GetPassage urn:cts:latinLit:phi0690.phi003.perseus-eng2:3.192-4.31 urn:cts:latinLit:phi0690.phi003.perseus-eng2:3.192-4.31

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.

A spreading bay is there, impregnableto all invading storms; and Aetna's throatwith roar of frightful ruin thunders nigh.Now to the realm of light it lifts a cloudof pitch-black, whirling smoke, and fiery dust,shooting out globes of flame, with monster tonguesthat lick the stars; now huge crags of itself,out of the bowels of the mountain torn,its maw disgorges, while the molten rockrolls screaming skyward; from the nether deepthe fathomless abyss makes ebb and flow.Enceladus, his body lightning-scarred,lies prisoned under all, so runs the tale:o'er him gigantic Aetna breathes in firefrom crack and seam; and if he haply turnto change his wearied side, Trinacria's isletrembles and moans, and thick fumes mantle heaven.That night in screen and covert of a grovewe bore the dire convulsion, unawarewhence the loud horror came. For not a starits lamp allowed, nor burned in upper skythe constellated fires, but all was gloom,and frowning night confined the moon in cloud.

When from the eastern waves the light of mornbegan to peer, and from the upper skyAurora flamed away the dark and dew,out of the forest sprang a startling shapeof hunger-wasted misery; a manin wretched guise, who shoreward came with handsoutstretched in supplication. We turned backand scanned him well. All grime and foulness he,with long and tangled beard, his savage garbfastened with thorns; but in all else he seemeda Greek, and in his country's league of armssent to the seige of Troy. Then he beheldthe Dardan habit, and our Trojan steel,he somewhat paused, as if in dread dismaysuch sight to see, and falteringly moved;but soon with headlong steps he sought the shore,ejaculating broken sobs and prayers:“By stars above! By gods on high! O, hear!By this bright heavenly air we mortals breathe,save me, sweet Trojans! Carry me awayunto what land ye will! I ask no more.I came, I know it, in the ships of Greece;and I did war, 't is true, with Ilium's gods.O, if the crime deserve it, fling my corseon yonder waves, and in the boundless brinesink me forever! Give me in my deaththe comfort that by human hands I die.”He clasped our knees, and writhing on his ownclung fast. We bid him tell his race and name,and by what fate pursued. Anchises gavehis own right hand in swift and generous aid,and by prompt token cheered the exile's heart,who, banishing his fears, poured forth this tale :—

“My home was Ithaca, and I partookthe fortunes of Ulysses evil-starred.My name is Achemenides, my sirewas Adamastus, and I sailed for Troy,being so poor,—O, that I ne'er had changethe lot I bore! In yon vast Cyclops' cavemy comrades, flying from its gruesome door,left me behind, forgotten. 'T is a houseof gory feasts of flesh, 't is deep and dark,and vaulted high. He looms as high as heaven;I pray the blessed gods to rid the earthof the vile monster! None can look on him,none speak with him. He feeds on clotted goreof disembowelled men. These very eyessaw him seize two of our own company,and, as he lolled back in the cave, he clutchedand dashed them on the stones, fouling the floorwith torrent of their blood; myself I saw himcrunch with his teeth the dripping, bloody limbsstill hot and pulsing on his hungry jaw.But not without reward! For such a sightUlysses would not brook, and Ithaca forgot not in such strait the name he bore.For soon as, gorged with feasting and o'ercomewith drunken slumber, the foul giant laysprawled through the cave, his head dropped helpless down,disgorging as he slept thick drool of goreand gobbets drenched with bloody wine; then we,calling on Heaven and taking place by lot,drew round him like one man, and with a beamsharpened at end bored out that monster eye,which, huge and sole, lay under the grim brow,round as an Argive shield or Phoebus' star.Thus took we joyful vengeance for the shadesof our lost mates. But, O ill-fated men!Fly, I implore, and cut the cables freealong the beach! For in the land abide,like Polyphemus, who in hollow cavekept fleecy sheep, and milked his fruitful ewes,a hundred other, huge as he, who rovewide o'er this winding shore and mountains fair:Cyclops accursed, bestial! Thrice the moonhas filled her horns with light, while here I dwellin lonely woods and lairs of creatures wild;or from tall cliffs out-peering I discernthe Cyclops, and shrink shuddering from the soundof their vast step and cry. My sorry fareis berries and hard corners dropped from trees,or herb-roots torn out from the niggard ground.Though watching the whole sea, only today Have I had sight of ships. To you I fled.Whate'er ye be, it was my only prayerto 'scape that monster brood. I ask no more.O, set me free by any death ye will!”

He scarce had said, when moving o'er the crestof a high hill a giant shape we saw:that shepherd Polyphemus, with his flocksdown-wending to the well-known water-side;huge, shapeless, horrible, with blinded eye,bearing a lopped pine for a staff, he madehis footing sure, while the white, fleecy sheep,sole pleasure now, and solace of his woes,ran huddling at his side.Soon to the vast flood of the level brinehe came, and washed the flowing gore awayfrom that out-hollowed eye; he gnashed his teeth,groaning, and deep into the watery waystalked on, his tall bulk wet by scarce a wave.We fled in haste, though far, and with us borethe truthful suppliant; cut silentlythe anchor-ropes, and, bending to the oar,swept on with eager strokes clean out to sea.Aware he was, and toward our loud halloowhirled sudden round; but when no power had heto seize or harm, nor could his fierce pursuito'ertake the Ionian surges as they rolled,he raised a cry incredible; the seawith all its billows trembled; the wide shoreof Italy from glens and gorges moaned,and Aetna roared from every vaulted cave.

Then rallied from the grove-clad, Iofty islethe Cyclops' clan, and lined the beach and bay.We saw each lonely eyeball glare in vain,as side by side those brothers Aetna-bornstood towering high, a conclave dark and dire:as when, far up some mountain's famous crest,wind-fronting oaks or cone-clad cypresseshave made assembling in the solemn hills,Jove's giant wood or Dian's sacred grove.We, terror-struck, would fly we knew not where,with loosened sheet and canvas swelling strongbefore a welcome wind; but Helenusbade us both Scylla and Charybdis fear,where 'twixt the twain death straitly hems the way;and so the counsel was to veer our barkthe course it came. But lo! a northern galeburst o'er us from Pelorus' narrowed side,and on we rode far past Pantagia's bayof unhewn rock, and past the haven strongof Megara, and Thapsus Iying low.Such were the names retold, and such the shoresshown us by Achemenides, whose fatemade him familiar there, for he had sailedwith evil-starred Ulysses o'er that sea.

Off the Sicilian shore an island lies,wave-washed Plemmyrium, called in olden daysOrtygia; here Alpheus, river-god,from Elis flowed by secret sluice, they say,beneath the sea, and mingles at thy mouth,fair Arethusa! with Sicilian waves.Our voices hailed the great gods of the landwith reverent prayer; then skirted we the shore,where smooth Helorus floods the fruitful plain.Under Pachynus' beetling precipicewe kept our course; then Camarina rosein distant view, firm-seated evermoreby Fate's decree; and that far-spreading valeof Gela, with the name of power it takesfrom its wide river; and, uptowering far,the ramparts of proud Acragas appeared,where fiery steeds were bred in days of old.Borne by the winds, along thy coast I fled,Selinus, green with palm! and past the shoreof Lilybaeum with its treacherous reef;till at the last the port of Drepanum received me to its melancholy strand.Here, woe is me I outworn by stormful seas,my sire, sole comfort of my grievous doom,Anchises ceased to be. O best of sires!Here didst thou leave me in the weary way;through all our perils—O the bitter loss! —borne safely, but in vain. King Helenus,whose prophet-tongue of dark events foretold,spoke not this woe; nor did Celeno's curseof this forebode. Such my last loss and pain;such, of my weary way, the destined goal.From thence departing, the divine behestimpelled me to thy shores, O listening queen!

Such was, while all gave ear, the tale sublimefather Aeneas, none but he, set forthof wanderings and of dark decrees divine:silent at last, he ceased, and took repose.

Now felt the Queen the sharp, slow-gathering pangsof love; and out of every pulsing veinnourished the wound and fed its viewless fire.Her hero's virtues and his lordly linekeep calling to her soul; his words, his glance,cling to her heart like lingering, barbed steel,and rest and peace from her vexed body fly.A new day's dawn with Phoebus' lamp divinelit up all lands, and from the vaulted heavenAurora had dispelled the dark and dew;when thus unto the ever-answering heartof her dear sister spoke the stricken Queen:“Anna, my sister, what disturbing dreamsperplex me and alarm? What guest is thisnew-welcomed to our house? How proud his mien!What dauntless courage and exploits of war!Sooth, I receive it for no idle talethat of the gods he sprang. 'T is cowardicebetrays the base-born soul. Ah me! How fatehas smitten him with storms! What dire extremesof war and horror in his tale he told!O, were it not immutably resolvedin my fixed heart, that to no shape of manI would be wed again (since my first loveleft me by death abandoned and betrayed);loathed I not so the marriage torch and train,I could—who knows?—to this one weakness yield.Anna, I hide it not! But since the doomof my ill-starred Sichaeus, when our shrineswere by a brother's murder dabbled o'er,this man alone has moved me; he alonehas shaken my weak will. I seem to feelthe motions of love's lost, familiar fire.But may the earth gape open where I tread,and may almighty Jove with thunder-scourgehurl me to Erebus' abysmal shade,to pallid ghosts and midnight fathomless,before, O Chastity! I shall offendthy holy power, or cast thy bonds away!He who first mingled his dear life with minetook with him all my heart. 'T is his alone —o, let it rest beside him in the grave!”She spoke: the bursting tears her breast o'erflowed.

“O dearer to thy sister than her life,”Anna replied, “wouldst thou in sorrow's weedwaste thy long youth alone, nor ever knowsweet babes at thine own breast, nor gifts of love?Will dust and ashes, or a buried ghostreck what we do? 'T is true thy grieving heartwas cold to earlier wooers, Libya's now,and long ago in Tyre. Iarbas knewthy scorn, and many a prince and captain bredin Afric's land of glory. Why resista love that makes thee glad? Hast thou no carewhat alien lands are these where thou dost reign?Here are Gaetulia's cities and her tribesunconquered ever; on thy borders roveNumidia's uncurbed cavalry; here toolies Syrtis' cruel shore, and regions wideof thirsty desert, menaced everywhereby the wild hordes of Barca. Shall I tellof Tyre's hostilities, the threats and rageof our own brother? Friendly gods, I bow,wafted the Teucrian ships, with Juno's aid,to these our shores. O sister, what a throne,and what imperial city shall be thine,if thus espoused! With Trojan arms alliedhow far may not our Punic fame extendin deeds of power? Call therefore on the godsto favor thee; and, after omens fair,give queenly welcome, and contrive excuseto make him tarry, while yon wintry seasare loud beneath Orion's stormful star,and on his battered ships the season frowns.”