Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- Thus briefly, Jove. But golden Venus made
- less brief reply. “O Father, who dost hold
- o'er Man and all things an immortal sway!
- Of what high throne may gods the aid implore
- save thine? Behold of yonder Rutuli
- th' insulting scorn! Among them Turnus moves
- in chariot proud, and boasts triumphant war
- in mighty words. Nor do their walls defend
- my Teucrians now. But in their very gates,
- and on their mounded ramparts, in close fight
- they breast their foes and fill the moats with blood.
- Aeneas knows not, and is far away.
- Will ne'er the siege have done? A second time
- above Troy's rising walls the foe impends;
- another host is gathered, and once more
- from his Aetolian Arpi wrathful speeds
- a Diomed. I doubt not that for me
- wounds are preparing. Yea, thy daughter dear
- awaits a mortal sword! If by thy will
- unblest and unapproved the Trojans came
- to Italy, for such rebellious crime
- give them their due, nor lend them succor, thou,
- with thy strong hand! But if they have obeyed
- unnumbered oracles from gods above
- and sacred shades below, who now has power
- to thwart thy bidding, or to weave anew
- the web of Fate? Why speak of ships consumed
- along my hallowed Erycinian shore?
- Or of the Lord of Storms, whose furious blasts
- were summoned from Aeolia? Why tell
- of Iris sped from heaven? Now she moves
- the region of the shades (one kingdom yet
- from her attempt secure) and thence lets loose
- Alecto on the world above, who strides
- in frenzied wrath along th' Italian hills.
- No more my heart now cherishes its hope
- of domination, though in happier days
- such was thy promise. Let the victory fall
- to victors of thy choice! If nowhere lies
- the land thy cruel Queen would deign accord
- unto the Teucrian people,—O my sire,
- I pray thee by yon smouldering wreck of Troy
- to let Ascanius from the clash of arms
- escape unscathed. Let my own offspring live!
- Yea, let Aeneas, tossed on seas unknown,
- find some chance way; let my right hand avail
- to shelter him and from this fatal war
- in safety bring. For Amathus is mine,
- mine are Cythera and the Paphian hills
- and temples in Idalium. Let him drop
- the sword, and there live out inglorious days.
- By thy decree let Carthage overwhelm
- Ausonia's power; nor let defence be found
- to stay the Tyrian arms! What profits it
- that he escaped the wasting plague of war
- and fled Argolic fires? or that he knew
- so many perils of wide wilderness
- and waters rude? The Teucrians seek in vain
- new-born Troy in Latium. Better far
- crouched on their country's ashes to abide,
- and keep that spot of earth where once was Troy!
- Give back, O Father, I implore thee, give
- Xanthus and Simois back! Let Teucer's sons
- unfold once more the tale of Ilium's woe!”