My father’s—thus with pitying accents spoke:
‘Daughter, ’tis thine deep sorrow to endure;
This borne, thy great good fortune then is sure!’
He spoke, and suddenly departing, gave
To my fond yearning arms no sweet embrace.
Alas! I saw him not, though eagerly
To the blue vault of heaven I stretched my hands,
And called on him with loving tones. At last,
With aching heart sleep left me, and I woke.”
The “Annals” were continued, and Homer’s Iliad was rendered into Latin hexameters, by imitators of Ennius. But they were third or fourth rate men, and epic poetry really slumbered after Ennius passed from the stage, till it wakened to new triumphs at the call of Virgil.