or shows like these. Go, hither bring with speed
Seven ewes, the choicest, and with each a steer
Unyoked, in honour of the God to bleed."
So to the Chief she spake, and straight his followers heed.

VII. Into the lofty temple now with speed,--
A huge cave hollowed in the mountain's side,--
The priestess calls the Teucrians. Thither lead
A hundred doors, a hundred entries wide,
A hundred voices from the rock inside
Peal forth, the Sibyl answering. So they
Had reached the threshold, when the maiden cried,
"Now 'tis the time to seek the fates and pray;
Behold, behold the God!" and standing there, straightway,

VIII. Her colour and her features change; loose streams
Her hair disordered, and her heart distrest
Swells with wild frenzy. Larger now she seems,
Her voice not mortal, as her heaving breast
Pants, with the approaching Deity possest.
"Pray, Trojan," peals her warning utterance, "pray!
Cease not, AEneas, nor withhold thy quest,
Nor stint thy vows. While dumbly ye delay,
Ne'er shall its yawning doors the spell-bound house display."

IX. She ceased: at once an icy chill ran through
The sturdy Trojans. From his inmost heart
Thus prayed the King: "O Phoebus, wont to view
With pity Troy's sore travail; thou, whose art
True to Achilles aimed the Dardan dart,
How oft, thou guiding, have I tracked the main
Round mighty lands, to earth's remotest part
Massylian tribes and Libya's sandy plain:
Scarce now the flying shores of Italy we gain.

X. "Enough, thus far Troy's destinies to bear,
Ye, too, at length, your anger may abate
And deign the race of Pergamus to spare,
O Gods and Goddesses, who viewed with hate
Troy and the glories of the Dardan state.
And thou, dread mistress of prophetic lore,
Grant us--I ask but what is due by Fate,
Our promised realms--that on the Latian shore
Troy's sons and wandering gods may find a home once more.

XI. "To Phoebus then and Trivia's sacred name,
Thy patron powers, a temple will I rear
Of solid marble, and due rites proclaim
And festal days, for votaries each year
The name of guardian Phoebus to revere.
Thee, too, hereafter in our realms await
Shrines of the stateliest, for thy name is dear.
There safe shall rest the mystic words of Fate,
And chosen priests shall guard the oracles of state.

XII. "Only to leaves commit not, pri