Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- Now hears he sobs, and piteous, lisping cries
- Of souls of babes upon the threshold plaining;
- Whom, ere they took their portion of sweet life,
- Dark Fate from nursing bosoms tore, and plunged
- In bitterness of death. Nor far from these,
- The throng of dead by unjust judgment slain.
- Not without judge or law these realms abide:
- Wise Minos there the urn of justice moves,
- And holds assembly of the silent shades,
- Hearing the stories of their lives and deeds.
- Close on this place those doleful ghosts abide,
- Who, not for crime, but loathing life and light
- With their own hands took death, and cast away
- The vital essence. Willingly, alas!
- They now would suffer need, or burdens bear,
- If only life were given! But Fate forbids.
- Around them winds the sad, unlovely wave
- Of Styx: nine times it coils and interflows.
- Not far from hence, on every side outspread,
- The Fields of Sorrow lie,—such name they bear;
- Here all whom ruthless love did waste away
- Wander in paths unseen, or in the gloom
- Of dark myrtle grove: not even in death
- Have they forgot their griefs of long ago.
- Here impious Phaedra and poor Procris bide;
- Lorn Eriphyle bares the vengeful wounds
- Her own son's dagger made; Evadne here,
- And foul are seen; hard by,
- Laodamia, nobly fond and fair;
- And Caeneus, not a boy, but maiden now,
- By Fate remoulded to her native seeming.
- Here Tyrian Dido, too, her wound unhealed,
- Roamed through a mighty wood. The Trojan's eyes
- Beheld her near him through the murky gloom,
- As when, in her young month and crescent pale,
- One sees th' o'er-clouded moon, or thinks he sees.
- Down dropped his tears, and thus he fondly spoke:
- “0 suffering Dido! Were those tidings true
- That thou didst fling thee on the fatal steel?
- Thy death, ah me! I dealt it. But I swear
- By stars above us, by the powers in Heaven,
- Or whatsoever oath ye dead believe,
- That not by choice I fled thy shores, 0 Queen!
- Divine decrees compelled me, even as now
- Among these ghosts I pass, and thread my way
- Along this gulf of night and loathsome land.
- How could I deem my cruel taking leave
- Would bring thee at the last to all this woe?
- 0, stay! Why shun me? Wherefore haste away?
- Our last farewell! Our doom! I speak it now!”
- Thus, though she glared with fierce, relentless gaze,
- Aaeneas, with fond words and tearful plea,
- Would soothe her angry soul. But on the ground
- She fixed averted eyes. For all he spoke
- Moved her no more than if her frowning brow
- Were changeless flint or carved in Parian stone.
- Then, after pause, away in wrath she fled,
- And refuge took within the cool, dark grove,
- Where her first spouse, Sichaeus, with her tears
- Mingled his own in mutual love and true.
- Aeneas, none the less, her guiltless woe
- With anguish knew, watched with dimmed eyes her way,
- And pitied from afar the fallen Queen.