Aeneid

Virgil

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

He spoke. The god a prompt obedience gave
to his great sire's command. He fastened first
those sandals of bright gold, which carry him
aloft o'er land or sea, with airy wings
that race the fleeting wind; then lifted he
his wand, wherewith he summons from the grave
pale-featured ghosts, or, if he will, consigns
to doleful Tartarus; or by its power
gives slumber or dispels; or quite unseals
the eyelids of the dead: on this relying,
he routs the winds or cleaves th' obscurity
of stormful clouds. Soon from his flight he spied
the summit and the sides precipitous
of stubborn Atlas, whose star-pointing peak
props heaven; of Atlas, whose pine-wreathed brow
is girdled evermore with misty gloom
and lashed of wind and rain; a cloak of snow
melts on his shoulder; from his aged chin
drop rivers, and ensheathed in stiffening ice
glitters his great grim beard. Here first was stayed
the speed of Mercury's well-poising wing;
here making pause, from hence he headlong flung
his body to the sea; in motion like
some sea-bird's, which along the levelled shore
or round tall crags where rove the swarming fish,
flies Iow along the waves: o'er-hovering so
between the earth and skies, Cyllene's god
flew downward from his mother's mountain-sire,
parted the winds and skimmed the sandy merge
of Libya. When first his winged feet
came nigh the clay-built Punic huts, he saw
Aeneas building at a citadel,
and founding walls and towers; at his side
was girt a blade with yellow jaspers starred,
his mantle with the stain of Tyrian shell
flowed purple from his shoulder, broidered fair
by opulent Dido with fine threads of gold,
her gift of love; straightway the god began:
“Dost thou for lofty Carthage toil, to build
foundations strong? Dost thou, a wife's weak thrall,
build her proud city? Hast thou, shameful loss!
Forgot thy kingdom and thy task sublime?
From bright Olympus, I. He who commands
all gods, and by his sovran deity
moves earth and heaven—he it was who bade
me bear on winged winds his high decree.
What plan is thine? By what mad hope dost thou
linger so Iong in lap of Libyan land?
If the proud reward of thy destined way
move not thy heart, if all the arduous toil
to thine own honor speak not, Iook upon
Iulus in his bloom, thy hope and heir
Ascanius. It is his rightful due
in Italy o'er Roman lands to reign.”
After such word Cyllene's winged god
vanished, and e'er his accents died away,
dissolved in air before the mortal's eyes.

Aeneas at the sight stood terror-dumb
with choking voice and horror-rising hair.
He fain would fly at once and get him gone
from that voluptuous land, much wondering
at Heaven's wrathful word. Alas! how stir?
What cunning argument can plead his cause
before th' infuriate Queen? How break such news?
Flashing this way and that, his startled mind
makes many a project and surveys them all.
But, pondering well, his final counsel stopped
at this resolve: he summoned to his side
Mnestheus, Sergestus, and Serestus bold,
and bade them fit the fleet, all silently
gathering the sailors and collecting gear,
but carefully dissembling what emprise
such novel stir intends: himself the while
(Since high-born Dido dreamed not love so fond
could have an end) would seek an audience,
at some indulgent time, and try what shift
such matters may require. With joy they heard,
and wrought, assiduous, at their prince's plan.

But what can cheat true love? The Queen foreknew
his stratagem, and all the coming change
perceived ere it began. Her jealous fear
counted no hour secure. That unclean tongue
of Rumor told her fevered heart the fleet
was fitting forth, and hastening to be gone.
Distractedly she raved, and passion-tossed
roamed through her city, like a Maenad roused
by the wild rout of Bacchus, when are heard
the third year's orgies, and the midnight scream
to cold Cithaeron calls the frenzied crew.
Finding Aeneas, thus her plaint she poured:
“Didst hope to hide it, false one, that such crime
was in thy heart,—to steal without farewell
out of my kingdom? Did our mutual joy
not move thee; nor thine own true promise given
once on a time? Nor Dido, who will die
a death of sorrow? Why compel thy ships
to brave the winter stars? Why off to sea
so fast through stormy skies? O, cruelty!
If Troy still stood, and if thou wert not bound
for alien shore unknown, wouldst steer for Troy
through yonder waste of waves? Is it from me
thou takest flight? O, by these flowing tears,
by thine own plighted word (for nothing more
my weakness left to miserable me),
by our poor marriage of imperfect vow,
if aught to me thou owest, if aught in me
ever have pleased thee—O, be merciful
to my low-fallen fortunes! I implore,
if place be left for prayer, thy purpose change!
Because of thee yon Libyan savages
and nomad chiefs are grown implacable,
and my own Tyrians hate me. Yes, for thee
my chastity was slain and honor fair,
by which alone to glory I aspired,
in former days. To whom dost thou in death
abandon me? my guest!—since but this name
is left me of a husband! Shall I wait
till fell Pygmalion, my brother, raze
my city walls? Or the Gaetulian king,
Iarbas, chain me captive to his car? .
O, if, ere thou hadst fled, I might but bear
some pledge of love to thee, and in these halls
watch some sweet babe Aeneas at his play,
whose face should be the memory of thine own —
I were not so forsaken, Iost, undone!”