Then first wild horror on my spirit felland dazed me utterly. A vision roseof my own cherished father, as I sawthe King, his aged peer, sore wounded Iyingin mortal agony; a vision tooof lost Creusa at my ravaged hearth,and young Iulus' peril. Then my eyeslooked round me seeking aid. But all were fled,war-wearied and undone; some earthward leapedfrom battlement or tower; some in despairyielded their suffering bodies to the flame.
I stood there sole surviving; when, behold,to Vesta's altar clinging in dumb fear,hiding and crouching in the hallowed shade,Tyndarus' daughter!— 't was the burning townlighted full well my roving steps and eyes.In fear was she both of some Trojan's ragefor Troy o'erthrown, and of some Greek revenge,or her wronged husband's Iong indignant ire.So hid she at that shrine her hateful brow,being of Greece and Troy, full well she knew,the common curse. Then in my bosom rosea blaze of wrath; methought I should avengemy dying country, and with horrid deedpay crime for crime. “Shall she return unscathedto Sparta, to Mycenae's golden pride,and have a royal triumph? Shall her eyesher sire and sons, her hearth and husband see,while Phrygian captives follow in her train?is Priam murdered? Have the flames swept o'ermy native Troy? and cloth our Dardan strandsweat o'er and o'er with sanguinary dew?O, not thus unavenged! For though there beno glory if I smite a woman's crime,nor conqueror's fame for such a victory won,yet if I blot this monster out, and wringfull punishment from guilt, the time to comewill praise me, and sweet pleasure it will beto glut my soul with vengeance and appeasethe ashes of my kindred.”So I raved,and to such frenzied purpose gave my soul.Then with clear vision (never had I seenher presence so unclouded) I beheld,in golden beams that pierced the midnight gloom,my gracious mother, visibly divine,and with that mien of majesty she wearswhen seen in heaven; she stayed me with her hand,and from her lips of rose this counsel gave:“O son, what sorrow stirs thy boundless rage?what madness this? Or whither vanisheththy love of me? Wilt thou not seek to knowwhere bides Anchises, thy abandoned sire,now weak with age? or if Creusa livesand young Ascanius, who are ringed aboutwith ranks of Grecian foes, and long ere this—save that my love can shield them and defend—had fallen on flame or fed some hungry sword?Not Helen's hated beauty works thee woe;nor Paris, oft-accused. The crueltyof gods, of gods unaided, overwhelmsthy country's power, and from its Iofty heightcasts Ilium down. Behold, I take awaythe barrier-cloud that dims thy mortal eye,with murk and mist o'er-veiling. Fear not thouto heed thy mother's word, nor let thy heartrefuse obedience to her counsel given.'Mid yonder trembling ruins, where thou see'ststone torn from stone, with dust and smoke uprolling,'t is Neptune strikes the wall; his trident vastmakes her foundation tremble, and unseatsthe city from her throne. Fierce Juno leadsresistless onset at the Scaean gate,and summons from the ships the league of powers,wearing her wrathful sword. On yonder heightbehold Tritonia in the citadelclothed with the lightning and her Gorgon-shield!Unto the Greeks great Jove himself renewstheir courage and their power; 't is he thrusts onthe gods themselves against the Trojan arms.Fly, O my son! The war's wild work give o'er!I will be always nigh and set thee safeupon thy father's threshold.” Having said,she fled upon the viewless night away. Then loomed o'er Troy the apparition vastof her dread foes divine; I seemed to seeall Ilium sink in fire, and sacred Troy,of Neptune's building, utterly o'erthrown.So some huge ash-tree on the mountain's brow(when rival woodmen, heaving stroke on strokeof two-edged axes, haste to cast her down)sways ominously her trembling, leafy top,and drops her smitten head; till by her woundsvanquished at last, she makes her dying groan,and falls in loud wreck from the cliffs uptorn.I left the citadel; and, led by Heaven,threaded the maze of deadly foes and fires,through spears that glanced aside and flames that fell. Soon came I to my father's ancient seat,our home and heritage. But lo! my sire(whom first of all I sought, and first would bearto safe asylum in the distant hills)vowed he could never, after fallen Troy,live longer on, or bear an exile's woe.“O you,” he cried, “whose blood not yet betraysthe cruel taint of time, whose powers be stillunpropped and undecayed, go, take your flight.If heavenly wrath had willed my life to spare,this dwelling had been safe. It is too muchthat I have watched one wreck, and for too Iongoutlived my vanquished country. Thus, O, thus!Compose these limbs for death, and say farewell.My own hand will procure it; or my foewill end me of mere pity, and for spoilwill strip me bare. It is an easy lossto have no grave. For many a year gone by,accursed of Heaven, I tarry in this worlda useless burden, since that fatal hourwhen Jove, of gods the Sire and men the King,his lightnings o'er me breathed and blasting fire.” Such fixed resolve he uttered o'er and o'er,and would not yield, though with my tears did joinmy spouse Creusa, fair Ascanius,and our whole house, imploring the gray sirenot with himself to ruin all, nor addyet heavier burdens to our crushing doom.He still cried, “No!” and clung to where he satand to the same dread purpose. I once moreback to the fight would speed. For death aloneI made my wretched prayer. What space was leftfor wisdom now? What chance or hope was given?“Didst thou, dear father, dream that I could flysundered from thee? Did such an infamyfall from a father's lips? If Heaven's decreewill of this mighty nation not let livea single soul, if thine own purpose beto cast thyself and thy posterityinto thy country's grave, behold, the dooris open to thy death! Lo, Pyrrhus comesred-handed from King Priam! He has slaina son before a father's eyes, and spilta father's blood upon his own hearthstone.Was it for this, O heavenly mother mine,that thou hast brought me safe through sword and fire?that I might see these altars desecrateby their worst foes? that I might look uponmy sire, my wife, and sweet Ascaniusdead at my feet in one another's blood?To arms, my men, to arms! The hour of deathnow beckons to the vanquished. Let me gowhither the Greeks are gathered; let me standwhere oft revives the flagging stroke of war:Not all of us die unavenged this day!”
I clasped my sword-belt round me once again,fitted my left arm to my shield, and turnedto fly the house; but at the threshold clungCreusa to my knees, and lifted upIulus to his father's arms. “If thouwouldst rush on death,” she cried, “O, suffer usto share thy perils with thee to the end.But if this day's work bid thee trust a sword,defend thy hearthstone first. Who else shall guardthy babe Iulus, or thy reverend sire?Or me, thy wife that was—what help have I?”
So rang the roof-top with her piteous cries:but lo! a portent wonderful to seeon sudden rose; for while his parents' griefheld the boy close in arm and full in view,there seemed upon Iulus' head to glowa flickering peak of fire; the tongue of flameinnocuous o'er his clustering tresses played,and hovered round his brows. We, horror-struck,grasped at his burning hair, and sprinkled him,to quench that holy and auspicious fire.then sire Anchises with exultant eyeslooked heavenward, and lifted to the starshis voice and outstretched hands. “Almighty Jove,if aught of prayer may move thee, let thy gracenow visit us! O, hear this holy vow!And if for service at thine altars done,we aught can claim, O Father, lend us aid,and ratify the omen thou hast given!”
Scarce ceased his aged voice, when suddenly from leftward, with a deafening thunder-peal, cleaving the blackness of the vaulted sky,a meteor-star in trailing splendor ran, exceeding bright. We watched it glide sublimeo'er tower and town, until its radiant beam in forest-mantled Ida died away;but left a furrow on its track in air,a glittering, Iong line, while far and widethe sulphurous fume and exhalation flowed.My father strove not now; but lifted himin prayer to all the gods, in holy aweof that auspicious star, and thus exclaimed:“Tarry no moment more! Behold, I come!Whithersoe'er ye lead, my steps obey.Gods of my fathers, O, preserve our name!Preserve my son, and his! This auguryis yours; and Troy on your sole strength relies.I yield, dear son; I journey at thy side.”He spoke; and higher o'er the blazing wallsleaped the loud fire, while ever nearer drewthe rolling surges of tumultuous flame.“Haste, father, on these bending shoulders climb!This back is ready, and the burden light;one peril smites us both, whate'er befall;one rescue both shall find. Close at my sidelet young Iulus run, while, not too nigh,my wife Creusa heeds what way we go.Ye servants of our house, give ear, I pray,to my command. Outside the city's gateslies a low mound and long since ruined faneto Ceres vowed; a cypress, ancient shadeo'erhangs it, which our fathers' pious careprotected year by year; by various pathsbe that our meeting-place. But in thy handsbring, sire, our household gods, and sanctifies:for me to touch, who come this very hourfrom battle and the fresh blood of the slain,were but abomination, till what timein living waters I shall make me clean.”So saying, I bowed my neck and shoulders broad,o'erspread me with a lion's tawny skin,and lifted up my load. Close at my sidelittle Iulus twined his hand in mineand followed, with unequal step, his sire.My wife at distance came. We hastened on,creeping through shadows; I, who once had viewedundaunted every instrument of warand all the gathered Greeks in grim array,now shook at every gust, and heard all soundswith fevered trepidation, fearing bothfor him I bore and him who clasped my hand.Now near the gates I drew, and deemed our flightsafely at end, when suddenly I heardthe sounding tread of many warriorsthat seemed hard-by, while through the murky nightmy father peered, and shouted, “O my son,away, away! for surely all our foesare here upon us, and my eyes beholdthe glance of glittering shields and flash of arms.”O, then some evil-working, nameless godclouded my senses quite: for while I spedalong our pathless way, and left behindall paths and regions known—O wretched me!—Creusa on some dark disaster fell;she stopped, or wandered, or sank down undone,—I never knew what way,—and nevermoreI looked on her alive. Yet knew I notmy loss, nor backward turned a look or thought,till by that hallowed hill to Ceres vowedwe gathered all,— and she alone came not,while husband, friends, and son made search in vain.What god, what man, did not my grief accusein frenzied word? In all the ruined landwhat worse woe had I seen? Entrusting thenmy sire, my son, and all the Teucrian godsto the deep shadows of a slanting valewhere my allies kept guard, I tried me backto that doomed town, re-girt in glittering arms.Resolved was I all hazards to renew,all Troy to re-explore, and once againoffer my life to perils without end. The walls and gloomy gates whence forth I cameI first revisit, and retrace my way,searching the night once more. On all sides roundhorror spread wide; the very silence breatheda terror on my soul. I hastened thenback to my fallen home, if haply thereher feet had strayed; but the invading Greekswere its possessors, though the hungry firewas blown along the roof-tree, and the flamesrolled raging upward on the fitful gale.To Priam's house I haste, and climb once morethe citadel; in Juno's temple there,the chosen guardians of her wasted halls,Phoenix and dread Ulysses watched the spoil.Here, snatched away from many a burning fane,Troy's treasures lay,—rich tables for the gods,thick bowls of messy gold, and vestures rare,confusedly heaped up, while round the pilefair youths and trembling virgins stood forlorn.Yet oft my voice rang dauntless through the gloom,from street to street I cried with anguish vain;and on Creusa piteously calling,woke the lamenting echoes o'er and o'er.While on this quest I roamed the city through,of reason reft there rose upon my sight—O shape of sorrow!— my Creusa's ghost,hers truly, though a loftier port it wore.I quailed, my hair rose, and I gasped for fear;but thus she spoke, and soothed my grief away:“Why to these frenzied sorrows bend thy soul,O husband ever dear! The will of Heavenhath brought all this to pass. Fate doth not sendCreusa the long journeys thou shalt take,or hath th' Olympian King so given decree.Long is thy banishment; thy ship must ploughthe vast, far-spreading sea. Then shalt thou comeunto Hesperia, whose fruitful plains are watered by the Tiber, Lydian stream, of smooth, benignant Bow. Thou shalt obtain fair fortunes, and a throne and royal bride.For thy beloved Creusa weep no more!No Myrmidon's proud palace waits me now;Dolopian shall not scorn, nor Argive damescommand a slave of Dardan's royal stemand wife to Venus' son. On these loved shoresthe Mother of the Gods compels my stay.Farewell! farewell! O, cherish evermorethy son and mine!” Her utterance scarce had ceased,when, as I strove through tears to make reply,she left me, and dissolved in empty air.Thrice would my frustrate arms her form enfold;thrice from the clasp of hand that vision fled,like wafted winds and like a fleeting dream. The night had passed, and to my friends once moreI made my way, much wondering to finda mighty multitude assembled thereof friends new-come,—matrons and men-at-arms,and youth for exile bound,— a doleful throng.From far and near they drew, their hearts preparedand their possessions gathered, to sail forthto lands unknown, wherever o'er the waveI bade them follow. Now above the crestof loftiest Ida rose the morning-star, chief in the front of day. The Greeks held fastthe captive gates of Troy. No help or hopewas ours any more. Then, yielding all,and lifting once again my aged sire,for refuge to the distant hills I fled. When Asia's power and Priam's race and throne,though guiltless, were cast down by Heaven's decree,when Ilium proud had fallen, and Neptune's Troy
in smouldering ash lay level with the ground,to wandering exile then and regions wildthe gods by many an augury and signcompelled us forth. We fashioned us a fleetwithin Antander's haven, in the shadeof Phrygian Ida's peak (though knowing notwhither our fate would drive, or where afforda resting-place at last), and my small bandof warriors I arrayed. As soon as smiledthe light of summer's prime, my reverend sireAnchises bade us on the winds of Fateto spread all sail. Through tears I saw recedemy native shore, the haven and the plainswhere once was Troy. An exile on the seas,with son and followers and household shrines,and Troy's great guardian-gods, I took my way. There is a far-off land where warriors breed,where Thracians till the boundless plains, and wherethe cruel-eyed Lycurgus once was king.Troy's old ally it was, its deitieshad brotherhood with ours before our fall.Thither I fared, and on its winding shoresset my first walls, though partial Fate opposedour entrance there. In memory of my nameI called its people the Aeneadae.
Unto Dione's daughter, and all godswho blessed our young emprise, due gifts were paid;and unto the supreme celestial KingI slew a fair white bull beside the sea.But haply near my place of sacrificea mound was seen, and on the summit grewa copse of corner and a myrtle tree,with spear-like limbs outbranched on every side.This I approached, and tried to rend awayfrom its deep roots that grove of gloomy green,and dress my altars in its leafy boughs.But, horrible to tell, a prodigysmote my astonished eyes: for the first tree,which from the earth with broken roots I drew,dripped black with bloody drops, and gave the grounddark stains of gore. Cold horror shook my frame,and every vein within me froze for fear.Once more I tried from yet another stockthe pliant stem to tear, and to explorethe mystery within,—but yet againthe foul bark oozed with clots of blackest gore!From my deep-shaken soul I made a prayerto all the woodland nymphs and to divineGradivus, patron of the Thracian plain,to bless this sight, to lift its curse away.But when at a third sheaf of myrtle spearsI fell upon my knees, and tugged amainagainst the adverse ground (I dread to tell!),a moaning and a wail from that deep graveburst forth and murmured in my listening ear:“Why wound me, great Aeneas, in my woe?O, spare the dead, nor let thy holy handsdo sacrilege and sin! I, Trojan-born,was kin of thine. This blood is not of trees.Haste from this murderous shore, this land of greed.O, I am Polydorus! Haste away!Here was I pierced; a crop of iron spears has grown up o'er my breast, and multiplied to all these deadly javelins, keen and strong.”Then stood I, burdened with dark doubt and fearI quailed, my hair rose and my utterance choked.
For once this Polydorus, with much gold,ill-fated Priam sent by stealth awayfor nurture with the Thracian king, what timeDardania's war Iooked hopeless, and her towerswere ringed about by unrelenting siege.That king, when Ilium's cause was ebbing low,and fortune frowned, gave o'er his plighted faithto Agamemnon's might and victory;he scorned all honor and did murder foulon Polydorus, seizing lawlesslyon all the gold. O, whither at thy will,curst greed of gold, may mortal hearts be driven?Soon as my shuddering ceased, I told this taleof prodigies before the people's chiefs,who sat in conclave with my kingly sire,and bade them speak their reverend counsel forth.All found one voice; to leave that land of sin,where foul abomination had profaneda stranger's right; and once more to resignour fleet unto the tempest and the wave.But fit and solemn funeral rites were paidto Polydorus. A high mound we rearedof heaped-up earth, and to his honored shadebuilt a perpetual altar, sadly dressedin cypress dark and purple pall of woe.Our Ilian women wailed with loosened hair;new milk was sprinkled from a foaming cup,and from the shallow bowl fresh blood out-pouredupon the sacred ground. So in its tombwe laid his ghost to rest, and loudly sang,with prayer for peace, the long, the last farewell. After these things, when first the friendly sealooked safe and fair, and o'er its tranquil plainlight-whispering breezes bade us launch away,my men drew down our galleys to the brine,thronging the shore. Soon out of port we ran,and watched the hills and cities fading far.There is a sacred island in mid-seas,to fruitful Doris and to Neptune dear,which grateful Phoebus, wielder of the bow,the while it drifted loose from land to land,chained firmly where the crags of Gyarosand Myconos uptower, and bade it restimmovable, in scorn of wind and wave.Thither I sped; by this my weary shipsfound undisturbed retreat and haven fair.To land we came and saw with reverent eyesApollo's citadel. King Anius,his people's king, and priest at Phoebus' fane,came forth to meet us, wearing on his browthe fillets and a holy laurel crown.Unto Anchises he gave greeting kind,claimed old acquaintance, grasped us by the hand,and bade us both his roof and welcome share.
Then, kneeling at the shrine of time-worn stone:“Thou who at Thymbra on the Trojan shorehast often blessed my prayer, O, give to mea hearth and home, and to this war-worn banddefensive towers and offspring multipliedin an abiding city; give to Troy
a second citadel, that shall surviveAchilles' wrath and all our Argive foe.Whom shall we follow? Whither lies our way?Where wilt thou grant us an abiding-place?Send forth, O King, thy voice oracular,and on our spirits move.” Scarce had I spokewhen sudden trembling through the laurels ranand smote the holy portals; far and widethe mighty ridges of the mountain shook,and from the opening shrine the tripod moaned.Prostrate to earth we fall, as on our earsthis utterance breaks: “O breed of iron men,ye sons of Dardanus! the self-same landwhere bloomed at first your far-descended stemshall to its bounteous bosom draw ye home.Seek out your ancient Mother! There at lastAeneas' race shall reign on every shore,and his sons' sons, and all their house to be.”So Phoebus spoke; and mighty joy uprosefrom all my thronging people, who would knowwhere Phoebus' city lay, and whitherwardthe god ordained the wandering tribe's return.Then spake my father, pondering olden daysand sacred memories of heroes gone:“Hear, chiefs and princes, what your hopes shall be!The Isle of Crete, abode of lofty Jove,rests in the middle sea. Thence Ida soars;there is the cradle of our race. It boastsa hundred cities, seats of fruitful power.Thence our chief sire, if duly I recallthe olden tale, King Teucer sprung, who firsttouched on the Trojan shore, and chose his seatof kingly power. There was no Ilium thennor towered Pergama; in lowly valestheir dwelling; hence the ancient worship givento the Protectress of Mount Cybele,mother of Gods, what time in Ida's grovethe brazen Corybantic cymbals clang,or sacred silence guards her mystery,and lions yoked her royal chariot draw.Up, then, and follow the behests divine!Pour offering to the winds, and point your keelsunto that realm of Minos. It is near.if Jove but bless, the third day's dawn should seeour ships at Cretan land.” So, having said,he slew the victims for each altar's praise.A bull to Neptune, and a bull to thee,o beauteous Apollo! A black lambunto the clouds and storms; but fleece of snowto the mild zephyrs was our offering. The tale was told us that Idomeneus,from his hereditary kindgom driven,had left his Crete abandoned, that no foenow harbored there, but all its dwellings layuntenanted of man. So forth we sailedout of the port of Delos, and sped faralong the main. The maenad-haunted hillsof Naxos came in view; the ridges greenof fair Donysa, with Olearos,and Paros, gleaming white, and Cyclades
scattered among the waves, as close we ranwhere thick-strewn islands vex the channelled seaswith rival shout the sailors cheerly called:“On, comrades! On, to Crete and to our sires!”Freely behind us blew the friendly winds, and gave smooth passage to that fabled shore,the land of the Curetes, friends of Jove.There eagerly I labored at the wallsof our long-prayed-for city; and its namewas Pergamea; to my Trojan band,pleased with such name, I gave command to buildaltar and hearth, and raise the lofty tower. But scarce the ships were beached along the strand(While o'er the isle my busy marinersploughed in new fields and took them wives once more, —I giving homes and laws) when suddenlya pestilence from some infectious skyseized on man's flesh, and horribly exhaledo'er trees and crops a fatal year of plague.Some breathed their last, while others weak and wornlived on; the dog-star parched the barren fields;grass withered, and the sickly, mouldering cornrefused us life. My aged father thenbade us re-cross the waves and re-imploreApollo's mercy at his island shrine;if haply of our weariness and woehe might vouchsafe the end, or bid us findhelp for our task, or guidance o'er the sea.