“Frown not, dread priestess; I depart, to make
the ghostly number complete, and plunge again in darkness.
Go on your way, our nation’s glory, go: may your
experience of fate be more blest.” He said, and, while
yet speaking, turned away. 35
Suddenly, Æneas looks back, and, under a rock on the
left, sees a broad stronghold, girt by a triple wall; a fierce
stream surrounds it with surges of fire, Tartarean Phlegethon,
and tosses craggy fragments in thunder. Full in
front is a vast gate, its pillars of solid adamant. No force