Wrapt, so it seemed, in clouds of smoke, but bright With yellow flames, through all the house she fled, Scattering a shower of sparkles.

Sore affright And wonder seized them, as the seer with dread Explained the vision; 'twas a sign, he said, That bright and glorious in the rolls of Fate Her fame should flourish and her name be spread, But dark should lour the fortunes of the state, Whelmed in a mighty war and sunk in evil strait.
XII.

Forth hastes Latinus, by these sights distressed, To Faunus' oracle, his sire renowned, And seeks the grove, beneath Albunea's crest, And sacred spring, which, echoing from the ground, Leaps up and flings its sulphurous fumes around.
Here, craving counsel when in doubtful plight, Italians and OEnotria's tribes are found.
Here, when the priest, his offerings paid aright, On skins of slaughtered beasts, in stillness of the night, XIII.

Lies down to sleep, in visions he beholds Weird shapes, and many a wondrous voice doth hear, And, borne in spirit to Avernus, holds Deep converse there with Acheron.

'Twas here Latinus sought for answer from the seer.
A hundred ewes, obedient to the rite, He slew, then rested, with expectant ear, Stretched on their fleeces, when, at noon of night, Straight from the grove's deep gloom forth pealed a voice of might: XIV.