And thou be steadfast in thy hope, sweet son.” Still was that people as far off from us, 564 After a thousand steps of ours I say, As a good thrower with his hand would reach, When they all crowded unto the hard masses Of the high bank, and motionless stood and close, As he stands still to look who goes in doubt. “O happy dead! O spirits elect already!” Virgilius made beginning, “by that peace Which I believe is waiting for you all, Tell us upon what side the mountain slopes, So that the going up be possible, For to lose time irks him most who most knows.” As sheep come issuing forth from out the fold By ones and twos and threes, and the others stand Timidly, holding down their eyes and nostrils, And what the foremost does the others do, 565 Huddling themselves against her, if she stop, Simple and quiet and the wherefore know not; So moving to approach us thereupon I saw the leader of that fortunate flock, Modest in face and dignified in gait.