He spake and footed it afore, and showeth from above The shining meads; and thence away from hill-top down they move. But Sire Anchises deep adown in green-grown valley lay, And on the spirits prisoned there, but soon to wend to day, 680 Was gazing with a fond desire: of all his coming ones There was he reckoning up the tale, and well-loved sons of sons: Their fate, their haps, their ways of life, their deeds to come to pass. But when he saw Æneas now draw nigh athwart the grass, He stretched forth either palm to him all eager, and the tears Poured o'er his cheeks, and speech withal forth from his mouth there fares: "O come at last, and hath the love, thy father hoped for, won O'er the hard way, and may I now look on thy face, O son, And give and take with thee in talk, and hear the words I know? So verily my mind forebode, I deemed 'twas coming so, 690 And counted all the days thereto; nor was my longing vain. And now I have thee, son, borne o'er what lands, how many a main! How tossed about on every side by every peril still! Ah, how I feared lest Libyan land should bring thee unto ill!" Then he: "O father, thou it was, thine image sad it was, That, coming o'er and o'er again, drave me these doors to pass: My ships lie in the Tyrrhene salt--ah, give the hand I lack! Give it, my father; neither thus from my embrace draw back!" His face was wet with plenteous tears e'en as the word he spake, And thrice the neck of him beloved he strove in arms to take; 700 And thrice away from out his hands the gathered image streams, E'en as the breathing of the wind or wingèd thing of dreams. But down amid a hollow dale meanwhile Æneas sees A secret grove, a thicket fair, with murmuring of the trees, And Lethe's stream that all along that quiet place doth wend; O'er which there hovered countless folks and peoples without end: And as when bees amid the fields in summer-tide the bright Settle on diverse flowery things, and round the lilies white Go streaming; so the fields were filled with mighty murmuring. Unlearned Æneas fell aquake at such a wondrous thing, 710 And asketh what it all may mean, what rivers these may be, And who the men that fill the banks with such a company. Then spake Anchises: "These are souls to whom fate oweth now New bodies: there they drink the draught by Lethe's quiet flow, The draught that is the death of care, the long forgetfulness. And sure to teach thee of these things, and show thee all their press, And of mine offspring tell the tale, for long have I been fain, That thou with me mightst more rejoice in thine Italia's gain."