No More Learning

And even as they
came, they see on the dry beach Misenus cut off by untimely death,
Misenus the Aeolid, excelled of none other in stirring men with brazen
breath and kindling battle with his trumpet-note. He had been attendant
on mighty Hector; in Hector's train he waged battle, renowned alike for
bugle and spear: after victorious Achilles robbed him of life the
valiant hero had joined Dardanian Aeneas' company, and followed no
meaner leader. But now, while he makes his hollow shell echo over the
seas, ah fool! and calls the gods to rival his blast, jealous Triton, if
belief is due, had caught him among the rocks and sunk him in the
foaming waves. So all surrounded him with loud murmur and cries, good
Aeneas the foremost. Then weeping they quickly hasten on the Sibyl's
orders, and work hard to pile trees for the altar of burial, and heap it
up into the sky. They move into the ancient forest, the deep coverts of
game; pitch-pines fall flat, ilex rings to the stroke of axes, and ashen
beams and oak are split in clefts with wedges; they roll in huge
mountain-ashes from the hills. Aeneas likewise is first in the work, and
cheers on his crew and arms himself with their weapons. And alone with
his sad heart he ponders it all, gazing on the endless forest, and
utters this prayer: 'If but now that bough of gold would shew itself to
us on the tree in this depth of woodland! since all the soothsayer's
tale of thee, Misenus, was, alas! too truly spoken. ' Scarcely had he
said thus, when twin doves haply came flying down the sky, and lit on
the green sod right under his eyes. Then the kingly hero knows them for
his mother's birds, and joyfully prays: 'Ah, be my guides, if way there
be, and direct your aery passage into the groves [195-230]where the
rich bough overshadows the fertile ground! and thou, O goddess mother,
fail not our wavering fortune. ' So spoke he and stayed his steps,
marking what they signify, whither they urge their way.
Feeding and
flying they advance at such distance as following eyes could keep them
in view; then, when they came to Avernus' pestilent gorge, they tower
swiftly, and sliding down through the liquid air, choose their seat and
light side by side on a tree, through whose boughs shone out the
contrasting flicker of gold. As in chill mid-winter the woodland is wont
to blossom with the strange leafage of the mistletoe, sown on an alien
tree and wreathing the smooth stems with burgeoning saffron; so on the
shadowy ilex seemed that leafy gold, so the foil tinkled in the light
breeze. Immediately Aeneas seizes it and eagerly breaks off its
resistance, and carries it beneath the Sibyl's roof.

And therewithal the Teucrians on the beach wept Misenus, and bore the
last rites to the thankless ashes. First they build up a vast pyre of
resinous billets and sawn oak, whose sides they entwine with dark leaves
and plant funereal cypresses in front, and adorn it above with his
shining armour. Some prepare warm water in cauldrons bubbling over the
flames, and wash and anoint the chill body, and make their moan; then,
their weeping done, lay his limbs on the pillow, and spread over it
crimson raiment, the accustomed pall. Some uplift the heavy bier, a
melancholy service, and with averted faces in their ancestral fashion
hold and thrust in the torch. Gifts of frankincense, food, and bowls of
olive oil, are poured and piled upon the fire. After the embers sank in
and the flame died away, they soaked with wine the remnant of thirsty
ashes, and Corynaeus gathered the bones and shut them in an urn of
brass; and he too thrice encircled his comrades with fresh water, and
cleansed them with light spray sprinkled from a [231-267]bough of
fruitful olive, and spoke the last words of all. But good Aeneas heaps a
mighty mounded tomb over him, with his own armour and his oar and
trumpet, beneath a skyey mountain that now is called Misenus after him,
and keeps his name immortal from age to age.

This done, he hastens to fulfil the Sibyl's ordinance. A deep cave
yawned dreary and vast, shingle-strewn, sheltered by the black lake and
the gloom of the forests; over it no flying things could wing their way
unharmed, such a vapour streamed from the dark gorge and rose into the
overarching sky. Here the priestess first arrays four black-bodied
bullocks and pours wine upon their forehead; and plucking the topmost
hairs from between the horns, lays them on the sacred fire for
first-offering, calling aloud on Hecate, mistress of heaven and hell.
Others lay knives beneath, and catch the warm blood in cups. Aeneas
himself smites with the sword a black-fleeced she-lamb to the mother of
the Eumenides and her mighty sister, and a barren heifer, Proserpine, to
thee. Then he uprears darkling altars to the Stygian king, and lays
whole carcases of bulls upon the flames, pouring fat oil over the
blazing entrails.