pile of death in their parents’ eyes—many as are the
leaves that drop and fall in the woods in autumn’s early
cold, or many as are the birds that flock massed together
from the deep to the land, when the wintry year drives 20
them over sea to tenant a sunnier clime. There they
stood, each praying that he might be the first to cross,
with hands yearningly outstretched towards the further
shore; but the grim boatman takes on board now these,
now those, while others he drives away, and bars them 25
from the river’s brink. Æneas cries as a man perplexed