III. "Far off there lies, with many a spacious plain, The land of Mars, by Thracians tilled and sown, Where stern Lycurgus whilom held his reign; A hospitable shore, to Troy well-known, Her home-gods leagued in union with our own, While Fortune smiled. Hither, with fates malign, I steer, and landing for our purposed town The walls along the winding shore design, And coin for them a name 'AEneadae' from mine. IV. "Due rites to Venus and the gods I bore, The work to favour, and a sleek, white steer To Heaven's high King was slaughtering on the shore. With cornel shrubs and many a prickly spear Of myrtle crowned, it chanced a mound was near. Thither I drew, and strove with eager hold A green-leaved sapling from the soil to tear, To shade with boughs the altars, when behold A portent, weird to see and wondrous to unfold! V. "Scarce the first stem uprooted, from the wood Black drops distilled, and stained the earth with gore. Cold horror shook me, in my veins the blood Was chilled, and curdled with affright. Once more A limber sapling from the soil I tore; Once more, persisting, I resolved in mind With inmost search the causes to explore And probe the mystery that lurked behind; Dark drops of blood once more come trickling from the rind. VI. "Much-musing, to the woodland nymphs I pray, And Mars, the guardian of the Thracian plain, With favouring grace the omen to allay, And bless the dreadful vision. Then again A third tall shaft I grasp, with sinewy strain And firm knees pressed against the sandy ground; When O! shall tongue make utterance or refrain? Forth from below a dismal, groaning sound Heaves, and a piteous voice is wafted from the mound: VII. "'Spare, O AEneas, spare a wretch, nor shame Thy guiltless hands, but let the dead repose. From Troy, no alien to thy race, I came. O, fly this greedy shore, these cruel foes! Not from the tree--from Polydorus flows This blood, for I am Polydorus. Here An iron crop o'erwhelmed me, and uprose Bristling with pointed javelins.'--Mute with fear, Perplext, aghast I stood, and upright rose my hair. VIII. "This Polydorus Priam from the war To Thracia's King in secret had consigned With store of gold, when, girt with siege, he saw Troy's towers, and trust in Dardan arms resigned. But when our fortune and our hopes declined, The treacherous King the conqueror's cause professed, And, false to faith, to friendship and to kind, Slew Polydorus, and his wealth possessed. Curst greed of gold, what crimes thy tyrant power attest!