Nautes the aged now so wisely gives you. The flower of
your youth, the stoutest hearts you have, let these and
these only follow you to Italy—hard and of iron grain is
the race you have to war down in Latium. Still, ere you
go there, come to the infernal halls of Dis,[195] and travel 20
through Avernus’ deep shades till you meet your father.
No, my son, godless Tartarus[196] and its spectres of sorrow
have no hold on me—the company of the good is my
loved resort and Elysium[197] my dwelling. The virgin Sibyl
shall point you the way, and the streaming blood of black 25