And now Aeneas, stunned by the bitter evil, Was troubled at heart, uncertain, anxious, grieving: What could be done? forget the call of the fates And settle here in Sicily, or keep on To the coast of Italy? An old man, Nautes, Whom Pallas had instructed in deep wisdom, Gave him the answer. “Goddess-born, wherever Fate pulls or hauls us, there we have to follow; Whatever happens, fortune can be beaten By nothing but endurance. We have here A friend, Acestes, Trojan-born, divine In parentage; make him an ally in counsel, Partner in enterprise; to him hand over The ones whose ships are lost, and all the weary, The sick and tired, the old men, and the mothers Who have had too much of the sea, and the faint-hearted, Whose weariness may find a city for them Here in this land; Acesta, let them call it.” The old man’s words still troubled him; the mind Was torn this way and that. Night rode the heavens In her dark chariot, and there came from the darkness The image of Anchises, speaking to him In words of comfort:--“Son, more dear to me Than life, when life was mine; son, sorely troubled By Trojan fate, I come at Jove’s command, Who drove the fire away, and from the heaven Has taken pity. Obey the words of Nautes, He gives the best of counsel; the flower of the youth, The bravest hearts, lead on to Italy. There will be trouble there, a rugged people Must be subdued in Latium. Come to meet me, First, in the lower world; come through Avernus To find me, son. Tartarus’ evil prison Of gloomy shades I know not, for I dwell Among the happy spirits in Elysium. Black sheep are good for sacrifice. The Sibyl, A holy guide, will lead the way, foretelling The race to come, the given walls. Farewell, My son; the dewy night is almost over, I feel the breath of the morning’s cruel horses.” He spoke, and vanished, smoke into airy thinness, From the cries of his son, who woke, and roused the embers Of the drowsing altar-fires, with meal and censer Propitiating Vesta, making worship To Trojan household gods.