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Their fortunes and their fates assigned,
The shape, the mien, the hand, the mind.
Soon as along the green he spied
Æneas hastening to his side,
With eager act both hands he spread,
And bathed his cheeks with tears, and said:
'At last! and are you come at last?
Has love the perilous road o'erpast,
That love, so tried of yore?
And may I hear that well-known tone,
And speak in accents of my own,
And see that face once more?
Ah yes! I knew the hour would come:
I pondered o'er the days' long sum,
Till anxious care the future knew:
And now completion proves it true.
What lands, what oceans have you crossed!
By what a sea of perils tossed!
How oft I feared the fatal charm
Of Libya's realm might work you harm!'
But he: 'Your shade, your mournful shade,
Appearing oft, my purpose swayed
To visit this far place:
My ships are moored by Tyrrhene brine:
O father, link your hand with mine,
Nor fly your son's embrace!'
He said, and sorrow, as he spoke,
In torrents from his eyelids broke.
Thrice strove the son his sire to clasp;
Thrice the vain phantom mocked his grasp,
No vision of the drowsy night,
No airy current, half so light.

Meantime Æneas in the vale
A sheltered forest sees,
Deep woodlands, where the evening gale
Goes whispering through the trees,