His son adjures thee by those holy rites,
That hospitable board, those genial nights;
Assist my great attempt to gain this prize,
And let proud Turnus view, with dying eyes,
His ravished spoils." 'Twas heard, the vain request;
Alcides mourned, and stifled sighs within his breast.
}
{ Then Jove, to sooth his sorrow, thus began:—
{ "Short bounds of life are set to mortal man.
{ 'Tis virtue's work alone to stretch the narrow span.