I had scarcely spoken, when suddenly all things trembled, The doors, and the laurel, and the whole mountain moved, And the shrine was opened, and a rumbling sound Was heard. We knelt, most humbly; and a voice Came to our ears: ‘The land which brought you forth, Men of endurance, will receive you home. Seek out your ancient mother. There your house Will rule above all lands, your children’s children, For countless generations.’ Apollo spoke, And we were joyful and confused, together: What walls were those, calling the wanderers home? My father, pondering history, made answer: ‘Hear, leaders; learn your hopes. There is a land Called Crete, an island in the midst of the sea, The cradle of our race; it has a mountain, Ida, like ours, a hundred mighty cities, Abounding wealth; if I recall correctly, Teucer, our greatest father, came from there To the Rhoetean shores to found his kingdom. Ilium was nothing then, the towers of Troy Undreamed of; men lived in the lowly valleys. And Cybele, the Great Mother, came from Crete With her clashing cymbals, and her grove of Ida Was named from that original; the silence Of her mysterious rites, the harnessed lions Before her chariot wheels, all testify To Cretan legend. Come, then, let us follow Where the gods lead, and seek the Cretan kingdom. It is not far; with Jupiter to favor, Three days will see us there.’ With prayer, he made Most solemn sacrifice, a bull to Neptune, One to Apollo, to Winter a black heifer, A white one for fair winds.