But others’ woes were useless to appease
Egeria’s grief, or set her mind at ease:
Beneath the hill fill comfortless she laid;
The dropping tears her eyes incessant shed,
Till pitying Phoebus eased her pious wo,
Thaw’d to a spring, whose streams for ever flow.
The nymphs and Virbius like amazement fill’d,
As seized the swains who Tyrrhene furrows till’d,
When heaving up, a clod was seen to roll,
Untouch’d, self-moved, and big with human soul.
The spreading mass, in former shape deposed,
Began to shoot, and arms and legs disclosed,
Till, form’d a perfect man, the living mould
Oped its new mouth, and future truths foretold;
And, Tages named by natives of the place,
Taught arts prophetic to the Tuscan race.
Or such as once by Romulus was shown,
Who saw his lance with sprouting leaves o’ergrown,
When fix’d in earth the point began to shoot,
And, growing downward, turn’d a fibrous root;
While spread aloft, the branching arms display’d,
O’er wondering crowds, an unexpected shade.