Not winds, that chafe the sea they sway,Nor Jove's right hand, with lightning red:Should Nature's pillar'd frame give way,That wreck would strike one fearless head.Pollux and roving Hercules Thus won their way to Heaven's proud steep,'Mid whom Augustus, couch'd at ease,Dyes his red lips with nectar deep.For this, great Bacchus, tigers drewThy glorious car, untaught to slaveIn harness: thus Quirinus flewOn Mars' wing'd steeds from Acheron's wave,When Juno spoke with Heaven's assent:“O Ilium, Ilium, wretched town!The judge accurst, incontinent,And stranger dame have dragg'd thee down.Pallas and I, since Priam's sireDenied the gods his pledged reward,Had doom'd them all to sword and fire,The people and their perjured lord.