The King, sore troubled by these portents, soughtoracular wisdom of his sacred sire,Faunus, the fate-revealer, where the grovesstretch under high Albunea, and her streamroars from its haunted well, exhaling throughvast, gloomful woods its pestilential air.Here all Oenotria's tribes ask oraclesin dark and doubtful days: here, when the priesthas brought his gifts, and in the night so still,couched on spread fleeces of the offered flock,awaiting slumber lies, then wondrouslya host of flitting shapes he sees, and hearsvoices that come and go: with gods he holdshigh converse, or in deep Avernian gloomparleys with Acheron. Thither drew nearFather Latinus, seeking truth divine.Obedient to the olden rite, he slewa hundred fleecy sheep, and pillowed layupon their outstretched skins. Straightway a voiceout of the lofty forest met his prayer.“Seek not in wedlock with a Latin lordto join thy daughter, O my son and seed!Beware this purposed marriage! There shall comesons from afar, whose blood shall bear our namestarward; the children of their mighty loins,as far as eve and morn enfold the seas,shall see a subject world beneath their feetsubmissive lie.” This admonition givenLatinus hid not. But on restless wingrumor had spread it, when the men of Troy along the river-bank of mounded green their fleet made fast.Aeneas and his chiefs,with fair Iulus, under spreading boughsof one great tree made resting-place, and setthe banquet on. Thin loaves of altar-breadalong the sward to bear their meats were laid(such was the will of Jove), and wilding fruitsrose heaping high, with Ceres' gift below.Soon, all things else devoured, their hunger turnedto taste the scanty bread, which they attackedwith tooth and nail audacious, and consumedboth round and square of that predestined leaven.“Look, how we eat our tables even!” criedIulus, in a jest. Such was the wordwhich bade their burdens fall. From his boy's lipthe father caught this utterance of Fate,silent with wonder at the ways of Heaven;then swift he spoke: “Hail! O my destined shore,protecting deities of Ilium, hail!Here is our home, our country here! This dayI publish the mysterious prophecyby Sire Anchises given: ‘My son,’ said he,‘When hunger in strange lands shall bid devourthe tables of thy banquet gone, then hopefor home, though weary, and take thought to builda dwelling and a battlement.’ Behold!This was our fated hunger! This last proofwill end our evil days. Up, then! For nowby morning's joyful beam we will explorewhat men, what cities, in this region be,and, leaving ship, our several errands ply.Your gift to Jove outpour! Make thankful prayerunto Anchises' shade! To this our feastbring back the flowing wine!” Thereat he boundhis forehead with green garland, calling loudupon the Genius of that place, and Earth,eldest of names divine; the Nymphs he called,and river-gods unknown; his voice invokedthe night, the omen-stars through night that roll.Jove, Ida's child, and Phrygia's fertile Queen:he called his mother from Olympian skies,and sire from Erebus. Lo, o'er his headthree times unclouded Jove omnipotentin thunder spoke, and, with effulgent rayfrom his ethereal tract outreaching far,shook visibly the golden-gleaming air.Swift, through the concourse of the Trojans, spreadnews of the day at hand when they should buildtheir destined walls. So, with rejoicing heartat such vast omen, they set forth a feastwith zealous emulation, ranging wellthe wine-cups fair with many a garland crowned.

Soon as the morrow with the lamp of dawnlooked o'er the world, they took their separate ways,exploring shore and towns; here spread the poolsand fountain of Numicius; here they seethe river Tiber, where bold Latins dwell.Anchises' son chose out from his brave banda hundred envoys, bidding them departto the King's sacred city, each enwreathedwith Pallas' silver leaf; and gifts they bearto plead for peace and friendship at his throne.While on this errand their swift steps are sped,Aeneas, by a shallow moat and small,his future city shows, breaks ground, and girdswith mound and breastwork like a camp of warthe Trojans' first abode. Soon, making wayto where the Latin citadel uprose,the envoys scanned the battlements, and pausedbeneath its wall. Outside the city gatesfair youths and striplings in life's early bloomcourse with swift steeds, or steer through dusty cloudthe whirling chariot, or stretch stout bows,or hurl the seasoned javelin, or strivein boxing-bout and foot-race: one of thesemade haste on horseback to the aged King,with tidings of a stranger companyin foreign garb approaching. The good Kingbade call them to his house, and took his seatin mid-court on his high, ancestral throne.

Large and majestical the castle rose:a hundred columns lifted it in airupon the city's crown—the royal keepof Picus of Laurentum; round it laydeep, gloomy woods by olden worship blest.Here kings took sceptre and the fasces proudwith omens fair; the selfsame sacred placewas senate-house and temple; here was founda hall for hallowed feasting, where a ramwas offered up, and at long banquet-boardsthe nation's fathers sat in due array.Here ranged ancestral statues roughly hewnof ancient cedar-wood: King Italus;Father Sabinus, planter of the vine,a curving sickle in his sculptured hand;gray-bearded Saturn; and the double browof Janus' head; and other sires and kingswere wardens of the door, with many a chiefwounded in battle for his native land.Trophies of arms in goodly order hungalong the columns: chariots of warfrom foeman taken, axes of round blade,plumed helmets, bolts and barriers of steelfrom city-gates, shields, spears, and beaks of bronzefrom captured galleys by the conqueror torn.Here, wielding his Quirinal augur-staff,girt in scant shift, and bearing on his leftthe sacred oval shield, appeared enthronedPicus, breaker of horses, whom his bride,enamoured Circe, smote with golden wand,and, raining o'er him potent poison-dew,changed to a bird of pied and dappled wings.

In such a temple of his gods did SireLatinus, on hereditary throne,welcome the Trojans to his halls, and thuswith brow serene gave greeting as they came:“O sons of Dardanus, think not unknownyour lineage and city! Rumored faryour venturous voyage has been. What seek ye here?What cause, what quest, has brought your barks and youo'er the blue waters to Ausonia's hills?What way uncharted, or wild stress of storm,or what that sailors suffer in mid-sea,unto this river bank and haven bore?Doubt not our welcome! We of Latin landare Saturn's sons, whose equitable minds,not chained by statute or compulsion, keepin freedom what the god's good custom gave.Now I bethink me our Ausonian seershave dark, dim lore that 't was this land gave birthto Dardanus, who after took his way through Phrygian Ida's towns and Samothrace. Once out of Tuscan Corythus he fared;but now in golden house among the starshe has a throne, and by his altars blestadds to the number of the gods we praise.”

He spoke; Ilioneus this answer made:“O King, great heir of Faunus! No dark stormimpelled us o'er the flood thy realm to find.Nor star deceived, nor strange, bewildering shorethrew out of our true course; but we are comeby our free choice and with deliberate aimto this thy town, though exiled forth of realmsonce mightiest of all the sun-god seeswhen moving from his utmost eastern bound.From Jove our line began; the sons of Troy boast Jove to be their sire, and our true Kingis of Olympian seed. To thine abodeTrojan Aeneas sent us. How there bursto'er Ida's vales from dread Mycenae's kingsa tempest vast, and by what stroke of doom all Asia's world with Europe clashed in war,that lone wight hears whom earth's remotest islehas banished to the Ocean's rim, or hewhose dwelling is the ample zone that burnsbetwixt the changeful sun-god's milder realms,far severed from the world. We are the menfrom war's destroying deluge safely borneover the waters wide. We only asksome low-roofed dwelling for our fathers' gods,some friendly shore, and, what to all is free,water and air. We bring no evil nameupon thy people; thy renown will bebut wider spread; nor of a deed so faircan grateful memory die. Ye ne'er will ruethat to Ausonia's breast ye gathered Troy.I swear thee by the favored destiniesof great Aeneas, by his strength of armin friendship or in war, that many a tribe(O, scorn us not, that, bearing olive green,with suppliant words we come), that many a thronehas sued us to be friends. But Fate's decreeto this thy realm did guide. Here Dardanuswas born; and with reiterate commandthis way Apollo pointed to the streamof Tiber and Numicius' haunted spring.Lo, these poor tributes from his greatness goneAeneas sends, these relics snatched awayfrom Ilium burning: with this golden bowlAnchises poured libation when he prayed;and these were Priam's splendor, when he gavelaws to his gathered states; this sceptre his,this diadem revered, and beauteous pall,handwork of Asia's queens.” So ceased to speakIlioneus. But King Latinus gazedunanswering on the ground, all motionlesssave for his musing eyes. The broidered pallof purple, and the sceptre Priam bore,moved little on his kingly heart, which nowpondered of giving to the bridal bedhis daughter dear. He argues in his mindthe oracle of Faunus:—might this bethat destined bridegroom from an alien land,to share his throne, to get a progenyof glorious valor, which by mighty deedsshould win the world for kingdom? So at lastwith joyful brow he spoke: “Now let the godsour purpose and their own fair promise bless!Thou hast, O Trojan, thy desire. Thy giftsI have not scorned; nor while Latinus reignsshall ye lack riches in my plenteous land,not less than Trojan store. But where is he,Aeneas' self? If he our royal loveso much desire, and have such urgent mindto be our guest and friend, let him draw near,nor turn him from well-wishing looks away!My offering and pledge of peace shall beto clasp your monarch's hand. Bear back, I pray,this answer to your King: my dwelling holdsa daughter, whom with husband of her bloodgreat signs in heaven and from my father's tombforbid to wed. A son from alien shoresthey prophesy for Latium's heir, whose seedshall lift our glory to the stars divine.I am persuaded this is none but he,that man of destiny; and if my heartbe no false prophet, I desire it so.”Thus having said, the sire took chosen steedsfrom his full herd, whereof, well-groomed and fair,three hundred stood within his ample pale.Of these to every Teucrian guest he gavea courser swift and strong, in purple cladand broidered housings gay; on every breasthung chains of gold; in golden robes arrayed,they champed the red gold curb their teeth between.For offering to Aeneas, he bade senda chariot, with chargers twain of seedethereal, their nostrils breathing fire:the famous kind which guileful Circe bred,cheating her sire, and mixed the sun-god's teamwith brood-mares earthly born. The sons of Troy,such gifts and greetings from Latinus bearing,rode back in pomp his words of peace to bring.