XLV. "'Still grieves he for his mother? Doth the name Of sire or uncle make his young heart glow For deeds of valour and ancestral fame?' Weeping she spake, with unavailing woe, And poured her sorrow to the winds, when lo, In sight comes Helenus, with fair array, And hails his friends, and hastening to bestow Glad welcome, toward his palace leads the way; But tears and broken words his mingled thoughts betray. XLVI. "I see another but a tinier Troy, A seeming Pergama recalls the great. A dried-up Xanthus I salute with joy, And clasp the portals of a Scaean gate. Nor less kind welcome doth the rest await. The monarch, mindful of his sire of old, Receives the Teucrians in his courts of state. They in the hall, the viands piled on gold, Pledging the God of wine, their brimming cups uphold. XLVII. "One day and now another passed; the gale Sings in the shrouds, and calls us to depart, When thus the prophet Helenus I hail, 'Troy-born interpreter of Heaven! whose art The signs of Phoebus' pleasure can impart; Thou know'st the tripod and the Clarian bay, The stars, the voices of the birds, that dart On wings with omens laden, speak and say,-- Since fate and all the gods foretell a prosperous way. XLVIII. "'And point to far Italia,--One alone, Celaeno, sings of famine foul and dread, A nameless prodigy, a plague unknown,-- What perils first to shun? what path to tread, To win deliverance from such toils?' This said, I ceased, and Helenus with slaughtered kine Implores the god, and from his sacred head Unbinds the wreath, and leads me to the shrine, Awed by Apollo's power, and chants the doom divine: XLIX. "'O Goddess-born, high auspices are thine, And heaven's plain omens guide thee o'er the main. Thus Jove, by lot unfolding his design, Assorts the chances, and the Fates ordain. This much may I of many things explain, How best o'er foreign seas to urge thy keel In safety, and Ausonian ports attain, The rest from Helenus the Fates conceal, And Juno's envious power forbids me to reveal. L. "'Learn then, Italia, that thou deem'st so near, And thither dream'st of lightly passing o'er, Long leagues divide, and many a pathless mere. First must Trinacrian waters bend the oar, Ausonian waves thy vessels must explore, First must thou view the nether world, where flows Dark Styx, and visit that AEaean shore, The home of Circe, ere, at rest from woes, Thou build the promised walls, and win the wished repose.