Page:The Aeneid of Virgil JOHN CONINGTON 1917 V2.pdf/106

 parting, presents Ascanius with robes pictured with gold embroidery, and a Phrygian scarf. She tires not in her bounty, but loads him with gifts of needlework, and bespeaks him thus: 'Take, too, these, dear boy, to be a memorial of what my hands can do—a token for long     5 years of the affection of Andromache, Hector's wife. Yes, take the last presents your kin can bestow, O sole surviving image of my own Astyanax[o]! Those eyes are his eyes, those hands his hands, that face his face, and he would now be growing to manhood by your side, in bloom     10 like yours!' Tears started forth, as I addressed my parting words to the royal pair: 'Live long and happily, as those should for whom the book of Fortune is closed. We, alas! are still called to turn page after page. You have won your rest: you have no expanse of sea to     15 plough, no Ausonian fields to chase, still retiring as you advance. Your eyes look upon a copy of the old Xanthus, upon a Troy which your own hands have made—made, I would hope and pray, with happier auspices, and with less peril of a visit from Greece. If the day ever     20 arrive when I shall enter Tiber and the fields that neighbour Tiber, and look on the walls which Fate has made over to my people, then we will have our two kindred cities, our two fraternal nations—the one in Epirus, the other in Hesperia, with a common founder, Dardanus,     25 and a common history—animated by one heart, till they come to be one Troy. Be this the destined care of our posterity!'

"We push on over the sea under Ceraunia's neighbouring range, whence there is a way to Italy, the shortest     30 course through the water. Meantime the sun drops, and the mountains are veiled in shadow. We stretch ourselves gladly on the lap of earth by the water's side, having cast lots for the oars, and take our ease dispersedly along the dry beach. Sleep's dew sprinkles our wearied limbs. Not      35 yet was night's car entering the middle of its circle, drawn by the unflagging hours, when Palinurus, with no thought of sloth, springs from his bed, explores every wind, and