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BOOK VI.
181

'Ah! would some God but show me now
In all that wood the golden bough!
My poor, poor friend! in thee, alas,
The Sibyl's words have come to pass.'
Scarce had he said, when lo! there flew
Two snow-white doves before his view,
And on the sward took rest;
His mother's birds the hero knew,
And joyful prayer addrest:
'Hail, gentle guides! before me fly,
And mark my pathway on the sky:
So lead me where the bough of gold
Glooms rich above its parent mould.
And thou, my mother, aid my quest,
Nor leave me doubtful and distrest.'
He stayed his steps, intent to know
What signs they give, which way they go.
By turns they feed, by turns they fly,
Just in the range of human eye;
Till when they scent the noisome gale
Which dark Avernus' jaws exhale
Aloft they rise in rapid flight:
Then on the tree at once alight
Where flashing through the leaves is seen
The golden bough's contrasted sheen.
As in the depth of winter's snow
The parasitic mistletoe
Bursts with fresh bloom, and clothes anew
The smooth bare stems with saffron hue:
So 'mid the oak's umbrageous green
The gleam of leafy gold was seen:
So 'mid the sounds of whispering trees
The thin foil tinkled in the breeze.
At once Æneas grasps the spray:
His haste o'ercomes its coy delay,