Aeneas straightway by the leftward cliffBeheld a spreading rampart, high begirtWith triple wall, and circling round it ranA raging river of swift floods of flame,Infernal Phlegethon, which whirls alongLoud-thundering rocks. A mighty gate is thereColumned in adamant; no human power,Nor even the gods, against this gate prevail.Tall tower of steel it has; and seated thereTisiphone, in blood-flecked pall arrayed,Sleepless forever, guards the entering way.Hence groans are heard, fierce cracks of lash and scourge,Loud-clanking iron links and trailing chains.Aeneas motionless with horror stoodo'erwhelmed at such uproar. “0 virgin, sayWhat shapes of guilt are these? What penal woeHarries them thus? What wailing smites the air?”To whom the Sibyl, “Far-famed prince of Troy,The feet of innocence may never passInto this house of sin. But Hecate,When o'er th' Avernian groves she gave me power,Taught me what penalties the gods decree,And showed me all. There Cretan RhadamanthHis kingdom keeps, and from unpitying throneChastises and lays bare the secret sinsOf mortals who, exulting in vain guile,Elude till death, their expiation due.There, armed forever with her vengeful scourge,Tisiphone, with menace and affront,The guilty swarm pursues; in her left handShe lifts her angered serpents, while she callsA troop of sister-furies fierce as she.Then, grating loud on hinge of sickening sound,Hell's portals open wide. 0, dost thou seeWhat sentinel upon that threshold sits,What shapes of fear keep guard upon that gloom?

Far, far within the dragon Hydra broodsWith half a hundred mouths, gaping and black;And Tartarus slopes downward to the darkTwice the whole space that in the realms of lightTh' Olympian heaven above our earth aspires. —Here Earth's first offspring, the Titanic brood,Roll lightning-blasted in the gulf profound;The twin AloidaeAloïdae, colossal shades,Came on my view; their hands made stroke at HeavenAnd strove to thrust Jove from his seat on high.I saw Salmoneus his dread stripes endure,Who dared to counterfeit Olympian thunderAnd Jove's own fire. In chariot of four steeds,Brandishing torches, he triumphant rodeThrough throngs of Greeks, o'er Elis' sacred way,Demanding worship as a god. 0 fool!To mock the storm's inimitable flash—With crash of hoofs and roll of brazen wheel!But mightiest Jove from rampart of thick cloudHurled his own shaft, no flickering, mortal flame,And in vast whirl of tempest laid him low.Next unto these, on Tityos I looked,Child of old Earth, whose womb all creatures bears:Stretched o'er nine roods he lies; a vulture hugeTears with hooked beak at his immortal side,Or deep in entrails ever rife with painGropes for a feast, making his haunt and homeIn the great Titan bosom; nor will giveTo ever new-born flesh surcease of woe.Why name Ixion and Pirithous,The Lapithae, above whose impious browsA crag of flint hangs quaking to its fall,As if just toppling down, while couches proud,Propped upon golden pillars, bid them feastIn royal glory: but beside them liesThe eldest of the Furies, whose dread handsThrust from the feast away, and wave aloftA flashing firebrand, with shrieks of woe.Here in a prison-house awaiting doomAre men who hated, long as life endured,Their brothers, or maltreated their gray sires,Or tricked a humble friend; the men who graspedAt hoarded riches, with their kith and kinNot sharing ever—an unnumbered throng;Here slain adulterers be; and men who daredTo fight in unjust cause, and break all faithWith their own lawful lords. Seek not to knowWhat forms of woe they feel, what fateful shapeOf retribution hath o'erwhelmed them there.Some roll huge boulders up; some hang on wheels,Lashed to the whirling spokes; in his sad seatTheseus is sitting, nevermore to rise;Unhappy Phlegyas uplifts his voiceIn warning through the darkness, calling loud,‘0, ere too late, learn justice and fear God!’Yon traitor sold his country, and for goldEnchained her to a tyrant, traffickingIn laws, for bribes enacted or made void;Another did incestuously takeHis daughter for a wife in lawless bonds.All ventured some unclean, prodigious crime;And what they dared, achieved. I could not tell,Not with a hundred mouths, a hundred tongues,Or iron voice, their divers shapes of sin,Nor call by name the myriad pangs they bear.”

So spake Apollo's aged prophetess.“Now up and on!” she cried. “Thy task fulfil!We must make speed. Behold yon arching doorsYon walls in furnace of the Cyclops forged!'T is there we are commanded to lay downTh' appointed offering.” So, side by side,Swift through the intervening dark they strode,And, drawing near the portal-arch, made pause.Aeneas, taking station at the door,Pure, lustral waters o'er his body threw,And hung for garland there the Golden Bough.

Now, every rite fulfilled, and tribute duePaid to the sovereign power of Proserpine,At last within a land delectableTheir journey lay, through pleasurable bowersOf groves where all is joy,—a blest abode!An ampler sky its roseate light bestowsOn that bright land, which sees the cloudless beamOf suns and planets to our earth unknown.On smooth green lawns, contending limb with limb,Immortal athletes play, and wrestle long'gainst mate or rival on the tawny sand;With sounding footsteps and ecstatic song,Some thread the dance divine: among them movesThe bard of Thrace, in flowing vesture clad,Discoursing seven-noted melody,Who sweeps the numbered strings with changeful hand,Or smites with ivory point his golden lyre.Here Trojans be of eldest, noblest race,Great-hearted heroes, born in happier times,Ilus, Assaracus, and Dardanus,Illustrious builders of the Trojan town.Their arms and shadowy chariots he views,And lances fixed in earth, while through the fieldsTheir steeds without a bridle graze at will.For if in life their darling passion ranTo chariots, arms, or glossy-coated steeds,The self-same joy, though in their graves, they feel.Lo! on the left and right at feast reclinedAre other blessed souls, whose chorus singsVictorious paeans on the fragrant airOf laurel groves; and hence to earth outpoursEridanus, through forests rolling free.Here dwell the brave who for their native landFell wounded on the field; here holy priestsWho kept them undefiled their mortal day;And poets, of whom the true-inspired songDeserved Apollo's name; and all who foundNew arts, to make man's life more blest or fair;Yea! here dwell all those dead whose deeds bequeathDeserved and grateful memory to their kind.And each bright brow a snow-white fillet wears.Unto this host the Sibyl turned, and hailedMusaeus, midmost of a numerous throng,Who towered o'er his peers a shoulder higher:“0 spirits blest! 0 venerable bard!Declare what dwelling or what region holdsAnchises, for whose sake we twain essayedYon passage over the wide streams of hell.”And briefly thus the hero made reply:“No fixed abode is ours. In shadowy grovesWe make our home, or meadows fresh and fair,With streams whose flowery banks our couches be.But you, if thitherward your wishes turn,Climb yonder hill, where I your path may show.”So saying, he strode forth and led them on,Till from that vantage they had prospect fairOf a wide, shining land; thence wending down,They left the height they trod;for far belowFather Anchises in a pleasant valeStood pondering, while his eyes and thought surveyedA host of prisoned spirits, who there abodeAwaiting entrance to terrestrial air.And musing he reviewed the legions brightOf his own progeny and offspring proud—Their fates and fortunes, virtues and great deeds.Soon he discerned Aeneas drawing nigho'er the green slope, and, lifting both his handsIn eager welcome, spread them swiftly forth.Tears from his eyelids rained, and thus he spoke:“Art here at last? Hath thy well-proven loveOf me thy sire achieved yon arduous way?Will Heaven, beloved son, once more allowThat eye to eye we look? and shall I hearThy kindred accent mingling with my own?I cherished long this hope. My prophet-soulNumbered the lapse of days, nor did my thoughtDeceive. 0, o'er what lands and seas wast drivenTo this embrace! What perils manifoldAssailed thee, 0 my son, on every side!How long I trembled, lest that Libyan throneShould work thee woe!”Aeneas thus replied:“Thine image, sire, thy melancholy shade,Came oft upon my vision, and impelledMy journey hitherward. Our fleet of shipsLies safe at anchor in the Tuscan seas.Come, clasp my hand! Come, father, I implore,And heart to heart this fond embrace receive!”So speaking, all his eyes suffused with tears;Thrice would his arms in vain that shape enfold.Thrice from the touch of hand the vision fled,Like wafted winds or likest hovering dreams.

After these things Aeneas was awareOf solemn groves in one deep, distant vale,Where trees were whispering, and forever flowedThe river Lethe, through its land of calm.Nations unnumbered roved and haunted there:As when, upon a windless summer morn,The bees afield among the rainbow flowersAlight and sip, or round the lilies purePour forth in busy swarm, while far diffusedTheir murmured songs from all the meadows rise.Aeneas in amaze the wonder views,And fearfully inquires of whence and why;What yonder rivers be; what people press,Line after line, on those dim shores along.Said Sire Anchises: “Yonder thronging soulsTo reincarnate shape predestined move.Here, at the river Lethe's wave, they quaffCare-quelling floods, and long oblivion.Of these I shall discourse, and to thy soulMake visible the number and arrayOf my posterity; so shall thy heartIn Italy, thy new-found home, rejoice.”“0 father,” said Aeneas, “must I deemThat from this region souls exalted riseTo upper air, and shall once more returnTo cumbering flesh? 0, wherefore do they feel,Unhappy ones, such fatal lust to live?”“I speak, my son, nor make thee longer doubt,”Anchises said, and thus the truth set forth,In ordered words from point to point unfolding:

“Know first that heaven and earth and ocean's plain,The moon's bright orb, and stars of Titan birthAre nourished by one Life; one primal Mind,Immingled with the vast and general frame,Fills every part and stirs the mighty whole.Thence man and beast, thence creatures of the air,And all the swarming monsters that be foundBeneath the level of the marbled sea;A fiery virtue, a celestial power,Their native seeds retain; but bodies vile,With limbs of clay and members born to die,Encumber and o'ercloud; whence also springTerrors and passions, suffering and joy;For from deep darkness and captivityAll gaze but blindly on the radiant world.Nor when to life's last beam they bid farewellMay sufferers cease from pain, nor quite be freedFrom all their fleshly plagues; but by fixed law,The strange, inveterate taint works deeply in.For this, the chastisement of evils pastIs suffered here, and full requital paid.Some hang on high, outstretched to viewless winds;For some their sin's contagion must be purgedIn vast ablution of deep-rolling seas,Or burned away in fire. Each man receivesHis ghostly portion in the world of dark;But thence to realms Elysian we go free,Where for a few these seats of bliss abide,Till time's long lapse a perfect orb fulfils,And takes all taint away, restoring soThe pure, ethereal soul's first virgin fire.At last, when the millennial aeon strikes,God calls them forth to yon Lethaean stream,In numerous host, that thence, oblivious all,They may behold once more the vaulted sky,And willingly to shapes of flesh return.”

So spoke Anchises; then led forth his son,The Sibyl with him, to the assembled shades(A voiceful throng), and on a lofty moundHis station took, whence plainly could be seenThe long procession, and each face descried.

“Hark now! for of the glories I will tellThat wait our Dardan blood; of our sons' sonsBegot upon the old Italian breed,Who shall be mighty spirits, and prolongOur names, their heritage. I will unfoldThe story, and reveal the destined years.Yon princeling, thou beholdest leaning thereUpon a royal lance, shall next emergeInto the realms of day. He is the firstOf half-Italian strain, the last-born heirTo thine old age by fair Lavinia given,Called Silvius, a royal Alban name(Of sylvan birth and sylvan nurture he),A king himself and sire of kings to come,By whom our race in Alba Longa reign.Next Procas stands, our Trojan people's boast;Capys and Numitor, and, named like thee,Aeneas Sylvius, like thee renownedFor faithful honor and for deeds of war,When he ascends at last his Alban throne.Behold what warrior youth they be! How strongTheir goodly limbs! Above their shaded browsThe civic oak they wear! For thee they buildNomentum, and the walls of Gabii,Fidena too, and on the mountains pileCollatia's citadels, Pometii,Bola and Cora, Castrum-Inui—Such be the names the nameless lands shall bear.See, in that line of sires the son of Mars,Great Romulus, of Ilian mother born,From far-descended line of Trojan kings!See from his helm the double crest uprear,While his celestial father in his mienShows forth his birth divine! Of him, my son,Great Rome shall rise, and, favored of his star,Have power world-wide, and men of godlike mind.She clasps her seven hills in single wall,Proud mother of the brave! So Cybele,The Berecynthian goddess, castle-crowned,On through the Phrygian kingdoms speeds her car,Exulting in her hundred sons divine,All numbered with the gods, all throned on high.“Let now thy visionary glance look longOn this thy race, these Romans that be thine.Here Caesar, of Iulus' glorious seed,Behold ascending to the world of light!Behold, at last, that man, for this is he,So oft unto thy listening ears foretold,Augustus Caesar, kindred unto Jove.He brings a golden age; he shall restoreOld Saturn's sceptre to our Latin land,And o'er remotest Garamant and IndHis sway extend; the fair dominionoutruns th' horizon planets, yea, beyondThe sun's bright path, where Atlas' shoulder bearsYon dome of heaven set thick with burning stars.Against his coming the far Caspian shoresBreak forth in oracles; the Maeotian landTrembles, and all the seven-fold mouths of Nile.

Not o'er domain so wide Alcides passed,Although the brazen-footed doe he slewAnd stilled the groves of Erymanth, and badeThe beast of Lerna at his arrows quail.Nor half so far triumphant Baechus drove,With vine-entwisted reins, his frolic teamOf tigers from the tall-topped Indian hill.“Still do we doubt if heroes' deeds can fillA realm so wide? Shall craven fear constrainThee or thy people from Ausonia's shore?Look, who is he I may discern from farBy olive-branch and holy emblems known?His flowing locks and hoary beard, behold!Fit for a Roman king! By hallowed lawsHe shall found Rome anew—from mean estateIn lowly Cures led to mightier sway.But after him arises one whose reignShall wake the land from slumber: Tullus thenShall stir slack chiefs to battle, rallyingHis hosts which had forgot what triumphs be.Him boastful Ancus follows hard upon,o'erflushed with his light people's windy praise.Wilt thou see Tarquins now? And haughty handOf vengeful Brutus seize the signs of power?He first the consul's name shall take; he firstTh' inexorable fasces sternly bear.When his own sons in rash rebellion join,The father and the judge shall sentence giveIn beauteous freedom's cause—unhappy he!Howe'er the age to come the story tell,'t will bless such love of honor and of Rome.See Decius, sire and son, the Drusi, see!Behold Torquatus with his axe! Look whereCamillus brings the Gallic standards home!“But who are these in glorious armor cladAnd equal power? In this dark world of cloudTheir souls in concord move;—but woe is me!What duel 'twixt them breaks, when by and byThe light of life is theirs, and forth they callTheir long-embattled lines to carnage dire!Allied by nuptial truce, the sire descendsFrom Alpine rampart and that castled cliff,Monoecus by the sea; the son arraysHis hostile legions in the lands of morn.Forbear, my children! School not your great soulsIn such vast wars, nor turn your giant strengthAgainst the bowels of your native land!But be thou first, 0 first in mercy! thouWho art of birth Olympian! Fling awayThy glorious sword, mine offspring and mine heir!“Yonder is one whose chariot shall ascendThe laurelled Capitolian steep; he ridesIn glory o'er Achaea's hosts laid low,And Corinth overthrown. There, too, is heWho shall uproot proud Argos and the towersOf Agamemnon; vanquishing the heirEven of Aeacus, the warrior seedOf Peleus' son; such vengeance shall be wroughtFor Troy's slain sires, and violated shrines!“Or who could fail great Cato's name to tell?Or, Cossus, thine? or in oblivion leaveThe sons of Gracchus? or the Scipios,Twin thunderbolts of war, and Libya's bane?Or, more than kingly in his mean abode,Fabricius? or Serranus at the plough?Ye Fabii, how far would ye prolongMy weary praise? But see! 'T is Maximus,Who by wise waiting saves his native land.“Let others melt and mould the breathing bronzeTo forms more fair,—aye! out of marble bringFeatures that live; let them plead causes well;Or trace with pointed wand the cycled heaven,And hail the constellations as they rise;But thou, 0 Roman, learn with sovereign swayTo rule the nations. Thy great art shall beTo keep the world in lasting peace, to sparehumbled foe, and crush to earth the proud.”

So did Anchises speak, then, after pause,Thus to their wondering ears his word prolonged:“Behold Marcellus, bright with glorious spoil,In lifted triumph through his warriors move!The Roman power in tumultuous daysHe shall establish; he rides forth to quellAfric and rebel Gaul; and to the shrineOf Romulus the third-won trophy brings.”Then spoke Aeneas, for he now could seeA beauteous youth in glittering dress of war,Though of sad forehead and down-dropping eyes:“Say, father, who attends the prince? a son?Or of his greatness some remoter heir?How his friends praise him, and how matchless he!But mournful night Tests darkly o'er his brow.”With brimming eyes Anchises answer gave:“Ask not, 0 son, what heavy weight of woeThy race shall bear, when fate shall just revealThis vision to the world, then yield no more.0 gods above, too glorious did ye deemThe seed of Rome, had this one gift been sure?The lamentation of a multitudeArises from the field of Mars, and strikesThe city's heart. 0 Father Tiber, seeWhat pomp of sorrow near the new-made tombBeside thy fleeting stream! What Ilian youthShall e'er his Latin kindred so advanceIn hope of glory? When shall the proud landOf Romulus of such a nursling boast?Ah, woe' is me! 0 loyal heart and true!0 brave, right arm invincible! What foeHad 'scaped his onset in the shock of arms,Whether on foot he strode, or if he spurredThe hot flanks of his war-horse flecked with foam?0 lost, lamented child! If thou evadeThy evil star, Marcellus thou shalt be.0 bring me lilies! Bring with liberal hand!Sad purple blossoms let me throw—the shadeOf my own kin to honor, heaping highMy gifts upon his grave! So let me payAn unavailing vow!”Then, far and wideThrough spacious fields of air, they wander free,Witnessing all; Anchises guides his sonFrom point to point, and quickens in his mindHunger for future fame. Of wars he tellsSoon imminent; of fair Laurentum's tribes;Of King Latinus' town; and shows what wayEach task and hardship to prevent, or bear.

Now Sleep has portals twain, whereof the oneIs horn, they say, and easy exit givesTo visions true; the other, gleaming whiteWith polished ivory, the.dead employTo people night with unsubstantial dreams.Here now Anchises bids his son farewell;And with Sibylla, his companion sage,Up through that ivory portal lets him rise.Back to his fleet and his dear comrades allAeneas hastes.Then hold they their straight courseInto Caieta's bay. An anchor holdsEach lofty prow; the sterns stand firm on shore.