IX. "Now, freed from terror, to my father first, Then to choice friends the vision I declare. All vote to sail, and quit the shore accurst. So to his shade, with funeral rites, we rear A mound, and altars to the dead prepare, Wreathed with dark cypress. Round them, as of yore, Pace Troy's sad matrons, with their streaming hair. Warm milk from bowls, and holy blood we pour, And thrice with loud farewell the peaceful shade deplore. X. "Soon as our ships can trust the deep once more, And South-winds chide, and Ocean smiles serene, We crowd the beach, and launch, and town and shore Fade from our view. Amid the waves is seen An island, sacred to the Nereids' queen And Neptune, lord of the AEgean wave, Which, floating once, Apollo fixed between High Myconos and Gyarus, and gave For man's resort, unmoved the blustering winds to brave. XI. "Hither we sail and on this island fair, Worn out, find welcome in a sheltered bay, And, landing, hail Apollo's town with prayer. King Anius here, enwreath'd with laurel spray, The priest of Phoebus meets us on the way; With joy at once he recognised again His friend Anchises of an earlier day. And joining hands in fellowship, each fain To show a friendly heart the palace-halls we gain. XII. "There, in a temple built of ancient stone I worship: 'Grant, Thymbrean lord divine, A home, a settled city of our own, Walls to the weary, and a lasting line, To Troy another Pergamus. Incline And harken. Save these Dardans sore-distrest, The remnant of Achilles' wrath. Some sign Vouchsafe us, whom to follow? where to rest? Steal into Trojan hearts, and make thy power confessed.' XIII. "Scarce spake I, suddenly the bays divine Shook, and a trembling seized the temple door. The mountain heaves, and from the opening shrine Loud moans the tripod. Prostrate on the floor We hear a voice; 'Brave hearts, the land that bore Your sires shall nurse their Dardan sons again. Seek out your ancient mother; from her shore Through all the world the AEneian house shall reign, And sons of sons unborn the lasting line sustain.' XIV. "Straight rose a joyous uproar; each in turn Ask what the walls that Phoebus hath designed? Which way to wander, whither to return? Then spake my sire, revolving in his mind The ancient legends of the Trojan kind, 'Chieftains, give ear, and learn your hopes and mine; Jove's island lies, amid the deep enshrined, Crete, hundred-towned, a land of corn and wine, Where Ida's mountain stands, the cradle of our line.