Aeneid

Virgil

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

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.

But, lo! just 'scaped of Pyrrhus' murderous hand,
Polites, one of Priam's sons, fled fast
along the corridors, through thronging foes
and a thick rain of spears. Wildly he gazed
across the desolate halls, wounded to death.
Fierce Pyrrhus followed after, pressing hard
with mortal stroke, and now his hand and spear
were close upon:— when the lost youth leaped forth
into his father's sight, and prostrate there
lay dying, while his life-blood ebbed away.
Then Priam, though on all sides death was nigh,
quit not the strife, nor from loud wrath refrained:
“Thy crime and impious outrage, may the gods
(if Heaven to mortals render debt and due)
justly reward and worthy honors pay!
My own son's murder thou hast made me see,
blood and pollution impiously throwing
upon a father's head. Not such was he,
not such, Achilles, thy pretended sire,
when Priam was his foe. With flush of shame
he nobly listened to a suppliant's plea
in honor made. He rendered to the tomb
my Hector's body pale, and me did send
back to my throne a king.” With this proud word
the aged warrior hurled with nerveless arm
his ineffectual spear, which hoarsely rang
rebounding on the brazen shield, and hung
piercing the midmost boss,- but all in vain.
Then Pyrrhus: “Take these tidings, and convey
message to my father, Peleus' son!
tell him my naughty deeds! Be sure and say
how Neoptolemus hath shamed his sires.
Now die!” With this, he trailed before the shrines
the trembling King, whose feet slipped in the stream
of his son's blood. Then Pyrrhus' left hand clutched
the tresses old and gray; a glittering sword
his right hand lifted high, and buried it
far as the hilt in that defenceless heart.
So Priam's story ceased. Such final doom
fell on him, while his dying eyes surveyed
Troy burning, and her altars overthrown,
though once of many an orient land and tribe
the boasted lord. In huge dismemberment
his severed trunk lies tombless on the shore,
the head from shoulder torn, the corpse unknown.

Then first wild horror on my spirit fell
and dazed me utterly. A vision rose
of my own cherished father, as I saw
the King, his aged peer, sore wounded Iying
in mortal agony; a vision too
of lost Creusa at my ravaged hearth,
and young Iulus' peril. Then my eyes
looked round me seeking aid. But all were fled,
war-wearied and undone; some earthward leaped
from battlement or tower; some in despair
yielded their suffering bodies to the flame.

I stood there sole surviving; when, behold,
to Vesta's altar clinging in dumb fear,
hiding and crouching in the hallowed shade,
Tyndarus' daughter!— 't was the burning town
lighted full well my roving steps and eyes.
In fear was she both of some Trojan's rage
for Troy o'erthrown, and of some Greek revenge,
or her wronged husband's Iong indignant ire.
So hid she at that shrine her hateful brow,
being of Greece and Troy, full well she knew,
the common curse. Then in my bosom rose
a blaze of wrath; methought I should avenge
my dying country, and with horrid deed
pay crime for crime. “Shall she return unscathed
to Sparta, to Mycenae's golden pride,
and have a royal triumph? Shall her eyes
her sire and sons, her hearth and husband see,
while Phrygian captives follow in her train?
is Priam murdered? Have the flames swept o'er
my native Troy? and cloth our Dardan strand
sweat o'er and o'er with sanguinary dew?
O, not thus unavenged! For though there be
no glory if I smite a woman's crime,
nor conqueror's fame for such a victory won,
yet if I blot this monster out, and wring
full punishment from guilt, the time to come
will praise me, and sweet pleasure it will be
to glut my soul with vengeance and appease
the ashes of my kindred.”So I raved,
and to such frenzied purpose gave my soul.
Then with clear vision (never had I seen
her presence so unclouded) I beheld,
in golden beams that pierced the midnight gloom,
my gracious mother, visibly divine,
and with that mien of majesty she wears
when seen in heaven; she stayed me with her hand,
and from her lips of rose this counsel gave:
“O son, what sorrow stirs thy boundless rage?
what madness this? Or whither vanisheth
thy love of me? Wilt thou not seek to know
where bides Anchises, thy abandoned sire,
now weak with age? or if Creusa lives
and young Ascanius, who are ringed about
with ranks of Grecian foes, and long ere this—
save that my love can shield them and defend—
had fallen on flame or fed some hungry sword?
Not Helen's hated beauty works thee woe;
nor Paris, oft-accused. The cruelty
of gods, of gods unaided, overwhelms
thy country's power, and from its Iofty height
casts Ilium down. Behold, I take away
the barrier-cloud that dims thy mortal eye,
with murk and mist o'er-veiling. Fear not thou
to heed thy mother's word, nor let thy heart
refuse obedience to her counsel given.
'Mid yonder trembling ruins, where thou see'st
stone torn from stone, with dust and smoke uprolling,
't is Neptune strikes the wall; his trident vast
makes her foundation tremble, and unseats
the city from her throne. Fierce Juno leads
resistless onset at the Scaean gate,
and summons from the ships the league of powers,
wearing her wrathful sword. On yonder height
behold Tritonia in the citadel
clothed with the lightning and her Gorgon-shield!
Unto the Greeks great Jove himself renews
their courage and their power; 't is he thrusts on
the gods themselves against the Trojan arms.
Fly, O my son! The war's wild work give o'er!
I will be always nigh and set thee safe
upon thy father's threshold.” Having said,
she fled upon the viewless night away.

Then loomed o'er Troy the apparition vast
of her dread foes divine; I seemed to see
all Ilium sink in fire, and sacred Troy,
of Neptune's building, utterly o'erthrown.
So some huge ash-tree on the mountain's brow
(when rival woodmen, heaving stroke on stroke
of two-edged axes, haste to cast her down)
sways ominously her trembling, leafy top,
and drops her smitten head; till by her wounds
vanquished at last, she makes her dying groan,
and falls in loud wreck from the cliffs uptorn.
I left the citadel; and, led by Heaven,
threaded the maze of deadly foes and fires,
through spears that glanced aside and flames that fell.

Soon came I to my father's ancient seat,
our home and heritage. But lo! my sire
(whom first of all I sought, and first would bear
to safe asylum in the distant hills)
vowed he could never, after fallen Troy,
live longer on, or bear an exile's woe.
“O you,” he cried, “whose blood not yet betrays
the cruel taint of time, whose powers be still
unpropped and undecayed, go, take your flight.
If heavenly wrath had willed my life to spare,
this dwelling had been safe. It is too much
that I have watched one wreck, and for too Iong
outlived my vanquished country. Thus, O, thus!
Compose these limbs for death, and say farewell.
My own hand will procure it; or my foe
will end me of mere pity, and for spoil
will strip me bare. It is an easy loss
to have no grave. For many a year gone by,
accursed of Heaven, I tarry in this world
a useless burden, since that fatal hour
when Jove, of gods the Sire and men the King,
his lightnings o'er me breathed and blasting fire.”

Such fixed resolve he uttered o'er and o'er,
and would not yield, though with my tears did join
my spouse Creusa, fair Ascanius,
and our whole house, imploring the gray sire
not with himself to ruin all, nor add
yet heavier burdens to our crushing doom.
He still cried, “No!” and clung to where he sat
and to the same dread purpose. I once more
back to the fight would speed. For death alone
I made my wretched prayer. What space was left
for wisdom now? What chance or hope was given?
“Didst thou, dear father, dream that I could fly
sundered from thee? Did such an infamy
fall from a father's lips? If Heaven's decree
will of this mighty nation not let live
a single soul, if thine own purpose be
to cast thyself and thy posterity
into thy country's grave, behold, the door
is open to thy death! Lo, Pyrrhus comes
red-handed from King Priam! He has slain
a son before a father's eyes, and spilt
a father's blood upon his own hearthstone.
Was it for this, O heavenly mother mine,
that thou hast brought me safe through sword and fire?
that I might see these altars desecrate
by their worst foes? that I might look upon
my sire, my wife, and sweet Ascanius
dead at my feet in one another's blood?
To arms, my men, to arms! The hour of death
now beckons to the vanquished. Let me go
whither the Greeks are gathered; let me stand
where oft revives the flagging stroke of war:
Not all of us die unavenged this day!”