made us the sport of the waves and driven us on your
coast, no sky or land misread has beguiled us of our
track: of set purpose, with full intent, we are arrived one 15
and all at your city, driven from a realm once the greatest
which the sun surveyed in his course from end to end of
heaven. From Jove is the origin of our race; in Jove, as
their ancestor, the sons of Dardanus glory; our monarch
himself, sprung of Jove’s own pure blood, Æneas of Troy, 20
has sent us to your doors. How dire a hurricane, launched
from fell Mycenæ, swept over Ida’s plains—how the two