Chapter 60

Thus while he wrought, revolving in his mind The ways to compass what his wish design’d, He cast his eyes upon the gloomy grove, And then with vows implor’d the Queen of Love: “O may thy pow’r, propitious still to me, Conduct my steps to find the fatal tree, In this deep forest; since the Sibyl’s breath Foretold, alas! too true, Misenus’ death.” Scarce had he said, when, full before his sight, Two doves, descending from their airy flight, Secure upon the g…