Here too, Latinus himself, seeking out responses, slaughtered a hundred yearling sheep in the old way and there he lay ensconced, at rest on fleecy hides when a sudden voice broke from the grove’s depths: “Never seek to marry your daughter to a Latin, put no trust, my son, in a marriage ready-made. Strangers will come, and come to be your sons and their lifeblood will lift our name to the stars. 110 Their sons’ sons will see, wherever the wheeling Sun looks down on the Ocean, rising or setting, East or West, the whole earth turn beneath their feet, their rule!”
