Aeneid

Virgil

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

Forthwith Aeneas summons all who will
to contest of swift arrows, and displays
reward and prize. With mighty hand he rears
a mast within th' arena, from the ship
of good Sergestus taken; and thereto
a fluttering dove by winding cord is bound
for target of their shafts. Soon to the match
the rival bowmen came and cast the lots
into a brazen helmet. First came forth
Hippocoon's number, son of Hyrtacus,
by cheers applauded; Mnestheus was the next,
late victor in the ship-race, Mnestheus crowned
with olive-garland; next Eurytion,
brother of thee, O bowman most renowned,
Pandarus, breaker of the truce, who hurled
his shaft upon the Achaeans, at the word
the goddess gave. Acestes' Iot and name
came from the helmet last, whose royal hand
the deeds of youth dared even yet to try.
Each then with strong arm bends his pliant bow,
each from the quiver plucks a chosen shaft.
First, with loud arrow whizzing from the string,
the young Hippocoon with skyward aim
cuts through the yielding air; and lo! his barb
pierces the very wood, and makes the mast
tremble; while with a fluttering, frighted wing
the bird tugs hard,—and plaudits fill the sky.
Boldly rose Mnestheus, and with bow full-drawn
aimed both his eye and shaft aloft; but he
failing, unhappy man, to bring his barb
up to the dove herself, just cut the cord
and broke the hempen bond, whereby her feet
were captive to the tree: she, taking flight,
clove through the shadowing clouds her path of air.
But swiftly—for upon his waiting bow
he held a shaft in rest—Eurytion
invoked his brother's shade, and, marking well
the dove, whose happy pinions fluttered free
in vacant sky, pierced her, hard by a cloud;
lifeless she fell, and left in light of heaven
her spark of life, as, floating down, she bore
the arrow back to earth. Acestes now
remained, last rival, though the victor's palm
to him was Iost; yet did the aged sire,
to show his prowess and resounding bow,
hurl forth one shaft in air; then suddenly
all eyes beheld such wonder as portends
events to be (but when fulfilment came,
too late the fearful seers its warning sung):
for, soaring through the stream of cloud, his shaft
took fire, tracing its bright path in flame,
then vanished on the wind,—as oft a star
will fall unfastened from the firmament,
while far behind its blazing tresses flow.
Awe-struck both Trojan and Trinacrian stood,
calling upon the gods. Nor came the sign
in vain to great Aeneas. But his arms
folded the blest Acestes to his heart,
and, Ioading him with noble gifts, he cried:
“Receive them, sire! The great Olympian King
some peerless honor to thy name decrees
by such an omen given. I offer thee
this bowl with figures graven, which my sire,
good gray Anchises, for proud gift received
of Thracian Cisseus, for their friendship's pledge
and memory evermore.” Thereon he crowned
his brows with garland of the laurel green,
and named Acestes victor over all.
Nor could Eurytion, noble youth, think ill
of honor which his own surpassed, though he,
he only, pierced the bird in upper air.
Next gift was his whose arrow cut the cord;
last, his whose light shaft clove the lofty pine.

Father Aeneas now, not making end
of game and contest, summoned to his side
Epytides, the mentor and true friend
of young Iulus, and this bidding gave
to his obedient ear: “Arise and go
where my Ascanius has lined his troop
of youthful cavalry, and trained the steeds
to tread in ranks of war. Bid him lead forth
the squadron in our sire Anchises' name,
and wear a hero's arms!” So saying, he bade
the course be cleared, and from the whole wide field
th' insurging, curious multitude withdrew.
In rode the boys, to meet their parents' eyes,
in even lines, a glittering cavalry;
while all Trinacria and the host from Troy
made loud applause. On each bright brow
a well-trimmed wreath the flowing tresses bound;
two javelins of corner tipped with steel
each bore for arms; some from the shoulder slung
a polished quiver; to each bosom fell
a pliant necklace of fine, twisted gold.
Three bands of horsemen ride, three captains proud
prance here and there, assiduous in command,
each of his twelve, who shine in parted lines
which lesser captains lead. One cohort proud
follows a little Priam's royal name —
one day, Polites, thy illustrious race
through him prolonged, shall greater glory bring
to Italy. A dappled Thracian steed
with snow-white spots and fore-feet white as snow
bears him along, its white face lifted high.
Next Atys rode, young Atys, sire to be
of th' Atian house in Rome, a boy most dear
unto the boy Iulus; last in line,
and fairest of the throng, Iulus came,
astride a steed from Sidon, the fond gift
of beauteous Dido and her pledge of love.
Close followed him the youthful chivalry
of King Acestes on Trinacrian steeds.

The Trojans, with exultant, Ioud acclaim,
receive the shy-faced boys, and joyfully
trace in the features of the sons their sires.
After, with smiling eyes, the horsemen proud
have greeted each his kin in all the throng,
Epytides th' appointed signal calls,
and cracks his lash; in even lines they move,
then, Ioosely sundering in triple band,
wheel at a word and thrust their lances forth
in hostile ranks; or on the ample field
retreat or charge, in figure intricate
of circling troop with troop, and swift parade
of simulated war; now from the field
they flee with backs defenceless to the foe;
then rally, lance in rest—or, mingling all,
make common front, one legion strong and fair.
As once in Crete, the lofty mountain-isle,
that-fabled labyrinthine gallery
wound on through lightless walls, with thousand paths
which baffled every clue, and led astray
in unreturning mazes dark and blind:
so did the sons of Troy their courses weave
in mimic flights and battles fought for play,
like dolphins tumbling in the liquid waves,
along the Afric or Carpathian seas.
This game and mode of march Ascanius,
when Alba Longa's bastions proudly rose,
taught to the Latin people of the prime;
and as the princely Trojan and his train
were wont to do, so Alba to her sons
the custom gave; so glorious Rome at last
the heritage accepted and revered;
and still we know them for the “Trojan Band,”
and call the lads a “Troy.” Such was the end
of game and contest at Anchises' grave.

Then fortune veered and different aspect wore.
For 'ere the sacred funeral games are done,
Saturnian Juno from high heaven sent down
the light-winged Iris to the ships of Troy,
giving her flight good wind—still full of schemes
and hungering to avenge her ancient wrong.
Unseen of mortal eye, the virgin took
her pathway on the thousand-colored bow,
and o'er its gliding passage earthward flew.
She scanned the vast assemblage; then her gaze
turned shoreward, where along the idle bay
the Trojan galleys quite unpeopled rode.
But far removed, upon a lonely shore,
a throng of Trojan dames bewailed aloud
their lost Anchises, and with tears surveyed
the mighty deep. “O weary waste of seas!
What vast, untravelled floods beyond us roll!”
So cried they with one voice, and prayed the gods
for an abiding city; every heart
loathed utterly the long, laborious sea.
Then in their midst alighted, not unskilled
in working woe, the goddess; though she wore
nor garb nor form divine, but made herself
one Beroe, Doryclus' aged wife,
who in her happier days had lineage fair
and sons of noble name; in such disguise
she called the Trojan dames:“O ye ill-starred,
that were not seized and slain by Grecian foes
under your native walls! O tribe accursed,
what death is Fate preparing? Since Troy fell
the seventh summer flies, while still we rove
o'er cruel rocks and seas, from star to star,
from alien land to land, as evermore
we chase, storm-tossed, that fleeting Italy
across the waters wide. Behold this land
of Eryx, of Acestes, friend and kin;
what hinders them to raise a rampart here
and build a town? O city of our sires!
O venerated gods from haughty foes
rescued in vain! Will nevermore a wall
rise in the name of Troy? Shall I not see
a Xanthus or a Simois, the streams
to Hector dear? Come now! I lead the way.
Let us go touch their baneful ships with fire!
I saw Cassandra in a dream. Her shade,
prophetic ever, gave me firebrands,
and cried, ‘Find Ilium so! The home for thee
is where thou art.’ Behold, the hour is ripe
for our great act! No longer now delay
to heed the heavenly omen. Yonder stand
four altars unto Neptune. 'T is the god,
the god himself, gives courage for the deed,
and swift-enkindling fire.” So having said,
she seized a dreadful brand; then, lifting high,
waved it all flaming, and with furious arm
hurled it from far. The Ilian matrons gazed,
bewildered and appalled. But one, of all
the eldest, Pyrgo, venerated nurse
of Priam's numerous sons, exclaimed, “Nay, nay!
This is no Beroe, my noble dames.
Doryclus knew her not. Behold and see
her heavenly beauty and her radiant eyes!
What voice of music and majestic mien,
what movement like a god! Myself am come
from Beroe sick, and left her grieving sore
that she, she only, had no gift to bring
of mournful honor to Anchises' shade.”
She spoke. The women with ill-boding eyes
looked on the ships. Their doubting hearts were torn
'twixt tearful passion for the beauteous isle
their feet then trod, and that prophetic call
of Fate to lands unknown. Then on wide wings
soared Iris into heaven, and through the clouds
clove a vast arch of light. With wonder dazed,
the women in a shrieking frenzy rose,
took embers from the hearth-stones, stole the fires
upon the altars—faggots, branches, brands —
and rained them on the ships. The god of fire,
through thwarts and oars and bows of painted fir,
ran in unbridled flame. Swift to the tomb
of Sire Anchises, to the circus-seats,
the messenger Eumelus flew, to bring
news of the ships on fire; soon every eye
the clouds of smoke and hovering flame could see.
Ascanius, who had led with smiling brow
his troops of horse, accoutred as he was,
rode hot-haste to the turmoil of the camp,
nor could his guards restrain . “What madness now?
What is it ye would do?” he cried. “Alas!
Ill-fated women! Not our enemies,
nor the dread bulwarks of the Greek ye burn,
but all ye have to hope for. Look at me,
your own Ascanius!” His helmet then
into their midst he flung, which he had worn
for pageantry of war. Aeneas, too,
with Trojan bands sped thither. But far off,
the women, panic-scattered on the shore,
fled many ways, and deep in caverned crags
or shadowed forests hid them, for they Ioathed
their deed and life itself; their thoughts were changed;
they knew their kin and husbands, and their hearts
from Juno were set free. But none the less
the burning and indomitable flames
raged without stay; beneath the ships' smeared sides
the hempen fuel puffed a lingering smoke,
as, through the whole bulk creeping, the slow fire
devoured its way; and little it availed
that strong men fought the fire with stream on stream.
Then good Aeneas from his shoulder rent
his garment, and with lifted hands implored
the help of Heaven. “O Jove omnipotent!
If thou not yet thy wrath implacable
on every Trojan pourest, if thou still
hast pity, as of old, for what men bear,
O, grant my fleet deliverance from this flame!
From uttermost destruction, Father, save
our desperate Trojan cause! Or even now —
last cruelty! thy fatal thunders throw.
If this be my just meed, let thy dread arm
confound us all.” But scarce the prayer is said,
when with a bursting deluge a dark storm
falls, marvellous to see; while hills and plains
with thunder shake, and to each rim of heaven
spreads swollen cloud-rack, black with copious rain
and multitudinous gales. The full flood pours
on every ship, and all the smouldering beams
are drenched, until the smoke and flames expire
and (though four ships be lost) the burning fleet
rides rescued from its doom. But smitten sore
by this mischance, Aeneas doubtfully
weighs in his heart its mighty load of cares,
and ponders if indeed he may abide
in Sicily, not heeding prophet-songs,
or seek Italian shores. Thereon uprose
Nautes, an aged sire, to whom alone
Tritonian Pallas of her wisdom gave
and made his skill renowned; he had the power
to show celestial anger's warning signs,
or tell Fate's fixed decree. The gifted man
thus to Aeneas comfortably spoke:
“O goddess-born, we follow here or there,
as Fate compels or stays. But come what may,
he triumphs over Fortune, who can bear
whate'er she brings. Behold, Acestes draws
from Dardanus his origin divine!
Make him thy willing friend, to share with thee
thy purpose and thy counsel. Leave with him
the crews of the lost ships, and all whose hearts
repine at thy high task and great emprise:
the spent old men, the women ocean-weary,
whate'er is feeble found, or faint of heart
in danger's hour,—set that apart, and give
such weary ones within this friendly isle
a city called Acesta,—if he will.”

Much moved Aeneas was by this wise word
of his gray friend, though still his anxious soul
was vexed by doubt and care. But when dark night
had brought her chariot to the middle sky,
the sacred shade of Sire Anchises seemed,
from heaven descending, thus to speak aloud:
“My son, than life more dear, when life was mine!
O son, upon whose heart the Trojan doom
has weighed so Iong! Beside thy couch I stand,
at pleasure of great Jove, whose hand dispelled
the mad fire from thy ships; and now he looks
from heaven with pitying brow. I bid thee heed
the noble counsels aged Nautes gave.
Only with warriors of dauntless breast
to Italy repair; of hardy breed,
of wild, rough life, thy Latin foes will be.
But first the shores of Pluto and the Shades
thy feet must tread, and through the deep abyss
of dark Avernus come to me, thy sire:
for I inhabit not the guilty gloom
of Tartarus, but bright Elysian day,
where all the just their sweet assemblies hold.
Hither the virgin Sibyl, if thou give
full offerings of the blood of sable kine,
shall lead thee down; and visions I will show
of cities proud and nations sprung from thee.
Farewell, for dewy Night has wheeled her way
far past her middle course; the panting steeds
of orient Morn breathe pitiless upon me.”
He spoke, and passed, like fleeting clouds of smoke,
to empty air. “O, whither haste away?”
Aeneas cried. “Whom dost thou fly? What god
from my fond yearning and embrace removes?”
Then on the altar of the gods of Troy
he woke the smouldering embers, at the shrine
of venerable Vesta, worshipping
with hallowed bread and incense burning free.