Her funeral mound Was raised, and solemn rites performed; Aeneas, When the deep water quieted, set sail. The wind held fair to the night, and the white moon Revealed the way over the tremulous water. They skimmed the shores of Circe’s island; there The sun’s rich daughter made the secret groves Ring with continual singing, and the halls Were bright with cedar burning through the night, And the strident shuttle ran across the weaving. Off shore, they heard the angry growl of lions Trying to shake their shackles off, and roaring In the late darkness, bristling boars, and bears Coughing in cages, and the great wolves howling. All these were men, whom cruel Circe’s magic Changed into animals. But Neptune kept The Trojans safely seaward, filled the sails, Carried them safely past these anxious harbors. And now the sea is crimson under the dawn, Aurora glowing in her ruddy car, And the winds go down, and the air is very still, The slow oars struggle in the marble sea, As from the ship Aeneas sees a grove And through its midst a pleasant river running, The Tiber, yellow sand and whirling eddy, Down to the sea. Around, above and over, Fly the bright-colored birds, the water-haunters, Charming the air with song. The order given, The Trojans turn their course to land; they enter The channel and the shade. Help me, Erato, To tell the story: who were kings in Latium, What was the state of things, when that strange army First made for shore? Dear goddess, help the poet! There is much to tell of, the initial trouble, The grim development of war, the battles, The princes in their bravery driven to death, Etruscan cohorts, all the land in the west Marshalled in armor. This is a greater mission, A greater work, that moves me.