Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- Hither Aeneas of his scattered fleet
- saving but seven, into harbor sailed;
- with passionate longing for the touch of land,
- forth leap the Trojans to the welcome shore,
- and fling their dripping limbs along the ground.
- Then good Achates smote a flinty stone,
- secured a flashing spark, heaped on light leaves,
- and with dry branches nursed the mounting flame.
- Then Ceres' gift from the corrupting sea
- they bring away; and wearied utterly
- ply Ceres' cunning on the rescued corn,
- and parch in flames, and mill 'twixt two smooth stones.
- Aeneas meanwhile climbed the cliffs, and searched
- the wide sea-prospect; haply Antheus there,
- storm-buffeted, might sail within his ken,
- with biremes, and his Phrygian mariners,
- or Capys or Caicus armor-clad,
- upon a towering deck. No ship is seen;
- but while he looks, three stags along the shore
- come straying by, and close behind them comes
- the whole herd, browsing through the lowland vale
- in one long line. Aeneas stopped and seized
- his bow and swift-winged arrows, which his friend,
- trusty Achates, close beside him bore.
- His first shafts brought to earth the lordly heads
- of the high-antlered chiefs; his next assailed
- the general herd, and drove them one and all
- in panic through the leafy wood, nor ceased
- the victory of his bow, till on the ground
- lay seven huge forms, one gift for every ship.
- Then back to shore he sped, and to his friends
- distributed the spoil, with that rare wine
- which good Acestes while in Sicily
- had stored in jars, and prince-like sent away
- with his Ioved guest;—this too Aeneas gave;
- and with these words their mournful mood consoled.
- “Companions mine, we have not failed to feel
- calamity till now. O, ye have borne
- far heavier sorrow: Jove will make an end
- also of this. Ye sailed a course hard by
- infuriate Scylla's howling cliffs and caves.
- Ye knew the Cyclops' crags. Lift up your hearts!
- No more complaint and fear! It well may be
- some happier hour will find this memory fair.
- Through chance and change and hazard without end,
- our goal is Latium; where our destinies
- beckon to blest abodes, and have ordained
- that Troy shall rise new-born! Have patience all!
- And bide expectantly that golden day.”