I seek the Italian fatherland, and Jove-descended line; 380 Twice ten the ships were that I manned upon the Phrygian brine, My Goddess-mother led the way, we followed fate god-given; And now scarce seven are left to me by wave and east-wind riven; And I through Libyan deserts stray, a man unknown and poor, From Asia cast, from Europe cast," She might abide no more To hear his moan: she thrusts a word amidst his grief and saith: "Nay thou art not God's castaway, who drawest mortal breath, And fairest to the Tyrian town, if aught thereof I know. Set on to Dido's threshold then e'en as the way doth show. For take the tidings of thy ships and folk brought back again 390 By shifting of the northern wind all safe from off the main: Unless my parents learned me erst of soothsaying to wot But idly. Lo there twice seven swans disporting in a knot, Whom falling from the plain of air drave down the bird of Jove From open heaven: strung out at length they hang the earth above, And now seem choosing where to pitch, now on their choice to gaze, As wheeling round with whistling wings they sport in diverse ways And with their band ring round the pole and cast abroad their song. Nought otherwise the ships and youth that unto thee belong Hold haven now, or else full sail to harbour-mouth are come. 400 Set forth, set forth and tread the way e'en as it leadeth home." She spake, she turned, from rosy neck the light of heaven she cast, And from her hair ambrosial the scent of Gods went past Upon the wind, and o'er her feet her skirts fell shimmering down, And very God she went her ways. Therewith his mother known, With such a word he followed up a-fleeing from his eyes: "Ah cruel as a God! and why with images and lies Dost thou beguile me? wherefore then is hand to hand not given And we to give and take in words that come from earth and heaven?" Such wise he chided her, and then his footsteps townward bent: 410 But Venus with a dusky air did hedge them as they went, And widespread cloak of cloudy stuff the Goddess round them wrapped, Lest any man had seen them there, or bodily had happed Across their road their steps to stay, and ask their dealings there. But she to Paphos and her home went glad amidst the air: There is her temple, there they stand, an hundred altars meet, Warm with Sabæan incense-smoke, with new-pulled blossoms sweet.