, and thou, O bard, the best earth ever bare,
What land, what place Anchises hath? for whose sake came we here, 670
And swam the floods of Erebus and every mighty wave."

Then, lightly answering her again, few words the hero gave:
"None hath a certain dwelling-place; in shady groves we bide,
And meadows fresh with running streams, and beds by river-side:
But if such longing and so sore the heart within you hath,
O'ertop yon ridge and I will set your feet in easy path."

He spake and footed it afore, and showeth from above
The shining meads; and thence away from hill-top down they move.

But Sire Anchises deep adown in green-grown valley lay,
And on the spirits prisoned there, but soon to wend to day, 680
Was gazing with a fond desire: of all his coming ones
There was he reckoning up the tale, and well-loved sons of sons:
Their fate, their haps, their ways of life, their deeds to come to pass.
But when he saw AEneas now draw nigh athwart the grass,
He stretched forth either palm to him all eager, and the tears
Poured o'er his cheeks, and speech withal forth from his mouth there fares:

"O come at last, and hath the love, thy father hoped for, won
O'er the hard way, and may I now look on thy face, O son,
And give and take with thee in talk, and hear the words I know?
So verily my mind forebode, I deemed 'twas coming so, 690
And counted all the days thereto; nor was my longing vain.
And now I have thee, son, borne o'er what lands, how many a main!
How tossed about on every side by every peril still!
Ah, how I feared lest Libyan land should bring thee unto ill!"

Then he: "O father, thou it was, thine image sad it was,
That, coming o'er and o'er again, drave me these doors to pass:
My ships lie in the Tyrrhene salt--ah, give the hand I lack!
Give it, my father; neither thus from my embrace draw back!"

His face was wet with plenteous tears e'en as the word he spake,
And thrice the neck of him beloved he strove in arms to take; 700
And thrice away from out his hands the gathered image streams,
E'en as the breathing of the wind or winged thing of dreams.

But down amid a hollow dale meanwhile AEneas sees
A secret grove, a thicket fair, with murmuring of the trees,
And Lethe's stream that all along that quiet place doth wend;
O'er which ther