By now Aeneas’ piety and prowess
moved all the gods—and even Juno’s self—
to set aside their ancient spleen and spite.
lulus had grown up, his destiny
was well secured; and now the time had come
for heaven to receive the valiant son
of Cytherea. Venus had beseeched
the other gods’ approval; lovingly,
her arms around her father’s neck, the goddess
asked this: “You never have been harsh with me,
Latin [566–86]
dear father, and I need your kindness now,
as does Aeneas. He is of my blood,
and you are his grandfather; may you then,
in all your magnanimity, grant him
some portion of divinity—a place,
however small, in heaven. He has seen
the frightful kingdom of the dead—he crossed
the Stygian streams—and once is quite enough.”
And all the gods agreed; even the queen,
Jove’s wife, did not look on impassively:
she, too, consented peacefully. Jove said:
“Both you who pray and he whose cause you plead
deserve this gift from heaven: it is yours!”
Such were his words. And Venus thanked her father;
then, drawn through the light air by harnessed doves,
she went to the Laurentian shore, just where,
concealed by reeds, Numicius’ winding stream
pours its fresh waters out into the sea.
She asked the river-god to wash away
and carry off, along his silent course,
into the sea’s abyss, all mortal parts
of her Aeneas. And the horned Numicius,
obeying Venus, cleansed her son of his
mortality; the purest part alone
was left, and this—his sublimated body—
she then anointed with ambrosia mixed
with honeyed nectar, deifying him:
a god the Roman people called Indiges,
revered with altars and a sanctuary.