Where now the harvest waves, to pilgrim eyes
Devout, gleams starlike an eternal shrine.
Eternal for the nymph espoused by Jove,
Who bore her royal lord the son whence sprung
Troy’s ancient city and Assaracus,
The fifty sons of Priam’s regal line,
And the wide empire of the Latin race.
She, listening to the Fates’ resistless call
That summoned her from vital airs of earth
To choirs Elysian, of Heaven’s sire besought