before the hungry eyes and ever vanishing; the rock overhanging the head of the guilty, ever ready to fall; the stone that has to be rolled with vast labour up the hill, only to roll back again for ever; and, most remarkable of all punishments, the doom of the restless adventurer Theseus for his attempt on Proserpine—to sit for ever in perpetual inactivity. And amidst them all rings out the warning voice of Phlegyas (condemned for having set fire to the temple of Apollo) from his place of torment:—
"Be warned—learn righteousness—and reverence heaven."
Here again we have, it may be, a protest against the teaching of Lucretius: a distinct rejection, on Virgil's part, of the materialistic doctrine which would deny a divine Providence and human responsibility.
The whole conception of Virgil's hell is grand and terrific. Highly material and sensational, it is hardly more so than mediæval divines and artists have represented; and indeed it is more than probable that, consciously or unconsciously, they often adopted pagan notions on the subject. In its moral teaching, whether the poet intended his descriptions to be taken in their literal sense or interpreted in the way of parable, his creed has at least the essential elements of truth.
But now the visitors turn their steps towards the Elysian fields, and after duly hanging up the golden bough at the gate for Proserpine's acceptance, they enter those abodes of the blest:—
