The twain continue now their destined wayUnto the river's edge. The Ferryman,Who watched them through still groves approach his shore,Hailed them, at distance, from the Stygian wave,And with reproachful summons thus began:“Whoe'er thou art that in this warrior guiseUnto my river comest,—quickly tellThine errand! Stay thee where thou standest now!This is ghosts' land, for sleep and slumbrous dark.That flesh and blood my Stygian ship should bearWere lawless wrong. Unwillingly I tookAlcides, Theseus, and Pirithous,Though sons of gods, too mighty to be quelled.One bound in chains yon warder of Hell's door,And dragged him trembling from our monarch's throne:The others, impious, would steal awayOut of her bride-bed Pluto's ravished Queen.”Briefly th' Amphrysian priestess made reply:“Not ours, such guile: Fear not! This warrior's armsAre innocent. Let Cerberus from his caveBay ceaselessly, the bloodless shades to scare;Let Proserpine immaculately keepThe house and honor of her kinsman King.Trojan Aeneas, famed for faithful prayerAnd victory in arms, descends to seekHis father in this gloomy deep of death.If loyal goodness move not such as thee,This branch at least” (she drew it from her breast)“Thou knowest well.”Then cooled his wrathful heart;With silent lips he looked and wondering eyesUpon that fateful, venerable wand,Seen only once an age. Shoreward he turned,And pushed their way his boat of leaden hue.The rows of crouching ghosts along the thwartsHe scattered, cleared a passage, and gave roomTo great Aeneas. The light shallop groanedBeneath his weight, and, straining at each seam,Took in the foul flood with unstinted flow.At last the hero and his priestess-guideCame safe across the river, and were moored'mid sea-green sedges in the formless mire.

Here Cerberus, with triple-throated roar,Made all the region ring, as there he layAt vast length in his cave. The Sibyl then,Seeing the serpents writhe around his neck,Threw down a loaf with honeyed herbs imbuedAnd drowsy essences: he, ravenous,Gaped wide his three fierce mouths and snatched the bait,Crouched with his large backs loose upon the ground,And filled his cavern floor from end to end.Aeneas through hell's portal moved, while sleepIts warder buried; then he fled that shoreOf Stygian stream, whence travellers ne'er return.

Now hears he sobs, and piteous, lisping criesOf souls of babes upon the threshold plaining;Whom, ere they took their portion of sweet life,Dark Fate from nursing bosoms tore, and plungedIn bitterness of death. Nor far from these,The throng of dead by unjust judgment slain.Not without judge or law these realms abide:Wise Minos there the urn of justice moves,And holds assembly of the silent shades,Hearing the stories of their lives and deeds.Close on this place those doleful ghosts abide,Who, not for crime, but loathing life and lightWith their own hands took death, and cast awayThe vital essence. Willingly, alas!They now would suffer need, or burdens bear,If only life were given! But Fate forbids.Around them winds the sad, unlovely waveOf Styx: nine times it coils and interflows.Not far from hence, on every side outspread,The Fields of Sorrow lie,—such name they bear;Here all whom ruthless love did waste awayWander in paths unseen, or in the gloomOf dark myrtle grove: not even in deathHave they forgot their griefs of long ago.Here impious Phaedra and poor Procris bide;Lorn Eriphyle bares the vengeful woundsHer own son's dagger made; Evadne here,And foul PasiphaePasiphaë are seen; hard by,Laodamia, nobly fond and fair;And Caeneus, not a boy, but maiden now,By Fate remoulded to her native seeming.Here Tyrian Dido, too, her wound unhealed,Roamed through a mighty wood. The Trojan's eyesBeheld her near him through the murky gloom,As when, in her young month and crescent pale,One sees th' o'er-clouded moon, or thinks he sees.Down dropped his tears, and thus he fondly spoke:“0 suffering Dido! Were those tidings trueThat thou didst fling thee on the fatal steel?Thy death, ah me! I dealt it. But I swearBy stars above us, by the powers in Heaven,Or whatsoever oath ye dead believe,That not by choice I fled thy shores, 0 Queen!Divine decrees compelled me, even as nowAmong these ghosts I pass, and thread my wayAlong this gulf of night and loathsome land.How could I deem my cruel taking leaveWould bring thee at the last to all this woe?0, stay! Why shun me? Wherefore haste away?Our last farewell! Our doom! I speak it now!”Thus, though she glared with fierce, relentless gaze,Aaeneas, with fond words and tearful plea,Would soothe her angry soul. But on the groundShe fixed averted eyes. For all he spokeMoved her no more than if her frowning browWere changeless flint or carved in Parian stone.Then, after pause, away in wrath she fled,And refuge took within the cool, dark grove,Where her first spouse, Sichaeus, with her tearsMingled his own in mutual love and true.Aeneas, none the less, her guiltless woeWith anguish knew, watched with dimmed eyes her way,And pitied from afar the fallen Queen.

But now his destined way he must be gone;Now the last regions round the travellers lie,Where famous warriors in the darkness dwell:Here Tydeus comes in view, with far-renownedParthenopaeus and Adrastus pale;Here mourned in upper air with many a moan,In battle fallen, the Dardanidae,Whose long defile Aeneas groans to see:Glaucus and Medon and Thersilochus,Antenor's children three, and Ceres' priest,That Polypoetes, and Idaeus still.Keeping the kingly chariot and spear.Around him left and right the crowding shadesNot only once would see, but clutch and clingObstructive, asking on what quest he goes.Soon as the princes of Argolic blood,With line on line of Agamemnon's men,Beheld the hero and his glittering armsFlash through the dark, they trembled with amaze,Or turned in flight, as if once more they fledTo shelter of the ships; some raised aloftA feeble shout, or vainly opened wideTheir gaping lips in mockery of sound.

Here Priam's son, with body rent and torn,DeiphobusDeïphobus is seen,—his mangled face,His face and bloody hands, his wounded headOf ears and nostrils infamously shorn.Scarce could Aeneas know the shuddering shadeThat strove to hide its face and shameful scar;But, speaking first, he said, in their own tongue:“Deiphobus, strong warrior, nobly bornOf Teucer's royal stem, what ruthless foeCould wish to wreak on thee this dire revenge?Who ventured, unopposed, so vast a wrong?The rumor reached me how, that deadly night,Wearied with slaying Greeks, thyself didst fallProne on a mingled heap of friends and foes.Then my own hands did for thy honor buildAn empty tomb upon the Trojan shore,And thrice with echoing voice I called thy shade.Thy name and arms are there. But, 0 my friend,Thee could I nowhere find, but launched away,Nor o'er thy bones their native earth could fling.”To him the son of Priam thus replied:“Nay, friend, no hallowed rite was left undone,But every debt to death and pity dueThe shades of thy Deiphobus received.My fate it was, and Helen's murderous wrong,Wrought me this woe; of her these tokens tell.For how that last night in false hope we passed,Thou knowest,—ah, too well we both recall!When up the steep of Troy the fateful horseCame climbing, pregnant with fierce men-at-arms,'t was she, accurst, who led the Phrygian damesIn choric dance and false bacchantic song,And, waving from the midst a lofty brand,Signalled the Greeks from Ilium's central towerIn that same hour on my sad couch I lay,Exhausted by long care and sunk in sleep,That sweet, deep sleep, so close to tranquil death.But my illustrious bride from all the houseHad stolen all arms; from 'neath my pillowed headShe stealthily bore off my trusty sword;Then loud on Menelaus did she call,And with her own false hand unbarred the door;Such gift to her fond lord she fain would sendTo blot the memory of his ancient wrong!Why tell the tale, how on my couch they broke,While their accomplice, vile Aeolides,Counselled to many a crime. 0 heavenly Powers!Reward these Greeks their deeds of wickedness,If with clean lips upon your wrath I call!But, friend, what fortunes have thy life befallen?Tell point by point. Did waves of wandering seasDrive thee this way, or some divine command?What chastisement of fortune thrusts thee onToward this forlorn abode of night and cloud?”