P. Vergilius Maro, Aeneid
Theodore C. Williams, Ed.

Much moved Aeneas was by this wise word
of his gray friend, though still his anxious soul
was vexed by doubt and care. But when dark night
had brought her chariot to the middle sky,
the sacred shade of Sire Anchises seemed,
from heaven descending, thus to speak aloud:
“My son, than life more dear, when life was mine!
O son, upon whose heart the Trojan doom
has weighed so Iong! Beside thy couch I stand,
at pleasure of great Jove, whose hand dispelled
the mad fire from thy ships; and now he looks
from heaven with pitying brow. I bid thee heed
the noble counsels aged Nautes gave.
Only with warriors of dauntless breast
to Italy repair; of hardy breed,
of wild, rough life, thy Latin foes will be.
But first the shores of Pluto and the Shades
thy feet must tread, and through the deep abyss
of dark Avernus come to me, thy sire:
for I inhabit not the guilty gloom
of Tartarus, but bright Elysian day,
where all the just their sweet assemblies hold.
Hither the virgin Sibyl, if thou give
full offerings of the blood of sable kine,
shall lead thee down; and visions I will show
of cities proud and nations sprung from thee.
Farewell, for dewy Night has wheeled her way
far past her middle course; the panting steeds
of orient Morn breathe pitiless upon me.”
He spoke, and passed, like fleeting clouds of smoke,
to empty air. “O, whither haste away?”
Aeneas cried. “Whom dost thou fly? What god
from my fond yearning and embrace removes?”
Then on the altar of the gods of Troy
he woke the smouldering embers, at the shrine
of venerable Vesta, worshipping
with hallowed bread and incense burning free.