"O Thou, who dangers of the sea hast throughly worn away, Abides thee heavier toil of earth: the Dardans on a day Shall come to that Lavinian land,--leave fear thereof afar: Yet of their coming shall they rue. Lo, war, war, dreadful war! And Tiber bearing plenteous blood upon his foaming back. Nor Simoïs there, nor Xanthus' stream, nor Dorian camp shall lack: Yea, once again in Latin land Achilles is brought forth, God-born no less: nor evermore shall mighty Juno's wrath 90 Fail Teucrian men. Ah, how shalt thou, fallen on evil days, To all Italian lands and folks thine hands beseeching raise! Lo, once again a stranger bride brings woeful days on Troy, Once more the wedding of a foe. But thou, yield not to any ill, but set thy face, and wend The bolder where thy fortune leads; the dawn of perils' end, Whence least thou mightest look for it, from Greekish folk shall come." Suchwise the Seer of Cumæ sang from out her inner home The dreadful double words, wherewith the cavern moans again, As sooth amid the mirk she winds: Apollo shakes the rein 100 Over the maddened one, and stirs the strings about her breast; But when her fury lulled awhile and maddened mouth had rest, Hero Æneas thus began: "No face of any care, O maiden, can arise on me in any wise unware: Yea, all have I forecast; my mind hath worn through everything. One prayer I pray, since this they call the gateway of the King Of Nether-earth, and Acheron's o'erflow this mirky mere: O let me meet the eyes and mouth of my dead father dear; O open me the holy gate, and teach me where to go! I bore him on these shoulders once from midmost of the foe, 110 From flame and weapons thousandfold against our goings bent; My yoke-fellow upon the road o'er every sea he went, 'Gainst every threat of sea and sky a hardy heart he held, Though worn and feeble past decay and feebleness of eld. Yea, he it was who bade me wend, a suppliant, to thy door, And seek thee out: O holy one, cast thou thy pity o'er Father and son! All things thou canst, nor yet hath Hecaté Set thee to rule Avernus' woods an empty Queen to be. Yea, Orpheus wrought with Thracian harp and strings of tuneful might To draw away his perished love from midmost of the night. 120 Yea, Pollux, dying turn for turn, his brother borrowed well, And went and came the road full oft--Of Theseus shall I tell? Or great Alcides? Ah, I too from highest Jove am sprung."