In Alba he shall fix his royal seat, And, born a king, a race of kings beget.
’T was he, the noble Claudian race begot, The Claudian race, ordain’d, in times to come, To share the greatness of imperial Rome.
Vulcan this plague begot; and, like his sire, Black clouds he belch’d, and flakes of livid fire.
The first he met, Antiphates the brave, But base-begotten on a Theban slave, Sarpedon’s son, he slew: the deadly dart Found passage thro’ his breast, and pierc’d his heart.
Observe the youth who first appears in sight, And holds the nearest station to the light, Already seems to snuff the vital air, And leans just forward, on a shining spear: Silvius is he, thy last-begotten race, But first in order sent, to fill thy place; An Alban name, but mix’d with Dardan blood, Born in the covert of a shady wood: Him fair Lavinia, thy surviving wife, Shall breed in groves, to lead a solitary life.