"Phaeacia's heights with the horizon blend; We skim Epirus, and Chaonia's bay Enter, and to Buthrotum's town ascend.
Strange news we hear: A Trojan Greeks obey, Helenus, master of the spouse and sway Of Pyrrhus, and Andromache once more Has yielded to a Trojan lord.

Straightway I burn to greet them, and the tale explore, And from the harbour haste, and leave the ships and shore.
XL.

"Within a grove Andromache that day, Where Simois in fancy flowed again, Her offerings chanced at Hector's grave to pay, A turf-built cenotaph, with altars twain, Source of her tears and sacred to the slain-- And called his shade.

Distracted with amaze She marked me, as the Trojan arms shone plain.
Heat leaves her frame; she stiffens with the gaze, She swoons--and scarce at length these faltering words essays: XLI.

"'Real, then, real is thy face, and true Thy tidings?
Liv'st thou, child of heavenly seed?
If dead, then where is Hector ?' Tears ensue, And wailing, shrill as though her heart would bleed.
Then I, with stammering accents, intercede, And, sore perplext, these broken words outthrow To calm her transport, 'Yea, alive, indeed,-- Alive through all extremities of woe.
Doubt not, thou see'st the truth, no shape of empty show.
XLII.