LXXXIX. "Tell, happy souls; and thou, great poet, tell
Where—in what place—Anchises doth abide,
For whom we came and crossed the streams of Hell."
Briefly the venerable chief replied:
"Fixt home hath no one; by the streamlet's side,
Or in dark groves, or dewy meads we stray,
Where living waters through the pastures glide.
Mount, if ye list, and I will point the way,		793
Yon summit, and beneath the shining fields survey."
XC. Thus on he leads them, till they leave the height,
Rejoicing.—In a valley far away
The sire Anchises scanned, with fond delight,
The prisoned souls, who waited for the day.
Their shape, their mien his studious eyes survey;
Their fates and fortunes he reviews with pride,
And counts his future offspring in array.
Now, when his son advancing he espied,		802
Aloud, with tearful eyes and outspread hands, he cried:
XCI. "Art thou, then, come at last? Has filial love,
Thrice welcome, braved the perils of the way?
O joy! do I behold thee? hear thee move
Sweet converse as of old? 'Tis come, the day
I longed and looked for, pondering the delay,
And counting every moment, nor in vain.
How tost with perils do I greet thee? yea,
What wanderings thine on every land and main!		811
What dangers did I dread from Libya's tempting reign!"
XCII. "Father, 'twas thy sad image," he replied,
"Oft-haunting, drove me to this distant place.
Our navy floats on the Tyrrhenian tide.
Give me thy hand, nor shun a son's embrace."
So spake the son, and o'er his cheeks apace
Rolled down soft tears, of sadness and delight.
Thrice he essayed the phantom to embrace;
Thrice, vainly clasped, it melted from his sight,		820
Swift as the wingèd wind, or vision of the night.

XCIII. Meanwhile he views, deep-bosomed in a dale,
A grove, and brakes that rustle in the breeze,
And [Lethe,] gliding through the peaceful vale.
Peoples and tribes, all hovering round, he sees,
Unnumbered, as in summer heat the bees
Hum round the flowerets of the field, to drain
The fair, white lilies of their sweets; so these
Swarm numberless, and ever and again		829
The gibbering ghosts disperse, and murmur o'er the plain.
XCIV. Awe-struck, Æneas would the cause enquire:
What streams are yonder? what the crowd so great,
That filled the river's margin? Then the Sire
Anchises answered: "They are souls, that wait
For other bodies, promised them by Fate.
Now, by the banks of Lethe here below,
They lose the memory of their former state,
And from the silent waters, as they flow,		838
Drink the oblivious draught, and all their cares forego.
XCV. "Long have I wished to show thee, face to face,
Italia's sons, that thou might'st joy with me
To hail the new-found country of our race."
"Oh father!" said Æneas, "can it be,
That souls sublime, so happy and so free,
Can yearn for fleshly tenements again?
So madly long they for the light?" Then he:
"Learn, son, and listen, nor in doubt remain."		847
And thus in ordered speech the mystery made plain:
XCVI. "First, Heaven and Earth and Ocean's liquid plains,
The Moon's bright globe and planets of the pole,
One mind, infused through every part, sustains;
One universal, animating soul
Quickens, unites and mingles with the whole.
Hence man proceeds, and beasts, and birds of air,
And monsters that in marble ocean roll;
And fiery energy divine they share,		856
Save what corruption clogs, and earthly limbs impair.
XCVII. "Hence Fear and Sorrow, hence Desire and Mirth;
Nor can the soul, in darkness and in chains,
Assert the skies, and claim celestial birth.
Nay, after death, the traces it retains
Of fleshly grossness, and corporeal stains,
Since much must needs by long concretion grow
Inherent. Therefore are they racked with pains,
And schooled in all the discipline of woe;		865
Each pays for ancient sin with punishment below.