He said, and wept; then spread his sails before } The winds, and reached at length the Cuman shore: } Their anchors dropped, his crew the vessels moor. } They turn their heads to sea, their sterns to land, And greet with greedy joy the Italian strand. Some strike from clashing flints their fiery seed; Some gather sticks, the kindled flames to feed, Or search for hollow trees, and fell the woods, Or trace through valleys the discovered floods. Thus while their several charges they fulfil, The pious prince ascends the sacred hill Where Phœbus is adored; and seeks the shade, Which hides from sight his venerable maid. Deep in a cave the Sibyl makes abode; Thence full of Fate returns, and of the god. Through Trivia's grove they walk; and now behold, And enter now, the temple roofed with gold. When Dædalus, to fly the Cretan shore, His heavy limbs on jointed pinions bore, (The first who sailed in air,) 'tis sung by Fame, } To the Cumæan coast at length he came, } And, here alighting, built this costly frame. } Inscribed to Phœbus, here he hung on high The steerage of his wings, that cut the sky: Then, o'er the lofty gate, his art embossed Androgeos' death, and (offerings to his ghost) Seven youths from Athens yearly sent, to meet The fate appointed by revengeful Crete. And next to these the dreadful urn was placed, In which the destined names by lots were cast: The mournful parents stand around in tears, And rising Crete against their shore appears. There too, in living sculpture, might be seen The mad affection of the Cretan queen; Then how she cheats her bellowing lover's eye; The rushing leap, the doubtful progeny-- The lower part a beast, a man above-- The monument of their polluted love. Nor far from thence he graved the wonderous maze, A thousand doors, a thousand winding ways: Here dwells the monster, hid from human view, Not to be found, but by the faithful clue; Till the kind artist, moved with pious grief, Lent to the loving maid this last relief, And all those erring paths described so well, That Theseus conquered, and the monster fell. Here hapless Icarus had found his part, Had not the father's grief restrained his art. He twice essayed to cast his son in gold; Twice from his hands he dropped the forming mould. All this with wondering eyes Æneas viewed: Each varying object his delight renewed. Eager to read the rest...Achates came, } And by his side the mad divining dame, } The priestess of the god, Deïphobe her name. } "Time suffers not," she said, "to feed your eyes With empty pleasures; haste the sacrifice. Seven bullocks, yet unyoked, for Phœbus chuse, And for Diana seven unspotted ewes." This said, the servants urge the sacred rites, While to the temple she the prince invites.