“Scarce had I spoken, when methought suddenly came 5 a trembling on the whole place, temple-gate and hallowed bay, a stir in the mountain from height to depth, a muttering from the tripod as the door of the shrine flew open. We fall low on earth, and a voice is wafted to our ears: ‘Sons of Dardanus, strong to endure, the land which first 10 gave you birth from your ancestral tree, the same land shall welcome you back, restored to its fruitful bosom: seek for your old mother till you find her. There it is that the house of Æneas shall set up a throne over all nations, they, and their children’s children, and those 15 that shall yet come after.’ Thus Phœbus; and a mighty burst succeeds of wild multitudinous joy, all asking as one man what that city is—whither is Phœbus calling the wanderers, and bidding them return. Then my father, revolving the traditions of men of old: ‘Listen,’ he cries, 20 ‘lords of Troy, and learn where your hopes are. Crete lies in the midst of the deep, the island of mighty Jove. There is Mount Ida, and there the cradle of our race. It has a hundred peopled cities, a realm of richest plenty. Thence it was that our first father, Teucer, if I rightly 25 recall what I have heard, came in the beginning to the Rhœtean coast, and fixed on the site of empire: Ilion and the towers of Pergamus had not yet been reared: the people dwelt low in the valley. Hence came our mighty mother, the dweller on Mount Cybele, and the symbols 30 of the Corybants, and the forest of Ida: hence the inviolate mystery of her worship, and the lions harnessed to the car of their queen. Come, then, and let us follow where the ordinance of heaven points the way: let us propitiate the winds, and make for the realm of Gnossus[148]—the 35 voyage is no long one—let but Jupiter go with us, and the third day will land our fleet on the Cretan shore.’ He said, and offered on the altar the sacrifice that was meet—a bull to Neptune, a bull to thee, beauteous Apollo—a black lamb to the storm-wind, to the favouring Zephyrs a white one. “Fame flies abroad that King Idomeneus[149] has been driven to quit his paternal realm, that the shores of Crete 5 are abandoned, houses cleared of the enemy, dwellings standing empty to receive us. So we leave Ortygia’s harbour, and fly along the deep, past Naxos’ bacchant mountains, and green Donysa, Olearos, and snowy Paros, and the Cyclades sprinkled over the waves, and seas thick 10 sown with islands. Up rises the seaman’s shout amid strain and struggle—each encourages his comrades, ‘For Crete and our forefathers, ho!’ A wind gets up from the stern and escorts us on our way, and at length we are wafted to the Curetes’ time-honoured shore. 15