Aeneid

Virgil

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

So saying, with aspect terrible she sped
earthward her way; and called from gloom of hell
Alecto, woeful power, from cloudy throne
among the Furies, where her heart is fed
with horrid wars, wrath, vengeance, treason foul,
and fatal feuds. Her father Pluto loathes
the creature he engendered, and with hate
her hell-born sister-fiends the monster view.
A host of shapes she wears, and many a front
of frowning black brows viper-garlanded.
Juno to her this goading speech addressed:
“O daughter of dark Night, arouse for me
thy wonted powers and our task begin!
Lest now my glory fail, my royal name
be vanquished, while Aeneas and his crew
cheat with a wedlock bond the Latin King
and seize Italia's fields. Thou canst thrust on
two Ioving brothers to draw sword and slay,
and ruin homes with hatred, calling in
the scourge of Furies and avenging fires.
A thousand names thou bearest, and thy ways
of ruin multiply a thousand-fold.
Arouse thy fertile breast! Go, rend in twain
this plighted peace! Breed calumnies and sow
causes of battle, till yon warrior hosts
cry out for swords and leap to gird them on.”

Straightway Alecto, through whose body flows
the Gorgon poison, took her viewless way
to Latium and the lofty walls and towers
of the Laurentian King. Crouching she sate
in silence on the threshold of the bower
where Queen Amata in her fevered soul
pondered, with all a woman's wrath and fear,
upon the Trojans and the marriage-suit
of Turnus. From her Stygian hair the fiend
a single serpent flung, which stole its way
to the Queen's very heart, that, frenzy-driven,
she might on her whole house confusion pour.
Betwixt her smooth breast and her robe it wound
unfelt, unseen, and in her wrathful mind
instilled its viper soul. Like golden chain
around her neck it twined, or stretched along
the fillets on her brow, or with her hair
enwrithing coiled; then on from limb to limb
slipped tortuous. Yet though the venom strong
thrilled with its first infection every vein,
and touched her bones with fire, she knew it not,
nor yielded all her soul, but made her plea
in gentle accents such as mothers use;
and many a tear she shed, about her child,
her darling, destined for a Phrygian's bride:
“O father! can we give Lavinia's hand
to Trojan fugitives? why wilt thou show
no mercy on thy daughter, nor thyself;
nor unto me, whom at the first fair wind
that wretch will leave deserted, bearing far
upon his pirate ship my stolen child?
Was it not thus that Phrygian shepherd came
to Lacedaemon, ravishing away
Helen, the child of Leda, whom he bore
to those false Trojan lands? Hast thou forgot
thy plighted word? Where now thy boasted love
of kith and kin, and many a troth-plight given
unto our kinsman Turnus? If we need
an alien son, and Father Faunus' words
irrevocably o'er thy spirit brood,
I tell thee every land not linked with ours
under one sceptre, but distinct and free,
is alien; and 't is thus the gods intend.
Indeed, if Turnus' ancient race be told,
it sprang of Inachus, Acrisius,
and out of mid-Mycenae.” But she sees
her lord Latinus resolute, her words
an effort vain; and through her body spreads
the Fury's deeply venomed viper-sting.
Then, woe-begone, by dark dreams goaded on,
she wanders aimless, fevered and unstrung
along the public ways; as oft one sees
beneath the twisted whips a leaping top
sped in long spirals through a palace-close
by lads at play: obedient to the thong,
it weaves wide circles in the gaping view
of its small masters, who admiring see
the whirling boxwood made a living thing
under their lash. So fast and far she roved
from town to town among the clansmen wild.
Then to the wood she ran, feigning to feel
the madness Bacchus loves; for she essays
a fiercer crime, by fiercer frenzy moved.
Now in the leafy dark of mountain vales
she hides her daughter, ravished thus away
from Trojan bridegroom and the wedding-feast.
“Hail, Bacchus! Thou alone,” she shrieked and raved,
“art worthy such a maid. For thee she bears
the thyrsus with soft ivy-clusters crowned,
and trips ecstatic in thy beauteous choir.
For thee alone my daughter shall unbind
the glory of her virgin hair.” Swift runs
the rumor of her deed; and, frenzy-driven,
the wives of Latium to the forests fly,
enkindled with one rage. They leave behind
their desolated hearths, and let rude winds
o'er neck and tresses blow; their voices fill
the welkin with convulsive shriek and wail;
and, with fresh fawn-skins on their bodies bound,
they brandish vine-clad spears. The Queen herself
lifts high a blazing pine tree, while she sings
a wedding-song for Turnus and her child.
With bloodshot glance and anger wild, she cries:
“Ho! all ye Latin wives, if e'er ye knew
kindness for poor Amata, if ye care
for a wronged mother's woes, O, follow me!
Cast off the matron fillet from your brows,
and revel to our mad, voluptuous song.”
Thus, through the woodland haunt of creatures wild,
Alecto urges on the raging Queen
with Bacchus' cruel goad. But when she deemed
the edge of wrath well whetted, and the house
of wise Latinus of all reason reft,
then soared the black-winged goddess to the walls
of the bold Rutule, to the city built
(So runs the tale) by beauteous Danae
and her Acrisian people, shipwrecked there
by south wind strong. Its name was Ardea
in language of our sires, and that proud name
of Ardea still it wears, though proud no more.
Here Turnus in the gloom of midnight lay
half-sleeping in his regal hall. For him
Alecto her grim fury-guise put by,
and wore an old crone's face, her baleful brow
delved deep with wrinkled age, her hoary hair
in sacred fillet bound, and garlanded
with leaf of olive: Calybe she seemed,
an aged servitress ot Juno's shrine,
and in this seeming thus the prince addressed:—
“O Turnus, wilt thou tamely see thy toil
lavished in vain? and thy true throne consigned
to Trojan wanderers? The King repels
thy noble wooing and thy war-won dower.
He summons him a son of alien stem
to take his kingdom. Rouse thee now, and front,
scorned and without reward, these perilous days.
Tread down that Tuscan host! Protect the peace
of Latium from its foe! Such is the word
which, while in night and slumber thou wert laid,
Saturnia's godhead, visibly revealed,
bade me declare. Up, therefore, and array
thy warriors in arms! Swift sallying forth
from thy strong city-gates, on to the fray
exultant go! Assail the Phrygian chiefs
who tent them by thy beauteous river's marge,
and burn their painted galleys! 't is the will
of gods above that speaks. Yea, even the King
Latinus, if he will not heed thy plea,
or hear thy wooing, shall be taught too late
what Turnus is in panoply of war.”

In mocking answer to the prophetess
the warrior thus replied: “That stranger fleet
in Tiber moored, not, as thy folly prates,
of me unnoted lies. Vex me no more
with thy fantastic terror. Juno's power
is watchful of my cause. 'T is mere old age,
gone to decay and dotage, fills thy breast
with vain foreboding, and, while kings contend,
scares and deceives thy visionary eye.
Guard thou in yonder temple's holy shade
the images divine! Of peace and war
let men and warriors the burden bear!”

So kindled he Alecto's wrath to flame;
and even as he spoke a shudder thrilled
the warrior's body, and his eyeballs stood
stonily staring at the hydra hair
which hissed and writhed above the grisly head
of the large-looming fiend. With eyes of fire
horribly rolling, she repelled him far,
while he but faltered speechless. She upraised
two coiling snakes out of her tresses, cracked
the lashes of her scourge, and wrathfully,
with raving lips replied: “Look well on me,
gone to decay and dotage of old age!
And mocked with foolish fear while kings contend!
Wilt hearken now! Behold me, hither flown
from where my sister-furies dwell! My hands
bring bloody death and war.” She spoke, and hurled
her firebrand at the hero, thrusting deep
beneath his heart her darkly smouldering flame.
Then horror broke his sleep, and fearful sweat
dripped from his every limb. He shrieked aloud
for arms; and seized the ready arms that lay
around his couch and hall. Then o'er his soul
the lust of battle and wild curse of war
broke forth in angry power, as when the flames
of faggots round the bubbling cauldron sing,
and up the waters leap; the close-kept flood
brims over, streaming, foaming, breaking bound,
and flings thick clouds in air. He, summoning
his chieftains, bade them on Latinus move,
break peace, take arms, and, over Italy
their shields extending, to thrust forth her foe:
himself for Teucrian with Latin joined
was more than match. He called upon the gods
in witness of his vows: while, nothing loth,
Rutulia's warriors rushed into array;
some by his youth and noble beauty moved,
some by his kingly sires and fame in arms.

While Turnus stirred Rutulia's valiant souls,
Alecto on her Stygian pinions sped
to where the Teucrians lay. She scanned the ground
with eager guile, where by the river's marge
fair-browed Iulus with his nets and snares
rode fiercely to the chase. Then o'er his hounds
that hell-born virgin breathed a sudden rage,
and filled each cunning nostril with the scent
of stags, till forth in wild pursuit they flew.
Here all the woe began, and here awoke
in rustic souls the swift-enkindling war.
For a fair stag, tall-antlered, stolen away
even from its mother's milk, had long been kept
by Tyrrhus and his sons—the shepherd he
of all the royal flocks, and forester
of a wide region round. With fondest care
their sister Silvia entwined its horns
with soft, fresh garlands, tamed it to run close,
and combed the creature, or would bring to bathe
at a clear, crystal spring. It knew the hands
of all its gentle masters, and would feed
from their own dish; or wandering through the wood,
come back unguided to their friendly door,
though deep the evening shade. Iulus' dogs
now roused this wanderer in their ravening chase,
as, drifted down-stream far from home it lay,
on a green bank a-cooling. From bent bow
Ascanius, eager for a hunter's praise,
let go his shaft; nor did Alecto fail
his aim to guide: but, whistling through the air,
the light-winged reed pierced deep in flank and side.
Swift to its cover fled the wounded thing,
and crept loud-moaning to its wonted stall,
where, like a blood-stained suppliant, it seemed
to fill that shepherd's house with plaintive prayer.
Then Silvia the sister, smiting oft
on breast and arm, made cry for help, and called
the sturdy rustics forth in gathering throng.
These now (for in the silent forest couched
the cruel Fury) swift to battle flew.
One brandished a charred stake, another swung
a knotted cudgel, as rude anger shapes
its weapon of whate'er the searching eye
first haps to fall on. Tyrrhus roused his clans,
just when by chance he split with blows of wedge
an oak in four; and, panting giant breath,
shouldered his woodman's axe. Alecto then,
prompt to the stroke of mischief, soared aloft
from where she spying sate, to the steep roof
of a tall byre, and from its peak of straw
blew a wild signal on a shepherd's horn,
outflinging her infernal note so far
that all the forest shuddered, and the grove
throbbed to its deepest glen. Cold Trivia's lake
from end to end gave ear, and every wave
of the white stream of Nar, the lonely pools
of still Velinus heard: while at the sound
pale mothers to their breasts their children drew.
Swift to the signal of the dreadful horn,
snatching their weapons rude, the freeborn swains
assembled for the fray; the Trojan bands
poured from their bivouac with instant aid
for young Ascanius. In array of war
both stand confronting. Not mere rustic brawl
with charred oak-staff and cudgel is the fight,
but with the two-edged steel; the naked swords
wave like dark-bladed harvest-field, while far
the brazen arms flash in the smiting sun,
and skyward fling their beam: so some wide sea,
at first but whitened in the rising wind,
swells its slow-rolling mass and ever higher
its billows rears, until the utmost deep
lifts in one surge to heaven. The first to fall
was Almo, eldest-born of Tyrrhus' sons,
whom, striding in the van, a loud-winged shaft
laid low in death; deep in his throat it clung,
and silenced with his blood the dying cry
of his frail life. Around him fell the forms
of many a brave and strong; among them died
gray-haired Galaesus pleading for a truce:
righteous he was, and of Ausonian fields
a prosperous master; five full flocks had he
of bleating sheep, and from his pastures came
five herds of cattle home; his busy churls
turned with a hundred ploughs his fruitful glebe.