But, won by Venus' voice and thine,Relenting Jove Aeneas will'dWith other omens more benignNew walls to build.Sweet tuner of the Grecian lyre,Whose locks are laved in Xanthus' dews,Blooming Agyieus! help, inspireMy Daunian Muse!'Tis Phoebus, Phoebus gifts my tongueWith minstrel art and minstrel fires:Come, noble youths and maidens sprungFrom noble sires,Blest in your Dian's guardian smile,Whose shafts the flying silvans stay,Come, foot the Lesbian measure, whileThe lyre I play:Sing of Latona's glorious boy,Sing of night's queen with crescent horn,Who wings the fleeting months with joy,And swells the corn.