He said, and wept; then spread his sails before The winds, and reach'd at length the Cumaean shore:
Their anchors dropp'd, his crew the vessels moor.
They turn their heads to sea, their sterns to land, And greet with greedy joy th' 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 thro' valleys the discover'd floods.
Thus, while their sev'ral charges they fulfil, The pious prince ascends the sacred hill Where Phoebus is ador'd; 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.
Thro' Trivia's grove they walk; and now behold, And enter now, the temple roof'd with gold.
When Daedalus, to fly the Cretan shore, His heavy limbs on jointed pinions bore, (The first who sail'd in air,) 't is sung by Fame, To the Cumaean coast at length he came, And here alighting, built this costly frame.
Inscrib'd to Phoebus, here he hung on high The steerage of his wings, that cut the sky:
Then o'er the lofty gate his art emboss'd Androgeos' death, and off'rings to his ghost;Sev'n youths from Athens yearly sent, to meet The fate appointed by revengeful Crete.
And next to those the dreadful urn was plac'd, In which the destin'd 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.
Not far from thence he grav'd the wondrous maze, A thousand doors, a thousand winding ways:
Here dwells the monster, hid from human view, Not to be found, but by the faithful clew;Till the kind artist, mov'd with pious grief, Lent to the loving maid this last relief, And all those erring paths describ'd so well That Theseus conquer'd and the monster fell.
Here hapless Icarus had found his part, Had not the father's grief restrain'd his art.
He twice assay'd to cast his son in gold;Twice from his hands he dropp'd the forming mold.
All this with wond'ring eyes Aeneas view'd;Each varying object his delight renew'd:
Eager to read the rest- Achates came, And by his side the mad divining dame, The priestess of the god, Deiphobe her name.
"Time suffers not," she said, "to feed your eyes With empty pleasures; haste the sacrifice.
Sev'n bullocks, yet unyok'd, for Phoebus choose, And for Diana sev'n unspotted ewes."This said, the servants urge the sacred rites, While to the temple she the prince invites.
A spacious cave, within its farmost part, Was hew'd and fashion'd by laborious art Thro' the hill's hollow sides: before the place, A hundred doors a hundred entries grace;As many voices issue, and the sound Of Sybil's words as many times rebound.
Now to the mouth they come.Aloud she cries:
"This is the time; enquire your destinies.
He comes; behold the god!" Thus while she said, (And shiv'ring at the sacred entry stay'd,)Her color chang'd; her face was not the same, And hollow groans from her deep spirit came.
Her hair stood up; convulsive rage possess'd Her trembling limbs, and heav'd her lab'ring breast.
Greater than humankind she seem'd to look, And with an accent more than mortal spoke.
Her staring eyes with sparkling fury roll;When all the god came rushing on her soul.
Swiftly she turn'd, and, foaming as she spoke:
"Why this delay?" she cried- "the pow'rs invoke!
Thy pray'rs alone can open this abode;
Else vain are my demands, and dumb the god."She said no more.The trembling Trojans hear, O'erspread with a damp sweat and holy fear.
The prince himself, with awful dread possess'd, His vows to great Apollo thus address'd:
"Indulgent god, propitious pow'r to Troy, Swift to relieve, unwilling to destroy, Directed by whose hand the Dardan dart Pierc'd the proud Grecian's only mortal part:
Thus far, by fate's decrees and thy commands, Thro' ambient seas and thro' devouring sands, Our exil'd crew has sought th' Ausonian ground;And now, at length, the flying coast is found.
Thus far the fate of Troy, from place to place, With fury has pursued her wand'ring race.
Here cease, ye pow'rs, and let your vengeance end:
Troy is no more, and can no more offend.
And thou, O sacred maid, inspir'd to see Th' event of things in dark futurity;Give me what Heav'n has promis'd to my fate, To conquer and command the Latian state;To fix my wand'ring gods, and find a place For the long exiles of the Trojan race.
Then shall my grateful hands a temple rear To the twin gods, with vows and solemn pray'r;And annual rites, and festivals, and games, Shall be perform'd to their auspicious names.
Nor shalt thou want thy honors in my land;For there thy faithful oracles shall stand, Preserv'd in shrines; and ev'ry sacred lay, Which, by thy mouth, Apollo shall convey:
All shall be treasur'd by a chosen train Of holy priests, and ever shall remain.
But O! commit not thy prophetic mind To flitting leaves, the sport of ev'ry wind, Lest they disperse in air our empty fate;Write not, but, what the pow'rs ordain, relate."Struggling in vain, impatient of her load, And lab'ring underneath the pond'rous god, The more she strove to shake him from her breast, With more and far superior force he press'd;Commands his entrance, and, without control, Usurps her organs and inspires her soul.
Now, with a furious blast, the hundred doors Ope of themselves; a rushing whirlwind roars Within the cave, and Sibyl's voice restores:
"Escap'd the dangers of the wat'ry reign, Yet more and greater ills by land remain.
The coast, so long desir'd (nor doubt th' event), Thy troops shall reach, but, having reach'd, repent.
Wars, horrid wars, I view- a field of blood, And Tiber rolling with a purple flood.
Simois nor Xanthus shall be wanting there:
