musing, to the woodland nymphs I pray,
And Mars, the guardian of the Thracian plain,
With favouring grace the omen to allay,
And bless the dreadful vision. Then again
A third tall shaft I grasp, with sinewy strain
And firm knees pressed against the sandy ground;
When O! shall tongue make utterance or refrain?
Forth from below a dismal, groaning sound
Heaves, and a piteous voice is wafted from the mound:

VII. "'Spare, O AEneas, spare a wretch, nor shame
Thy guiltless hands, but let the dead repose.
From Troy, no alien to thy race, I came.
O, fly this greedy shore, these cruel foes!
Not from the tree--from Polydorus flows
This blood, for I am Polydorus. Here
An iron crop o'erwhelmed me, and uprose
Bristling with pointed javelins.'--Mute with fear,
Perplext, aghast I stood, and upright rose my hair.

VIII. "This Polydorus Priam from the war
To Thracia's King in secret had consigned
With store of gold, when, girt with siege, he saw
Troy's towers, and trust in Dardan arms resigned.
But when our fortune and our hopes declined,
The treacherous King the conqueror's cause professed,
And, false to faith, to friendship and to kind,
Slew Polydorus, and his wealth possessed.
Curst greed of gold, what crimes thy tyrant power attest!

IX. "Now, freed from terror, to my father first,
Then to choice friends the vision I declare.
All vote to sail, and quit the shore accurst.
So to his shade, with funeral rites, we rear
A mound, and altars to the dead prepare,
Wreathed with dark cypress. Round them, as of yore,
Pace Troy's sad matrons, with their streaming hair.
Warm milk from bowls, and holy blood we pour,
And thrice with loud farewell the peaceful shade deplore.

X. "Soon as our ships can trust the deep once more,
And South-winds chide, and Ocean smiles serene,
We crowd the beach, and launch, and town and shore
Fade from our view. Amid the waves is seen
An island, sacred to the Nereids' queen
And Neptune, lord of the AEgean wave,
Which, floating once, Apollo fixed between
High Myconos and Gyarus, and gave
For man's resort, unmoved the blustering winds to brave.

XI. "Hither we sail and on this island fair,
Worn out, find welcome in a sheltered bay,
And, landing, hail Apollo's town with prayer.
King Anius here, enwreath'd with laurel spray,
The priest of Phoebus mee