And called Acestes And the Trojan counsellors, told them of Jove And his good father’s orders, the decision He has reached at last. They all agree, Acestes Accepts the trust. They make a roll for the city, The women-folk, the people willing to linger, The unadventurous; and they make ready The thwarts again, replace the fire-scorched timbers, Fit out new oars and rigging. There are not many, But a living company, for war brave-hearted. Aeneas ploughs the limits for the city, Sets out new homes, Ilium, again, and Troy, A kingdom welcome to Acestes, senate And courts, and laws, established; and a shrine High on the crest of Eryx, is given Venus, Near the high stars, and a priest assigned as warden To the wide boundaries of Anchises’ grove. Nine days they hold farewells, one tribe together For the last time, with honor at the altars, And seas are calm, and winds go down, and the whisper Of a little breeze calls to the sail; the shore Hears a great wail arise; they cling to each other All through the night and day. Even the mothers, The weary men, to whom the face of the sea Once seemed so cruel, and its very name A menacing monster, want to go now, willing For all the toil of exile. These Aeneas Comforts with friendly words, and bids Acestes Be their good brother. Then he slays to Eryx Three bullocks, and a lamb to the gods of storm-cloud. It is time to loose the cables. At the bow He stands, his temples garlanded with olive, Makes to the sea libation of wine and entrails, And the wind comes up astern, and they sweep the waters In happy rivalry. But meanwhile Venus, Driven by worry, went to Neptune, pouring Complaints from a full heart:--“Neptune, the anger Of Juno, her insatiable vengeance, Which neither time nor any goodness softens, Drives me to humble prayer. She never weakens For Jove’s command, nor the orders of the fates; It is not enough for her that the Trojan city Is quite consumed by hatred, and the remnants Of that poor town harried all over the world With every kind of punishment; she still follows Even their bones and ashes. She may know The reasons for that wrath of hers. Remember How great a weight of water she stirred up lately In the Libyan seas, confusing sky and ocean, With Aeolus conspiring, and in your kingdom! And now her crime has driven the Trojan mothers To burn their ships, to give their comrades over To a coast unknown. Let what is left come safely Over the sea, to reach Laurentian Tiber, If what I ask is just, if those are walls Due them by fate’s decree.”