Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- With drooping brows and lowly voice she cried :
- “O, happy only was that virgin blest,
- daughter of Priam, summoned forth to die
- in sight of Ilium, on a foeman's tomb!
- No casting of the lot her doom decreed,
- nor came she to her conqueror's couch a slave.
- Myself from burning Ilium carried far
- o'er seas and seas, endured the swollen pride
- of that young scion of Achilles' race,
- and bore him as his slave a son. When he
- sued for Hermione, of Leda's line,
- and nuptial-bond with Lacedaemon's Iords,
- I, the slave-wife, to Helenus was given,
- and slave was wed with slave. But afterward
- Orestes, crazed by loss of her he loved,
- and ever fury-driven from crime to crime,
- crept upon Pyrrhus in a careless hour
- and murdered him upon his own hearth-stone.
- Part of the realm of Neoptolemus
- fell thus to Helenus, who called his lands
- Chaonian, and in Trojan Chaon's name
- his kingdom is Chaonia. Yonder height
- is Pergamus, our Ilian citadel.
- What power divine did waft thee to our shore,
- not knowing whither? Tell me of the boy
- Ascanius! Still breathes he earthly air?
- In Troy she bore him—is he mourning still
- that mother ravished from his childhood's eyes?
- what ancient valor stirs the manly soul
- of thine own son, of Hector's sister's child?”
- Thus poured she forth full many a doleful word
- with unavailing tears. But as she ceased,
- out of the city gates appeared the son
- of Priam, Helenus, with princely train.
- He welcomed us as kin, and glad at heart
- gave guidance to his house, though oft his words
- fell faltering and few, with many a tear.
- Soon to a humbler Troy I lift my eyes,
- and of a mightier Pergamus discern
- the towering semblance; there a scanty stream
- runs on in Xanthus' name, and my glad arms
- the pillars of a Scaean gate embrace.
- My Teucrian mariners with welcome free
- enjoyed the friendly town; his ample halls
- our royal host threw wide; full wine-cups flowed
- within the palace; golden feast was spread,
- and many a goblet quaffed. Day followed day,
- while favoring breezes beckoned us to sea,
- and swelled the waiting canvas as they blew.
- Then to the prophet-priest I made this prayer:
- “Offspring of Troy, interpreter of Heaven!
- Who knowest Phoebus' power, and readest well
- the tripod, stars, and vocal laurel leaves
- to Phoebus dear, who know'st of every bird
- the ominous swift wing or boding song,
- o, speak! For all my course good omens showed,
- and every god admonished me to sail
- in quest of Italy's far-distant shores;
- but lone Celaeno, heralding strange woe,
- foretold prodigious horror, vengeance dark,
- and vile, unnatural hunger. How elude
- such perils? Or by what hard duty done
- may such huge host of evils vanquished be?”
- Then Helenus, with sacrifice of kine
- in order due, implored the grace of Heaven,
- unloosed the fillets from his sacred brow,
- and led me, Phoebus, to thy temple's door,
- awed by th' o'er-brooding godhead, whose true priest,
- with lips inspired, made this prophetic song: