They came to happy places, the joyful dwelling, The lovely greenery of the groves of the blessèd. Here ampler air invests the fields with light, Rose-colored, with familiar stars and sun. Some grapple on the grassy wrestling-ground In exercise and sport, and some are dancing, And others singing; in his trailing robe Orpheus strums the lyre; the seven clear notes Accompany the dance, the song. And heroes Are there, great-souled, born in the happier years, Ilus, Assaracus; the city’s founder, Prince Dardanus. Far off, Aeneas wonders, Seeing the phantom arms, the chariots, The spears fixed in the ground, the chargers browsing, Unharnessed, over the plain. Whatever, living, The men delighted in, whatever pleasure Was theirs in horse and chariot, still holds them Here under the world. To right and left, they banquet In the green meadows, and a joyful chorus Rises through groves of laurel, whence the river Runs to the upper world. The band of heroes Dwell here, all those whose mortal wounds were suffered In fighting for the fatherland; and poets, The good, the pure, the worthy of Apollo; Those who discovered truth and made life nobler; Those who served others--all, with snowy fillets Binding their temples, throng the lovely valley. And these the Sibyl questioned, most of all Musaeus, for he towered above the center Of that great throng:--“O happy souls, O poet, Where does Anchises dwell? For him we come here. For him we have traversed Erebus’ great rivers.” And he replied:--“It is all our home, the shady Groves, and the streaming meadows, and the softness Along the river-banks. No fixed abode Is ours at all; but if it is your pleasure, Cross over the ridge with me; I will guide you there By easy going.” And so Musaeus led them And from the summit showed them fields, all shining, And they went on over and down.