Two gates the silent house of Sleep adorn; Of polish’d ivory this, that of transparent horn: True visions thro’ transparent horn arise; Thro’ polish’d ivory pass deluding lies. Of various things discoursing as he pass’d, Anchises hither bends his steps at last. Then, thro’ the gate of iv’ry, he dismiss’d His valiant offspring and divining guest. Straight to the ships Aeneas took his way, Embark’d his men, and skimm’d along the sea, Still coasting, till he gain’d Cajeta’s bay. At length on oozy ground his galleys moor; Their heads are turn’d to sea, their sterns to shore. BOOK VII THE ARGUMENT. King Latinus entertains Aeneas, and promises him his only daughter, Lavinia, the heiress of his crown. Turnus, being in love with her, favoured by her mother, and by Juno and Alecto, breaks the treaty which was made, and engages in his quarrel Mezentius, Camilla, Messapus, and many other of the neighbouring princes; whose forces, and the names of their commanders are particularly related. And thou, O matron of immortal fame, Here dying, to the shore hast left thy name; Cajeta still the place is call’d from thee, The nurse of great Aeneas’ infancy. Here rest thy bones in rich Hesperia’s plains; Thy name (’tis all a ghost can have) remains. Now, when the prince her fun’ral rites had paid, He plow’d the Tyrrhene seas with sails display’d. From land a gentle breeze arose by night, Serenely shone the stars, the moon was bright, And the sea trembled with her silver light. Now near the shelves of Circe’s shores they run, (Circe the rich, the daughter of the Sun,) A dang’rous coast: the goddess wastes her days In joyous songs; the rocks resound her lays: In spinning, or the loom, she spends the night, And cedar brands supply her father’s light. From hence were heard, rebellowing to the main, The roars of lions that refuse the chain, The grunts of bristled boars, and groans of bears, And herds of howling wolves that stun the sailors’ ears. These from their caverns, at the close of night, Fill the sad isle with horror and affright. Darkling they mourn their fate, whom Circe’s pow’r, (That watch’d the moon and planetary hour,) With words and wicked herbs from humankind Had alter’d, and in brutal shapes confin’d. Which monsters lest the Trojans’ pious host Should bear, or touch upon th’ inchanted coast, Propitious Neptune steer’d their course by night With rising gales that sped their happy flight. Supplied with these, they skim the sounding shore, And hear the swelling surges vainly roar. Now, when the rosy morn began to rise, And wav’d her saffron streamer thro’ the skies; When Thetis blush’d in purple not her own,