XIV. "A Xanthus there and Simois shall be seen, And Doric tents; Achilles, goddess-born, Shall rise anew, nor Jove's relentless Queen Shall cease to vex the Teucrians night and morn. Then oft shalt thou, sore straitened and forlorn, All towns and tribes of Italy implore To grant thee shelter from the foemen's scorn. An alien bride, a foreign bed once more Shall bring the old, old woes, the ancient feud restore. XV. "Yield not to evils, but the bolder thou Persist, defiant of misfortune's frown, And take the path thy Destinies allow. Hope, where unlooked for, comes thy toils to crown, Thy road to safety from a Grecian town." So sang the Sibyl from her echoing fane, And, wrapping truth in mystery, made known The dark enigmas of her frenzied strain. So Phoebus plied the goad, and shook the maddening rein. XVI. Soon ceased the fit, the foaming lips were still. "O maiden," said AEneas, "me no more Can danger startle, nor strange shape of ill. All have I seen and throughly conned before. One boon I beg,--since yonder are the door Of Pluto, and the gloomy lakes, they tell, Fed by o'erflowing Acheron,--once more To see the father whom I loved so well. Teach me the way, and ope the sacred gates of hell. XVII. "Him on these shoulders, in the days ago, A thousand darts behind us, did I bear Safe through the thickest of the flames and foe. He, partner of my travels, loved to share The threats of ocean and the storms of air, Though weak, yet strong beyond the lot of age. 'Twas he who bade me, with prevailing prayer, Approach thee humbly, and thy care engage, Pity the sire and son, and Trojan hearts assuage. XVIII. "For thou can'st all, nor Hecate for naught Hath set thee o'er Avernus' groves to reign. If Orpheus from the shades his bride up-brought, Trusting his Thracian harp and sounding strain, If Pollux could from Pluto's drear domain His brother by alternate death reclaim, And tread the road to Hades o'er again Oft and so oft--why great Alcides name? Why Theseus? I, as they, Jove's ancestry can claim." XIX. So prayed AEneas, clinging to the shrine, When thus the prophetess: "O Trojan Knight, Born of Anchises, and of seed divine, Down to Avernus the descent is light, The gate of Dis stands open day and night. But upward thence thy journey to retrace, There lies the labour; 'tis a task of might, By few achieved, and those of heavenly race, Whom shining worth extolled or Jove hath deigned to grace.