Elsewhere Anchises,

Fatherly and intent, was off in a deep green valley

Surveying and reviewing souls consigned there,

Those due to pass to the light of the upper world.

It so happened he was just then taking note

Of his whole posterity, the destinies and doings,

Traits and qualities of descendants dear to him,

But seeing Aeneas come wading through the grass

Towards him, he reached his two hands out

In eager joy, his eyes filled up with tears

And he gave a cry: “At last! Are you here at last?

I always trusted that your sense of right

Would prevail and keep you going to the end.

And am I now allowed to see your face,

My son, and hear you talk, and talk to you myself?

This is what I imagined and looked forward to

As I counted the days; and my trust was not misplaced.

To think of the lands and the outlying seas

You have crossed, my son, to receive this welcome.

And after such dangers! I was afraid that Africa

Might be your undoing.” But Aeneas replied:

“Often and often, father, you would appear to me,

Your sad shade would appear, and that kept me going

To this end. My ships are anchored in the Tuscan sea.

Let me take your hand, my father, O let me, and do not

Hold back from my embrace.” And as he spoke he wept.

Three times he tried to reach arms round that neck.

Three times the form, reached for in vain, escaped

Like a breeze between his hands, a dream on wings.