High on a hill-top look-out, king Acestes, Son of a Trojan mother and Crinisus, A river-god, saw friendly vessels coming, With wonder and delight, came hurrying toward them, With a bear-skin over his shoulder, and javelins Bristling in his grasp, and he remembered The old relationship, and gave them welcome With all his rustic treasure, a glad returning, Friendly assurance for their weariness. A good night’s rest, and a bright morning followed, And from the shore Aeneas called his comrades, Stood on a little rise of ground, and told them: “Great sons of Dardanus, heaven-born, a year Draws to an end, a year ago we buried My father in this land, and consecrated Sorrowful altars to his shade. The day Comes round again, which I shall always cherish, Always lament, with reverence, in the mourning, For the gods’ will. If I were held, an exile, In the Gaetulian quicksands, or a captive In some Greek ship or city, I would honor This day with solemn rites, and pile the altars With sacrificial offering. But now,-- This must be heaven’s purpose--we have entered A friendly harbor. Come, then, all of us, Let us be happy in our celebration, Let us pray for winds, and that the god hereafter Receive his rites in temples for his honor Built in the city we found. Two heads of oxen Acestes gives each vessel; bring the gods Of our own household, and the ones Acestes Pays worship to. Nine days from now, if dawn Comes bright and shining over the world of men, There will be games, a contest for the boats, A foot-race, javelin-throw or archery, a battle With rawhide gloves; let all attend, competing For victory’s palm and prize. And now, in silence, Garland the brow with leaves.”
He bound his temples With Venus’ myrtle, and the others followed, Acestes, Helymus, and young Iulus, And the other lads, and Aeneas, from the meeting, Moved to Anchises’ tomb, and many thousands Came thronging there. He poured libation, duly, Bowls of pure wine, and milk, and victim-blood, And strewed bright flowers, praying: “Holy father, Hail, once again; hail once again, O ashes, Regained in vain; hail, holy shade and spirit! Hail, from a son, destined to seek alone The fated fields, Italian soil, alone To seek, whatever it is, Ausonian Tiber.” And as he finished speaking, a huge serpent Slid over the ground, seven shining loops, surrounding The tomb, peacefully gliding around the altars, Dappled with blue and gold, such iridescence As rainbow gives to cloud, when the sun strikes it. Aeneas stood amazed; and the great serpent Crawled to the bowls and cups, tasted the offerings, And slid again, without a hint of menace, Under the altar-stone. Intent, Aeneas Resumed the rites; the serpent might have been, For all he knew, a guardian of the altar, Or some familiar spirit of Anchises. Two sheep he sacrificed, two swine, two heifers, Poured wine, invoked the spirit of his father, And the shade loosed from Acheron. His comrades Also bring gifts, whatever they can, slay bullocks, Load altars high; others prepare the kettles, Sprawl on the greensward, keep the live coals glowing Under the roasting-spits, and the meat turning.