Aeneid

Virgil

Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.

Aeneas' wave-worn crew now landward made,
and took the nearest passage, whither lay
the coast of Libya. A haven there
walled in by bold sides of a rocky isle,
offers a spacious and secure retreat,
where every billow from the distant main
breaks, and in many a rippling curve retires.
Huge crags and two confronted promontories
frown heaven-high, beneath whose brows outspread
the silent, sheltered waters; on the heights
the bright and glimmering foliage seems to show
a woodland amphitheatre; and yet higher
rises a straight-stemmed grove of dense, dark shade.
Fronting on these a grotto may be seen,
o'erhung by steep cliffs; from its inmost wall
clear springs gush out; and shelving seats it has
of unhewn stone, a place the wood-nymphs love.
In such a port, a weary ship rides free
of weight of firm-fluked anchor or strong chain.

Hither Aeneas of his scattered fleet
saving but seven, into harbor sailed;
with passionate longing for the touch of land,
forth leap the Trojans to the welcome shore,
and fling their dripping limbs along the ground.
Then good Achates smote a flinty stone,
secured a flashing spark, heaped on light leaves,
and with dry branches nursed the mounting flame.
Then Ceres' gift from the corrupting sea
they bring away; and wearied utterly
ply Ceres' cunning on the rescued corn,
and parch in flames, and mill 'twixt two smooth stones.
Aeneas meanwhile climbed the cliffs, and searched
the wide sea-prospect; haply Antheus there,
storm-buffeted, might sail within his ken,
with biremes, and his Phrygian mariners,
or Capys or Caicus armor-clad,
upon a towering deck. No ship is seen;
but while he looks, three stags along the shore
come straying by, and close behind them comes
the whole herd, browsing through the lowland vale
in one long line. Aeneas stopped and seized
his bow and swift-winged arrows, which his friend,
trusty Achates, close beside him bore.
His first shafts brought to earth the lordly heads
of the high-antlered chiefs; his next assailed
the general herd, and drove them one and all
in panic through the leafy wood, nor ceased
the victory of his bow, till on the ground
lay seven huge forms, one gift for every ship.
Then back to shore he sped, and to his friends
distributed the spoil, with that rare wine
which good Acestes while in Sicily
had stored in jars, and prince-like sent away
with his Ioved guest;—this too Aeneas gave;
and with these words their mournful mood consoled.

“Companions mine, we have not failed to feel
calamity till now. O, ye have borne
far heavier sorrow: Jove will make an end
also of this. Ye sailed a course hard by
infuriate Scylla's howling cliffs and caves.
Ye knew the Cyclops' crags. Lift up your hearts!
No more complaint and fear! It well may be
some happier hour will find this memory fair.
Through chance and change and hazard without end,
our goal is Latium; where our destinies
beckon to blest abodes, and have ordained
that Troy shall rise new-born! Have patience all!
And bide expectantly that golden day.”

Such was his word, but vexed with grief and care,
feigned hopes upon his forehead firm he wore,
and locked within his heart a hero's pain.
Now round the welcome trophies of his chase
they gather for a feast. Some flay the ribs
and bare the flesh below; some slice with knives,
and on keen prongs the quivering strips impale,
place cauldrons on the shore, and fan the fires.
Then, stretched at ease on couch of simple green,
they rally their lost powers, and feast them well
on seasoned wine and succulent haunch of game.
But hunger banished and the banquet done,
in long discourse of their lost mates they tell,
'twixt hopes and fears divided; for who knows
whether the lost ones live, or strive with death,
or heed no more whatever voice may call?
Chiefly Aeneas now bewails his friends,
Orontes brave and fallen Amycus,
or mourns with grief untold the untimely doom
of bold young Gyas and Cloanthus bold.

After these things were past, exalted Jove,
from his ethereal sky surveying clear
the seas all winged with sails, lands widely spread,
and nations populous from shore to shore,
paused on the peak of heaven, and fixed his gaze
on Libya. But while he anxious mused,
near him, her radiant eyes all dim with tears,
nor smiling any more, Venus approached,
and thus complained: “O thou who dost control
things human and divine by changeless laws,
enthroned in awful thunder! What huge wrong
could my Aeneas and his Trojans few
achieve against thy power? For they have borne
unnumbered deaths, and, failing Italy,
the gates of all the world against them close.
Hast thou not given us thy covenant
that hence the Romans when the rolling years
have come full cycle, shall arise to power
from Troy's regenerate seed, and rule supreme
the unresisted lords of land and sea?
O Sire, what swerves thy will? How oft have I
in Troy's most lamentable wreck and woe
consoled my heart with this, and balanced oft
our destined good against our destined ill!
But the same stormful fortune still pursues
my band of heroes on their perilous way.
When shall these labors cease, O glorious King?
Antenor, though th' Achaeans pressed him sore,
found his way forth, and entered unassailed
Illyria's haven, and the guarded land
of the Liburni. Straight up stream he sailed
where like a swollen sea Timavus pours
a nine-fold flood from roaring mountain gorge,
and whelms with voiceful wave the fields below.
He built Patavium there, and fixed abodes
for Troy's far-exiled sons; he gave a name
to a new land and race; the Trojan arms
were hung on temple walls; and, to this day,
lying in perfect peace, the hero sleeps.
But we of thine own seed, to whom thou dost
a station in the arch of heaven assign,
behold our navy vilely wrecked, because
a single god is angry; we endure
this treachery and violence, whereby
wide seas divide us from th' Hesperian shore.
Is this what piety receives? Or thus
doth Heaven's decree restore our fallen thrones?”

Smiling reply, the Sire of gods and men,
with such a look as clears the skies of storm
chastely his daughter kissed, and thus spake on:
“Let Cytherea cast her fears away!
Irrevocably blest the fortunes be
of thee and thine. Nor shalt thou fail to see
that City, and the proud predestined wall
encompassing Lavinium. Thyself
shall starward to the heights of heaven bear
Aeneas the great-hearted. Nothing swerves
my will once uttered. Since such carking cares
consume thee, I this hour speak freely forth,
and leaf by leaf the book of fate unfold.
Thy son in Italy shall wage vast war
and, quell its nations wild; his city-wall
and sacred laws shall be a mighty bond
about his gathered people. Summers three
shall Latium call him king; and three times pass
the winter o'er Rutulia's vanquished hills.
His heir, Ascanius, now Iulus called
(Ilus it was while Ilium's kingdom stood),
full thirty months shall reign, then move the throne
from the Lavinian citadel, and build
for Alba Longa its well-bastioned wall.

Here three full centuries shall Hector's race
have kingly power; till a priestess queen,
by Mars conceiving, her twin offspring bear;
then Romulus, wolf-nursed and proudly clad
in tawny wolf-skin mantle, shall receive
the sceptre of his race. He shall uprear
and on his Romans his own name bestow.
To these I give no bounded times or power,
but empire without end. Yea, even my Queen,
Juno, who now chastiseth land and sea
with her dread frown, will find a wiser way,
and at my sovereign side protect and bless
the Romans, masters of the whole round world,
who, clad in peaceful toga, judge mankind.
Such my decree! In lapse of seasons due,
the heirs of Ilium's kings shall bind in chains
Mycenae's glory and Achilles' towers,
and over prostrate Argos sit supreme.
Of Trojan stock illustriously sprung,
lo, Caesar comes! whose power the ocean bounds,
whose fame, the skies. He shall receive the name
Iulus nobly bore, great Julius, he.
Him to the skies, in Orient trophies dress,
thou shalt with smiles receive; and he, like us,
shall hear at his own shrines the suppliant vow.
Then will the world grow mild; the battle-sound
will be forgot; for olden Honor then,
with spotless Vesta, and the brothers twain,
Remus and Romulus, at strife no more,
will publish sacred laws. The dreadful gates
whence issueth war, shall with close-jointed steel
be barred impregnably; and prisoned there
the heaven-offending Fury, throned on swords,
and fettered by a hundred brazen chains,
shall belch vain curses from his lips of gore.”

These words he gave, and summoned Maia's son,
the herald Mercury, who earthward flying,
should bid the Tyrian realms and new-built towers
welcome the Trojan waifs; lest Dido, blind
to Fate's decree, should thrust them from the land.
He takes his flight, with rhythmic stroke of wing,
across th' abyss of air, and soon draws near
unto the Libyan mainland. He fulfils
his heavenly task; the Punic hearts of stone
grow soft beneath the effluence divine;
and, most of all, the Queen, with heart at ease
awaits benignantly her guests from Troy.

But good Aeneas, pondering all night long
his many cares, when first the cheerful dawn
upon him broke, resolved to take survey
of this strange country whither wind and wave
had driven him,—for desert land it seemed,—
to learn what tribes of man or beast possess
a place so wild, and careful tidings bring
back to his friends. His fleet of ships the while,
where dense, dark groves o'er-arch a hollowed crag,
he left encircled in far-branching shade.
Then with no followers save his trusty friend
Achates, he went forth upon his way,
two broad-tipped javelins poising in his hand.
Deep to the midmost wood he went, and there
his Mother in his path uprose; she seemed
in garb and countenance a maid, and bore,
like Spartan maids, a weapon; in such guise
Harpalyce the Thracian urges on
her panting coursers and in wild career
outstrips impetuous Hebrus as it flows.
Over her lovely shoulders was a bow,
slender and light, as fits a huntress fair;
her golden tresses without wimple moved
in every wind, and girded in a knot
her undulant vesture bared her marble knees.
She hailed them thus: “Ho, sirs, I pray you tell
if haply ye have noted, as ye came,
one of my sisters in this wood astray?
She bore a quiver, and a lynx's hide
her spotted mantle was; perchance she roused
some foaming boar, and chased with loud halloo.”

So Venus spoke, and Venus' son replied:
“No voice or vision of thy sister fair
has crossed my path, thou maid without a name!
Thy beauty seems not of terrestrial mould,
nor is thy music mortal! Tell me, goddess,
art thou bright Phoebus' sister? Or some nymph,
the daughter of a god? Whate'er thou art,
thy favor we implore, and potent aid
in our vast toil. Instruct us of what skies,
or what world's end, our storm-swept lives have found!
Strange are these lands and people where we rove,
compelled by wind and wave. Lo, this right hand
shall many a victim on thine altar slay!”

Then Venus: “Nay, I boast not to receive
honors divine. We Tyrian virgins oft
bear bow and quiver, and our ankles white
lace up in purple buskin. Yonder lies
the Punic power, where Tyrian masters hold
Agenor's town; but on its borders dwell
the Libyans, by battles unsubdued.
Upon the throne is Dido, exiled there
from Tyre, to flee th' unnatural enmity
of her own brother. 'T was an ancient wrong;
too Iong the dark and tangled tale would be;
I trace the larger outline of her story:
Sichreus was her spouse, whose acres broad
no Tyrian lord could match, and he was-blessed
by his ill-fated lady's fondest love,
whose father gave him her first virgin bloom
in youthful marriage. But the kingly power
among the Tyrians to her brother came,
Pygmalion, none deeper dyed in crime
in all that land. Betwixt these twain there rose
a deadly hatred,—and the impious wretch,
blinded by greed, and reckless utterly
of his fond sister's joy, did murder foul
upon defenceless and unarmed Sichaeus,
and at the very altar hewed him down.
Long did he hide the deed, and guilefully
deceived with false hopes, and empty words,
her grief and stricken love. But as she slept,
her husband's tombless ghost before her came,
with face all wondrous pale, and he laid bare
his heart with dagger pierced, disclosing so
the blood-stained altar and the infamy
that darkened now their house. His counsel was
to fly, self-banished, from her ruined land,
and for her journey's aid, he whispered where
his buried treasure lay, a weight unknown
of silver and of gold. Thus onward urged,
Dido, assembling her few trusted friends,
prepared her flight. There rallied to her cause
all who did hate and scorn the tyrant king,
or feared his cruelty. They seized his ships,
which haply rode at anchor in the bay,
and loaded them with gold; the hoarded wealth
of vile and covetous Pygmalion
they took to sea. A woman wrought this deed.
Then came they to these lands where now thine eyes
behold yon walls and yonder citadel
of newly rising Carthage. For a price
they measured round so much of Afric soil
as one bull's hide encircles, and the spot
received its name, the Byrsa. But, I pray,
what men are ye? from what far land arrived,
and whither going?” When she questioned thus,
her son, with sighs that rose from his heart's depths,
this answer gave: