_Æneas proceeds in his relation: he gives an account of the fleet with which he sailed, and the success of his first voyage to Thrace. From thence he directs his course to Delos, and asks the oracle what place the gods had appointed for his habitation? By a mistake of the oracle's answer, he settles in Crete. His household gods give him the true sense of the oracle, in a dream. He follows their advice, and makes the best of his way for Italy. He is cast on several shores, and meets with very surprising adventures, till at length he lands on Sicily, where his father Anchises dies. This is the place which he was sailing from, when the tempest rose, and threw him upon the Carthaginian coast._ When heaven had overturned the Trojan state, And Priam's throne, by too severe a fate; When ruined Troy became the Grecians' prey, And Ilium's lofty towers in ashes lay; Warned by celestial omens, we retreat, To seek in foreign lands a happier seat. Near old Antandros, and at Ida's foot, The timber of the sacred groves we cut, And build our fleet--uncertain yet to find What place the gods for our repose assigned. Friends daily flock; and scarce the kindly spring Began to clothe the ground, and birds to sing, When old Anchises summoned all to sea: The crew my father and the Fates obey. With sighs and tears I leave my native shore, And empty fields, where Ilium stood before. My sire, my son, our less and greater gods, All sail at once, and cleave the briny floods. Against our coast appears a spacious land, Which once the fierce Lycurgus did command, (Thracia the name--the people bold in war-- Vast are their fields, and tillage is their care,) A hospitable realm while Fate was kind, With Troy in friendship and religion joined. I land, with luckless omens; then adore Their gods, and draw a line along the shore: I lay the deep foundations of a wall, And Ænos, named from me, the city call. To Dionæan Venus vows are paid, } And all the powers that rising labours aid; } A bull on Jove's imperial altar laid. } Not far, a rising hillock stood in view; Sharp myrtles, on the sides, and cornels grew. There, while I went to crop the sylvan scenes, And shade our altar with their leafy greens, I pulled a plant--with horror I relate A prodigy so strange, and full of fate-- The rooted fibres rose; and, from the wound, Black bloody drops distilled upon the ground. Mute and amazed, my hair with terror stood; Fear shrunk my sinews, and congealed my blood. Manned once again, another plant I try: That other gushed with the same sanguine die. Then, fearing guilt for some offence unknown, With prayers and vows the Dryads I atone, With all the sisters of the woods, and most The god of arms, who rules the Thracian coast-- That they, or he, these omens would avert, Release our fears, and better signs impart.