The Song of Eneas’ Men

Joy to us, for yonder river Opens up a pathway calm To the green and silent inland, Under forests dropping balm. Wandering Lares, ye shall nestle In the hearth-light once again— Ye shall drift no more at random, Sport of tempest and of rain. Though the gentle household voices, Wont of old your ears to thrill, By the banks of far Scamander Are forever hushed and still;

Kindred hands shall heap your altars, Kindred knees before you bow, In the country of the stranger, Into which we enter now. Woodland carols bid us welcome From the Siroc and the foam; Safe escaped from moaning surges We at length have found a home. Shepherds’ fires on mountain headlands, We shall watch your gleams no more, Gazing wildly from the billows, To the wished-for, tranquil shore.

Twins of Leda, on our quarters Ye shall never flame again; We shall bow to rustic altars, Not the trident of the main. Softly rolls the yellow river Eddying to the briny sea, Soon upon his waves to carry Battle-ship and argosy; Soon to change his rippling murmur Into ocean’s clangor wild, And be mingled with the waters In which nations are inisled. Joy to us, his gentle current Opens up a pathway calm To the green and silent inland, Under forests dropping balm.