No speck is left of their habitual stains, But the pure ether of the soul remains. But, when a thousand rolling years are past, (So long their punishments and penance last,) Whole droves of minds are, by the driving god, Compell’d to drink the deep Lethaean flood, In large forgetful draughts to steep the cares Of their past labours, and their irksome years, That, unrememb’ring of its former pain, The soul may suffer mortal flesh again.” Thus having said, the father spirit leads The priestess and his son thro’ swarms of shades, And takes a rising ground, from thence to see The long procession of his progeny. “Survey,” pursued the sire, “this airy throng, As, offer’d to thy view, they pass along. These are th’ Italian names, which fate will join With ours, and graff upon the Trojan line. Observe the youth who first appears in sight, And holds the nearest station to the light, Already seems to snuff the vital air, And leans just forward, on a shining spear: Silvius is he, thy last-begotten race, But first in order sent, to fill thy place; An Alban name, but mix’d with Dardan blood, Born in the covert of a shady wood: Him fair Lavinia, thy surviving wife, Shall breed in groves, to lead a solitary life. In Alba he shall fix his royal seat, And, born a king, a race of kings beget. Then Procas, honour of the Trojan name, Capys, and Numitor, of endless fame. A second Silvius after these appears; Silvius Aeneas, for thy name he bears; For arms and justice equally renown’d, Who, late restor’d, in Alba shall be crown’d. How great they look! how vig’rously they wield Their weighty lances, and sustain the shield! But they, who crown’d with oaken wreaths appear, Shall Gabian walls and strong Fidena rear; Nomentum, Bola, with Pometia, found; And raise Collatian tow’rs on rocky ground. All these shall then be towns of mighty fame, Tho’ now they lie obscure, and lands without a name. See Romulus the great, born to restore The crown that once his injur’d grandsire wore. This prince a priestess of your blood shall bear, And like his sire in arms he shall appear. Two rising crests, his royal head adorn; Born from a god, himself to godhead born: His sire already signs him for the skies, And marks the seat amidst the deities. Auspicious chief! thy race, in times to come, Shall spread the conquests of imperial Rome. Rome, whose ascending tow’rs shall heav’n invade, Involving earth and ocean in her shade; High as the Mother of the Gods in place, And proud, like her, of an immortal race. Then, when in pomp she makes the Phrygian round, With golden turrets on her temples crown’d;