Unrolling the scroll of fate.

How fortunate, both at once!

If my songs have any power, the day will never dawn

that wipes you from the memory of the ages, not while

the house of Aeneas stands by the Capitol's rock unshaken,

not while the Roman Father rules the world.

Her bright eyes brimming with tears.

Who knows?

Better times may come to those in pain.

She bears a quiver on her shoulder, and as she treads overtops all the goddesses.