While thus they talked, the crimsoned car of Morn Had wheeled beyond the midmost point of heaven, On her ethereal road. The princely pair Had wasted thus the whole brief gift of hours; But Sibyl spoke the warning: “Night speeds by, And we, Aeneas, lose it in lamenting. Here comes the place where cleaves our way in twain. Thy road, the right, toward Pluto's dwelling goes, And leads us to Elysium. But the left Speeds sinful souls to doom, and is their path To Tartarus th' accurst.” Deiphobus Deïphobus 
 Cried out: “0 priestess, be not wroth with us! Back to the ranks with yonder ghosts I go. 0 glory of my race, pass on! Thy lot Be happier than mine!” He spoke, and fled. Aeneas straightway by the leftward cliff Beheld a spreading rampart, high begirt With triple wall, and circling round it ran A raging river of swift floods of flame, Infernal Phlegethon, which whirls along Loud-thundering rocks. A mighty gate is there Columned in adamant; no human power, Nor even the gods, against this gate prevail. Tall tower of steel it has; and seated there Tisiphone, in blood-flecked pall arrayed, Sleepless forever, guards the entering way. Hence groans are heard, fierce cracks of lash and scourge, Loud-clanking iron links and trailing chains. Aeneas motionless with horror stood o'erwhelmed at such uproar. “0 virgin, say What shapes of guilt are these? What penal woe Harries them thus? What wailing smites the air?” To whom the Sibyl, “Far-famed prince of Troy , The feet of innocence may never pass Into this house of sin. But Hecate, When o'er th' Avernian groves she gave me power, Taught me what penalties the gods decree, And showed me all. There Cretan Rhadamanth His kingdom keeps, and from unpitying throne Chastises and lays bare the secret sins Of mortals who, exulting in vain guile, Elude till death, their expiation due. There, armed forever with her vengeful scourge, Tisiphone, with menace and affront, The guilty swarm pursues; in her left hand She lifts her angered serpents, while she calls A troop of sister-furies fierce as she. Then, grating loud on hinge of sickening sound, Hell's portals open wide. 0, dost thou see What sentinel upon that threshold sits, What shapes of fear keep guard upon that gloom? Far, far within the dragon Hydra broods With half a hundred mouths, gaping and black; And Tartarus slopes downward to the dark Twice the whole space that in the realms of light Th' Olympian heaven above our earth aspires. — Here Earth's first offspring, the Titanic brood, Roll lightning-blasted in the gulf profound; The twin Aloidae Aloïdae , colossal shades, Came on my view; their hands made stroke at Heaven And strove to thrust Jove from his seat on high. I saw Salmoneus his dread stripes endure, Who dared to counterfeit Olympian thunder And Jove's own fire. In chariot of four steeds, Brandishing torches, he triumphant rode Through throngs of Greeks, o'er Elis ' sacred way, Demanding worship as a god. 0 fool! To mock the storm's inimitable flash— With crash of hoofs and roll of brazen wheel! But mightiest Jove from rampart of thick cloud Hurled his own shaft, no flickering, mortal flame, And in vast whirl of tempest laid him low. Next unto these, on Tityos I looked, Child of old Earth, whose womb all creatures bears: Stretched o'er nine roods he lies; a vulture huge Tears with hooked beak at his immortal side, Or deep in entrails ever rife with pain Gropes for a feast, making his haunt and home In the great Titan bosom; nor will give To ever new-born flesh surcease of woe. Why name Ixion and Pirithous, The Lapithae, above whose impious brows A crag of flint hangs quaking to its fall, As if just toppling down, while couches proud, Propped upon golden pillars, bid them feast In royal glory: but beside them lies The eldest of the Furies, whose dread hands Thrust from the feast away, and wave aloft A flashing firebrand, with shrieks of woe. Here in a prison-house awaiting doom Are men who hated, long as life endured, Their brothers, or maltreated their gray sires, Or tricked a humble friend; the men who grasped At hoarded riches, with their kith and kin Not sharing ever—an unnumbered throng; Here slain adulterers be; and men who dared To fight in unjust cause, and break all faith With their own lawful lords. Seek not to know What forms of woe they feel, what fateful shape Of retribution hath o'erwhelmed them there. Some roll huge boulders up; some hang on wheels, Lashed to the whirling spokes; in his sad seat Theseus is sitting, nevermore to rise; Unhappy Phlegyas uplifts his voice In warning through the darkness, calling loud, ‘0, ere too late, learn justice and fear God!’ Yon traitor sold his country, and for gold Enchained her to a tyrant, trafficking In laws, for bribes enacted or made void; Another did incestuously take His daughter for a wife in lawless bonds. All ventured some unclean, prodigious crime; And what they dared, achieved. I could not tell, Not with a hundred mouths, a hundred tongues, Or iron voice, their divers shapes of sin, Nor call by name the myriad pangs they bear.” So spake Apollo's aged prophetess. “Now up and on!” she cried. “Thy task fulfil! We must make speed. Behold yon arching doors Yon walls in furnace of the Cyclops forged! 'T is there we are commanded to lay down Th' appointed offering.” So, side by side, Swift through the intervening dark they strode, And, drawing near the portal-arch, made pause. Aeneas, taking station at the door, Pure, lustral waters o'er his body threw, And hung for garland there the Golden Bough. Now, every rite fulfilled, and tribute due Paid to the sovereign power of Proserpine, At last within a land delectable Their journey lay, through pleasurable bowers Of groves where all is joy,—a blest abode! An ampler sky its roseate light bestows On that bright land, which sees the cloudless beam Of suns and planets to our earth unknown. On smooth green lawns, contending limb with limb, Immortal athletes play, and wrestle long 'gainst mate or rival on the tawny sand; With sounding footsteps and ecstatic song, Some thread the dance divine: among them moves The bard of Thrace , in flowing vesture clad, Discoursing seven-noted melody, Who sweeps the numbered strings with changeful hand, Or smites with ivory point his golden lyre. Here Trojans be of eldest, noblest race, Great-hearted heroes, born in happier times, Ilus, Assaracus, and Dardanus, Illustrious builders of the Trojan town. Their arms and shadowy chariots he views, And lances fixed in earth, while through the fields Their steeds without a bridle graze at will. For if in life their darling passion ran To chariots, arms, or glossy-coated steeds, The self-same joy, though in their graves, they feel. Lo! on the left and right at feast reclined Are other blessed souls, whose chorus sings Victorious paeans on the fragrant air Of laurel groves; and hence to earth outpours Eridanus, through forests rolling free. Here dwell the brave who for their native land Fell wounded on the field; here holy priests Who kept them undefiled their mortal day; And poets, of whom the true-inspired song Deserved Apollo's name; and all who found New arts, to make man's life more blest or fair; Yea! here dwell all those dead whose deeds bequeath Deserved and grateful memory to their kind. And each bright brow a snow-white fillet wears. Unto this host the Sibyl turned, and hailed Musaeus, midmost of a numerous throng, Who towered o'er his peers a shoulder higher: “0 spirits blest! 0 venerable bard! Declare what dwelling or what region holds Anchises, for whose sake we twain essayed Yon passage over the wide streams of hell.” And briefly thus the hero made reply: “No fixed abode is ours. In shadowy groves We make our home, or meadows fresh and fair, With streams whose flowery banks our couches be. But you, if thitherward your wishes turn, Climb yonder hill, where I your path may show.” So saying, he strode forth and led them on, Till from that vantage they had prospect fair Of a wide, shining land; thence wending down, They left the height they trod; for far below Father Anchises in a pleasant vale Stood pondering, while his eyes and thought surveyed A host of prisoned spirits, who there abode Awaiting entrance to terrestrial air. And musing he reviewed the legions bright Of his own progeny and offspring proud— Their fates and fortunes, virtues and great deeds. Soon he discerned Aeneas drawing nigh o'er the green slope, and, lifting both his hands In eager welcome, spread them swiftly forth. Tears from his eyelids rained, and thus he spoke: “Art here at last? Hath thy well-proven love Of me thy sire achieved yon arduous way? Will Heaven, beloved son, once more allow That eye to eye we look? and shall I hear Thy kindred accent mingling with my own? I cherished long this hope. My prophet-soul Numbered the lapse of days, nor did my thought Deceive. 0, o'er what lands and seas wast driven To this embrace! What perils manifold Assailed thee, 0 my son, on every side! How long I trembled, lest that Libyan throne Should work thee woe!” Aeneas thus replied: “Thine image, sire, thy melancholy shade, Came oft upon my vision, and impelled My journey hitherward. Our fleet of ships Lies safe at anchor in the Tuscan seas. Come, clasp my hand! Come, father, I implore, And heart to heart this fond embrace receive!” So speaking, all his eyes suffused with tears; Thrice would his arms in vain that shape enfold. Thrice from the touch of hand the vision fled, Like wafted winds or likest hovering dreams.