Aeneas then advanc’d amidst the train, By thousands follow’d thro’ the flow’ry plain, To great Anchises’ tomb; which when he found, He pour’d to Bacchus, on the hallow’d ground, Two bowls of sparkling wine, of milk two more, And two from offer’d bulls of purple gore, With roses then the sepulcher he strow’d And thus his father’s ghost bespoke aloud: “Hail, O ye holy manes! hail again, Paternal ashes, now review’d in vain! The gods permitted not, that you, with me, Should reach the promis’d shores of Italy, Or Tiber’s flood, what flood soe’er it be.” Scarce had he finish’d, when, with speckled pride, A serpent from the tomb began to glide; His hugy bulk on sev’n high volumes roll’d; Blue was his breadth of back, but streak’d with scaly gold: Thus riding on his curls, he seem’d to pass A rolling fire along, and singe the grass. More various colours thro’ his body run, Than Iris when her bow imbibes the sun. Betwixt the rising altars, and around, The sacred monster shot along the ground; With harmless play amidst the bowls he pass’d, And with his lolling tongue assay’d the taste: Thus fed with holy food, the wondrous guest Within the hollow tomb retir’d to rest. The pious prince, surpris’d at what he view’d, The fun’ral honours with more zeal renew’d, Doubtful if this place’s genius were, Or guardian of his father’s sepulcher. Five sheep, according to the rites, he slew; As many swine, and steers of sable hue; New gen’rous wine he from the goblets pour’d. And call’d his father’s ghost, from hell restor’d. The glad attendants in long order come, Off’ring their gifts at great Anchises’ tomb: Some add more oxen: some divide the spoil; Some place the chargers on the grassy soil; Some blow the fires, and offered entrails broil.