Meanwhile Aeneas, now well launched away,steered forth with all the fleet to open sea,on his unswerving course, and ploughed the waves,sped by a driving gale; but when his eyeslooked back on Carthage, they beheld the glareof hapless Dido's fire. Not yet was knownwhat kindled the wild flames; but that the pangof outraged love is cruel, and what the heartof desperate woman dares, they knew too well,and sad foreboding shook each Trojan soul.Soon in mid-sea, beyond all chart of shore,when only seas and skies were round their way,full in the zenith loomed a purple cloud,storm-laden, dark as night, and every wavegrew black and angry; from his Iofty seatthe helmsman Palinurus cried, “Alas!What means this host of storms encircling heaven?What, Neptune, wilt thou now?” He, having said,bade reef and tighten, bend to stronger stroke,and slant sail to the wind; then spake again:“High-souled Aeneas, not if Jove the Kinggave happy omen, would I have good hopeof making Italy through yonder sky.Athwart our course from clouded evening-starrebellious winds run shifting, and the airinto a cloud-wrack rolls. Against such foestoo weak our strife and strain! Since now the handof Fortune triumphs, let us where she callsobedient go. For near us, I believe,lies Eryx' faithful and fraternal shore:here are Sicilian havens, if my mindof yon familiar stars have knowledge true.”then good Aeneas: “For a friendly windlong have I sued, and watched thee vainly strive.Shift sail! What happier land for me and mine,or for our storm-beat ships what safer shore,than where Dardanian Acestes reigns;the land whose faithful bosom cherishesAnchises' ashes?” Heedful of his word,they landward steer, while favoring zephyrs fillthe spreading sail. On currents swift and strongthe fleet is wafted, and with thankful soulthey moor on Sicily's familiar strand.

From a far hill-top having seen with joythe entering ships, and knowing them for friends,good King Acestes ran to bid them hail.Garbed in rough pelt of Libyan bear was he,and javelins he bore, in sylvan guise:for him the river-god Crimisus siredof Trojan wife. Remembering in his hearthis ancient blood, he greeted with glad wordsthe wanderers returned; bade welcome tohis rude abundance, and with friendly giftstheir weariness consoled. The morrow morn,soon as the new beams of a golden dayhad banished every star, Aeneas calleda council of his followers on the shore,and from a fair green hillock gave this word:“Proud sons of Dardanus, whose lofty linenone but the gods began! This day fulfilsthe annual cycle of revolving time,since the dear relics of my god-like sireto earth we gave, and with dark offerings duebuilt altars sorrowful. If now I err not,this is my day—ye gods have willed it so! —for mourning and for praise. Should it befallme exiled in Gaetulia's wilderness,or sailing some Greek sea, or at the wallsof dire Mycenae, still would I renewunfailing vows, and make solemnitywith thankful rites, and worshipful array,at altars rich with gifts. But, lo, we come,beyond all hope, where lie the very bonesof my great sire. Nor did it come to passwithout divine intent and heavenly power,that on these hospitable shores we stand.Up, then! For we will make a festal day,imploring lucky winds! O, may his spiritgrant me to build my city, where his shrinesforever shall receive perpetual vowsmade in his name! This prince of Trojan line,Acestes, upon every ship bestowsa pair of oxen. To our offerings callthe powers that bless the altars and the firesof our ancestral hearth; and join with thesethe gods of good Acestes. Presently,when the ninth dawn shall bring its beam benignto mortal men, and show the radiant world,or all my Teucrian people I ordaina holiday of games; the flying shipsshall first contend; then swiftest runners trya foot-race; after that the champions boldwho step forth for a cast of javelins,or boast the soaring arrow; or fear notthe boxing-bout, with gauntlet of thick thongs.This summons is for all; let all have hopeto earn some noble palm! And from this hourspeak but well-boding words, and bind your browswith garlands green.” So saying, he twined a wreathof his own mother's myrtle-tree, to shadehis sacred brow; the hero Helymus,and King Acestes for his tresses gray,like coronals took on; Ascaniusand all the warrior youth like emblems wore.Then in th' attendant throng conspicuous,with thousands at his side, the hero movedfrom place of council to his father's tomb.There on the ground he poured libation due,two beakers of good wine, of sweet milk two,two of the victim's blood—and scattered flowersof saddest purple stain, while thus he prayed:“Hail, hallowed sire! And hail, ye ashes dearof him I vainly saved! O soul and shadeof my blest father! Heaven to us deniedto find together that predestined landof Italy, or our Ausonian streamof Tiber—ah! but where?” He scarce had said,when from the central shrine a gliding snake,coiled seven-fold in seven spirals wide,twined round the tomb and trailed innocuous o'erthe very altars; his smooth back was fleckedwith green and azure, and his changeful scalesgleamed golden, as the cloud-born rainbow flingsits thousand colors from th' opposing sun.Aeneas breathless watched the serpent windamong the bowls and cups of polished rim,tasting the sacred feast; where, having fed,back to the tomb all harmless it withdrew.Then with new zeal his sacrifice he bringsin honor of his sire; for he must deemthat serpent the kind genius of the place,or of his very father's present shadesome creature ministrant. Two lambs he slew,the wonted way, two swine, and, sable-hued,the yoke of bulls; from shallow bowl he pouredlibation of the grape, and called aloudon great Anchises' spirit, and his shade,from Acheron set free. Then all the throng,each from his separate store, heap up the shrineswith victims slain; some range in order fairthe brazen cauldrons; or along the grass,scattered at ease, hold o'er the embers brightthe spitted flesh and roast it in the flames.