Arms and the man I sing, who first made way,predestined exile, from the Trojan shoreto Italy, the blest Lavinian strand.Smitten of storms he was on land and seaby violence of Heaven, to satisfystern Juno's sleepless wrath; and much in warhe suffered, seeking at the last to found the city, and bring o'er his fathers' godsto safe abode in Latium; whence arosethe Latin race, old Alba's reverend lords,and from her hills wide-walled, imperial Rome. O Muse, the causes tell! What sacrilege,or vengeful sorrow, moved the heavenly Queento thrust on dangers dark and endless toila man whose largest honor in men's eyeswas serving Heaven? Can gods such anger feel?
In ages gone an ancient city stood—Carthage, a Tyrian seat, which from afarmade front on Italy and on the mouthsof Tiber's stream; its wealth and revenueswere vast, and ruthless was its quest of war.'T is said that Juno, of all lands she loved,most cherished this,—not Samos' self so dear.Here were her arms, her chariot; even thena throne of power o'er nations near and far,if Fate opposed not, 't was her darling hopeto 'stablish here; but anxiously she heardthat of the Trojan blood there was a breedthen rising, which upon the destined dayshould utterly o'erwhelm her Tyrian towers,a people of wide sway and conquest proudshould compass Libya's doom;—such was the webthe Fatal Sisters spun. Such was the fearof Saturn's daughter, who remembered wellwhat long and unavailing strife she wagedfor her loved Greeks at Troy. Nor did she failto meditate th' occasions of her rage,and cherish deep within her bosom proudits griefs and wrongs: the choice by Paris made;her scorned and slighted beauty; a whole racerebellious to her godhead; and Jove's smilethat beamed on eagle-ravished Ganymede.With all these thoughts infuriate, her powerpursued with tempests o'er the boundless mainthe Trojans, though by Grecian victor sparedand fierce Achilles; so she thrust them farfrom Latium; and they drifted, Heaven-impelled,year after year, o'er many an unknown sea—O labor vast, to found the Roman line! Below th' horizon the Sicilian islejust sank from view, as for the open seawith heart of hope they sailed, and every shipclove with its brazen beak the salt, white waves.But Juno of her everlasting woundknew no surcease, but from her heart of painthus darkly mused: “Must I, defeated, failof what I will, nor turn the Teucrian Kingfrom Italy away? Can Fate oppose?Had Pallas power to lay waste in flamethe Argive fleet and sink its mariners,revenging but the sacrilege obsceneby Ajax wrought, Oileus' desperate son?She, from the clouds, herself Jove's lightning threw,scattered the ships, and ploughed the sea with storms.Her foe, from his pierced breast out-breathing fire,in whirlwind on a deadly rock she flung.But I, who move among the gods a queen,Jove's sister and his spouse, with one weak tribemake war so long! Who now on Juno calls?What suppliant gifts henceforth her altars crown?” So, in her fevered heart complaining still,unto the storm-cloud land the goddess came,a region with wild whirlwinds in its womb,Aeolia named, where royal Aeolusin a high-vaulted cavern keeps controlo'er warring winds and loud concourse of storms.There closely pent in chains and bastions strong,they, scornful, make the vacant mountain roar,chafing against their bonds. But from a throneof lofty crag, their king with sceptred handallays their fury and their rage confines.Did he not so, our ocean, earth, and skywere whirled before them through the vast inane.But over-ruling Jove, of this in fear,hid them in dungeon dark: then o'er them piledhuge mountains, and ordained a lawful kingto hold them in firm sway, or know what time,with Jove's consent, to loose them o'er the world.To him proud Juno thus made lowly plea: “Thou in whose hands the Father of all godsand Sovereign of mankind confides the powerto calm the waters or with winds upturn,great Aeolus! a race with me at warnow sails the Tuscan main towards Italy,bringing their Ilium and its vanquished powers.Uprouse thy gales. Strike that proud navy down!Hurl far and wide, and strew the waves with dead!Twice seven nymphs are mine, of rarest mould;of whom Deiopea, the most fair,I give thee in true wedlock for thine own,to mate thy noble worth; she at thy sideshall pass long, happy years, and fruitful bringher beauteous offspring unto thee their sire.” Then Aeolus: “'T is thy sole task, O Queen,to weigh thy wish and will. My fealtythy high behest obeys. This humble throneis of thy gift. Thy smiles for me obtainauthority from Jove. Thy grace concedesmy station at your bright Olympian board,and gives me lordship of the darkening storm.”
Replying thus, he smote with spear reversedthe hollow mountain's wall; then rush the windsthrough that wide breach in long, embattled line,and sweep tumultuous from land to land:with brooding pinions o'er the waters spread,east wind and south, and boisterous Afric galeupturn the sea; vast billows shoreward roll;the shout of mariners, the creak of cordage,follow the shock; low-hanging clouds concealfrom Trojan eyes all sight of heaven and day;night o'er the ocean broods; from sky to skythe thunders roll, the ceaseless lightnings glare;and all things mean swift death for mortal man.Straightway Aeneas, shuddering with amaze,groaned loud, upraised both holy hands to Heaven,and thus did plead: “O thrice and four times blest,ye whom your sires and whom the walls of Troy
looked on in your last hour! O bravest sonGreece ever bore, Tydides! O that Ihad fallen on Ilian fields, and given this lifestruck down by thy strong hand! where by the spearof great Achilles, fiery Hector fell,and huge Sarpedon; where the Simoisin furious flood engulfed and whirled awayso many helms and shields and heroes slain!” While thus he cried to Heaven, a shrieking blastsmote full upon the sail. Up surged the wavesto strike the very stars; in fragments flewthe shattered oars; the helpless vessel veeredand gave her broadside to the roaring flood,where watery mountains rose and burst and fell.Now high in air she hangs, then yawning gulfslay bare the shoals and sands o'er which she drives.Three ships a whirling south wind snatched and flungon hidden rocks,—altars of sacrificeItalians call them, which lie far from shorea vast ridge in the sea; three ships besidean east wind, blowing landward from the deep,drove on the shallows,—pitiable sight,—and girdled them in walls of drifting sand.That ship, which, with his friend Orontes, borethe Lycian mariners, a great, plunging wavestruck straight astern, before Aeneas' eyes.Forward the steersman rolled and o'er the sidefell headlong, while three times the circling floodspun the light bark through swift engulfing seas.Look, how the lonely swimmers breast the wave!And on the waste of waters wide are seenweapons of war, spars, planks, and treasures rare,once Ilium's boast, all mingled with the storm.Now o'er Achates and Ilioneus,now o'er the ship of Abas or Aletes,bursts the tempestuous shock; their loosened seamsyawn wide and yield the angry wave its will. Meanwhile how all his smitten ocean moaned,and how the tempest's turbulent assaulthad vexed the stillness of his deepest cave,great Neptune knew; and with indignant mienuplifted o'er the sea his sovereign brow.He saw the Teucrian navy scattered faralong the waters; and Aeneas' meno'erwhelmed in mingling shock of wave and sky.Saturnian Juno's vengeful stratagemher brother's royal glance failed not to see;and loud to eastward and to westward calling,he voiced this word:“What pride of birth or poweris yours, ye winds, that, reckless of my will,audacious thus, ye ride through earth and heaven,and stir these mountain waves? Such rebels I—nay, first I calm this tumult! But yourselvesby heavier chastisement shall expiatehereafter your bold trespass. Haste awayand bear your king this word! Not unto himdominion o'er the seas and trident dread,but unto me, Fate gives. Let him possesswild mountain crags, thy favored haunt and home,O Eurus! In his barbarous mansion there,let Aeolus look proud, and play the kingin yon close-bounded prison-house of storms!”
He spoke, and swiftlier than his word subduedthe swelling of the floods; dispersed afarth' assembled clouds, and brought back light to heaven.Cymothoe then and Triton, with huge toil,thrust down the vessels from the sharp-edged reef;while, with the trident, the great god's own handassists the task; then, from the sand-strewn shoreout-ebbing far, he calms the whole wide sea,and glides light-wheeled along the crested foam.As when, with not unwonted tumult, roarsin some vast city a rebellious mob,and base-born passions in its bosom burn,till rocks and blazing torches fill the air(rage never lacks for arms)—if haply thensome wise man comes, whose reverend looks attesta life to duty given, swift silence falls;all ears are turned attentive; and he swayswith clear and soothing speech the people's will.So ceased the sea's uproar, when its grave Sirelooked o'er th' expanse, and, riding on in light,flung free rein to his winged obedient car.
Aeneas' wave-worn crew now landward made,and took the nearest passage, whither laythe coast of Libya. A haven therewalled in by bold sides of a rocky isle,offers a spacious and secure retreat,where every billow from the distant mainbreaks, and in many a rippling curve retires.Huge crags and two confronted promontoriesfrown heaven-high, beneath whose brows outspreadthe silent, sheltered waters; on the heightsthe bright and glimmering foliage seems to showa woodland amphitheatre; and yet higherrises a straight-stemmed grove of dense, dark shade.Fronting on these a grotto may be seen,o'erhung by steep cliffs; from its inmost wallclear springs gush out; and shelving seats it hasof unhewn stone, a place the wood-nymphs love.In such a port, a weary ship rides freeof weight of firm-fluked anchor or strong chain. Hither Aeneas of his scattered fleetsaving but seven, into harbor sailed;with passionate longing for the touch of land,forth leap the Trojans to the welcome shore,and fling their dripping limbs along the ground.Then good Achates smote a flinty stone,secured a flashing spark, heaped on light leaves,and with dry branches nursed the mounting flame.Then Ceres' gift from the corrupting seathey bring away; and wearied utterlyply Ceres' cunning on the rescued corn,and parch in flames, and mill 'twixt two smooth stones.Aeneas meanwhile climbed the cliffs, and searchedthe wide sea-prospect; haply Antheus there,storm-buffeted, might sail within his ken,with biremes, and his Phrygian mariners,or Capys or Caicus armor-clad,upon a towering deck. No ship is seen;but while he looks, three stags along the shorecome straying by, and close behind them comesthe whole herd, browsing through the lowland valein one long line. Aeneas stopped and seizedhis bow and swift-winged arrows, which his friend,trusty Achates, close beside him bore.His first shafts brought to earth the lordly headsof the high-antlered chiefs; his next assailedthe general herd, and drove them one and allin panic through the leafy wood, nor ceasedthe victory of his bow, till on the groundlay seven huge forms, one gift for every ship.Then back to shore he sped, and to his friendsdistributed the spoil, with that rare winewhich good Acestes while in Sicily
had stored in jars, and prince-like sent awaywith his Ioved guest;—this too Aeneas gave;and with these words their mournful mood consoled. “Companions mine, we have not failed to feelcalamity till now. O, ye have bornefar heavier sorrow: Jove will make an endalso of this. Ye sailed a course hard byinfuriate Scylla's howling cliffs and caves.Ye knew the Cyclops' crags. Lift up your hearts!No more complaint and fear! It well may besome happier hour will find this memory fair.Through chance and change and hazard without end,our goal is Latium; where our destiniesbeckon to blest abodes, and have ordainedthat Troy shall rise new-born! Have patience all!And bide expectantly that golden day.” Such was his word, but vexed with grief and care,feigned hopes upon his forehead firm he wore,and locked within his heart a hero's pain.Now round the welcome trophies of his chasethey gather for a feast. Some flay the ribsand bare the flesh below; some slice with knives,and on keen prongs the quivering strips impale,place cauldrons on the shore, and fan the fires.Then, stretched at ease on couch of simple green,they rally their lost powers, and feast them wellon seasoned wine and succulent haunch of game.But hunger banished and the banquet done,in long discourse of their lost mates they tell,'twixt hopes and fears divided; for who knowswhether the lost ones live, or strive with death,or heed no more whatever voice may call?Chiefly Aeneas now bewails his friends,Orontes brave and fallen Amycus,or mourns with grief untold the untimely doomof bold young Gyas and Cloanthus bold.
After these things were past, exalted Jove,from his ethereal sky surveying clearthe seas all winged with sails, lands widely spread,and nations populous from shore to shore,paused on the peak of heaven, and fixed his gazeon Libya. But while he anxious mused,near him, her radiant eyes all dim with tears,nor smiling any more, Venus approached,and thus complained: “O thou who dost controlthings human and divine by changeless laws,enthroned in awful thunder! What huge wrongcould my Aeneas and his Trojans fewachieve against thy power? For they have borneunnumbered deaths, and, failing Italy,the gates of all the world against them close.Hast thou not given us thy covenantthat hence the Romans when the rolling yearshave come full cycle, shall arise to powerfrom Troy's regenerate seed, and rule supremethe unresisted lords of land and sea?O Sire, what swerves thy will? How oft have Iin Troy's most lamentable wreck and woeconsoled my heart with this, and balanced oftour destined good against our destined ill!But the same stormful fortune still pursuesmy band of heroes on their perilous way.When shall these labors cease, O glorious King?Antenor, though th' Achaeans pressed him sore,found his way forth, and entered unassailedIllyria's haven, and the guarded landof the Liburni. Straight up stream he sailedwhere like a swollen sea Timavus poursa nine-fold flood from roaring mountain gorge,and whelms with voiceful wave the fields below.He built Patavium there, and fixed abodesfor Troy's far-exiled sons; he gave a nameto a new land and race; the Trojan armswere hung on temple walls; and, to this day,lying in perfect peace, the hero sleeps.But we of thine own seed, to whom thou dosta station in the arch of heaven assign,behold our navy vilely wrecked, becausea single god is angry; we endurethis treachery and violence, wherebywide seas divide us from th' Hesperian shore.Is this what piety receives? Or thusdoth Heaven's decree restore our fallen thrones?” Smiling reply, the Sire of gods and men,with such a look as clears the skies of stormchastely his daughter kissed, and thus spake on:“Let Cytherea cast her fears away!Irrevocably blest the fortunes beof thee and thine. Nor shalt thou fail to seethat City, and the proud predestined wallencompassing Lavinium. Thyselfshall starward to the heights of heaven bearAeneas the great-hearted. Nothing swervesmy will once uttered. Since such carking caresconsume thee, I this hour speak freely forth,and leaf by leaf the book of fate unfold.Thy son in Italy shall wage vast warand, quell its nations wild; his city-walland sacred laws shall be a mighty bondabout his gathered people. Summers threeshall Latium call him king; and three times passthe winter o'er Rutulia's vanquished hills.His heir, Ascanius, now Iulus called(Ilus it was while Ilium's kingdom stood),full thirty months shall reign, then move the thronefrom the Lavinian citadel, and buildfor Alba Longa its well-bastioned wall. Here three full centuries shall Hector's racehave kingly power; till a priestess queen,by Mars conceiving, her twin offspring bear;then Romulus, wolf-nursed and proudly cladin tawny wolf-skin mantle, shall receivethe sceptre of his race. He shall uprearand on his Romans his own name bestow.To these I give no bounded times or power,but empire without end. Yea, even my Queen,Juno, who now chastiseth land and seawith her dread frown, will find a wiser way,and at my sovereign side protect and blessthe Romans, masters of the whole round world,who, clad in peaceful toga, judge mankind.Such my decree! In lapse of seasons due,the heirs of Ilium's kings shall bind in chainsMycenae's glory and Achilles' towers,and over prostrate Argos sit supreme.Of Trojan stock illustriously sprung,lo, Caesar comes! whose power the ocean bounds,whose fame, the skies. He shall receive the nameIulus nobly bore, great Julius, he.Him to the skies, in Orient trophies dress,thou shalt with smiles receive; and he, like us,shall hear at his own shrines the suppliant vow.Then will the world grow mild; the battle-soundwill be forgot; for olden Honor then,with spotless Vesta, and the brothers twain,Remus and Romulus, at strife no more,will publish sacred laws. The dreadful gateswhence issueth war, shall with close-jointed steelbe barred impregnably; and prisoned therethe heaven-offending Fury, throned on swords,and fettered by a hundred brazen chains,shall belch vain curses from his lips of gore.” These words he gave, and summoned Maia's son,the herald Mercury, who earthward flying,should bid the Tyrian realms and new-built towerswelcome the Trojan waifs; lest Dido, blindto Fate's decree, should thrust them from the land.He takes his flight, with rhythmic stroke of wing,across th' abyss of air, and soon draws nearunto the Libyan mainland. He fulfilshis heavenly task; the Punic hearts of stonegrow soft beneath the effluence divine;and, most of all, the Queen, with heart at easeawaits benignantly her guests from Troy. But good Aeneas, pondering all night longhis many cares, when first the cheerful dawnupon him broke, resolved to take surveyof this strange country whither wind and wavehad driven him,—for desert land it seemed,—to learn what tribes of man or beast possessa place so wild, and careful tidings bringback to his friends. His fleet of ships the while,where dense, dark groves o'er-arch a hollowed crag,he left encircled in far-branching shade.Then with no followers save his trusty friendAchates, he went forth upon his way,two broad-tipped javelins poising in his hand.Deep to the midmost wood he went, and therehis Mother in his path uprose; she seemedin garb and countenance a maid, and bore,like Spartan maids, a weapon; in such guiseHarpalyce the Thracian urges onher panting coursers and in wild careeroutstrips impetuous Hebrus as it flows.Over her lovely shoulders was a bow,slender and light, as fits a huntress fair;her golden tresses without wimple movedin every wind, and girded in a knother undulant vesture bared her marble knees.She hailed them thus: “Ho, sirs, I pray you tellif haply ye have noted, as ye came,one of my sisters in this wood astray?She bore a quiver, and a lynx's hideher spotted mantle was; perchance she rousedsome foaming boar, and chased with loud halloo.”