When Turnus from Laurentum's bastion proudpublished the war, and roused the dreadful noteof the harsh trumpet's song; when on swift steedsthe lash he laid and clashed his sounding arms;then woke each warrior soul; all Latium stirredwith tumult and alarm; and martial rageenkindled youth's hot blood. The chieftains proud,Messapus, Ufens, and that foe of Heaven,Mezentius, compel from far and widetheir loyal hosts, and strip the field and farmof husbandmen. To seek auxiliar armsthey send to glorious Diomed's domainthe herald Venulus, and bid him cry:“Troy is to Latium come; Aeneas' fleethas come to land. He brings his vanquished gods,and gives himself to be our destined King.Cities not few accept him, and his namethrough Latium waxes large. But what the foeby such attempt intends, what victoryis his presumptuous hope, if Fortune smile,Aetolia's lord will not less wisely fearthan royal Turnus or our Latin King.” Thus Latium's cause moved on. Meanwhile the heirof great Laomedon, who knew full wellthe whole wide land astir, was vexed and tossedin troubled seas of care. This way and thathis swift thoughts flew, and scanned with like dismayeach partial peril or the general storm.Thus the vexed waters at a fountain's brim,smitten by sunshine or the silver sphereof a reflected moon, send forth a beamof flickering light that leaps from wall to wall,or, skyward lifted in ethereal flight,glances along some rich-wrought, vaulted dome.Now night had fallen, and all weary things,all shapes of beast or bird, the wide world o'er,lay deep in slumber. So beneath the archof a cold sky Aeneas laid him downupon the river-bank, his heart sore triedby so much war and sorrow, and gave o'erhis body to its Iong-delayed repose.There, 'twixt the poplars by the gentle stream,the River-Father, genius of that place,old Tiberinus visibly uprose;a cloak of gray-green lawn he wore, his hairo'erhung with wreath of reeds. In soothing wordsthus, to console Aeneas' cares, he spoke: “Seed of the gods! who bringest to my shorethy Trojan city wrested from her foe,a stronghold everlasting, Latium's plainand fair Laurentum long have looked for thee.Here truly is thy home. Turn not away.Here the true guardians of thy hearth shall be.Fear not the gathering war. The wrath of Heavenhas stilled its swollen wave. A sign I tell:Lest thou shouldst deem this message of thy sleepa vain, deluding dream, thou soon shalt findin the oak-copses on my margent green,a huge sow, with her newly-littered broodof thirty young; along the ground she lies,snow-white, and round her udders her white young.There shall thy city stand, and there thy toilshall find untroubled rest. After the lapseof thrice ten rolling years, Ascaniusshall found a city there of noble name,White-City, Alba; 't is no dream I sing!But I instruct thee now by what wise wayth' impending wars may bring thee victory:receive the counsel, though the words be few:within this land are men of Arcady,of Pallas' line, who, following in the trainof King Evander and his men-at-arms,built them a city in the hills, and chose(honoring Pallas, their Pelasgian sire),the name of Pallanteum. They make warincessant with the Latins. Therefore call this people to thy side and bind them closein federated power. My channel fairand shaded shore shall guide thee where they dwell,and thy strong oarsmen on my waters borneshall mount my falling stream. Rise, goddess-born,and ere the starlight fade give honor dueto Juno, and with supplicating vowavert her wrath and frown. But unto memake offering in thy victorious hour,in time to come. I am the copious floodwhich thou beholdest chafing at yon shoresand parting fruitful fields: cerulean streamof Tiber, favored greatly of high Heaven.here shall arise my house magnificent,a city of all cities chief and crown.” So spake the river-god, and sank from viewdown to his deepest cave; then night and sleeptogether from Aeneas fled away.He rose, and to the orient beams of mornhis forehead gave; in both his hollowed palmshe held the sacred waters of the stream,and called aloud: “O ye Laurentian nymphs,whence flowing rills be born, and chiefly thou,O Father Tiber, worshipped stream divine,accept Aeneas, and from peril save!If in some hallowed lake or haunted springthy power, pitying my woes, abides,or wheresoe'er the blessed place be foundwhence first thy beauty flows, there evermoremy hands shall bring thee gift and sacrifice.O chief and sovereign of Hesperian streams,O river-god that hold'st the plenteous horn,protect us, and confirm thy words divine!”He spoke; then chose twin biremes from the fleet,gave them good gear and armed their loyal crews. But, lo! a sudden wonder met his eyes:white gleaming through the grove, with all her broodwhite like herself, on the green bank the Sowstretched prone. The good Aeneas slew her there,Great Juno, for a sacrifice to thee,himself the priest, and with the sucklings allbeside shine altar stood. So that whole nightthe god of Tiber calmed his swollen wave,ebbing or lingering in silent flow,till like some gentle lake or sleeping poolhis even waters lay, and strove no moreagainst the oarsmen's toil. Upon their waythey speed with joyful sound; the well-oiled woodslips through the watery floor; the wondering waves,and all the virgin forests wondering,behold the warriors in far-shining armstheir painted galleys up the current drive.O'er the long reaches of the winding floodtheir sturdy oars outweary the slow courseof night and day. Fair groves of changeful greenarch o'er their passage, and they seem to cleavegreen forests in the tranquil wave below.Now had the flaming sun attained his wayto the mid-sphere of heaven, when they discernedwalls and a citadel in distant view,with houses few and far between; 't was there,where sovran Rome to-day has rivalled Heaven,Evander's realm its slender strength displayed:swiftly they turned their prows and neared the town. It chanced th' Arcadian King had come that dayto honor Hercules, Amphitryon's son,and to the powers divine pay worship duein groves outside the wall. Beside him stoodPallas his son, his noblest men-at-arms,and frugal senators, who at the shrinesburnt incense, while warm blood of victims flowed.But when they saw the tall ships in the shadeof that dark forest plying noiseless oars,the sudden sight alarmed, and all the throngsprang to its feet and left the feast divine.But dauntless Pallas bade them give not o'erthe sacred festival, and spear in handflew forward to a bit of rising ground,and cried from far: “Hail, warriors! what causedrives you to lands unknown, and whither bound?Your kin, your country? Bring ye peace or war?”Father Aeneas then held forth a boughof peaceful olive from the lofty ship,thus answering : “Men Trojan-born are we,foes of the Latins, who have driven us forthwith insolent assault. We fain would seeEvander. Pray, deliver this, and saythat chosen princes of Dardaniasue for his help in arms.” So wonder fellon Pallas, awestruck at such mighty name.O, come, whoe'er thou art,” he said, “and speakin presence of my father. Enter here,guest of our hearth and altar.” He put forthhis right hand in true welcome, and they stoodwith lingering clasp; then hand in hand advancedup the steep woodland, leaving Tiber's wave. Aeneas to Evander speaking fair,these words essayed: “O best of Grecian-born!whom Fortune's power now bids me seek and sue,lifting this olive-branch with fillets bound,I have not feared thee, though I know thou arta Greek, and an Arcadian king, alliedto the two sons of Atreus. For behold,my conscious worth, great oracles from Heaven,the kinship of our sires, thy own renownspread through the world—all knit my cause with thine,all make me glad my fates have so decreed.The sire and builder of the Trojan townwas Dardanus; but he, Electra's child,came over sea to Teucria; the sireof fair Electra was great Atlas, hewhose shoulder carries the vast orb of heaven.But thy progenitor was Mercury,and him conceiving, Maia, that white maid,on hoar Cyllene's frosty summit bore.But Maia's sire, if aught of truth be told,was Atlas also, Atlas who sustainsthe weight of starry skies. Thus both our tribesare one divided stem. Secure in this,no envoys have I sent, nor tried thy mindwith artful first approaches, but myself,risking my person and my life, have comea suppliant here. For both on me and theethe house of Daunus hurls insulting war.If us they quell, they doubt not to obtainlordship of all Hesperia, and subduealike the northern and the southern sea.Accept good faith, and give! Behold, our heartsquail not in battle; souls of fire are we,and warriors proved in many an action brave.”
Aeneas ceased. The other long had scannedthe hero's face, his eyes, and wondering viewedhis form and mien divine; in answer nowhe briefly spoke: “With hospitable heart,O bravest warrior of all Trojan-born,I know and welcome thee. I well recallthy sire Anchises, how he looked and spake.For I remember Priam, when he cameto greet his sister, Queen Hesione,in Salamis, and thence pursued his wayto our cool uplands of Arcadia.The bloom of tender boyhood then was mine,and with a wide-eyed wonder I did viewthose Teucrian lords, Laomedon's great heir,and, towering highest in their goodly throng,Anchises, whom my warm young heart desiredto speak with and to clasp his hand in mine.So I approached, and joyful led him hometo Pheneus' olden wall. He gave me giftsthe day he bade adieu; a quiver rarefilled with good Lycian arrows, a rich cloakinwove with thread of gold, and bridle reinsall golden, now to youthful Pallas given.Therefore thy plea is granted, and my handhere clasps in loyal amity with thine.To-morrow at the sunrise thou shalt havemy tribute for the war, and go thy waymy glad ally. But now this festival,whose solemn rite 't were impious to delay,I pray thee celebrate, and bring with theewell-omened looks and words. Allies we are!Use this our sacred feast as if your own.” So saying, he bade his followers renewth' abandoned feast and wine; and placed each gueston turf-built couch of green, most honoringAeneas by a throne of maple fairdecked with a lion's pelt and flowing mane.Then high-born pages, with the altar's priest,bring on the roasted beeves and load the boardwith baskets of fine bread; and wine they bring —of Ceres and of Bacchus gift and toil.While good Aeneas and his Trojans sharethe long whole ox and meats of sacrifice.
When hunger and its eager edge were gone,Evander spoke: “This votive holiday,yon tables spread and altar so divine,are not some superstition dark and vain,that knows not the old gods, O Trojan King!But as men saved from danger and great fearthis thankful sacrifice we pay. Behold,yon huge rock, beetling from the mountain wall,hung from the cliff above. How lone and barethe hollowed mountain looks! How crag on cragtumbled and tossed in huge confusion lie!A cavern once it was, which ran deep downinto the darkness. There th' half-human shapeof Cacus made its hideous den, concealedfrom sunlight and the day. The ground was wetat all times with fresh gore; the portal grimwas hung about with heads of slaughtered men,bloody and pale—a fearsome sight to see.Vulcan begat this monster, which spewed forthdark-fuming flames from his infernal throat,and vast his stature seemed. But time and tidebrought to our prayers the advent of a godto help us at our need. For Hercules,divine avenger, came from laying lowthree-bodied Geryon, whose spoils he woreexultant, and with hands victorious drovethe herd of monster bulls, which pastured freealong our river-valley. Cacus gazedin a brute frenzy, and left not untriedaught of bold crime or stratagem, but stolefour fine bulls as they fed, and heifers four,all matchless; but, lest hoof-tracks point his way,he dragged them cave-wards by the tails, confusingthe natural trail, and hid the stolen herdin his dark den; and not a mark or signcould guide the herdsmen to that cavern-door.But after, when Amphitryon's famous son,preparing to depart, would from the meadsgoad forth the full-fed herd, his lingering bullsroared loud, and by their lamentable cryfilled grove and hills with clamor of farewell:one heifer from the mountain-cave lowed backin answer, so from her close-guarded stallfoiling the monster's will. Then hadst thou seenthe wrath of Hercules in frenzy blazefrom his exasperate heart. His arms he seized,his club of knotted oak, and climbed full-speedthe wind-swept hill. Now first our people sawCacus in fear, with panic in his eyes.Swift to the black cave like a gale he flew,his feet by terror winged. Scarce had he passedthe cavern door, and broken the big chains,and dropped the huge rock which was pendent thereby Vulcan's well-wrought steel; scarce blocked and barredthe guarded gate: when there Tirynthius stood,with heart aflame, surveying each approach,rolling this way and that his wrathful eyes,gnashing his teeth. Three times his ire surveyedthe slope of Aventine; three times he stormedthe rock-built gate in vain; and thrice withdrewto rest him in the vale. But high abovea pointed peak arose, sheer face of rockon every side, which towered into viewfrom the long ridge above the vaulted cave,fit haunt for birds of evil-boding wing.This peak, which leftward toward the river leaned,he smote upon its right—his utmost blow —breaking its bases Ioose; then suddenlythrust at it: as he thrust, the thunder-soundfilled all the arching sky, the river's banksasunder leaped, and Tiber in alarmreversed his flowing wave. So Cacus' lairlay shelterless, and naked to the daythe gloomy caverns of his vast abodestood open, deeply yawning, just as ifthe riven earth should crack, and open wideth' infernal world and fearful kingdoms pale,which gods abhor; and to the realms on highthe measureless abyss should be laid bare,and pale ghosts shrink before the entering sun.Now upon Cacus, startled by the glare,caged in the rocks and howling horribly,Alcides hurled his weapons, raining downall sorts of deadly missiles—trunks of trees,and monstrous boulders from the mountain torn.But when the giant from his mortal straitno refuge knew, he blew from his foul jawsa storm of smoke—incredible to tell —and with thick darkness blinding every eye,concealed his cave, uprolling from belowone pitch-black night of mingled gloom and fire.This would Alcides not endure, but leapedheadlong across the flames, where densest hungthe rolling smoke, and through the cavern surgeda drifting and impenetrable cloud.With Cacus, who breathed unavailing flame,he grappled in the dark, locked limb with limb,and strangled him, till o'er the bloodless throatthe starting eyeballs stared.Then Herculesburst wide the doorway of the sooty den,and unto Heaven and all the people showedthe stolen cattle and the robber's crimes,and dragged forth by the feet the shapeless corpseof the foul monster slain. The people gazedinsatiate on the grewsome eyes, the breastof bristling shag, the face both beast and man,and that fire-blasted throat whence breathed no morethe extinguished flame. 'T is since that famous daywe celebrate this feast, and glad of hearteach generation keeps the holy time.Potitius began the worship due,and our Pinarian house is vowed to guardthe rites of Hercules. An altar fairwithin this wood they raised; 't is called ‘the Great,’and Ara Maxima its name shall be.Come now, my warriors, and bind your browswith garlands worthy of the gift of Heaven.Lift high the cup in every thankful hand,and praise our people's god with plenteous wine.”He spoke; and of the poplar's changeful sheen,sacred to Hercules, wove him a wreathto shade his silvered brow. The sacred cuphe raised in his right hand, while all the restcalled on the gods and pure libation poured. Soon from the travelling heavens the western starglowed nearer, and Potitius led forththe priest-procession, girt in ancient guisewith skins of beasts and carrying burning brands.new feasts are spread, and altars heaped anewwith gifts and laden chargers. Then with songthe Salian choir surrounds the blazing shrine,their foreheads wreathed with poplar. Here the youth,the elders yonder, in proud anthem singthe glory and the deeds of Hercules:how first he strangled with strong infant handtwo serpents, Juno's plague; what cities proud,Troy and Oechalia, his famous warin pieces broke; what labors numberlessas King Eurystheus' bondman he endured, by cruel Juno's will. “Thou, unsubdued,didst strike the twy-formed, cloud-bred centaurs down,Pholus and tall Hylaeus. Thou hast slainthe Cretan horror, and the lion hugebeneath the Nemean crag. At sight of theethe Stygian region quailed, and Cerberus,crouching o'er half-picked bones in gory cave.Nothing could bid thee fear. Typhoeus toweredin his colossal Titan-panoplyo'er thee in vain; nor did thy cunning failwhen Lema's wonder-serpent round thee drewits multudinous head. Hail, Jove's true son!New glory to the gods above, come down,and these thine altars and thy people bless!”Such hymns they chanted, telling oft the taleof Cacus' cave and blasting breath of fire:while hills and sacred grove the note prolong.