And my own spirit, that already now So long a time had been, that in her presence 1116 Trembling with awe it had not stood abashed, 1117 Without more knowledge having by mine eyes, Through occult virtue that from her proceeded Of ancient love the mighty influence felt. As soon as on my vision smote the power Sublime, that had already pierced me through Ere from my boyhood I had yet come forth, To the left hand I turned with that reliance With which the little child runs to his mother, When he has fear, or when he is afflicted, To say unto Virgilius: “Not a drachm Of blood remains in me, that does not tremble; I know the traces of the ancient flame.” 1118 But us Virgilius of himself deprived Had left, Virgilius, sweetest of all fathers, Virgilius, to whom I for safety gave me: Nor whatsoever lost the ancient mother 1119 Availed my cheeks now purified from dew,