Aeneid

Virgil

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

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:

“Divine one, if I tell
my woes and burdens all, and thou could'st pause
to heed the tale, first would the vesper star
th' Olympian portals close, and bid the day
in slumber lie. Of ancient Troy are we—
if aught of Troy thou knowest! As we roved
from sea to sea, the hazard of the storm
cast us up hither on this Libyan coast.
I am Aeneas, faithful evermore
to Heaven's command; and in my ships I bear
my gods ancestral, which I snatched away
from peril of the foe. My fame is known
above the stars. I travel on in quest
of Italy, my true home-land, and I
from Jove himself may trace my birth divine.
With twice ten ships upon the Phryglan main
I launched away. My mother from the skies
gave guidance, and I wrought what Fate ordained.
Yet now scarce seven shattered ships survive
the shock of wind and wave; and I myself
friendless, bereft, am wandering up and down
this Libyan wilderness! Behold me here,
from Europe and from Asia exiled still!”
But Venus could not let him longer plain,
and stopped his grief midway:

“Whoe'er thou art,
I deem that not unblest of heavenly powers,
with vital breath still thine, thou comest hither
unto our Tyrian town. Go steadfast on,
and to the royal threshold make thy way!
I bring thee tidings that thy comrades all
are safe at land; and all thy ships, conveyed
by favoring breezes, safe at anchor lie;
or else in vain my parents gave me skill
to read the skies. Look up at yonder swans!
A flock of twelve, whose gayly fluttering file,
erst scattered by Jove's eagle swooping down
from his ethereal haunt, now form anew
their long-drawn line, and make a landing-place,
or, hovering over, scan some chosen ground,
or soaring high, with whir of happy wings,
re-circle heaven in triumphant song:
likewise, I tell thee, thy Iost mariners
are landed, or fly landward at full sail.
Up, then! let yon plain path thy guidance be,”