And wing their hasty flight to happier lands-- } Such, and so thick, the shivering army stands, } And press for passage with extended hands. } Now these, now those, the surly boatman bore: The rest he drove to distance from the shore. The hero, who beheld, with wondering eyes, The tumult mixed with shrieks, laments, and cries, Asked of his guide, what the rude concourse meant? Why to the shore the thronging people bent? What forms of law among the ghosts were used? Why some were ferried o'er, and some refused? "Son of Anchises! offspring of the gods! (The Sibyl said) you see the Stygian floods, The sacred streams, which heaven's imperial state Attests in oaths, and fears to violate. The ghosts rejected are the unhappy crew Deprived of sepulchres and funeral due: The boatman, Charon; those, the buried host, He ferries over to the farther coast; Nor dares his transport vessel cross the waves With such whose bones are not composed in graves. A hundred years they wander on the shore; At length, their penance done, are wafted o'er." The Trojan chief his forward pace repressed, Revolving anxious thoughts within his breast. He saw his friends, who, whelmed beneath the waves; Their funeral honours claimed, and asked their quiet graves. The lost Leucaspis in the crowd he knew, And the brave leader of the Lycian crew, Whom, on the Tyrrhene seas, the tempests met; The sailors mastered, and the ship o'erset. Amidst the spirits, Palinurus pressed, Yet fresh from life, a new-admitted guest, Who, while he steering viewed the stars, and bore His course from Afric to the Latian shore, Fell headlong down. The Trojan fixed his view, And scarcely through the gloom the sullen shadow knew. Then thus the prince:--"What envious power, O friend! Brought your loved life to this disastrous end? For Phœbus, ever true in all he said, Has, in your fate alone, my faith betrayed. The god foretold you should not die, before You reached, secure from seas, the Italian shore. Is this the unerring power?"--The ghost replied: "Nor Phœbus flattered, nor his answers lied; Nor envious gods have sent me to the deep: } But, while the stars and course of heaven I keep, } My wearied eyes were seized with fatal sleep. } I fell; and, with my weight, the helm constrained Was drawn along, which yet my gripe retained. Now by the winds and raging waves I swear, Your safety, more than mine, was then my care; Lest, of the guide bereft, the rudder lost, Your ship should run against the rocky coast. Three blustering nights, borne by the southern blast, I floated, and discovered land at last: High on a mounting wave, my head I bore, Forcing my strength, and gathering to the shore. Panting, but past the danger, now I seized The craggy cliffs, and my tired members eased.