“Her words were ended. But Aeneas, warned by Jove, held still his eyes; he struggled, pressed care back within his breast. With halting words he answers her at last: “I never shall deny what you deserve, the kindnesses that you could tell; I never shall regret remembering Elissa for as long as I remember my own self, as long as breath is king over these limbs. I’ll speak brief words that fit the case. I never hoped to hide—do not imagine that—my flight; I am not furtive. I have never held the wedding torches as a husband; I have never entered into such agreements. If fate had granted me to guide my life   460 by my own auspices and to unravel my troubles with unhampered will, then I should cherish first the town of Troy, the sweet remains of my own people and the tall rooftops of Priam would remain, my hand would plant again a second Pergamus for my defeated men. But now Grynean Apollo’s oracles would have me seize great Italy, the Lycian prophecies tell me of Italy: there is my love,  there is my homeland.”
Tagged: Duty, Love

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