Prostrate on the floor We hear a voice; 'Brave hearts, the land that bore Your sires shall nurse their Dardan sons again.
Seek out your ancient mother; from her shore Through all the world the AEneian house shall reign, And sons of sons unborn the lasting line sustain.' XIV.

"Straight rose a joyous uproar; each in turn Ask what the walls that Phoebus hath designed?
Which way to wander, whither to return?
Then spake my sire, revolving in his mind The ancient legends of the Trojan kind, 'Chieftains, give ear, and learn your hopes and mine; Jove's island lies, amid the deep enshrined, Crete, hundred-towned, a land of corn and wine, Where Ida's mountain stands, the cradle of our line.
XV.

"'Thence Troy's great sire, if I remember right, Old Teucer, to Rhoeteum crossed the flood, And for his future kingdom chose a site.
Nor yet proud Ilion nor her towers had stood; In lowly vales sequestered they abode.
Thence Corybantian cymbals clashed and brayed In praise of Cybele.

In Ida's wood Her mystic rites in secrecy were paid, And lions, yoked in pomp, their sovereign's car conveyed.
XVI.

"'Come then and seek we, as the gods command, The Gnosian kingdoms, and the winds entreat.
Short is the way, nor distant lies the land.
If Jove be present and assist our fleet, The third day lands us on the shores of Crete.' So spake he and on altars, reared aright, Due victims offered, and libations meet; A bull to Neptune and Apollo bright, To tempest a black lamb, to Western winds a white.
XVII.