Meanwhile Aeneas Climbs to a look-out, for a view of the ocean, Hoping for some good luck; the Phrygian galleys Might meet his gaze, or Capys’ boats, or a pennon On a far-off mast-head flying. There is nothing, Nothing to see out yonder, but near the water Three stags are grazing, with a herd behind them, A long line browsing through the peaceful valley. He reaches for the bow and the swift arrows Borne by Achates, and he shoots the leaders, High-antlered, routs the common herd, and ceases Only when seven are slain, a number equal To the ships’ tally, and then he seeks the harbor, Divides the spoil, broaches the wine Acestes Had stowed for them at Drepanum on their leaving, A kingly present, and he calms their trouble, Saying: “O comrades, we have been through evil Together before this; we have been through worse, Scylla, Charybdis, and the Cyclops’ dwelling, The sounding rocks. This, too, the god will end. Call the nerve back; dismiss the fear, the sadness. Some day, perhaps, remembering even this Will be a pleasure. We are going on Through whatsoever chance and change, until We come to Latium, where the fates point out A quiet dwelling-place, and Troy recovered. Endure, and keep yourself for better days.” He kept to himself the sorrow in the heart, Wearing, for them, a mask of hopefulness. They were ready for the feasting. Part lay bare The flesh from the torn hides, part cut the meat Impaling it, still quivering, on spits, Setting the kettles, keeping the water boiling, And strong with food again, sprawling stretched out On comfortable grass, they take their fill Of bread and wine and venison, till hunger Is gone, and the board cleared. And then they talk For a long time, of where their comrades are, Are, or may be, hopeful and doubtful both. Could they believe them living? or would a cry Fall on deaf ears forever? All those captains, Brave Gyas, brave Cloanthus, Amycus, Lycus, Orontes,--in his secret heart Aeneas mourns them.