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A rank of wretched youths, with pinion'd hands,
And captive matrons, in long order stands.
Then, with ungovern'd madness, I proclaim,
Through all the silent streets, Creüsa's name:
Creüsa still I call: at length she hears, [pears-
And sudden, through the shades of night, ap-
Appears, no more Creüsa, nor my wife,

But a pale spectre, larger than the life.
Aghast, astonish'd, and struck dumb with fear,
I stood; like bristles rose my stiffen'd hair.
Then thus the ghost began to sooth my grief-
"Nor tears, nor cries, can give the dead relief.
Desist, my much loved lord, to' indulge your pain:
You bear no more than what the gods ordain.
My fates permit me not from hence to fly;
Nor he, the great controller of the sky.
Long wandering ways for you the powers decree--
On land hard labours, and a length of sea.
Then, after many painful years are pass'd,
On Latium's happy shore you shall be cast,
Where gentle Tiber from his bed beholds
The flowery meadows, and the feeding folds.
There end your toils; and there your fates provide
A quiet kingdom, and a royal bride :
There Fortune shall the Trojan line restore;
And you for lost Creüsa weep no more.

Fear not that I shall watch, with servile shame,
The' imperious looks of some proud Grecian dame,
Or, stooping to the victor's lust, disgrace
My goddess mother, or my royal race.
And now, farewell! the parent of the gods
Restrains my fleeting soul in her abodes.
I trust our common issue to your care."
She said, and gliding pass'd unseen in air.

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I strove to speak, but horror tied my tongue;
And thrice about her neck my arms I flung,
And, thrice deceived, on vain embraces hung.
Light as an empty dream at break of day,
Or as a blast of wind, she rush'd away.

'Thus having pass'd the night in fruitless pain,
1 to my longing friends return again-
Amazed the' augmented number to behold,
Of men and matrons mix'd, of young and old—
A wretched exiled crew together brought,
With arms appointed, and with treasure fraught,
Resolved, and willing, under my command,
To run all hazards both of sea and land.
The Morn began, from Ida, to display
Her rosy cheeks; and Phosphor led the day:
Before the gates the Grecians took their post,
And all pretence of late relief was lost.
I yield to Fate, unwillingly retire,
And, loaded, up the hill convey my sire.'

BOOK III.

The Argument.

Aneas 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 overturn'd the Trojan state, And Priam's throne, by too severe a fate; When ruin'd Troy became the Grecians' prey, And Ilium's lofty towers in ashes lay; Warn'd 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 assign'd. Friends daily flock; and scarce the kindly spring Began to clothe the ground, and birds to sing, When old Anchises summon'd 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.

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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 join'd, 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 silvan scenes, And shade our altar with their leafy greens, I pull❜d 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 distill'd upon the ground. Mute and amazed, my hair with terror stood; Fear shrunk my sinews, and congeal'd my blood. Mann'd once again, another plant I try: That other gush'd with the same sanguine dye. 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 coastThat they, or he, these omens would avert, Release our fears, and better signs impart.

Clear'd, as I thought, and fully fix'd at length
To learn the cause, I tugg'd with all my strength:
I bent my knees against the ground: once more
The violated myrtle ran with gore.

Scarce dare I tell the sequel: from the womb
Of wounded earth, and caverns of the tomb,
A groan, as of a troubled ghost, renew'd
My fright, and then these dreadful words en-
sued-

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Why dost thou thus my buried body rend? O! spare the corpse of thy unhappy friend! Spare to pollute thy pious hands with blood: The tears distil not from the wounded wood; But every drop this living tree contains, Is kindred blood, and ran in Trojan veins, O! fly from this unhospitable shore, Warn'd by my Fate; for I am Polydore! Here loads of lances, in my blood imbrued, Again shoot upward, by my blood renew'd."

'My faltering tongue and shivering limbs declare
My horror; and in bristles rose my hair.
When Troy with Grecian arms was closely pent,
Old Priam, fearful of the war's event,
This hapless Polydore to Thracia sent:
Loaded with gold, he sent his darling, far
From noise and tumults, and destructive war,
Committed to the faithless tyrant's care;

Who, when he saw the power of Troy decline,
Forsook the weaker, with the strong to join-
Broke every bond of nature and of truth,
And murder'd, for his wealth, the royal youth.
O sacred hunger of pernicious gold:

What bands of faith can impious lucre hold?

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