But scarcely had he spoken thus, when lo, from heaven there flew 190 Two doves before his very eyes, who settled fluttering On the green grass: and therewithal that mightiest battle-king Knoweth his mother's birds new-come, and joyful poureth prayer: "O, if a way there be at all, lead ye amid the air, Lead on unto the thicket place where o'er the wealthy soil The rich bough casteth shadow down! Fail not my eyeless toil, O Goddess-mother!" So he saith, and stays his feet to heed What token they may bring to him, and whitherward they speed. So on they flutter pasturing, with such a space between, As they by eyes of following folk may scantly well be seen; 200 But when Avernus' jaws at last, the noisome place, they reach, They rise aloft and skim the air, and settle each by each Upon the very wished-for place, yea high amid the tree, Where the changed light through twigs of gold shines forth diversedly; As in the woods mid winter's chill puts forth the mistletoe, And bloometh with a leafage strange his own tree ne'er did sow, And with his yellow children hath the rounded trunk in hold, So in the dusky holm-oak seemed that bough of leafy gold, As through the tinkling shaken foil the gentle wind went by: Then straight Æneas caught and culled the tough stem greedily, 210 And to the Sibyl's dwelling-place the gift in hand he bore. Nor less meanwhile the Teucrians weep Misenus on the shore, And do last service to the dead that hath no thanks to pay. And first fat fagots of the fir and oaken logs they lay, And pile a mighty bale and rich, and weave the dusk-leaved trees Between its sides, and set before the funeral cypresses, And over all in seemly wise the gleaming weapons pile: But some speed fire bewavèd brass and water's warmth meanwhile, And wash all o'er and sleek with oil the cold corpse of the dead: Goes up the wail; the limbs bewept they streak upon the bed, 220 And cast thereon the purple cloths, the well-known noble gear. Then some of them, they shoulder up the mighty-fashioned bier, Sad service! and put forth the torch with faces from him turned, In fashion of the fathers old: there the heaped offerings burned, The frankincense, the dainty meats, the bowls o'erflowed with oil. But when the ashes were sunk down and fire had rest from toil, The relics and the thirsty ash with unmixed wine they wet. Then the gleaned bones in brazen urn doth Corynæus set, Who thrice about the gathered folk the stainless water bore. As from the fruitful olive-bough light dew he sprinkled o'er, 230 And cleansed the men, and spake withal last farewell to the dead. But good Æneas raised a tomb, a mound huge fashionèd, And laid thereon the hero's arms and oar and battle-horn,