Our ruined citadel of Pergama. But now
To mighty Italy Apollo’s oracle,
To Italy his lots command that I repair.
This is my love and this must be my fatherland.
If thou, though born in distant Tyre, art linked to this
Thy Carthage in the land of Libya, why, I pray,
Shouldst thou begrudge to us, the Trojan wanderers,
Ausonia’s land? ‘T is fate that we as well as thou
Should seek a foreign home. My sire Anchises’ shade
Invades my dreams with threats and admonition stern,