Page:Aeneid (Conington 1866).djvu/227

Rh There some disport their manly frames

In wrestling and palæstral games,

Strive on the grassy sward, or stand

Contending on the yellow sand:

Some ply the dance with eager feet

And chant responsive to its beat.

The priest of Thrace in loose attire

Makes music on his seven-stringed lyre;

The sweet notes 'neath his fingers trill,

Or tremble 'neath his ivory quill.

Here dwell the chiefs from Teucer sprung,

Brave heroes, born when earth was young,

Ilus, Assaracus, and he

Who gave his name to Dardany.

Marvelling, Æneas sees from far

The ghostly arms, the shadowy car.

Their spears are planted in the mead:

Free o'er the plain their horses feed:

Whate'er the living found of charms

In chariot and refulgent arms,

Whate'er their care to tend and groom

Their glossy steeds, outlives the tomb.

Others along the sward he sees

Reclined, and feasting at their ease

With chanted Pæans, blessed souls,

Amid a fragrant bay-tree grove,

Whence rising in the world above

Eridanus 'twixt bowering trees

His breadth of water rolls.

Here sees he the illustrious dead

Who fighting for their country bled;

Priests, who while earthly life remained

Preserved that life unsoiled, unstained;

Blest bards, transparent souls and clear,

Whose song was worthy Phœbus' ear;