hen lord Aeneas, sick
at heart of the dismal warfare, stretched him on the river bank under
the cope of the cold sky, and let sleep, though late, overspread his
limbs. To him the very god of the ground, the pleasant Tiber stream,
seemed to raise his aged form among the poplar boughs; thin lawn veiled
him with its gray covering, and shadowy reeds hid his hair. Thereon he
addressed him thus, and with these words allayed his distresses:

'O born of the family of the gods, thou who bearest back our Trojan city
from hostile hands, and keepest Troy towers in eternal life; O long
looked for on Laurentine ground and Latin fields! here is thine assured
home, thine home's assured gods. Draw not thou back, nor be alarmed by
menace of war. All the anger and wrath of the gods is passed away . . .
And even now for thine assurance, that thou think not this the idle
fashioning of sleep, a great sow shall be found lying under the oaks on
the shore, with her new-born litter of thirty head: white she couches on
the ground, and the brood about her teats is white. By this token in
thirty revolving years shall Ascanius found a city, Alba of bright name.
My prophecy is sure. Now hearken, and I will briefly instruct thee how
thou mayest unravel and overcome thy present task. An Arcadian people
sprung of Pallas, following in their king Evander's company beneath his
banners, have chosen a place in these coasts, and set a city on the
hills, called Pallanteum after Pallas their forefather. These wage
perpetual war with the Latin race; these do thou take to thy camp's
alliance, and join with them in league. Myself I [57-89]will lead thee
by my banks and straight along my stream, that thou mayest oar thy way
upward against the river. Up and arise, goddess-born, and even with the
setting stars address thy prayers to Juno as is meet, and vanquish her
wrath and menaces with humble vows. To me thou shalt pay a conqueror's
sacrifice. I am he whom thou seest washing the banks with full flood and
severing the rich tilth, glassy Tiber, best beloved by heaven of rivers.
Here is my stately home; my fountain-head is among high cities.'

Thus spoke the River, and sank in the depth of the pool: night and sleep
left Aeneas. He arises, and, looking towards the radiant sky of the
sunrising, holds up water from the river in fitly-hollowed palms, and
pours to heaven these accents:

'Nymphs, Laurentine Nymphs, from whom is the generation of rivers, and
thou, O fathe