arms round that dear neck: thrice the phantom escaped
the hands that caught at it in vain, impalpable as the
wind, fleeting as the wings of sleep.
Meanwhile Æneas sees in the retired vale a secluded
grove with brakes and rustling woods, and the river of 25
Lethe,[226] which floats along by those abodes of peace.
Round it were flying races and tribes untold: even as
in the meadows when bees in calm summer-tide settle on
flower after flower, and stream over the milk-white lilies,
the humming fills the plain. Startled at the sudden 30