Aeneid

Virgil

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

She said. But he, obeying Jove's decree,
gazed steadfastly away; and in his heart
with strong repression crushed his cruel pain;
then thus the silence broke: “O Queen, not one
of my unnumbered debts so strongly urged
would I gainsay. Elissa's memory
will be my treasure Iong as memory holds,
or breath of life is mine. Hear my brief plea!
'T was not my hope to hide this flight I take,
as thou hast dreamed. Nay, I did never light
a bridegroom's torch, nor gave I thee the vow
of marriage. Had my destiny decreed,
that I should shape life to my heart's desire,
and at my own will put away the weight
of foil and pain, my place would now be found
in Troy, among the cherished sepulchres
of my own kin, and Priam's mansion proud
were standing still; or these my loyal hands
had rebuilt Ilium for her vanquished sons.
But now to Italy Apollo's power
commands me forth; his Lycian oracles
are loud for Italy. My heart is there,
and there my fatherland. If now the towers
of Carthage and thy Libyan colony
delight thy Tyrian eyes; wilt thou refuse
to Trojan exiles their Ausonian shore?
I too by Fate was driven, not less than thou,
to wander far a foreign throne to find.
Oft when in dewy dark night hides the world,
and flaming stars arise, Anchises' shade
looks on me in my dreams with angered brow.
I think of my Ascanius, and the wrong
to that dear heart, from whom I steal away
Hesperia, his destined home and throne.
But now the winged messenger of Heaven,
sent down by Jove (I swear by thee and me!),
has brought on winged winds his sire's command.
My own eyes with unclouded vision saw
the god within these walls; I have received
with my own ears his word. No more inflame
with lamentation fond thy heart and mine.
'T is not my own free act seeks Italy.”

She with averted eyes and glance that rolled
speechless this way and that, had listened long
to his reply, till thus her rage broke forth:
“No goddess gave thee birth. No Dardanus
begot thy sires. But on its breast of stone
Caucasus bore thee, and the tigresses
of fell Hyrcania to thy baby lip
their udders gave. Why should I longer show
a lying smile? What worse can I endure?
Did my tears draw one sigh? Did he once drop
his stony stare? or did he yield a tear
to my lament, or pity this fond heart?
Why set my wrongs in order? Juno, now,
and Jove, the son of Saturn, heed no more
where justice lies. No trusting heart is safe
in all this world. That waif and castaway
I found in beggary and gave him share—
fool that I was!—in my own royal glory.
His Iost fleet and his sorry crews I steered
from death away. O, how my fevered soul
unceasing raves! Forsooth Apollo speaks!
His Lycian oracles! and sent by Jove
the messenger of Heaven on fleeting air
the ruthless bidding brings! Proud business
for gods, I trow, that such a task disturbs
their still abodes! I hold thee back no more,
nor to thy cunning speeches give the lie.
Begone! Sail on to Italy, thy throne,
through wind and wave! I pray that, if there be
any just gods of power, thou mayest drink down
death on the mid-sea rocks, and often call
with dying gasps on Dido's name—while I
pursue with vengeful fire. When cold death rends
the body from the breath, my ghost shall sit
forever in thy path. Full penalties
thy stubborn heart shall pay. They'll bring me never
in yon deep gulf of death of all thy woe.”
Abrupt her utterance ceased; and sick at heart
she fled the light of day, as if to shrink
from human eyes, and left Aeneas there
irresolute with horror, while his soul
framed many a vain reply. Her swooning shape
her maidens to a marble chamber bore
and on her couch the helpless limbs reposed.

Aeneas, faithful to a task divine,
though yearning sore to remedy and soothe
such misery, and with the timely word
her grief assuage, and though his burdened heart
was weak because of love, while many a groan
rose from his bosom, yet no whit did fail
to do the will of Heaven, but of his fleet
resumed command. The Trojans on the shore
ply well their task and push into the sea
the lofty ships. Now floats the shining keel,
and oars they bring all leafy from the grove,
with oak half-hewn, so hurried was the flight.
Behold them how they haste—from every gate
forth-streaming!—just as when a heap of corn
is thronged with ants, who, knowing winter nigh,
refill their granaries; the long black line
runs o'er the levels, and conveys the spoil
in narrow pathway through the grass; a part
with straining and assiduous shoulder push
the kernels huge; a part array the file,
and whip the laggards on; their busy track
swarms quick and eager with unceasing toil.
O Dido, how thy suffering heart was wrung,
that spectacle to see! What sore lament
was thine, when from the towering citadel
the whole shore seemed alive, the sea itself
in turmoil with loud cries! Relentless Love,
to what mad courses may not mortal hearts
by thee be driven? Again her sorrow flies
to doleful plaint and supplication vain;
again her pride to tyrant Love bows down
lest, though resolved to die, she fail to prove
each hope of living: “O Anna, dost thou see
yon busy shore? From every side they come.
their canvas wooes the winds, and o'er each prow
the merry seamen hang their votive flowers.
Dear sister, since I did forebode this grief,
I shall be strong to bear it. One sole boon
my sorrow asks thee, Anna! Since of thee,
thee only, did that traitor make a friend,
and trusted thee with what he hid so deep —
the feelings of his heart; since thou alone
hast known what way, what hour the man would yield
to soft persuasion—therefore, sister, haste,
and humbly thus implore our haughty foe:
‘I was not with the Greeks what time they swore
at Aulis to cut off the seed of Troy;
I sent no ships to Ilium. Pray, have I
profaned Anchises' tomb, or vexed his shade?’
Why should his ear be deaf and obdurate
to all I say? What haste? May he not make
one last poor offering to her whose love
is only pain? O, bid him but delay
till flight be easy and the winds blow fair.
I plead no more that bygone marriage-vow
by him forsworn, nor ask that he should lose
his beauteous Latium and his realm to be.
Nothing but time I crave! to give repose
and more room to this fever, till my fate
teach a crushed heart to sorrow. I implore
this last grace. (To thy sister's grief be kind!)
I will requite with increase, till I die.”