This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
BOOK III.
89

So spoke the seer, and as he ends
Rich presents to my vessel sends:
Carved ivory and massy gold
And silver stores he in the hold,
And caldrons of Dodona's mould,
A hauberk twined of golden chain,
A helm adorned with flowing mane,
Which Pyrrhus wore: nor lacks my sire
Due bounty, matching his desire.
He finds us horses, finds us guides,
And oars and equipage provides.
Meantime Anchises bids to sail,
Nor longer cheat the expectant gale:
And thus Apollo's seer addressed
In courteous phrase his ancient guest:
'Great chief, fair Venus' honoured mate,
Twice saved by heaven from Ilium's fate.
See there Ausonia's coast at hand!
Before your fleet it lies.
Approach, but think not there to rest:
No, skirt it, and pursue your quest:
Far distant that Ausonian land
Which Phœbus signifies:
Pass on in peace,' he cries, 'pass on,
Blest in the affection of your son!
Why task your patience, or delay
The wind fair blowing from the bay?'
Andromache, as loth to part,
Displays the trophies of her art,
And robes Ascanius in the fold
Of Phrygian mantle, wrought with gold,
Nor stints her hand, but from the store
Brings broidered vestments, more and more:
'Nay, take these too, and let them prove
A fond memorial of the love
Of Hector's sometime wife,