And while the memory of self remains, While life's warm spirit quickens in my veins, Still shall your worth be treasured in my breast; And still Elis… - Charles Symmons

They can because they dare.

Arms, and the man who first, by Fate's command,
From Ilion flying, sought Italia's strand,
And gain'd Lavinium, are my themes of song.
Long toss'd by waves, on land he suffer'd long:
From power supernal, such his doom of woe;
Pursued by vengeful Juno as her foe.

Son!" cried the weeping sire, "the wish forego,
To learn what late must whelm thy house in woe.
Him shall the jealous Fates but show to earth:
A short bright flash between decease and birth.
Too high, ye Gods! our Roman power had grown,
Had this your precious gift been all our own.
How shall the field of Mars lament his doom!
Its plain reflecting the vast groan of Rome!
Tiber! what pomps of woe shall o'er thy wave
Gloom, as it murmurs by the recent grave!
No youth of Troy, thus rich in early praise,
So high the hope of Italy shall raise:
Nor shall our Rome, 'mid all her hero-host,
A son so bright in dawning glory boast.
O piety! O faith of ancient strain!
O hand, unconquer'd on the martial plain!
On foot, or spurring his impetuous steed,
The foe that met him had been sure to bleed.
Ah! could'st thou, hapless boy! through fate's decree
Break into age, thou should'st Marcellus be!