Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- Now the nine days of funeral pomp are done,
- and every altar has had honors due
- from all the folk. Now tranquil-breathing winds
- have levelled the great deep, while brisk and free,
- a favoring Auster bids them launch away.
- But sound of many a wailing voice is heard
- along the winding shore; for ere they go,
- in fond embraces for a night and day
- they linger still. The women—aye, and men! —
- who hated yesterday the ocean's face
- and loathed its name, now clamor to set sail
- and bear all want and woe to exiles known.
- But good Aeneas with benignant words
- their sorrow soothes, and, not without a tear,
- consigns them to Acestes' kindred care.
- Then bids he sacrifice to Eryx' shade
- three bulls, and to the wind-gods and the storm
- a lamb, then loose the ships in order due.
- He, with a garland of shorn olive, stood
- holding aloft the sacrificial bowl
- from his own vessel's prow, and scattered far
- the sacred entrails o'er the bitter wave,
- with gift of flowing wine. Swift at the stern
- a fair wind rose and thrust them; while the crews
- with rival strokes swept o'er the spreading sea.