Where tufted trees a native arbour made. Again the holy fires on altars burn; And once again the ravenous birds return, Or from the dark recesses where they lie, Or from another quarter of the sky-- With filthy claws their odious meal repeat, And mix their loathsome ordures with their[101] meat. I bid my friends for vengeance then prepare, And with the hellish nation wage the war. They, as commanded, for the fight provide, And in the grass their glittering weapons hide; Then, when along the crooked shore we hear Their clattering wings, and saw the foes appear, Misenus sounds a charge: we take the alarm, And our strong hands with swords and bucklers arm. In this new kind of combat, all employ Their utmost force, the monsters to destroy-- In vain:--the fated skin is proof to wounds; And from their plumes the shining sword rebounds. At length rebuffed, they leave their mangled prey, And their stretched pinions to the skies display. Yet one remained--the messenger of Fate, } High on a craggy cliff Celæno sate, } And thus her dismal errand did relate:-- } "What! not contented with our oxen slain, } Dare you with heaven an impious war maintain, } And drive the Harpies from their native reign? } Heed therefore what I say; and keep in mind What Jove decrees, what Phœbus has designed, And I, the Furies' queen, from both relate-- You seek the Italian shores, foredoomed by Fate: The Italian shores are granted you to find, And a safe passage to the port assigned. But know, that, ere your promised walls you build, My curses shall severely be fulfilled. Fierce famine is your lot--for this misdeed, Reduced to grind the plates on which you feed." She said, and to the neighbouring forest flew. Our courage fails us, and our fears renew. Hopeless to win by war, to prayers we fall, And on the offended Harpies humbly call, And (whether gods or birds obscene they were) Our vows, for pardon and for peace, prefer. But old Anchises, offering sacrifice, And lifting up to heaven his hands and eyes, Adored the greater gods--"Avert," said he, "These omens! render vain this prophecy, And from the impending curse a pious people free." Thus having said, he bids us put to sea; We loose from shore our halsers, and obey, And soon with swelling sails pursue our watery way. Amidst our course, Zacynthian woods appear; And next by rocky Neritos we steer: We fly from Ithaca's detested shore, And curse the land which dire Ulysses bore. At length Leucate's cloudy top appears, And the Sun's temple, which the sailor fears. Resolved to breathe a while from labour past,} Our crooked anchors from the prow we cast, } And joyful to the little city haste. } Here, safe beyond our hopes, our vows we pay To Jove, the guide and patron of our way.