I yield, I follow where Heav'n shews the way.
Keep, O my country gods, our dwelling place, And guard this relic of the Trojan race, This tender child! These omens are your own, And you can yet restore the ruin'd town.
At least accomplish what your signs foreshow:
I stand resign'd, and am prepar'd to go.'
"He said.The crackling flames appear on high.
And driving sparkles dance along the sky.
With Vulcan's rage the rising winds conspire, And near our palace roll the flood of fire.
'Haste, my dear father, ('t is no time to wait,)And load my shoulders with a willing freight.
Whate'er befalls, your life shall be my care;One death, or one deliv'rance, we will share.
My hand shall lead our little son; and you, My faithful consort, shall our steps pursue.
Next, you, my servants, heed my strict commands:
Without the walls a ruin'd temple stands, To Ceres hallow'd once; a cypress nigh Shoots up her venerable head on high, By long religion kept; there bend your feet, And in divided parties let us meet.
Our country gods, the relics, and the bands, Hold you, my father, in your guiltless hands:
In me 't is impious holy things to bear, Red as I am with slaughter, new from war, Till in some living stream I cleanse the guilt Of dire debate, and blood in battle spilt.'
Thus, ord'ring all that prudence could provide, I clothe my shoulders with a lion's hide And yellow spoils; then, on my bending back, The welcome load of my dear father take;While on my better hand Ascanius hung, And with unequal paces tripp'd along.