Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- So spake the river-god, and sank from view
- down to his deepest cave; then night and sleep
- together from Aeneas fled away.
- He rose, and to the orient beams of morn
- his forehead gave; in both his hollowed palms
- he held the sacred waters of the stream,
- and called aloud: “O ye Laurentian nymphs,
- whence flowing rills be born, and chiefly thou,
- O Father Tiber, worshipped stream divine,
- accept Aeneas, and from peril save!
- If in some hallowed lake or haunted spring
- thy power, pitying my woes, abides,
- or wheresoe'er the blessed place be found
- whence first thy beauty flows, there evermore
- my hands shall bring thee gift and sacrifice.
- O chief and sovereign of Hesperian streams,
- O river-god that hold'st the plenteous horn,
- protect us, and confirm thy words divine!”
- He spoke; then chose twin biremes from the fleet,
- gave them good gear and armed their loyal crews.
- But, lo! a sudden wonder met his eyes:
- white gleaming through the grove, with all her brood
- white like herself, on the green bank the Sow
- stretched prone. The good Aeneas slew her there,
- Great Juno, for a sacrifice to thee,
- himself the priest, and with the sucklings all
- beside shine altar stood. So that whole night
- the god of Tiber calmed his swollen wave,
- ebbing or lingering in silent flow,
- till like some gentle lake or sleeping pool
- his even waters lay, and strove no more
- against the oarsmen's toil. Upon their way
- they speed with joyful sound; the well-oiled wood
- slips through the watery floor; the wondering waves,
- and all the virgin forests wondering,
- behold the warriors in far-shining arms
- their painted galleys up the current drive.
- O'er the long reaches of the winding flood
- their sturdy oars outweary the slow course
- of night and day. Fair groves of changeful green
- arch o'er their passage, and they seem to cleave
- green forests in the tranquil wave below.
- Now had the flaming sun attained his way
- to the mid-sphere of heaven, when they discerned
- walls and a citadel in distant view,
- with houses few and far between; 't was there,
- where sovran Rome to-day has rivalled Heaven,
- Evander's realm its slender strength displayed:
- swiftly they turned their prows and neared the town.
- It chanced th' Arcadian King had come that day
- to honor Hercules, Amphitryon's son,
- and to the powers divine pay worship due
- in groves outside the wall. Beside him stood
- Pallas his son, his noblest men-at-arms,
- and frugal senators, who at the shrines
- burnt incense, while warm blood of victims flowed.
- But when they saw the tall ships in the shade
- of that dark forest plying noiseless oars,
- the sudden sight alarmed, and all the throng
- sprang to its feet and left the feast divine.
- But dauntless Pallas bade them give not o'er
- the sacred festival, and spear in hand
- flew forward to a bit of rising ground,
- and cried from far: “Hail, warriors! what cause
- drives you to lands unknown, and whither bound?
- Your kin, your country? Bring ye peace or war?”
- Father Aeneas then held forth a bough
- of peaceful olive from the lofty ship,
- thus answering : “Men Trojan-born are we,
- foes of the Latins, who have driven us forth
- with insolent assault. We fain would see
- Evander. Pray, deliver this, and say
- that chosen princes of Dardania
- sue for his help in arms.” So wonder fell
- on Pallas, awestruck at such mighty name.
- O, come, whoe'er thou art,” he said, “and speak
- in presence of my father. Enter here,
- guest of our hearth and altar.” He put forth
- his right hand in true welcome, and they stood
- with lingering clasp; then hand in hand advanced
- up the steep woodland, leaving Tiber's wave.
- Aeneas to Evander speaking fair,
- these words essayed: “O best of Grecian-born!
- whom Fortune's power now bids me seek and sue,
- lifting this olive-branch with fillets bound,
- I have not feared thee, though I know thou art
- a Greek, and an Arcadian king, allied
- to the two sons of Atreus. For behold,
- my conscious worth, great oracles from Heaven,
- the kinship of our sires, thy own renown
- spread through the world—all knit my cause with thine,
- all make me glad my fates have so decreed.
- The sire and builder of the Trojan town
- was Dardanus; but he, Electra's child,
- came over sea to Teucria; the sire
- of fair Electra was great Atlas, he
- whose shoulder carries the vast orb of heaven.
- But thy progenitor was Mercury,
- and him conceiving, Maia, that white maid,
- on hoar Cyllene's frosty summit bore.
- But Maia's sire, if aught of truth be told,
- was Atlas also, Atlas who sustains
- the weight of starry skies. Thus both our tribes
- are one divided stem. Secure in this,
- no envoys have I sent, nor tried thy mind
- with artful first approaches, but myself,
- risking my person and my life, have come
- a suppliant here. For both on me and thee
- the house of Daunus hurls insulting war.
- If us they quell, they doubt not to obtain
- lordship of all Hesperia, and subdue
- alike the northern and the southern sea.
- Accept good faith, and give! Behold, our hearts
- quail not in battle; souls of fire are we,
- and warriors proved in many an action brave.”
- Aeneas ceased. The other long had scanned
- the hero's face, his eyes, and wondering viewed
- his form and mien divine; in answer now
- he briefly spoke: “With hospitable heart,
- O bravest warrior of all Trojan-born,
- I know and welcome thee. I well recall
- thy sire Anchises, how he looked and spake.
- For I remember Priam, when he came
- to greet his sister, Queen Hesione,
- in Salamis, and thence pursued his way
- to our cool uplands of Arcadia.
- The bloom of tender boyhood then was mine,
- and with a wide-eyed wonder I did view
- those Teucrian lords, Laomedon's great heir,
- and, towering highest in their goodly throng,
- Anchises, whom my warm young heart desired
- to speak with and to clasp his hand in mine.
- So I approached, and joyful led him home
- to Pheneus' olden wall. He gave me gifts
- the day he bade adieu; a quiver rare
- filled with good Lycian arrows, a rich cloak
- inwove with thread of gold, and bridle reins
- all golden, now to youthful Pallas given.
- Therefore thy plea is granted, and my hand
- here clasps in loyal amity with thine.
- To-morrow at the sunrise thou shalt have
- my tribute for the war, and go thy way
- my glad ally. But now this festival,
- whose solemn rite 't were impious to delay,
- I pray thee celebrate, and bring with thee
- well-omened looks and words. Allies we are!
- Use this our sacred feast as if your own.”