figured with inwoven gold, and for Ascanius a Phrygian scarf, nor does she fail in courtesy, but loads him with gifts from the loom, and thus speaks: ‘Take these last gifts of your kin, you sole surviving image of my Astyanax! Such was he in eyes, in hands and face; even now would his youth be ripening in equal years with yours!’ My tears welled up as I spoke to them my parting words: ‘Live and be happy, as should those whose destiny is now achieved; we are still summoned from fate to fate. Your rest is won. No seas have you to plough, nor have you to seek Ausonian fields that move for ever backward. You see a copy of Xanthus and a Troy, which your own hands have built, under happier omens, I pray, and better shielded from Greeks.

If ever I enter the Tiber and Tiber’s neighbouring fields and look