CVIII. "Back to my friends I hasten. There, behold, Matrons and men, a miserable band, Gathered for exile. From each side they shoaled, Resolved and ready over sea and land My steps to follow, where the Fates command. Now over Ida shone the day-star bright; Greeks swarmed at every entrance; help at hand Seemed none. I yield, and, hurrying from the fight, Take up my helpless sire, and climb the mountain height." BOOK THREE ARGUMENT In obedience to oracles the Trojans build a fleet and sail to Thrace (1-18). Seeking to found a city, they are warned away by the ghost of Polydorus and visit Anius in Ortygia (19-99). Apollo promises AEneas and his descendants world-wide empire if they return to "the ancient motherland" of Troy,--which Anchises declares to be Crete (100-144). They reach Crete, only to be again baffled. Drought and plague interrupt this second attempt to found a city. On the point of returning to ask Apollo for clearer counsel, AEneas in a dream is certified by the home-gods of Troy that the true motherland is Italy (145-207). Anchises owns his mistake, and recalls how Cassandra had in other days been mocked for prophesying that Troy should eventually be transplanted to Italy (208-225). Landing in the Strophades, they unwittingly wrong the Harpies, whose queen Celaeno thereupon threatens them with a portentous famine. Panic-stricken, they coast along to Actium, where they celebrate their national games and leave a defiance to the Greeks (226-342). At Buthrotum they find Helenus and Andromache in possession of the kingdom of Pyrrhus, and by them are entertained awhile and sent upon their way with gifts and guidance (343-577). The voyage from Dyrrhachium and the first glimpse of Italy. They land and propitiate Juno: then coast along till they sight Mount AEtna (578-666). After a description of the rescue of Achemenides and the escape from Polyphemus, the voyage and the story end with the death of Anchises at Drepanum (667-819). I. "When now the Gods have made proud Ilion fall, And Asia's power and Priam's race renowned O'erwhelmed in ruin undeserved, and all Neptunian Troy lies smouldering on the ground, In desert lands, to diverse exile bound, Celestial portents bid us forth to fare; Where Ida's heights above Antandros frowned, A fleet we build, and gather crews, unware Which way the Fates will lead, what home is ours and where. II. "Scarce now the summer had begun, when straight My father, old Anchises, gave command To spread our canvas and to trust to Fate. Weeping, I leave my native port, the land, The fields where once the Trojan towers did stand, And, homeless, launch upon the boundless brine, Heart-broken outcast, with an exiled band, Comrades, and son, and household gods divine, And the great Gods of Troy, the guardians of our line.