LXIII. "With gushing tears I bid the pair farewell. Live happy ye, whose destinies are o'er; We still must wander where the Fates compel. Your rest is won; no oceans to explore, No fair Ausonia's ever-fading shore. Ye still can see a Xanthus and a Troy, Reared by your hands, old Ilion to restore, And brighter auspices than ours enjoy, Nor tempt, like ours, the Greeks to ravage and destroy. LXIV. "'If ever Tiber and the fields I see Washed by her waves, ere mingling with the brine, And build the city which the Fates decree, Then kindred towns and neighbouring folk shall join, Yours in Epirus, in Hesperia mine, And linked thenceforth in sorrow and in joy, With Dardanus the founder of each line,-- So let posterity its pains employ, Two nations, one in heart, shall make another Troy.' LXV. "On fly the barks o'er ocean. Near us frown Ceraunia's rocks, whence shortest lies the way To Italy. And now the sun goes down, And darkness gathers on the mountains grey. Close by the water, in a sheltered bay, A few as guardians of the oars we choose, Then stretched at random on the beach we lay Our limbs to rest, and on the toil-worn crews Sleep steals in silence down, and sheds her kindly dews. LXVI. "Nor yet had Night climbed heaven, when up from sleep Starts Palinurus, and with listening ear Catches the breeze. He marks the stars, that keep Their courses, gliding through the silent sphere, Arcturus, rainy Hyads and each Bear, And, girt with gold, Orion. Far away He sees the firmament all calm and clear, And from the stern gives signal. We obey, And shifting camp, set sail and tempt the doubtful way. LXVII. "The stars were chased, and blushing rose the day. Dimly, at distance through the misty shroud Italia's hills and lowlands we survey, 'Italia,' first Achates shouts aloud; 'Italia,' echoes from the joyful crowd. Then sire Anchises hastened to entwine A massive goblet with a wreath, and vowed Libations to the gods, and poured the wine And on the lofty stern invoked the powers divine: LXVIII. "'Great gods, whom Earth and Sea and Storms obey, Breathe fair, and waft us smoothly o'er the main.' Fresh blows the breeze, and broader grows the bay, And on the cliffs is seen Minerva's fane. We furl the sails, and shoreward row amain. Eastward the harbour arches, scarce descried. Two jutting rocks, by billows lashed in vain, Stretch out their arms the narrow mouth to hide. Far back the temple stands, and seems to shun the tide.