Too much, too bitter truth, about Misenus.” No sooner had he spoken than twin doves Came flying down before him, and alighted On the green ground. He knew his mother’s birds, And made his prayer, rejoicing,--“Oh, be leaders, Wherever the way, and guide me to the grove Where the rich bough makes rich the shaded ground. Help me, O goddess-mother!” And he paused, Watching what sign they gave, what course they set. The birds flew on a little, just ahead Of the pursuing vision; when they came To the jaws of dank Avernus, evil-smelling, They rose aloft, then swooped down the bright air, Perched on the double tree, where the off-color Of gold was gleaming golden through the branches. As mistletoe, in the cold winter, blossoms With its strange foliage on an alien tree, The yellow berry gilding the smooth branches, Such was the vision of the gold in leaf On the dark holm-oak, so the foil was rustling, Rattling, almost, the bract in the soft wind Stirring like metal. Aeneas broke it off With eager grasp, and bore it to the Sibyl. Meanwhile, along the shore, the Trojans mourned, Paying Misenus’ dust the final honors. A mighty pyre was raised, of pine and oak, The sides hung with dark leaves, and somber cypress Along the front, and gleaming arms above. Some made the water hot, and some made ready Bronze caldrons, shimmering over fire, and others Lave and anoint the body, and with weeping Lay on the bier his limbs, and place above them Familiar garments, crimson color; and some Take up the heavy burden, a sad office, And, as their fathers did, they kept their eyes Averted, as they brought the torches nearer. They burn gifts with him, bowls of oil, and viands, And frankincense; and when the flame is quiet And the ashes settle to earth, they wash the embers With wine, and slake the thirsty dust. The bones Are placed in a bronze urn by Corynaeus, Who, with pure water, thrice around his comrades Made lustral cleansing, shaking gentle dew From the fruitful branch of olive; and they said _Hail and farewell!_ And over him Aeneas Erects a mighty tomb, with the hero’s arms, His oar and trumpet, where the mountain rises Memorial for ever, and named Misenus.