burst succeeds of wild multitudinous joy, all asking as one
man what that city is—whither is Phœbus calling the
wanderers, and bidding them return. Then my father,
revolving the traditions of men of old: ‘Listen,’ he cries, 20
‘lords of Troy, and learn where your hopes are. Crete
lies in the midst of the deep, the island of mighty Jove.
There is Mount Ida, and there the cradle of our race.
It has a hundred peopled cities, a realm of richest plenty.
Thence it was that our first father, Teucer, if I rightly 25
recall what I have heard, came in the beginning to the