This said to Æneas, whose followers swiftly perform the 15 prescribed rites, she summons the Teucrians into the lofty temple, herself its priestess. One huge side of the Eubœan cliff has been hollowed into a cave, approached by a hundred broad avenues, a hundred mouths—from these a hundred voices are poured, the responses of the Sibyl. 20 Just as they were on the threshold, “It is the moment to pray for the oracle,” cries the maiden; “the god, the god is here.” Thus as she spoke at the gate, her visage, her hue changed suddenly—her hair started from its braid—her bosom heaves and pants, her wild soul swells with 25 frenzy—she grows larger to the view, and her tones are not of earth, as the breath of the divine presence comes on her nearer and nearer. “What! a laggard at vows and prayers? Æneas of Troy a laggard? for that is the only spell to part asunder the great closed lips of the terror-smitten 30 shrine.” She said, and was mute. A cold shudder runs through the Teucrians’ iron frames, and their king pours out his very soul in prayer: “Phœbus, ever Troy’s pitying friend in her cruel agonies—thou who didst level Paris’ Dardan[207] bow and string his Dardan arm 35 against the vast frame of Æacides[208]—by thy guidance I have penetrated all these unknown seas that swathe mighty continents. The Massylian tribes, thrust away by Nature out of view, and the quicksands that environ their coasts—now at last our hands are on the flying skirts of Italy. Oh, let it suffice Troy’s fortune to have followed us thus far! Ye too may now justly spare our nation of Pergamus, gods and goddesses all, whose eyes were 5 affronted by Troy and the great glories of Dardan land. And thou, most holy prophetess, that canst read the future as the present, grant me—I am asking for no crown that Fate does not owe me—grant a settlement in Latium to the Teucrians and their wandering gods, even the travel-tost 10 deities of Troy. Then to Phœbus and his Trivian sister I will set up a temple of solid marble, and appoint feast-days in Phœbus’ name. For thee too an august shrine is in store in that our future realm. For there I will lodge thy oracles and the secret words of destiny which thou 15 shalt speak to my nation, and consecrate chosen men to thy gracious service. Only commit not thy strains to leaves, lest they float all confusedly the sport of the whirling winds. Utter them with thine own mouth, I implore thee.” So his prayer ended. 20