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 Æacides himself destroy,
Sprung from Achilles, to requite the woe
Wrought on old Ilion, and avenge with joy		1000
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,		1009
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.		1018
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		1027
Hang up the thrice-won spoils, in triumph for the slain."

CXVI. Then thus Æneas spoke, for, passing by,
He saw 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 looks display!
What stir, what whispers in the crowd around!		1036
But gloomy Night's sad shades his youthful brows surround."
CXVII. Weeping, the Sire: "Seek not, my son, to weigh
Thy children's mighty sorrow. Him shall Fate
Just show to earth, but suffer not to stay.
Too potent Heaven had deemed the Roman state,
Were gifts like this as permanent as great.
Ah! what laments, what groanings of the brave
Shall fill the field of Mars! What funeral state
Shall Tiber see, as past the recent grave		1045
Slowly and sad he winds his melancholy wave!