gelidus Teucris per dura cucurrit ossa tremor, funditque preces rex pectore ab imo: Phoebe, gravis Troiae semper miserate labores, Dardana qui Paridis derexti tela manusque corpus in Aeacidae, magnas obeuntia terras tot maria intravi duce te penitusque repostas Massylum gentes praetentaque Syrtibus arva; iam tandem Italiae fugientis prendimus oras; hac Troiana tenus fuerit fortuna secuta.
A chill shudder ran through the Teucrians sturdy frames, and their king pours forth prayers from his inmost heart: Phoebus, who never failed to pity Troys sore agony, who guided the Dardan shaft and hand of Paris against the body of Aeacus son, under your guidance did I enter so many seas, skirting mighty lands, the far remote Massylian tribes, and fields the Syrtes fringe; now at last is Italys ever receding shore within our grasp; thus far only may Troys fortune have followed us!