Priam, forever unfortunate, had sent This Polydorus on a secret mission, Once, to the king of Thrace, with gold for hiding When the king despaired of the siege and the city’s fortune. And when Troy fell, and Fortune failed, the Thracian Took Agamemnon’s side, broke off his duty, Slew Polydorus, took the gold. There is nothing To which men are not driven by that hunger. Once over my fear, I summoned all the leaders, My father, too; I told them of the portent, Asked for their counsel. All agreed, a land So stained with violence and violation Was not for us to dwell in. Southward ho! For Polydorus we made restoration With funeral rites anew; earth rose again Above his outraged mound; dark fillets made The altar sorrowful, and cypress boughs, And the Trojan women loosed their hair in mourning. We offered milk in foaming bowls, and blood Warm from the victims, so to rest the spirit, And cry aloud the voice of valediction. Then, when we trust the sea again, and the wind Calls with a gentle whisper, we crowd the shores, Launch ship again, leave port, the lands and cities Fade out of sight once more. There is an island In the middle of the sea; the Nereids’ mother And Neptune hold it sacred. It used to wander By various coasts and shores, until Apollo, In grateful memory, bound it fast, unmoving, Unfearful of winds, between two other islands Called Myconos and Gyaros. I sailed there; Our band was weary, and the calmest harbor Gave us safe haven. This was Apollo’s city; We worshipped it on landing. And their king, Priest of Apollo also, came to meet us, His temples bound with holy fillets, and laurel. His name was Anius; he knew Anchises As an old friend, and gave us joyful welcome. Apollo’s temple was built of ancient rock, And there I prayed: ‘Grant us a home, Apollo, Give walls to weary men, a race, a city That will abide; preserve Troy’s other fortress, The remnant left by the Greeks and hard Achilles. Whom do we follow? where are we bidden to go To find our settlement? An omen, father!’