Book 5
the spreading sail. On currents swift and strong
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the fleet is wafted, and with thankful soul
they moor on Sicily's familiar strand.
From a far hill-top having seen with joy
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the entering ships, and knowing them for friends,
good King Acestes ran to bid them hail.
Garbed in rough pelt of Libyan bear was he,
and javelins he bore, in sylvan guise:
for him the river-god Crimisus sired
of Trojan wife. Remembering in his heart
his ancient blood, he greeted with glad words
the wanderers returned; bade welcome to
his rude abundance, and with friendly gifts
their weariness consoled. The morrow morn,
soon as the new beams of a golden day
had banished every star, Aeneas called
a council of his followers on the shore,
and from a fair green hillock gave this word:
“Proud sons of Dardanus, whose lofty line
none but the gods began! This day fulfils
the annual cycle of revolving time,
since the dear relics of my god-like sire
to earth we gave, and with dark offerings due
built altars sorrowful. If now I err not,
this is my day—ye gods have willed it so! —
for mourning and for praise. Should it befall
me exiled in Gaetulia's wilderness,
or sailing some Greek sea, or at the walls
of dire Mycenae, still would I renew
unfailing vows, and make solemnity
with thankful rites, and worshipful array,
at altars rich with gifts. But, lo, we come,
beyond all hope, where lie the very bones
of my great sire. Nor did it come to pass
without divine intent and heavenly power,
that on these hospitable shores we stand.
Up, then! For we will make a festal day,
imploring lucky winds! O, may his spirit
grant me to build my city, where his shrines
forever shall receive perpetual vows
