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cries he while the tears run down,

And gives his fleet the rein,

Till, sailing on, the Euboic town

Of Cumæ they attain:

Toward the sea they turn their prores;

Each weary bark the anchor moors:

The crooked invest the shores.

With buoyant hearts the youthful band

Leap out upon the Hesperian strand;

Some seek the fiery sparkles, sown

Deep in the veins of cold flint-stone:

Some fell the silvan-haunted woods,

And point with joy to new-found floods.

But to the height Æneas hies

Where Phœbus holds his seat,

And seeks the cave of wondrous size,

The Sibyl's dread retreat,

The Sibyl, whom the Delian seer

Inspires to see the future clear,

And fills with frenzy's heat:

The grove they enter, and behold

Above their heads the roof of gold.

Sage Dædalus, so runs the tale,

From Minos bent to fly,

On feathery pinions dared to sail

Along the untravelled sky,