But the priestess, not yet subject to Apollo, Went reeling through the cavern, wild, and storming To throw the god, who presses, like a rider, With bit and bridle and weight, tames her wild spirit, Shapes her to his control. The doors fly open, The hundred doors, of their own will, fly open, And through the air the answer comes:--“O Trojans, At last the dangers of the sea are over; That course is run, but graver ones are waiting On land. The sons of Dardanus will reach The kingdom of Lavinia--be easy On that account--the sons of Dardanus, also, Will wish they had not come there. War, I see, Terrible war, and the river Tiber foaming With streams of blood. There will be another Xanthus, Another Simois, and Greek encampment, Even another Achilles, born in Latium, Himself a goddess’ son. And Juno further Will always be there: you will beg for mercy, Be poor, turn everywhere for help. A woman Will be the cause once more of so much evil, A foreign bride, receptive to the Trojans, A foreign marriage. Do not yield to evil, Attack, attack, more boldly even than fortune Seems to permit. An offering of safety,-- Incredible!--will come from a Greek city.” So, through the amplifiers of her cavern, The hollow vaults, the Sibyl cast her warnings, Riddles confused with truth; and Apollo rode her, Reining her rage, and shaking her, and spurring The fierceness of her heart. The frenzy dwindled, A little, and her lips were still. Aeneas Began:--“For me, no form of trouble, maiden, Is new, or unexpected; all of this I have known long since, lived in imagination. One thing I ask: this is the gate of the kingdom, So it is said, where Pluto reigns, the gloomy Marsh where the water of Acheron runs over. Teach me the way from here, open the portals That I may go to my belovèd father, Stand in his presence, talk with him. I brought him, Once, on these shoulders, through a thousand weapons And following fire, and foemen. He shared with me The road, the sea, the menaces of heaven, Things that an old man should not bear; he bore them, Tired as he was. And he it was who told me To come to you in humbleness. I beg you Pity the son, the father. You have power, Great priestess, over all; it is not for nothing Hecate gave you this dominion over Avernus’ groves. If Orpheus could summon Eurydice from the shadows with his music, If Pollux could save his brother, coming, going, Along this path,--why should I mention Theseus, Why mention Hercules? I, too, descended From the line of Jupiter.” He clasped the altar, Making his prayer, and she made answer to him: “Son of Anchises, born of godly lineage, By night, by day, the portals of dark Dis Stand open: it is easy, the descending Down to Avernus. But to climb again,