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. Straightway he calls assembly of his friends, — Acestes first in honor,—and makes known Jove's will, the counsel of his cherished sire, and his own fresh resolve. With prompt assent they hear his word, nor does Acestes fail the task to share. They people the new town with women; and leave every wight behind who wills it—souls not thirsting for high praise. Themselves re-bench their ships, rebuild, and fit with rope and oar the flame-swept galleys all; a band not large, but warriors bold and true. Aeneas, guiding with his hand a plough, marks out the city's ground, gives separate lands by lot, and bids within this space appear a second Troy . Trojan Acestes takes the kingly power, and with benignant joy appoints a forum, and decrees just laws before a gathered senate. Then they raise on that star-circled Erycinian hill, the temple to Idalian Venus dear; and at Anchises' sepulchre ordain a priesthood and wide groves of hallowed shade. Now the nine days of funeral pomp are done, and every altar has had honors due from all the folk. Now tranquil-breathing winds have levelled the great deep, while brisk and free, a favoring Auster bids them launch away. But sound of many a wailing voice is heard along the winding shore; for ere they go, in fond embraces for a night and day they linger still. The women—aye, and men! — who hated yesterday the ocean's face and loathed its name, now clamor to set sail and bear all want and woe to exiles known. But good Aeneas with benignant words their sorrow soothes, and, not without a tear, consigns them to Acestes' kindred care. Then bids he sacrifice to Eryx ' shade three bulls, and to the wind-gods and the storm a lamb, then loose the ships in order due. He, with a garland of shorn olive, stood holding aloft the sacrificial bowl from his own vessel's prow, and scattered far the sacred entrails o'er the bitter wave, with gift of flowing wine. Swift at the stern a fair wind rose and thrust them; while the crews with rival strokes swept o'er the spreading sea. Venus, the while, disturbed with grief and care, to Neptune thus her sorrowing heart outpoured: “Stern Juno's wrath and breast implacable compel me, Neptune, to abase my pride in lowly supplication. Lapse of days, nor prayers, nor virtues her hard heart subdue, nor Jove's command; nor will she rest or yield at Fate's decree. Her execrable grudge is still unfed, although she did consume the Trojan city, Phrygia 's midmost throne, and though she has accomplished stroke on stroke of retribution. But she now pursues the remnant—aye! the ashes and bare bones of perished Ilium ; though the cause and spring of wrath so great none but herself can tell. Wert thou not witness on the Libyan wave what storm she stirred, immingling sea and sky, and with Aeolian whirlwinds made her war, — in vain and insolent invasion, sire, of thine own realm and power? Behold, but now, goading to evil deeds the Trojan dames, she basely burned his ships; he in strange lands must leave the crews of his Iost fleet behind. O, I entreat thee, let the remnant sail in safety o'er thy sea, and end their way in Tiber 's holy stream;—if this my prayer be lawful, and that city's rampart proud be still what Fate intends.” Then Saturn's son, the ruler of the seas profound, replied: “Queen of Cythera , it is meet for thee to trust my waves from which thyself art sprung. Have I not proved a friend, and oft restrained the anger and wild wrath of seas and skies? On land, let Simois and Xanthus tell if I have loved Aeneas! On that day Achilles drove the shuddering hosts of Troy 
 in panic to the walls, and hurled to death innumerable foes, until the streams were choked with dead, and Xanthus scarce could find his wonted path to sea; that self-same day, aeneas, spent, and with no help of Heaven, met Peleus' dreadful son:—who else but I in cloudy mantle bore him safe afar? Though 't was my will to cast down utterly the walls of perjured Troy , which my own hands had built beside the sea. And even to-day my favor changes not. Dispel thy fear! Safe, even as thou prayest, he shall ride to Cumae 's haven, where Avernus lies. One only sinks beneath th' engulfing seas, — one life in lieu of many.” Having soothed and cheered her heart divine, the worshipped sire flung o'er his mated steeds a yoke of gold, bridled the wild, white mouths, and with strong hand shook out long, Ioosened reins. His azure car skimmed light and free along the crested waves; before his path the rolling billows all were calm and still, and each o'er-swollen flood sank 'neath his sounding wheel; while from the skies the storm-clouds fled away. Behind him trailed a various company; vast bulk of whales, the hoary band of Glaucus, Ino's son, Palaemon and the nimble Tritons all, the troop of Phorcus; and to leftward ranged Thalia, Thetis, and fair Alelite, with virgin Panopea, and the nymphs Nesaea, Spio and Cymodoce. Now in Aeneas' ever-burdened breast the voice of hope revived. He bade make haste to raise the masts, spread canvas on the spars; all hands hauled at the sheets, and left or right shook out the loosened sails, or twirled in place the horn-tipped yards. Before a favoring wind the fleet sped on. The line in close array was led by Palinurus, in whose course all ships were bid to follow. Soon the car of dewy Night drew near the turning-point of her celestial round. The oarsmen all yielded their limbs to rest, and prone had fallen on the hard thwarts, in deep, unpillowed slumber. Then from the high stars on light-moving wings, the God of Sleep found passage through the dark and clove the gloom,—to bring upon thy head, O Palinurus, an ill-boding sleep, though blameless thou. Upon thy ship the god in guise of Phorbas stood, thus whispering: “Look, Palinurus, how the flowing tides lift on thy fleet unsteered, and changeless winds behind thee breathe! 'T is now a happy hour take thy rest. Lay down the weary head. Steal tired eyes from toiling. I will do thine office for thee, just a little space.” But Palinurus, lifting scarce his eyes, thus answered him: “Have I not known the face of yonder placid seas and tranquil waves? Put faith in such a monster? Could I trust — I, oft by ocean's treacherous calm betrayed — my lord Aeneas to false winds and skies?”