No More Learning

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. And lo! about the first rays of sunrise the ground
moaned underfoot, and the woodland ridges began to stir, and dogs seemed
to howl through the dusk as the goddess came.
'Apart, ah keep apart, O
ye unsanctified! ' cries the soothsayer; 'retire from all the grove; and
thou, stride on and unsheath thy steel; now is need of courage, O
Aeneas, now of strong resolve. ' So much she spoke, and plunged madly
into the cavern's opening; he with unflinching steps keeps pace with his
advancing guide.

Gods who are sovereign over souls! silent ghosts, and Chaos and
Phlegethon, the wide dumb realm of night! as I have heard, so let me
tell, and according to your will unfold things sunken deep under earth
in gloom.

[268-303]They went darkling through the dusk beneath the solitary
night, through the empty dwellings and bodiless realm of Dis; even as
one walks in the forest beneath the jealous light of a doubtful moon,
when Jupiter shrouds the sky in shadow and black night blots out the
world. Right in front of the doorway and in the entry of the jaws of
hell Grief and avenging Cares have made their bed; there dwell wan
Sicknesses and gloomy Eld, and Fear, and ill-counselling Hunger, and
loathly Want, shapes terrible to see; and Death and Travail, and thereby
Sleep, Death's kinsman, and the Soul's guilty Joys, and death-dealing
War full in the gateway, and the Furies in their iron cells, and mad
Discord with bloodstained fillets enwreathing her serpent locks.

Midway an elm, shadowy and high, spreads her boughs and secular arms,
where, one saith, idle Dreams dwell clustering, and cling under every
leaf. And monstrous creatures besides, many and diverse, keep covert at
the gates, Centaurs and twy-shaped Scyllas, and the hundredfold
Briareus, and the beast of Lerna hissing horribly, and the Chimaera
armed with flame, Gorgons and Harpies, and the body of the triform
shade. Here Aeneas snatches at his sword in a sudden flutter of terror,
and turns the naked edge on them as they come; and did not his wise
fellow-passenger remind him that these lives flit thin and unessential
in the hollow mask of body, he would rush on and vainly lash through
phantoms with his steel.

Hence a road leads to Tartarus and Acheron's wave. Here the dreary pool
swirls thick in muddy eddies and disgorges into Cocytus with its load of
sand. Charon, the dread ferryman, guards these flowing streams, ragged
and awful, his chin covered with untrimmed masses of hoary hair, and his
glassy eyes aflame; his soiled raiment hangs knotted from his shoulders.
Himself he plies the pole and trims the sails of his vessel, the
steel-blue galley with freight [304-336]of dead; stricken now in years,
but a god's old age is lusty and green. Hither all crowded, and rushed
streaming to the bank, matrons and men and high-hearted heroes dead and
done with life, boys and unwedded girls, and children laid young on the
bier before their parents' eyes, multitudinous as leaves fall dropping
in the forests at autumn's earliest frost, or birds swarm landward from
the deep gulf, when the chill of the year routs them overseas and drives
them to sunny lands.