65
VIRGIL'S GHOST.
I walk in woods from Morning until Eve,
From Eve to dewy Night: and pitch my Camp
In the sepulchral forests, where the bird,
That fled from Tereus, weeps the livelong day:
And all the starry Night she weeps, and sings
Before the gate of Proserpine; a cave,
That leads from Dis into this upper World:
There dwell I, wheresoe'er that dwelling be,
Apart from kings; and with discursive ghosts,
Upon the edge of Morning, sweetly talk.
Now pale Bootes on the cavern shone;
And I, forsaking great Malvezzi's page,
Call'd with sweet voice unto that ghostly herd,
Which they are wont t' obey, for Maro's soul,
T' uprise, and visit the o'er-wakeful Moon.
I call'd; and Maro at the Summons came:
From Eve to dewy Night: and pitch my Camp
In the sepulchral forests, where the bird,
That fled from Tereus, weeps the livelong day:
And all the starry Night she weeps, and sings
Before the gate of Proserpine; a cave,
That leads from Dis into this upper World:
There dwell I, wheresoe'er that dwelling be,
Apart from kings; and with discursive ghosts,
Upon the edge of Morning, sweetly talk.
Now pale Bootes on the cavern shone;
And I, forsaking great Malvezzi's page,
Call'd with sweet voice unto that ghostly herd,
Which they are wont t' obey, for Maro's soul,
T' uprise, and visit the o'er-wakeful Moon.
I call'd; and Maro at the Summons came:
