But pass yon easy hill, and thence descend; The path conducts you to your journey's end." This said, he led them up the mountain's brow, } And shews them all the shining fields below. } They wind the hill, and through the blissful meadows go. } But old Anchises, in a flowery vale, Reviewed his mustered race, and took the tale-- Those happy spirits, which, ordained by Fate, For future being and new bodies wait-- With studious thought observed the illustrious throng, In Nature's order as they passed along-- Their names, their fates, their conduct, and their care, In peaceful senates, and successful war. He, when Æneas on the plain appears, Meets him with open arms, and falling tears.-- "Welcome," he said, "the gods' undoubted race! } O long expected to my dear embrace! } Once more 'tis given me to behold your face! } The love and pious duty which you pay, Have passed the perils of so hard a way. 'Tis true, computing times, I now believed The happy day approached; nor are my hopes deceived. What length of lands, what oceans have you passed, What storms sustained, and on what shores been cast! How have I feared your fate! but feared it most, When love assailed you on the Libyan coast." To this, the filial duty thus replies:-- } "Your sacred ghost, before my sleeping eyes, } Appeared, and often urged this painful enterprize. } After long tossing on the Tyrrhene sea, My navy rides at anchor in the bay. But reach your hand, oh parent shade! nor shun The dear embraces of your longing son!" He said; and falling tears his face bedew: Then thrice around his neck his arms he threw; And thrice the fleeting shadow slipped away, Like winds, or empty dreams, that fly the day. Now, in a secret vale, the Trojan sees } A separate grove, through which a gentle breeze } Plays with a passing breath, and whispers through the trees: } And, just before the confines of the wood, The gliding Lethe leads her silent flood. About the boughs an airy nation flew, Thick as the humming bees, that hunt the golden dew In summer's heat; on tops of lilies feed, And creep within their bells, to suck the balmy seed: The winged army roams the field around; The rivers and the rocks remurmur to the sound. Æneas wondering stood, then asked the cause, Which to the stream the crowding people draws. Then thus the sire:--"The souls that throng the flood Are those, to whom, by Fate, are other bodies owed: In Lethe's lake they long oblivion taste, Of future life secure, forgetful of the past. Long has my soul desired this time and place, To set before your sight your glorious race, That this presaging joy may fire your mind, To seek the shores by destiny designed."-- "O father! can it be, that souls sublime