Sun and stars are there, Known but to them.

There rival athletes train Their practised limbs, and feats of strength compare.
These run and wrestle on the sandy plain, Those tread the measured dance, and join the song's sweet strain.
LXXXVI.

In flowing robes the Thracian minstrel sings, Sweetly responsive to the seven-toned lyre; Fingers and quill alternate wakes the strings.
Here Teucer's race, and many an ancient sire, Chieftains of nobler days and martial fire, Ilus, high-souled Assaracus, and he Who founded Troy, the rapturous strains admire, And arms afar and shadowy cars they see, And lances fixt in earth, and coursers grazing free.
LXXXVII.

The love of arms and chariots, the care Their glossy steeds to pasture and to train, That pleased them living, still attends them there: These, stretched at ease, lie feasting on the plain; There, choral companies, in gladsome strain, Chant the loud Paean, in a grove of bay, Rich in sweet scents, whence hurrying to the main, Eridanus' full torrent on its way Rolls from below through woods majestic to the day.
LXXXVIII.

There, the slain patriot, and the spotless sage, And pious poets, worthy of the God; There he, whose arts improved a rugged age, And those who, labouring for their country's good, Lived long-remembered,--all, in eager mood, Crowned with white fillets, round the Sibyl pressed; Chiefly Musaeus; in the midst he stood, With ample shoulders towering o'er the rest, When thus the listening crowd the prophetess addressed: LXXXIX.