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.

'T was night, and sleep possessed all breathing things;when, lo! the sacred effigies divine,the Phrygian gods which through the flames I borefrom fallen Troy, seemed in a vision clearto stand before me where I slumbering lay,bathed in bright beams which from the moon at fullstreamed through the latticed wall: and thus they spoketo soothe my care away. “Apollo's word,which in far Delos the god meant for thee,is uttered here. Behold, he sends ourselvesto this thy house, before thy prayer is made.We from Troy's ashes have companioned theein every fight; and we the swollen seas,guided by thee, in thine own ships have crossed;our power divine shall set among the starsthy seed to be, and to thy city givedominion evermore. For mighty mengo build its mighty walls! Seek not to shunthe hard, long labors of an exile's way.Change this abode! Not thine this Cretan shore,nor here would Delian Phoebus have thee bide.There is a land the roving Greeks have namedHesperia. It is a storied realmmade mighty by great wars and fruitful land.Oenotrians had it, and their sons, 't is said,have called it Italy, a chieftain's nameto a whole region given. That land aloneour true abode can be; for Dardanuswas cradled there, and old Iasius,their blood the oldest of our ancient line.Arise! go forth and cheer thy father graywith the glad tidings! Bid him doubt no more!Ausonia seek and Corythus; for Jovedenies this Cretan realm to thine and thee.”I marvelled at the heavenly presencesso vocal and so bright, for 't was not sleep;but face to face I deemed I could discerneach countenance august and holy brow,each mantled head; and from my body rancold sweat of awe. From my low couch I sprang,lifting to heaven my suppliant hands and prayer,and o'er my hearth poured forth libations free.After th' auspicious offering, I toldAnchises the whole tale in order due.He owned our stock two-branched, of our great siresthe twofold line, and that his thought had strayed,in new confusion mingling ancient names;then spoke: “O son, in Ilium's doom severeafflicted ever! To my ears alonethis dark vicissitude Cassandra sang.I mind me now that her wild tongue foretoldsuch destiny. For oft she called aloud‘Hesperia!’ oft ‘Italia's kingdom!’ called.But who had faith that Teucer's sons should cometo far Hesperia? What mortal eargave heed to sad Cassandra's voice divine?Now Phoebus speaks. Obedient let us be,and, warned by him, our happier Iot pursue!”He spoke: with heart of hope we all obeyed;again we changed abode; and, leaving therea feeble few, again with spreading sailswe coursed in hollow ship the spacious sea.

When from the deep the shores had faded far,and only sky and sea were round our way,full in the zenith hung a purple cloud,storm-laden, dark as night, and every wavegrew black and angry, while perpetual galescame rolling o'er the main, and mountain-highthe wreckful surges rose; our ships were hurledwide o'er the whirling waters; thunder-cloudsand misty murk of night made end of allthe light of heaven, save where the rifted stormflashed with the oft-reiterate shaft of Jove.Then went we drifting, beaten from our course,upon a trackless sea. Not even the eyesof Palinurus could tell night from noonor ken our way. Three days of blinding dark,three nights without a star, we roved the seas;The fourth, land seemed to rise. Far distant hillsand rolling smoke we saw. Down came our sails,out flew the oars, and with prompt stroke the crewsswept the dark waves and tossed the crested foam.From such sea-peril safe, I made the shoresof Strophades,—a name the Grecians gaveto islands in the broad Ionic main, —the Strophades, where dread Celaeno bides,with other Harpies, who had quit the hallsof stricken Phineus, and for very fearfled from the routed feast; no prodigymore vile than these, nor plague more pitilessere rose by wrath divine from Stygian wave;birds seem they, but with face like woman-kind;foul-flowing bellies, hands with crooked claws,and ghastly lips they have, with hunger pale.Scarce had we made the haven, when, behold!Fair herds of cattle roaming a wide plain,and horned goats, untended, feeding freein pastures green, surprised our happy eyes.with eager blades we ran to take and slay,asking of every god, and chicfly Jove,to share the welcome prize: we ranged a feast,with turf-built couches and a banquet-boardalong the curving strand. But in a trice,down from the high hills swooping horribly,the Harpies loudly shrieking, flapped their wings,snatched at our meats, and with infectious touchpolluted all; infernal was their cry,the stench most vile. Once more in covert farbeneath a caverned rock, and close concealedwith trees and branching shade, we raised aloftour tables, altars, and rekindled fires.Once more from haunts unknown the clamorous flockfrom every quarter flew, and seized its preywith taloned feet and carrion lip most foul.I called my mates to arms and opened waron that accursed brood. My band obeyed;and, hiding in deep grass their swords and shields,in ambush lay. But presently the foeswept o'er the winding shore with loud alarm :then from a sentry-crag, Misenus blewa signal on his hollow horn. My menflew to the combat strange, and fain would woundwith martial steel those foul birds of the sea;but on their sides no wounding blade could fall,nor any plume be marred. In swiftest flightto starry skies they soared, and left on earththeir half-gnawed, stolen feast, and footprints foul.Celaeno only on a beetling cragtook lofty perch, and, prophetess of ill,shrieked malediction from her vulture breast:“Because of slaughtered kine and ravished herd,sons of Laomedon, have ye made war?And will ye from their rightful kingdom drivethe guiltless Harpies? Hear, O, hear my word(Long in your bosoms may it rankle sore!)which Jove omnipotent to Phoebus gave,Phoebus to me: a word of doom, which I,the Furies' elder sister, here unfold:‘To Italy ye fare. The willing windsyour call have heard; and ye shall have your prayerin some Italian haven safely moored.But never shall ye rear the circling wallsof your own city, till for this our bloodby you unjustly spilt, your famished jawsbite at your tables, aye,—and half devour.’”

She spoke: her pinions bore her to the grove,and she was seen no more. But all my bandshuddered with shock of fear in each cold vein;their drooping spirits trusted swords no more,but turned to prayers and offerings, asking grace,scarce knowing if those creatures were divine,or but vast birds, ill-omened and unclean.Father Anchises to the gods in heavenuplifted suppliant hands, and on that shoredue ritual made, crying aloud; “Ye godsavert this curse, this evil turn away!Smile, Heaven, upon your faithful votaries.”Then bade he launch away, the chain undo,set every cable free and spread all sail.O'er the white waves we flew, and took our waywhere'er the helmsman or the winds could guide.Now forest-clad Zacynthus met our gaze,engirdled by the waves; Dulichium,same, and Neritos, a rocky steep,uprose. We passed the cliffs of Ithaca that called Laertes king, and flung our curseon fierce Ulysses' hearth and native land.nigh hoar Leucate's clouded crest we drew,where Phoebus' temple, feared by mariners,loomed o'er us; thitherward we steered and reachedthe little port and town. Our weary fleetdropped anchor, and lay beached along the strand.

So, safe at land, our hopeless peril past,we offered thanks to Jove, and kindled highhis altars with our feast and sacrifice;then, gathering on Actium's holy shore,made fair solemnities of pomp and game.My youth, anointing their smooth, naked limbs,wrestled our wonted way. For glad were we,who past so many isles of Greece had spedand 'scaped our circling foes. Now had the sunrolled through the year's full circle, and the waveswere rough with icy winter's northern gales.I hung for trophy on that temple doora swelling shield of brass (which once was wornby mighty Abas) graven with this line:SPOIL OF AENEAS FROM TRIUMPHANT FOES.Then from that haven I command them forth;my good crews take the thwarts, smiting the seawith rival strokes, and skim the level main.Soon sank Phaeacia's wind-swept citadelsout of our view; we skirted the bold shoresof proud Epirus, in Chaonian land,and made Buthrotum's port and towering town.

Here wondrous tidings met us, that the sonof Priam, Helenus, held kingly swayo'er many Argive cities, having wedthe Queen of Pyrrhus, great Achilles' son,and gained his throne; and that Andromacheonce more was wife unto a kindred lord.Amazement held me; all my bosom burnedto see the hero's face and hear this taleof strange vicissitude. So up I climbed,leaving the haven, fleet, and friendly shore.That self-same hour outside the city walls,within a grove where flowed the mimic streamof a new Simois, Andromache,with offerings to the dead, and gifts of woe,poured forth libation, and invoked the shadeof Hector, at a tomb which her fond griefhad consecrated to perpetual tears,though void; a mound of fair green turf it stood,and near it rose twin altars to his name.She saw me drawing near; our Trojan helmsmet her bewildered eyes, and, terror-struckat the portentous sight, she swooning felland lay cold, rigid, lifeless, till at last,scarce finding voice, her lips addressed me thus :“Have I true vision? Bringest thou the wordOf truth, O goddess-born? Art still in flesh?Or if sweet light be fled, my Hector, where?”With flood of tears she spoke, and all the grovereechoed to her cry. Scarce could I framebrief answer to her passion, but repliedwith broken voice and accents faltering:“I live, 't is true. I lengthen out my daysthrough many a desperate strait. But O, believethat what thine eyes behold is vision true.Alas! what lot is thine, that wert unthronedfrom such a husband's side? What after-fatecould give thee honor due? Andromache,once Hector's wife, is Pyrrhus still thy lord?”

With drooping brows and lowly voice she cried :“O, happy only was that virgin blest,daughter of Priam, summoned forth to diein sight of Ilium, on a foeman's tomb!No casting of the lot her doom decreed,nor came she to her conqueror's couch a slave.Myself from burning Ilium carried faro'er seas and seas, endured the swollen prideof that young scion of Achilles' race,and bore him as his slave a son. When hesued for Hermione, of Leda's line,and nuptial-bond with Lacedaemon's Iords,I, the slave-wife, to Helenus was given,and slave was wed with slave. But afterwardOrestes, crazed by loss of her he loved,and ever fury-driven from crime to crime,crept upon Pyrrhus in a careless hourand murdered him upon his own hearth-stone.Part of the realm of Neoptolemusfell thus to Helenus, who called his landsChaonian, and in Trojan Chaon's namehis kingdom is Chaonia. Yonder heightis Pergamus, our Ilian citadel.What power divine did waft thee to our shore,not knowing whither? Tell me of the boyAscanius! Still breathes he earthly air?In Troy she bore him—is he mourning stillthat mother ravished from his childhood's eyes?what ancient valor stirs the manly soulof thine own son, of Hector's sister's child?”Thus poured she forth full many a doleful wordwith unavailing tears. But as she ceased,out of the city gates appeared the sonof Priam, Helenus, with princely train.He welcomed us as kin, and glad at heartgave guidance to his house, though oft his wordsfell faltering and few, with many a tear.Soon to a humbler Troy I lift my eyes,and of a mightier Pergamus discernthe towering semblance; there a scanty streamruns on in Xanthus' name, and my glad armsthe pillars of a Scaean gate embrace.My Teucrian mariners with welcome freeenjoyed the friendly town; his ample hallsour royal host threw wide; full wine-cups flowedwithin the palace; golden feast was spread,and many a goblet quaffed. Day followed day,while favoring breezes beckoned us to sea,and swelled the waiting canvas as they blew.Then to the prophet-priest I made this prayer:“Offspring of Troy, interpreter of Heaven!Who knowest Phoebus' power, and readest wellthe tripod, stars, and vocal laurel leavesto Phoebus dear, who know'st of every birdthe ominous swift wing or boding song,o, speak! For all my course good omens showed,and every god admonished me to sailin quest of Italy's far-distant shores;but lone Celaeno, heralding strange woe,foretold prodigious horror, vengeance dark,and vile, unnatural hunger. How eludesuch perils? Or by what hard duty donemay such huge host of evils vanquished be?”Then Helenus, with sacrifice of kinein order due, implored the grace of Heaven,unloosed the fillets from his sacred brow,and led me, Phoebus, to thy temple's door,awed by th' o'er-brooding godhead, whose true priest,with lips inspired, made this prophetic song:

“O goddess-born, indubitably shinesthe blessing of great gods upon thy pathacross the sea; the heavenly King supremethy destiny ordains; 't is he unfoldsthe grand vicissitude, which now pursuesa course immutable. I will declareof thy large fate a certain bounded part;that fearless thou may'st view the friendly sea,and in Ausonia's haven at the lastfind thee a fixed abode. Than this no morethe Sister Fates to Helenus unveil,and Juno, Saturn's daughter, grants no more.First, that Italia (which nigh at handthou deemest, and wouldst fondly enter inby yonder neighboring bays) lies distant faro'er trackless course and long, with intervalof far-extended lands. Thine oars must plythe waves of Sicily; thy fleet must cleavethe large expanse of that Ausonian brine;the waters of Avernus thou shalt see,and that enchanted island where abidesAeaean Circe, ere on tranquil shorethou mayest plant thy nation. Lo! a signI tell thee; hide this wonder in thy heart:Beside a certain stream's sequestered wave,thy troubled eyes, in shadowy flex grovethat fringes on the river, shall descrya milk-white, monstrous sow, with teeming broodof thirty young, new littered, white like her,all clustering at her teats, as prone she lies.There is thy city's safe, predestined ground,and there thy labors' end. Vex not thy heartabout those ‘tables bitten’, for kind fatethy path will show, and Phoebus bless thy prayer.But from these lands and yon Italian shore,where from this sea of ours the tide sweeps in,escape and flee, for all its cities holdpernicious Greeks, thy foes: the Locri therehave builded walls; the wide Sallentine fieldsare filled with soldiers of Idomeneus;there Meliboean Philoctetes' town,petilia, towers above its little wall.Yea, even when thy fleet has crossed the main,and from new altars built along the shorethy vows to Heaven are paid, throw o'er thy heada purple mantle, veiling well thy brows,lest, while the sacrificial fire ascendsin offering to the gods, thine eye beholdsome face of foe, and every omen fail.Let all thy people keep this custom due,and thou thyself be faithful; let thy seedforever thus th' immaculate rite maintain.After departing hence, thou shalt be blowntoward Sicily, and strait Pelorus' boundswill open wide. Then take the leftward way:those leftward waters in long circuit sweep,far from that billowy coast, the opposing side.These regions, so they tell, in ages goneby huge and violent convulsion riven(Such mutability is wrought by time),sprang wide asunder; where the doubled strandsole and continuous lay, the sea's vast powerburst in between, and bade its waves divideHesperia's bosom from fair Sicily,while with a straitened firth it interflowedtheir fields and cities sundered shore from shore.The right side Scylla keeps; the left is givento pitiless Charybdis, who draws downto the wild whirling of her steep abyssthe monster waves, and ever and anonflings them at heaven, to lash the tranquil stars.But Scylla, prisoned in her eyeless cave,thrusts forth her face, and pulls upon the rocksship after ship; the parts that first be seenare human; a fair-breasted virgin she,down to the womb; but all that lurks belowis a huge-membered fish, where strangely jointhe flukes of dolphins and the paunch of wolves.Better by far to round the distant goalof the Trinacrian headlands, veering widefrom thy true course, than ever thou shouldst seethat shapeless Scylla in her vaulted cave,where grim rocks echo her dark sea-dogs' roar.Yea, more, if aught of prescience be bestowedon Helenus, if trusted prophet he,and Phoebus to his heart true voice have given,o goddess-born, one counsel chief of allI tell thee oft, and urge it o'er and o'er.To Juno's godhead lift thy Ioudest prayer;to Juno chant a fervent votive song,and with obedient offering persuadethat potent Queen. So shalt thou, triumphing,to Italy be sped, and leave behindTrinacria.When wafted to that shore,repair to Cumae's hill, and to the LakeAvernus with its whispering grove divine.There shalt thou see a frenzied prophetess,who from beneath the hollow scarped cragsings oracles, or characters on leavesmysterious names. Whate'er the virgin writes,on leaves inscribing the portentous song,she sets in order, and conceals them wellin her deep cave, where they abide unchangedin due array. Yet not a care has she,if with some swinging hinge a breeze sweeps in,to catch them as they whirl: if open doordisperse them flutterlig through the hollow rock,she will not link their shifted sense anew,nor re-invent her fragmentary song.Oft her unanswered votaries depart,scorning the Sibyl's shrine. But deem not thouthy tarrying too Iong, whate'er thy stay.Though thy companions chide, though winds of powerinvite thy ship to sea, and well would speedthe swelling sail, yet to that Sibyl go.Pray that her own lips may sing forth for theethe oracles, uplifting her dread voicein willing prophecy. Her rede shall tellof Italy, its wars and tribes to be,and of what way each burden and each woemay be escaped, or borne. Her favoring aidwill grant swift, happy voyages to thy prayer.Such counsels Heaven to my lips allows.arise, begone! and by thy glorious deedsset Troy among the stars! “

So spake the prophet with benignant voice.Then gifts he bade be brought of heavy goldand graven ivory, which to our shipshe bade us bear; each bark was Ioaded fullwith messy silver and Dodona's prideof brazen cauldrons; a cuirass he gaveof linked gold enwrought and triple chain;a noble helmet, too, with flaming crestand lofty cone, th' accoutrement erewhileof Neoptolemus. My father toohad fit gifts from the King; whose bounty thengave steeds and riders; and new gear was sentto every sea-worn ship, while he suppliedseafarers, kit to all my loyal crews.

Anchises bade us speedily set sail,nor lose a wind so fair; and answering him,Apollo's priest made reverent adieu:“Anchises, honored by the love sublimeof Venus, self and twice in safety bornefrom falling Troy, chief care of kindly Heaven,th' Ausonian shore is thine. Sail thitherward!For thou art pre-ordained to travel faro'er yonder seas; far in the distance liesthat region of Ausonia, Phoebus' voiceto thee made promise of. Onward, I say,o blest in the exceeding loyal loveof thy dear son! Why keep thee longer now?Why should my words yon gathering winds detain?”Likewise Andromache in mournful guisetook last farewell, bringing embroidered robesof golden woof; a princely Phrygian cloakshe gave Ascanius, vying with the Kingin gifts of honor; and threw o'er the boythe labors of her loom, with words like these:“Accept these gifts, sweet youth, memorialsof me and my poor handicraft, to proveth' undying friendship of Andromache,once Hector's wife. Take these last offeringsof those who are thy kin—O thou that artof my Astyanax in all this worldthe only image! His thy lovely eyes!Thy hands, thy lips, are even what he bore,and like thy own his youthful bloom would be.”Thus I made answer, turning to departwith rising tears: “Live on, and be ye blessed,whose greatness is accomplished! As for me,from change to change Fate summons, and I go;but ye have won repose. No leagues of seaawait your cleaving keel. Not yours the questof fading Italy's delusive shore.Here a new Xanthus and a second Troy your labor fashioned and your eyes may see—more blest, I trust, less tempting to our foes!If e'er on Tiber and its bordering valesI safely enter, and these eyes beholdour destined walls, then in fraternal bondlet our two nations live, whose mutual boastis one Dardanian blood, one common story.Epirus with Hesperia shall beone Troy in heart and soul. But this remainsfor our sons' sons the happy task and care.”

Forth o'er the seas we sped and kept our coursenigh the Ceraunian headland, where beginsthe short sea-passage unto Italy.Soon sank the sun, while down the shadowed hillsstole deeper gloom; then making shore, we flungour bodies on a dry, sea-bordering sand,couched on earth's welcome breast; the oars were rangedin order due; the tides of slumber darko'erflowed our lives. But scarce the chariotof Night, on wings of swift, obedient Hours,had touched the middle sky, when wakeful spranggood Palinurus from his pillowed stone:with hand at ear he caught each airy gustand questioned of the winds; the gliding starshe called by name, as onward they advancedthrough the still heaven; Arcturus he beheld,the Hyades, rain-bringers, the twin Bears,and vast Orion girt in golden arms.He blew a trumpet from his ship; our campstirred to the signal for embarking; soonwe rode the seas once more with swelling sail.

Scarce had Aurora's purple from the skywarned off the stars, when Iying very lowalong th' horizon, the dimmed hills we sawof Italy; Achates first gave cry“Italia!” with answering shouts of joy,my comrades' voices cried, “Italia, hail!”Anchises, then, wreathed a great bowl with flowersand filled with wine, invoking Heaven to bless,and thus he prayed from our ship's lofty stern:“O Iords of land and sea and every storm!Breathe favoring breezes for our onward way!”Fresh blew the prayed-for winds. A haven fairsoon widened near us; and its heights were crownedby a Greek fane to Pallas. Yet my menfurled sail and shoreward veered the pointing prow.the port receding from the orient waveis curved into a bow; on either sidethe jutting headlands toss the salt sea-foamand hide the bay itself. Like double wallthe towered crags send down protecting arms,while distant from the shore the temple stands.Here on a green sward, the first omen given,I saw four horses grazing through the field,each white as snow. Father Anchises cried:“Is war thy gift, O new and alien land?Horses make war; of war these creatures bode.Yet oft before the chariot of peacetheir swift hoofs go, and on their necks they bearth' obedient yoke and rein. Therefore a hopeof peace is also ours.” Then we imploredMinerva's mercy, at her sacred shrine,the mail-clad goddess who gave welcome there;and at an altar, mantling well our browsthe Phrygian way, as Helenus ordained,we paid the honors his chief counsel urged,with blameless rite, to Juno, Argive Queen.

No tarrying now, but after sacrificewe twirled the sailyards and shook out all sail,leaving the cities of the sons of Greece and that distrusted land. Tarentum's baysoon smiled before us, town of Hercules,if fame be true; opposing it uptowersLacinia's headland unto Juno dear,the heights of Caulon, and that sailors' bane,ship-shattering Scylaceum. Thence half seen,trinacrian Aetna cleaves th' horizon line;we hear from far the crash of shouting seas,where lifted billows leap the tide-swept sand.Father Anchises cried: “'T is none but she—Charybdis! Helenus this reef foretold,and rocks of dreadful name. O, fly, my men!Rise like one man with long, strong sweep of oars!”Not unobedient they! First Palinureveered to the leftward wave the willing keel,and sails and oars together leftward strove.We shot to skyward on the arching surge,then, as she sank, dropped deeper than the grave;thrice bellowed the vast cliffs from vaulted wall;thrice saw we spouted foam and showers of stars.After these things both wind and sun did fail;and weary, worn, not witting of our way,we drifted shoreward to the Cyclops' land.