Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- Thus Sinon's guile and practiced perjury
- our doubt dispelled. His stratagems and tears
- wrought victory where neither Tydeus' son,
- nor mountain-bred Achilles could prevail,
- nor ten years' war, nor fleets a thousand strong.
- But now a vaster spectacle of fear
- burst over us, to vex our startled souls.
- Laocoon, that day by cast of lot
- priest unto Neptune, was in act to slay
- a huge bull at the god's appointed fane.
- Lo! o'er the tranquil deep from Tenedos
- appeared a pair (I shudder as I tell)
- of vastly coiling serpents, side by side,
- stretching along the waves, and to the shore
- taking swift course; their necks were lifted high,
- their gory dragon-crests o'ertopped the waves;
- all else, half seen, trailed low along the sea;
- while with loud cleavage of the foaming brine
- their monstrous backs wound forward fold on fold.
- Soon they made land; the furious bright eyes
- glowed with ensanguined fire; their quivering tongues
- lapped hungrily the hissing, gruesome jaws.
- All terror-pale we fled. Unswerving then
- the monsters to Laocoon made way.
- First round the tender limbs of his two sons
- each dragon coiled, and on the shrinking flesh
- fixed fast and fed. Then seized they on the sire,
- who flew to aid, a javelin in his hand,
- embracing close in bondage serpentine
- twice round the waist; and twice in scaly grasp
- around his neck, and o'er him grimly peered
- with lifted head and crest; he, all the while,
- his holy fillet fouled with venomous blood,
- tore at his fetters with a desperate hand,
- and lifted up such agonizing voice,
- as when a bull, death-wounded, seeks to flee
- the sacrificial altar, and thrusts back
- from his doomed head the ill-aimed, glancing blade.
- then swiftly writhed the dragon-pair away
- unto the templed height, and in the shrine
- of cruel Pallas sure asylum found
- beneath the goddess' feet and orbed shield.
- Such trembling horror as we ne'er had known
- seized now on every heart. “ Of his vast guilt
- Laocoon,” they say, “receives reward;
- for he with most abominable spear
- did strike and violate that blessed wood.
- Yon statue to the temple! Ask the grace
- of glorious Pallas!” So the people cried
- in general acclaim.Ourselves did make
- a breach within our walls and opened wide
- the ramparts of our city. One and all
- were girded for the task. Smooth-gliding wheels
- were 'neath its feet; great ropes stretched round its neck,
- till o'er our walls the fatal engine climbed,
- pregnant with men-at-arms. On every side
- fair youths and maidens made a festal song,
- and hauled the ropes with merry heart and gay.
- So on and up it rolled, a tower of doom,
- and in proud menace through our Forum moved.
- O Ilium, my country, where abode
- the gods of all my sires! O glorious walls
- of Dardan's sons! before your gates it passed,
- four times it stopped and dreadful clash of arms
- four times from its vast concave loudly rang.
- Yet frantic pressed we on, our hearts all blind,
- and in the consecrated citadel
- set up the hateful thing. Cassandra then
- from heaven-instructed heart our doom foretold;
- but doomed to unbelief were Ilium's sons.
- Our hapless nation on its dying day
- flung free o'er streets and shrines the votive flowers.
- The skies rolled on; and o'er the ocean fell
- the veil of night, till utmost earth and heaven
- and all their Myrmidonian stratagems
- were mantled darkly o'er. In silent sleep
- the Trojan city lay; dull slumber chained
- its weary life. But now the Greek array
- of ordered ships moved on from Tenedos,
- their only light the silent, favoring moon,
- on to the well-known strand. The King displayed
- torch from his own ship, and Sinon then,
- whom wrathful Heaven defended in that hour,
- let the imprisoned band of Greeks go free
- from that huge womb of wood; the open horse
- restored them to the light; and joyfully
- emerging from the darkness, one by one,
- princely Thessander, Sthenelus, and dire
- Ulysses glided down the swinging cord.
- Closely upon them Neoptolemus,
- the son of Peleus, came, and Acamas,
- King Menelaus, Thoas and Machaon,
- and last, Epeus, who the fabric wrought.
- Upon the town they fell, for deep in sleep
- and drowsed with wine it lay; the sentinels
- they slaughtered, and through gates now opened wide
- let in their fellows, and arrayed for war
- th' auxiliar legions of the dark design.
- That hour it was when heaven's first gift of sleep
- on weary hearts of men most sweetly steals.
- O, then my slumbering senses seemed to see
- Hector, with woeful face and streaming eyes;
- I seemed to see him from the chariot trailing,
- foul with dark dust and gore, his swollen feet
- pierced with a cruel thong. Ah me! what change
- from glorious Hector when he homeward bore
- the spoils of fierce Achilles; or hurled far
- that shower of torches on the ships of Greece!
- Unkempt his beard, his tresses thick with blood,
- and all those wounds in sight which he did take
- defending Troy. Then, weeping as I spoke,
- I seemed on that heroic shape to call
- with mournful utterance: “O star of Troy!
- O surest hope and stay of all her sons!
- Why tarriest thou so Iong? What region sends
- the long-expected Hector home once more?
- These weary eyes that look on thee have seen
- hosts of thy kindred die, and fateful change
- upon thy people and thy city fall.
- O, say what dire occasion has defiled
- thy tranquil brows? What mean those bleeding wounds?”
- Silent he stood, nor anywise would stay
- my vain lament; but groaned, and answered thus:
- “Haste, goddess-born, and out of yonder flames
- achieve thy flight. Our foes have scaled the wall;
- exalted Troy is falling. Fatherland
- and Priam ask no more. If human arm
- could profit Troy, my own had kept her free.
- Her Lares and her people to thy hands
- Troy here commends. Companions let them be
- of all thy fortunes. Let them share thy quest
- of that wide realm, which, after wandering far,
- thou shalt achieve, at last, beyond the sea.”
- He spoke: and from our holy hearth brought forth
- the solemn fillet, the ancestral shrines,
- and Vesta's ever-bright, inviolate fire.
- Now shrieks and loud confusion swept the town;
- and though my father's dwelling stood apart
- embowered deep in trees, th' increasing din
- drew nearer, and the battle-thunder swelled.
- I woke on sudden, and up-starting scaled
- the roof, the tower, then stood with listening ear:
- 't was like an harvest burning, when wild winds
- uprouse the flames; 't was like a mountain stream
- that bursts in flood and ruinously whelms
- sweet fields and farms and all the ploughman's toil,
- whirling whole groves along; while dumb with fear,
- from some far cliff the shepherd hears the sound.
- Now their Greek plot was plain, the stratagem
- at last laid bare. Deiphobus' great house
- sank vanquished in the fire. Ucalegon's
- hard by was blazing, while the waters wide
- around Sigeum gave an answering glow.
- Shrill trumpets rang; Ioud shouting voices roared;
- wildly I armed me (when the battle calls,
- how dimly reason shines!); I burned to join
- the rally of my peers, and to the heights
- defensive gather. Frenzy and vast rage
- seized on my soul. I only sought what way
- with sword in hand some noble death to die.
- When Panthus met me, who had scarce escaped
- the Grecian spears,—Panthus of Othrys' line,
- Apollo's priest within our citadel;
- his holy emblems, his defeated gods,
- and his small grandson in his arms he bore,
- while toward the gates with wild, swift steps he flew.
- “How fares the kingdom, Panthus? What strong place
- is still our own?” But scarcely could I ask
- when thus, with many a groan, he made reply:—
- “Dardania's death and doom are come to-day,
- implacable. There is no Ilium now;
- our Trojan name is gone, the Teucrian throne
- Quite fallen. For the wrathful power of Jove
- has given to Argos all our boast and pride.
- The Greek is Iord of all yon blazing towers.
- yon horse uplifted on our city's heart
- disgorges men-at-arms. False Sinon now,
- with scorn exultant, heaps up flame on flame.
- Others throw wide the gates. The whole vast horde
- that out of proud Mycenae hither sailed
- is at us. With confronting spears they throng
- each narrow passage. Every steel-bright blade
- is flashing naked, making haste for blood.
- Our sentries helpless meet the invading shock
- and give back blind and unavailing war.”
- By Panthus' word and by some god impelled,
- I flew to battle, where the flames leaped high,
- where grim Bellona called, and all the air
- resounded high as heaven with shouts of war.
- Rhipeus and Epytus of doughty arm
- were at my side, Dymas and Hypanis,
- seen by a pale moon, join our little band;
- and young Coroebus, Mygdon's princely son,
- who was in Troy that hour because he loved
- Cassandra madly, and had made a league
- as Priam's kinsman with our Phrygian arms:
- ill-starred, to heed not what the virgin raved!
- When these I saw close-gathered for the fight,
- I thus addressed them: “Warriors, vainly brave,
- if ye indeed desire to follow one
- who dares the uttermost brave men may do,
- our evil plight ye see: the gods are fled
- from every altar and protecting fire,
- which were the kingdom's stay. Ye offer aid
- unto your country's ashes. Let us fight
- unto the death! To arms, my men, to arms!
- The single hope and stay of desperate men
- is their despair.” Thus did I rouse their souls.
- Then like the ravening wolves, some night of cloud,
- when cruel hunger in an empty maw
- drives them forth furious, and their whelps behind
- wait famine-throated; so through foemen's steel
- we flew to surest death, and kept our way
- straight through the midmost town . The wings of night
- brooded above us in vast vault of shade.
- But who the bloodshed of that night can tell?
- What tongue its deaths shall number, or what eyes
- find meed of tears to equal all its woe?
- The ancient City fell, whose throne had stood
- age after age. Along her streets were strewn
- the unresisting dead; at household shrines
- and by the temples of the gods they lay.
- Yet not alone was Teucrian blood required:
- oft out of vanquished hearts fresh valor flamed,
- and the Greek victor fell. Anguish and woe
- were everywhere; pale terrors ranged abroad,
- and multitudinous death met every eye.
- Androgeos, followed by a thronging band
- of Greeks, first met us on our desperate way;
- but heedless, and confounding friend with foe,
- thus, all unchallenged, hailed us as his own :
- “Haste, heroes! Are ye laggards at this hour?
- Others bear off the captives and the spoil
- of burning Troy. Just from the galleys ye?”
- He spoke; but straightway, when no safe reply
- returned, he knew himself entrapped, and fallen
- into a foeman's snare; struck dumb was he
- and stopped both word and motion; as one steps,
- when blindly treading a thick path of thorns,
- upon a snake, and sick with fear would flee
- that lifted wrath and swollen gorge of green:
- so trembling did Androgeos backward fall.
- At them we flew and closed them round with war;
- and since they could not know the ground, and fear
- had whelmed them quite, we swiftly laid them low.
- Thus Fortune on our first achievement smiled;
- and, flushed with victory, Cormbus cried:
- “Come, friends, and follow Fortune's finger, where
- she beckons us what path deliverance lies.
- Change we our shields, and these Greek emblems wear.
- 'Twixt guile and valor who will nicely weigh
- When foes are met? These dead shall find us arms.”
- With this, he dons Androgeos' crested helm
- and beauteous, blazoned shield; and to his side
- girds on a Grecian blade. Young Rhipeus next,
- with Dymas and the other soldiery,
- repeat the deed, exulting, and array
- their valor in fresh trophies from the slain.
- Now intermingled with our foes we moved,
- and alien emblems wore; the long, black night
- brought many a grapple, and a host of Greeks
- down to the dark we hurled. Some fled away,
- seeking their safe ships and the friendly shore.
- Some cowards foul went clambering back again
- to that vast horse and hid them in its maw.
- But woe is me! If gods their help withhold,
- 't is impious to be brave. That very hour
- the fair Cassandra passed us, bound in chains,
- King Priam's virgin daughter, from the shrine
- and altars of Minerva; her loose hair
- had lost its fillet; her impassioned eyes
- were lifted in vain prayer,—her eyes alone!
- For chains of steel her frail, soft hands confined.
- Coroebus' eyes this horror not endured,
- and, sorrow-crazed, he plunged him headlong in
- the midmost fray, self-offered to be slain,
- while in close mass our troop behind him poured.
- But, at this point, the overwhelming spears
- of our own kinsmen rained resistless down
- from a high temple-tower; and carnage wild
- ensued, because of the Greek arms we bore
- and our false crests. The howling Grecian band,
- crazed by Cassandra's rescue, charged at us
- from every side; Ajax of savage soul,
- the sons of Atreus, and that whole wild horde
- Achilles from Dolopian deserts drew.
- 'T was like the bursting storm, when gales contend,
- west wind and South, and jocund wind of morn
- upon his orient steeds—while forests roar,
- and foam-flecked Nereus with fierce trident stirs
- the dark deep of the sea. All who did hide
- in shadows of the night, by our assault
- surprised, and driven in tumultuous flight,
- now start to view. Full well they now can see
- our shields and borrowed arms, and clearly note
- our speech of alien sound; their multitude
- o'erwhelms us utterly. Coroebus first
- at mailed Minerva's altar prostrate lay,
- pierced by Peneleus, blade; then Rhipeus fell;
- we deemed him of all Trojans the most just,
- most scrupulously righteous; but the gods
- gave judgment otherwise. There Dymas died,
- and Hypanis, by their compatriots slain;
- nor thee, O Panthus, in that mortal hour,
- could thy clean hands or Phoebus, priesthood save.
- O ashes of my country! funeral pyre
- of all my kin! bear witness that my breast
- shrank not from any sword the Grecian drew,
- and that my deeds the night my country died
- deserved a warrior's death, had Fate ordained.
- But soon our ranks were broken; at my side
- stayed Iphitus and Pelias; one with age
- was Iong since wearied, and the other bore
- the burden of Ulysses' crippling wound.
- Straightway the roar and tumult summoned us
- to Priam's palace,where a battle raged
- as if save this no conflict else were known,
- and all Troy's dying brave were mustered there.
- There we beheld the war-god unconfined;
- The Greek besiegers to the roof-tops fled;
- or, with shields tortoise-back, the gates assailed.
- Ladders were on the walls; and round by round,
- up the huge bulwark as they fight their way,
- the shielded left-hand thwarts the falling spears,
- the right to every vantage closely clings.
- The Trojans hurl whole towers and roof-tops down
- upon the mounting foe; for well they see
- that the last hour is come, and with what arms
- the dying must resist. Rich gilded beams,
- with many a beauteous blazon of old time,
- go crashing down. Men armed with naked swords
- defend the inner doors in close array.
- Thus were our hearts inflamed to stand and strike
- for the king's house, and to his body-guard
- bring succor, and renew their vanquished powers.
- A certain gate I knew, a secret way,
- which gave free passage between Priam's halls,
- and exit rearward; hither, in the days
- before our fall, the lone Andromache
- was wont with young Astyanax to pass
- in quest of Priam and her husband's kin.
- This way to climb the palace roof I flew,
- where, desperate, the Trojans with vain skill
- hurled forth repellent arms. A tower was there,
- reared skyward from the roof-top, giving view
- of Troy's wide walls and full reconnaissance
- of all Achaea's fleets and tented field;
- this, with strong steel, our gathered strength assailed,
- and as the loosened courses offered us
- great threatening fissures, we uprooted it
- from its aerial throne and thrust it down.
- It fell with instantaneous crash of thunder
- along the Danaan host in ruin wide.
- But fresh ranks soon arrive; thick showers of stone
- rain down, with every missile rage can find.
- Now at the threshold of the outer court
- Pyrrhus triumphant stood, with glittering arms
- and helm of burnished brass. He glittered like
- some swollen viper, fed on poison-leaves,
- whom chilling winter shelters underground,
- till, fresh and strong, he sheds his annual scales
- and, crawling forth rejuvenate, uncoils
- his slimy length; his lifted gorge insults
- the sunbeam with three-forked and quivering tongue.
- Huge Periphas was there; Automedon,
- who drove Achilles' steeds, and bore his arms.
- Then Scyros' island-warriors assault
- the palaces, and hurl reiterate fire
- at wall and tower. Pyrrhus led the van;
- seizing an axe he clove the ponderous doors
- and rent the hinges from their posts of bronze;
- he cut the beams, and through the solid mass
- burrowed his way, till like a window huge
- the breach yawned wide, and opened to his gaze
- a vista of long courts and corridors,
- the hearth and home of many an ancient king,
- and Priam's own; upon its sacred bourne
- the sentry, all in arms, kept watch and ward.
- Confusion, groans, and piteous turmoil
- were in that dwelling; women shrieked and wailed
- from many a dark retreat, and their loud cry
- rang to the golden stars. Through those vast halls
- the panic-stricken mothers wildly roved,
- and clung with frantic kisses and embrace
- unto the columns cold. Fierce as his sire,
- Pyrrhus moves on; nor bar nor sentinel
- may stop his way; down tumbles the great door
- beneath the battering beam, and with it fall
- hinges and framework violently torn.
- Force bursts all bars; th' assailing Greeks break in,
- do butchery, and with men-at-arms possess
- what place they will. Scarce with an equal rage
- a foaming river, when its dykes are down,
- o'erwhelms its mounded shores, and through the plain
- rolls mountain-high, while from the ravaged farms
- its fierce flood sweeps along both flock and fold.
- My own eyes looked on Neoptolemus
- frenzied with slaughter, and both Atreus' sons
- upon the threshold frowning; I beheld
- her hundred daughters with old Hecuba;
- and Priam, whose own bleeding wounds defiled
- the altars where himself had blessed the fires;
- there fifty nuptial beds gave promise proud
- of princely heirs; but all their brightness now,
- of broidered cunning and barbaric gold,
- lay strewn and trampled on. The Danaan foe
- stood victor, where the raging flame had failed.
- But would ye haply know what stroke of doom
- on Priam fell? Now when his anguish saw
- his kingdom lost and fallen, his abode
- shattered, and in his very hearth and home
- th' exulting foe, the aged King did bind
- his rusted armor to his trembling thews,—
- all vainly,— and a useless blade of steel
- he girded on; then charged, resolved to die
- encircled by the foe. Within his walls
- there stood, beneath the wide and open sky,
- a lofty altar; an old laurel-tree
- leaned o'er it, and enclasped in holy shade
- the statues of the tutelary powers.
- Here Hecuba and all the princesses
- took refuge vain within the place of prayer.
- Like panic-stricken doves in some dark storm,
- close-gathering they sate, and in despair
- embraced their graven gods. But when the Queen
- saw Priam with his youthful harness on,
- “What frenzy, O my wretched lord,” she cried,
- “Arrayed thee in such arms? O, whither now?
- Not such defences, nor such arm as thine,
- the time requires, though thy companion were
- our Hector's self. O, yield thee, I implore!
- This altar now shall save us one and all,
- or we must die together.” With these words
- she drew him to her side, and near the shrine
- made for her aged spouse a place to cling.