Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- Here Priam's son, with body rent and torn,
- is seen,—his mangled face,
- His face and bloody hands, his wounded head
- Of ears and nostrils infamously shorn.
- Scarce could Aeneas know the shuddering shade
- That strove to hide its face and shameful scar;
- But, speaking first, he said, in their own tongue:
- “Deiphobus, strong warrior, nobly born
- Of Teucer's royal stem, what ruthless foe
- Could wish to wreak on thee this dire revenge?
- Who ventured, unopposed, so vast a wrong?
- The rumor reached me how, that deadly night,
- Wearied with slaying Greeks, thyself didst fall
- Prone on a mingled heap of friends and foes.
- Then my own hands did for thy honor build
- An empty tomb upon the Trojan shore,
- And thrice with echoing voice I called thy shade.
- Thy name and arms are there. But, 0 my friend,
- Thee could I nowhere find, but launched away,
- Nor o'er thy bones their native earth could fling.”
- To him the son of Priam thus replied:
- “Nay, friend, no hallowed rite was left undone,
- But every debt to death and pity due
- The shades of thy Deiphobus received.
- My fate it was, and Helen's murderous wrong,
- Wrought me this woe; of her these tokens tell.
- For how that last night in false hope we passed,
- Thou knowest,—ah, too well we both recall!
- When up the steep of Troy the fateful horse
- Came climbing, pregnant with fierce men-at-arms,
- 't was she, accurst, who led the Phrygian dames
- In choric dance and false bacchantic song,
- And, waving from the midst a lofty brand,
- Signalled the Greeks from Ilium's central tower
- In that same hour on my sad couch I lay,
- Exhausted by long care and sunk in sleep,
- That sweet, deep sleep, so close to tranquil death.
- But my illustrious bride from all the house
- Had stolen all arms; from 'neath my pillowed head
- She stealthily bore off my trusty sword;
- Then loud on Menelaus did she call,
- And with her own false hand unbarred the door;
- Such gift to her fond lord she fain would send
- To blot the memory of his ancient wrong!
- Why tell the tale, how on my couch they broke,
- While their accomplice, vile Aeolides,
- Counselled to many a crime. 0 heavenly Powers!
- Reward these Greeks their deeds of wickedness,
- If with clean lips upon your wrath I call!
- But, friend, what fortunes have thy life befallen?
- Tell point by point. Did waves of wandering seas
- Drive thee this way, or some divine command?
- What chastisement of fortune thrusts thee on
- Toward this forlorn abode of night and cloud?”