...n such disguise she called the Trojan dames: “O ye ill-starred, that were not seized and slain by Grecian foes under your native walls! O tribe accursed, what death is Fate preparing? Since Troy fell the seventh summer flies, while still we rove o'er cruel rocks and seas, from star to star, from alien land to land, as evermore we chase, storm-tossed, that fleeting Italy across the water...