Part 16 (2/2)

They see approaching them across the stream the old boatman Charon, who in his frail skiff ferries souls across the water

A sordid God: down froth of beard descends, uncoirdle foul with grease binds his obscene attire

He spreads his canvas; with his pole he steers; The freights of flitting ghosts in his thin bottom bears

He looked in years; yet in his years were seen A youthful vigor, and autureen

Dryden

The unsubstantial shades throng down to Charon's boat, where soe, and souide for an explanation of this She replies:

Son of Anchises! offspring of the Gods!

(The Sibyl said) you see the Stygian floods, The sacred streams, which heav'n's imperial state Attests in oaths, and fears to violate

The ghosts rejected are th' unhappy crew Depriv'd of sepulchres and fun'ral due: The boatman, Charon: those, the buried host, He ferries over to the farther coast; Nor dares his transport vessel cross the waves With such whose bones are not coraves

A hundred years they wander on the shore; At length, their penance done, are wafted o'er

Dryden

aeneas and his guide now present thee, but the old boatman refuses his boat to mortal bodies, until he is appeased by the Sibyl Griuards the farther bank of the streao, past where the cries of wailing infants fill their ears; where Minos sits in judgns to each his place of punishment; past the abode of suicides, who rushed so rashly out of life, but now sigh vainly for the life which they threay; past the Mourning Fields, dark groves where wander those who died of love Here aeneas meets the shade of Dido, and learns what he had only feared before With tears of love and pity he approaches and addresses her; but she, in indignant silence, turns away

They reach the fields where souls of slain warriors dwell, still handling their shadowy arhostly chariots With ereet their hero, in wonder that he coibbering away

Still on the Sibyl leads her charge, and pausing before the horrid gates of Tartarus, the abode of lost souls, they listen to the dreadful sounds within, ”the groans of ghosts, the pains of sounding lashes and of dragging chains” Standing before the gates, aeneas is told of the suffering which these o whose souls, by reason of impious lives on earth, are past all reach of cure What are the criard as unpardonable sins?

They, who brothers' better claim disown, Expel their parents, and usurp the throne; Defraud their clients, and, to lucre sold, Sit brooding on unprofitable gold; Who dare not give, and e'en refuse to lend, To their poor kindred, or a wanting friend-- Vast is the throng of these; nor less the train Of lustful youths, for foul adult'ry slain-- Hosts of deserters, who their honor sold, And basely broke their faith for bribes of gold; All these within the dungeon's depth re pain

To tyrants, others have their countries sold, Iold; Some have old laws repeal'd, new statutes made, Not as the people pleas'd, but as they paid

With incest sohters' bed profan'd

All dar'd th' worst of ills, and what they dar'd, attain'd

Dryden

As they turn away from this dread place, a tortured voice sounds after the deities

Far off from here they reach the abode of the blessed--the Elysian Fields,

Where long extended plains of pleasure lay

The verdant fields with those of heav'n may vie, With ether vested, and a purple sky-- The blissful seats of happy souls below: Stars of their own, and their own suns, they know

There airy lireen contend the wrestlers' prize

So; Others in artful

Here patriots live, who, for their country's good, In fighting fields were prodigal of blood; Priests of unble God; And searching wits of e with new-invented arts; Those who to worth their bounty did extend, And those who knew that bounty to commend

The heads of these, with holy fillets bound, And all their tearlands crown'd