“At length the monarch, with repentant grief, Confess’d the gods, and god-descended chief; His daughter gave, the stranger to detain, With half the honours of his ample reign: The Lycians grant a chosen space of ground, With woods, with vineyards, and with harvests crown’d. There long the chief his happy lot possess’d, With two brave sons and one fair daughter bless’d; (Fair e’en in heavenly eyes: her fruitful love Crown’d with Sarpedon’s birth the embrace of Jove;) But when at last, distracted in his mind, Forsook by heaven, forsaking humankind, Wide o’er the Aleian field he chose to stray, A long, forlorn, uncomfortable way![170] Woes heap’d on woes consumed his wasted heart: His beauteous daughter fell by Phoebe’s dart; His eldest born by raging Mars was slain, In combat on the Solymaean plain. Hippolochus survived: from him I came, The honour’d author of my birth and name; By his decree I sought the Trojan town; By his instructions learn to win renown, To stand the first in worth as in command, To add new honours to my native land, Before my eyes my mighty sires to place, And emulate the glories of our race.”