Now is left behind Aetna, and all Sicily sinks lessening into the distance. Ah, how often, foreknowing of coming ill, did she mar her cheek with welling tears; how often look back upon her home with words like these: “Be happy, dear land, dearer than heaven to me, into thy safe keeping I commend my daughter, my sole joy, loved fruit of my labour. No despicable reward shall be thine, for thou shalt suffer no hoe nor shall the cruel iron of the ploughshare know thy soil. Untilled thy fields shall bear fruit, and though thine oxen plough not, a richer * * * * * Page 308 ditior oblatas mirabitur incola messes.” 200 sic ait et fulvis tetigit serpentibus Idam. Hic sedes augusta deae templique colendi relligiosa silex, densis quam pinus obumbrat frondibus et nulla lucos agitante procella stridula coniferis modulatur carmina ramis. 205 terribiles intus thiasi vesanaque mixto concentu delubra gemunt; ululatibus Ide bacchatur; timidas inclinant Gargara silvas. postquam visa Ceres, mugitum tympana frenant; conticuere chori; Corybas non impulit ensem; 210 non buxus, non aera sonant blandasque leones summisere iubas. adytis gavisa Cybebe exilit et pronas intendit ad oscula turres. Viderat haec dudum summa speculatus ab arce Iuppiter ac Veneri mentis penetralia pandit: 215 “curarum, Cytherea, tibi secreta fatebor. candida Tartareo nuptum Proserpina regi iam pridem decreta dari: sic Atropos urget; sic cecinit longaeva Themis. nunc matre remota rem peragi tempus. fines invade Sicanos 220 et Cereris prolem patulis inludere campis, crastina puniceos cum lux detexerit ortus, coge tuis armata dolis, quibus urere cuncta, me quoque, saepe soles, cur ultima regna quiescunt? nulla sit inmunis regio nullumque sub umbris 225 pectus inaccensum Veneri. iam tristis Erinys * * * * * Page 309 husbandman shall view with wonder the self-sown harvest.” So spake she and reached Mount Ida, drawn by her yellow serpents. Here is the queenly seat of the goddess and in her holy temple the sacred statue, o’ershadowed by the thick leaves of the pine wood which, though no storm wind shakes the grove, gives forth creakings with its cone-bearing branches. Within are the dread bands of the initiate with whose wild chantings the shrine rings; Ida is loud with howlings and Gargarus bends his woods in fear. As soon as Ceres appears the drums restrain their rattle; the choirs are silent and the Corybantes stay the flourish of their knives. Pipes and cymbals are still, and the lions sink their manes in greeting. Cybele[121] rejoicing runs forth from the shrine and bends her towered head to kiss her guest.