"Lo to the Capitol aloft, for Corinth triumphing,
One glorious with Achæan deaths in victor's chariot goes;
Mycenæ, Agamemnon's house, and Argos he o'erthrows,
Yea and Æacides himself the great Achilles' son;
Avenging so the sires of Troy and Pallas' house undone.840
Great Cato, can I leave thee then untold? pass Cossus o'er?
Or house of Gracchus? Yea, or ye, twin thunderbolts of war,
Ye Scipios, bane of Libyan land? Fabricius, poor and strong?
Or thee, Serranus, casting seed adown the furrows long?
Fabii, where drive ye me outworn? Thou Greatest, thou art he,
Who bringest back thy country's weal by tarrying manfully.

"Others, I know, more tenderly may beat the breathing brass,
And better from the marble block bring living looks to pass;
Others may better plead the cause, may compass heaven's face,
And mark it out, and tell the stars, their rising and their place:850
But thou, O Roman, look to it the folks of earth to sway;
For this shall be thine handicraft, peace on the world to lay,
To spare the weak, to wear the proud by constant weight of war."

So mid their marvelling he spake, and added furthermore:
"Marcellus lo! neath Spoils of Spoils how great and glad he goes,
And overtops all heroes there, the vanquisher of foes:
Yea, he shall prop the Roman weal when tumult troubleth all,
And ride amid the Punic ranks, and crush the rising Gaul,
And hang in sire Quirinus' house the third war-taken gear."

Then spake Æneas, for he saw following Marcellus near860
A youth of beauty excellent, with gleaming arms bedight,
Yet little glad of countenance with eyes that shunned the light:
"O father, who is he that wends beside the hero's hem,
His son belike, or some one else from out that mighty stem?
What murmuring of friends about! How mighty is he made!
But black Night fluttereth over him with woeful mirky shade."

Then midst the rising of his tears father Anchises spoke:
"O son, search not the mighty woe and sorrow of thy folk!
The Fates shall show him to the world, nor longer blossoming
Shall give. O Gods that dwell on high, belike o'ergreat a thing870
The Roman tree should seem to you, should this your gift endure!
How great a wail of mighty men that Field of Fame shall pour
On Mavors' mighty city walls: what death-rites seest thou there,
O Tiber, as thou glidest by his new-wrought tomb and fair!
No child that is of Ilian stock in Latin sires shall raise
Such glorious hope; nor shall the land of Romulus e'er praise
So fair and great a nursling child mid all it ever bore.
Goodness, and faith of ancient days, and hand unmatched in war,
Alas for all! No man unhurt had raised a weaponed hand
Against him, whether he afoot had met the foeman's band,880
Or smitten spur amid the flank of eager foaming horse.
O child of all men's ruth, if thou the bitter Fates mayst force,
Thou art Marcellus. Reach ye hands of lily-blooms fulfilled;
For I will scatter purple flowers, and heap such offerings spilled
Unto the spirit of my child, and empty service do."

Thereafter upon every side they strayed that country through,
Amid wide-spreading airy meads, and sight of all things won.
But after old Anchises now through all had led his son,
And kindled love within his heart of fame that was to be,
Then did he tell him of the wars that he himself should see,890
And of Laurentian peoples taught, and town of Latin folk;
And how from every grief to flee, or how to bear its stroke.

Now twofold are the Gates of Sleep, whereof the one, men say,
Is wrought of horn, and ghosts of sooth thereby win easy way,
The other clean and smooth is wrought of gleaming ivory,
But lying dreams the nether Gods send up to heaven thereby.
All said, Anchises on his son and Sibyl-maid doth wait
Unto the last, and sends them up by that same ivory gate.
He wears the way and gains his fleet and fellow-folk once more.

So for Caieta's haven-mouth by straightest course they bore,900
Till fly the anchors from the bows and sterns swing round ashore.