Aeneid

Virgil

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

Then rallied from the grove-clad, Iofty isle
the Cyclops' clan, and lined the beach and bay.
We saw each lonely eyeball glare in vain,
as side by side those brothers Aetna-born
stood towering high, a conclave dark and dire:
as when, far up some mountain's famous crest,
wind-fronting oaks or cone-clad cypresses
have made assembling in the solemn hills,
Jove's giant wood or Dian's sacred grove.
We, terror-struck, would fly we knew not where,
with loosened sheet and canvas swelling strong
before a welcome wind; but Helenus
bade us both Scylla and Charybdis fear,
where 'twixt the twain death straitly hems the way;
and so the counsel was to veer our bark
the course it came. But lo! a northern gale
burst o'er us from Pelorus' narrowed side,
and on we rode far past Pantagia's bay
of unhewn rock, and past the haven strong
of Megara, and Thapsus Iying low.
Such were the names retold, and such the shores
shown us by Achemenides, whose fate
made him familiar there, for he had sailed
with evil-starred Ulysses o'er that sea.

Off the Sicilian shore an island lies,
wave-washed Plemmyrium, called in olden days
Ortygia; here Alpheus, river-god,
from Elis flowed by secret sluice, they say,
beneath the sea, and mingles at thy mouth,
fair Arethusa! with Sicilian waves.
Our voices hailed the great gods of the land
with reverent prayer; then skirted we the shore,
where smooth Helorus floods the fruitful plain.
Under Pachynus' beetling precipice
we kept our course; then Camarina rose
in distant view, firm-seated evermore
by Fate's decree; and that far-spreading vale
of Gela, with the name of power it takes
from its wide river; and, uptowering far,
the ramparts of proud Acragas appeared,
where fiery steeds were bred in days of old.
Borne by the winds, along thy coast I fled,
Selinus, green with palm! and past the shore
of Lilybaeum with its treacherous reef;
till at the last the port of Drepanum
received me to its melancholy strand.
Here, woe is me I outworn by stormful seas,
my sire, sole comfort of my grievous doom,
Anchises ceased to be. O best of sires!
Here didst thou leave me in the weary way;
through all our perils—O the bitter loss! —
borne safely, but in vain. King Helenus,
whose prophet-tongue of dark events foretold,
spoke not this woe; nor did Celeno's curse
of this forebode. Such my last loss and pain;
such, of my weary way, the destined goal.
From thence departing, the divine behest
impelled me to thy shores, O listening queen!

Such was, while all gave ear, the tale sublime
father Aeneas, none but he, set forth
of wanderings and of dark decrees divine:
silent at last, he ceased, and took repose.

Now felt the Queen the sharp, slow-gathering pangs
of love; and out of every pulsing vein
nourished the wound and fed its viewless fire.
Her hero's virtues and his lordly line
keep calling to her soul; his words, his glance,
cling to her heart like lingering, barbed steel,
and rest and peace from her vexed body fly.
A new day's dawn with Phoebus' lamp divine
lit up all lands, and from the vaulted heaven
Aurora had dispelled the dark and dew;
when thus unto the ever-answering heart
of her dear sister spoke the stricken Queen:
“Anna, my sister, what disturbing dreams
perplex me and alarm? What guest is this
new-welcomed to our house? How proud his mien!
What dauntless courage and exploits of war!
Sooth, I receive it for no idle tale
that of the gods he sprang. 'T is cowardice
betrays the base-born soul. Ah me! How fate
has smitten him with storms! What dire extremes
of war and horror in his tale he told!
O, were it not immutably resolved
in my fixed heart, that to no shape of man
I would be wed again (since my first love
left me by death abandoned and betrayed);
loathed I not so the marriage torch and train,
I could—who knows?—to this one weakness yield.
Anna, I hide it not! But since the doom
of my ill-starred Sichaeus, when our shrines
were by a brother's murder dabbled o'er,
this man alone has moved me; he alone
has shaken my weak will. I seem to feel
the motions of love's lost, familiar fire.
But may the earth gape open where I tread,
and may almighty Jove with thunder-scourge
hurl me to Erebus' abysmal shade,
to pallid ghosts and midnight fathomless,
before, O Chastity! I shall offend
thy holy power, or cast thy bonds away!
He who first mingled his dear life with mine
took with him all my heart. 'T is his alone —
o, let it rest beside him in the grave!”
She spoke: the bursting tears her breast o'erflowed.

“O dearer to thy sister than her life,”
Anna replied, “wouldst thou in sorrow's weed
waste thy long youth alone, nor ever know
sweet babes at thine own breast, nor gifts of love?
Will dust and ashes, or a buried ghost
reck what we do? 'T is true thy grieving heart
was cold to earlier wooers, Libya's now,
and long ago in Tyre. Iarbas knew
thy scorn, and many a prince and captain bred
in Afric's land of glory. Why resist
a love that makes thee glad? Hast thou no care
what alien lands are these where thou dost reign?
Here are Gaetulia's cities and her tribes
unconquered ever; on thy borders rove
Numidia's uncurbed cavalry; here too
lies Syrtis' cruel shore, and regions wide
of thirsty desert, menaced everywhere
by the wild hordes of Barca. Shall I tell
of Tyre's hostilities, the threats and rage
of our own brother? Friendly gods, I bow,
wafted the Teucrian ships, with Juno's aid,
to these our shores. O sister, what a throne,
and what imperial city shall be thine,
if thus espoused! With Trojan arms allied
how far may not our Punic fame extend
in deeds of power? Call therefore on the gods
to favor thee; and, after omens fair,
give queenly welcome, and contrive excuse
to make him tarry, while yon wintry seas
are loud beneath Orion's stormful star,
and on his battered ships the season frowns.”