"I would, ye peers, and better it had been An earlier hour had called us to debate, Than thus in haste a council to convene, And meet, while foemen battle at the gate.
A war ill-omened, with disastrous fate, We wage with men unconquered in the field, A race of gods, whose force nor toils abate, Nor wounds can tire; who, driven back, still wield The sword and shake the spear, and, beaten, scorn to yield.
XL.

"What hope ye had in Diomede, give o'er; Each for himself must be his hope and stay.
This hope how slender, and our straits how sore, Ye see; the general ruin and decay Is open, palpable and clear as day.
Yet blame I none; what valour could, was done.
Our country's strength, our souls were in the fray.
Hear then in brief, and ponder every one, What wavering thoughts have shaped, our present fate to shun.
XLI.

"Far-stretching westward, past Sicania's bound, By Tiber's stream, an ancient tract is mine.
Auruncans and Rutulians till the ground; Their ploughshares cleave the stubborn slopes, their kine Graze on the rocks.

This tract, these hills of pine Let Latins yield the Trojans for their own, And both, as friends, in equal league combine And share the realm.

Here let them settle down, If so they love the land, and build the wished-for town.
XLII.