Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- In ages gone an ancient city stood—
- Carthage, a Tyrian seat, which from afar
- made front on Italy and on the mouths
- of Tiber's stream; its wealth and revenues
- were vast, and ruthless was its quest of war.
- 'T is said that Juno, of all lands she loved,
- most cherished this,—not Samos' self so dear.
- Here were her arms, her chariot; even then
- a throne of power o'er nations near and far,
- if Fate opposed not, 't was her darling hope
- to 'stablish here; but anxiously she heard
- that of the Trojan blood there was a breed
- then rising, which upon the destined day
- should utterly o'erwhelm her Tyrian towers,
- a people of wide sway and conquest proud
- should compass Libya's doom;—such was the web
- the Fatal Sisters spun. Such was the fear
- of Saturn's daughter, who remembered well
- what long and unavailing strife she waged
- for her loved Greeks at Troy. Nor did she fail
- to meditate th' occasions of her rage,
- and cherish deep within her bosom proud
- its griefs and wrongs: the choice by Paris made;
- her scorned and slighted beauty; a whole race
- rebellious to her godhead; and Jove's smile
- that beamed on eagle-ravished Ganymede.
- With all these thoughts infuriate, her power
- pursued with tempests o'er the boundless main
- the Trojans, though by Grecian victor spared
- and fierce Achilles; so she thrust them far
- from Latium; and they drifted, Heaven-impelled,
- year after year, o'er many an unknown sea—
- O labor vast, to found the Roman line!
- Below th' horizon the Sicilian isle
- just sank from view, as for the open sea
- with heart of hope they sailed, and every ship
- clove with its brazen beak the salt, white waves.
- But Juno of her everlasting wound
- knew no surcease, but from her heart of pain
- thus darkly mused: “Must I, defeated, fail
- of what I will, nor turn the Teucrian King
- from Italy away? Can Fate oppose?
- Had Pallas power to lay waste in flame
- the Argive fleet and sink its mariners,
- revenging but the sacrilege obscene
- by Ajax wrought, Oileus' desperate son?
- She, from the clouds, herself Jove's lightning threw,
- scattered the ships, and ploughed the sea with storms.
- Her foe, from his pierced breast out-breathing fire,
- in whirlwind on a deadly rock she flung.
- But I, who move among the gods a queen,
- Jove's sister and his spouse, with one weak tribe
- make war so long! Who now on Juno calls?
- What suppliant gifts henceforth her altars crown?”