The self-same hour he hies him forth to do His mother's bidding: to the shrine he came, The appointed altars reared, and thither led Four chosen bulls of peerless form and bulk, With kine to match, that never yoke had known; Then, when the ninth dawn had led in the day, To Orpheus sent his funeral dues, and sought The grove once more. But sudden, strange to tell A portent they espy: through the oxen's flesh, Waxed soft in dissolution, hark! there hum Bees from the belly; the rent ribs overboil In endless clouds they spread them, till at last On yon tree-top together fused they cling, And drop their cluster from the bending boughs. So sang I of the tilth of furrowed fields, Of flocks and trees, while Caesar's majesty Launched forth the levin-bolts of war by deep Euphrates, and bare rule o'er willing folk Though vanquished, and essayed the heights of heaven. I Virgil then, of sweet Parthenope The nursling, wooed the flowery walks of peace Inglorious, who erst trilled for shepherd-wights The wanton ditty, and sang in saucy youth Thee, Tityrus, 'neath the spreading beech tree's shade.