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.