"So spake the seer, and shipward bids his friends Rich gifts convey, and store them in the hold.
Gold, silver plate, carved ivory he sends, With massive caldrons of Dodona's mould; A coat of mail, with triple chain of gold, And shining helm, with cone and flowing crest, The arms of Pyrrhus, glorious to behold.
Nor lacks my sire his presents; for the rest Steeds, guides and arms he finds, and oarsmen of the best.
LXI.

"Then to Anchises, as he bids us spread The sails, with reverence speaks Apollo's seer, 'Far-famed Anchises, honoured with the bed Of haughty Venus, Heaven's peculiar care, Twice saved from Troy! behold Ausonia there, Steer towards her coasts, yet skirt them; far away That region lies, which Phoebus doth prepare.
Blest in thy son's devotion, take thy way.
Why should more words of mine the rising South delay ?' LXII.

"Nor less Andromache, sore grieved to part, Rich raiment fetches, wrought with golden thread, And Phrygian scarf, and still with bounteous heart Loads him with broideries.

'Take these,' she said, 'Sole image of Astyanax now dead.
Thy kin's last gifts, my handiwork, to show How Hector's widow loved the son she bred.
Such eyes had he, such very looks as thou, Such hands, and oh! like thine his age were ripening now!' LXIII.

"With gushing tears I bid the pair farewell.
Live happy ye, whose destinies are o'er; We still must wander where the Fates compel.
Your rest is won; no oceans to explore, No fair Ausonia's ever-fading shore.
Ye still can see a Xanthus and a Troy, Reared by your hands, old Ilion to restore, And brighter auspices than ours enjoy, Nor tempt, like ours, the Greeks to ravage and destroy.
LXIV.