Aeneid

Virgil

Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.

Deep in the city's heart there was a grove
of beauteous shade, where once the Tyrians,
cast here by stormful waves, delved out of earth
that portent which Queen Juno bade them find,—
the head of a proud horse,—that ages long
their boast might be wealth, luxury and war.
Upon this spot Sidonian Dido raised
a spacious fane to Juno, which became
splendid with gifts, and hallowed far and wide
for potency divine. Its beams were bronze,
and on loud hinges swung the brazen doors.
A rare, new sight this sacred grove did show,
which calmed Aeneas' fears, and made him bold
to hope for safety, and with lifted heart
from his low-fallen fortunes re-aspire.
For while he waits the advent of the Queen,
he scans the mighty temple, and admires
the city's opulent pride, and all the skill
its rival craftsmen in their work approve.
Behold! he sees old Ilium's well-fought fields
in sequent picture, and those famous wars
now told upon men's lips the whole world round.
There Atreus' sons, there kingly Priam moved,
and fierce Pelides pitiless to both.
Aeneas paused, and, weeping, thus began:
“Alas, Achates, what far region now,
what land in all the world knows not our pain?
See, it is Priam! Virtue's wage is given—
O even here! Here also there be tears
for what men bear, and mortal creatures feel
each other's sorrow. Therefore, have no fear!
This story of our loss forbodes us well.”

So saying, he received into his heart
that visionary scene, profoundly sighed,
and let his plenteous tears unheeded flow.
There he beheld the citadel of Troy
girt with embattled foes; here, Greeks in flight
some Trojan onset 'scaped; there, Phrygian bands
before tall-plumed Achilles' chariot sped.
The snowy tents of Rhesus spread hard by
(he sees them through his tears), where Diomed
in night's first watch burst o'er them unawares
with bloody havoc and a host of deaths;
then drove his fiery coursers o'er the plain
before their thirst or hunger could be stayed
on Trojan corn or Xanthus' cooling stream.
Here too was princely Troilus, despoiled,
routed and weaponless, O wretched boy!
Ill-matched against Achilles! His wild steeds
bear him along, as from his chariot's rear
he falls far back, but clutches still the rein;
his hair and shoulders on the ground go trailing,
and his down-pointing spear-head scrawls the dust.
Elsewhere, to Pallas' ever-hostile shrine,
daughters of Ilium, with unsnooded hair,
and lifting all in vain her hallowed pall,
walked suppliant and sad, beating their breasts,
with outspread palms. But her unswerving eyes
the goddess fixed on earth, and would not see.
Achilles round the Trojan rampart thrice
had dragged the fallen Hector, and for gold
was making traffic of the lifeless clay.
Aeneas groaned aloud, with bursting heart,
to see the spoils, the car, the very corpse
of his lost friend,—while Priam for the dead
stretched forth in piteous prayer his helpless hands.
There too his own presentment he could see
surrounded by Greek kings; and there were shown
hordes from the East, and black-browed Memnon's arms;
her band of Amazons, with moon-shaped shields,
Penthesilea led; her martial eye
flamed on from troop to troop; a belt of gold
beneath one bare, protruded breast she bound—
a warrior-virgin braving mail-clad men.

While on such spectacle Aeneas' eyes
looked wondering, while mute and motionless
he stood at gaze, Queen Dido to the shrine
in lovely majesty drew near; a throng
of youthful followers pressed round her way.
So by the margin of Eurotas wide
or o'er the Cynthian steep, Diana leads
her bright processional; hither and yon
are visionary legions numberless
of Oreads; the regnant goddess bears
a quiver on her shoulders, and is seen
emerging tallest of her beauteous train;
while joy unutterable thrills the breast
of fond Latona: Dido not less fair
amid her subjects passed, and not less bright
her glow of gracious joy, while she approved
her future kingdom's pomp and vast emprise.
Then at the sacred portal and beneath
the temple's vaulted dome she took her place,
encompassed by armed men, and lifted high
upon a throne; her statutes and decrees
the people heard, and took what lot or toil
her sentence, or impartial urn, assigned.
But, lo! Aeneas sees among the throng
Antheus, Sergestus, and Cloanthus bold,
with other Teucrians, whom the black storm flung
far o'er the deep and drove on alien shores.
Struck dumb was he, and good Achates too,
half gladness and half fear. Fain would they fly
to friendship's fond embrace; but knowing not
what might befall, their hearts felt doubt and care.
Therefore they kept the secret, and remained
forth-peering from the hollow veil of cloud,
haply to learn what their friends' fate might be,
or where the fleet was landed, or what aim
had brought them hither; for a chosen few
from every ship had come to sue for grace,
and all the temple with their voices rang.

The doors swung wide; and after access given
and leave to speak, revered Ilioneus
with soul serene these lowly words essayed:
“O Queen, who hast authority of Jove
to found this rising city, and subdue
with righteous governance its people proud,
we wretched Trojans, blown from sea to sea,
beseech thy mercy; keep the curse of fire
from our poor ships! We pray thee, do no wrong
unto a guiltless race. But heed our plea!
No Libyan hearth shall suffer by our sword,
nor spoil and plunder to our ships be borne;
such haughty violence fits not the souls
of vanquished men. We journey to a land
named, in Greek syllables, Hesperia:
a storied realm, made mighty by great wars
and wealth of fruitful land; in former days
Oenotrians had it, and their sons, 't is said,
have called it Italy, a chieftain's name
to a whole region given. Thitherward
our ships did fare; but with swift-rising flood
the stormful season of Orion's star
drove us on viewless shoals; and angry gales
dispersed us, smitten by the tumbling surge,
among innavigable rocks. Behold,
we few swam hither, waifs upon your shore!
What race of mortals this? What barbarous land,
that with inhospitable laws ye thrust
a stranger from your coasts, and fly to arms,
nor grant mere foothold on your kingdom's bound?
If man thou scornest and all mortal power,
forget not that the gods watch good and ill!

A king we had; Aeneas,—never man
in all the world more loyal, just and true,
nor mightier in arms! If Heaven decree
his present safety, if he now do breathe
the air of earth and is not buried low
among the dreadful shades, then fear not thou!
For thou wilt never rue that thou wert prompt
to do us the first kindness. O'er the sea
in the Sicilian land, are cities proud,
with martial power, and great Acestes there
is of our Trojan kin. So grant us here
to beach our shattered ships along thy shore,
and from thy forest bring us beam and spar
to mend our broken oars. Then, if perchance
we find once more our comrades and our king,
and forth to Italy once more set sail,
to Italy, our Latin hearth and home,
we will rejoicing go. But if our weal
is clean gone by, and thee, blest chief and sire,
these Libyan waters keep, and if no more
Iulus bids us hope,—then, at the least,
to yon Sicilian seas, to friendly lands
whence hither drifting with the winds we came,
let us retrace the journey and rejoin
good King Acestes.” So Ilioneus
ended his pleading; the Dardanidae
murmured assent.

Then Dido, briefly and with downcast eyes,
her answer made: “O Teucrians, have no fear!
Bid care begone! It was necessity,
and my young kingdom's weakness, which compelled
the policy of force, and made me keep
such vigilant sentry my wide co'ast along.
Aeneas and his people, that fair town
of Troy—who knows them not? The whole world knows
those valorous chiefs and huge, far-flaming wars.
Our Punic hearts are not of substance all
insensible and dull: the god of day
drives not his fire-breathing steeds so far
from this our Tyrian town. If ye would go
to great Hesperia, where Saturn reigned,
or if voluptuous Eryx and the throne
of good Acestes be your journey's end,
I send you safe; I speed you on your way.
But if in these my realms ye will abide,
associates of my power, behold, I build
this city for your own! Choose haven here
for your good ships. Beneath my royal sway
Trojan and Tyrian equal grace will find.
But O, that this same storm had brought your King.
Aeneas, hither! I will bid explore
our Libya's utmost bound, where haply he
in wilderness or hamlet wanders lost.”

By these fair words to joy profoundly stirred,
Father Aeneas and Achates brave
to cast aside the cloud that wrapped them round
yearned greatly; and Achates to his King
spoke thus: “O goddess-born, in thy wise heart
what purpose rises now? Lo! All is well!
Thy fleet and followers are safe at land.
One only comes not, who before our eyes
sank in the soundless sea. All else fulfils
thy mother's prophecy.” Scarce had he spoke
when suddenly that overmantling cloud
was cloven, and dissolved in lucent air;
forth stood Aeneas. A clear sunbeam smote
his god-like head and shoulders. Venus' son
of his own heavenly mother now received
youth's glowing rose, an eye of joyful fire,
and tresses clustering fair. 'T is even so
the cunning craftsman unto ivory gives
new beauty, or with circlet of bright gold
encloses silver or the Parian stone.
Thus of the Queen he sued, while wonderment
fell on all hearts. “Behold the man ye seek,
for I am here! Aeneas, Trojan-born,
brought safely hither from yon Libyan seas!
O thou who first hast looked with pitying eye
on Troy's unutterable grief, who even to us
(escaped our Grecian victor, and outworn
by all the perils land and ocean know),
to us, bereft and ruined, dost extend
such welcome to thy kingdom and thy home!
I have no power, Dido, to give thanks
to match thine ample grace; nor is there power
in any remnant of our Dardan blood,
now fled in exile o'er the whole wide world.
May gods on high (if influence divine
bless faithful lives, or recompense be found
in justice and thy self-approving mind)
give thee thy due reward. What age was blest
by such a birth as thine? What parents proud
such offspring bore? O, while the rivers run
to mingle with the sea, while shadows pass
along yon rounded hills from vale to vale,
and while from heaven's unextinguished fire
the stars be fed—so Iong thy glorious name,
thy place illustrious and thy virtue's praise,
abide undimmed.—Yet I myself must go
to lands I know not where.” After this word
his right hand clasped his Ioved Ilioneus,
his left Serestus; then the comrades all,
brave Gyas, brave Cloanthus, and their peers.

Sidonian Dido felt her heart stand still
when first she looked on him; and thrilled again
to hear what vast adventure had befallen
so great a hero. Thus she welcomed him:
“What chance, O goddess-born, o'er danger's path
impels? What power to this wild coast has borne?
Art thou Aeneas, great Anchises' son,
whom lovely Venus by the Phrygian stream
of Simois brought forth unto the day?
Now I bethink me of when Teucer came
to Sidon, exiled, and of Belus' power
desired a second throne. For Belus then,
our worshipped sire, despoiled the teeming land
of Cyprus, as its conqueror and king.
And since that hour I oft have heard the tale
of fallen Troy, of thine own noble name,
and of Achaean kings. Teucer was wont,
although their foe, to praise the Teucrian race,
and boasted him of that proud lineage sprung.
Therefore, behold, our portals are swung wide
for all your company. I also bore
hard fate like thine. I too was driven of storms
and after long toil was allowed at last
to call this land my home. O, I am wise
in sorrow, and I help all suffering souls!”
So saying, she bade Aeneas welcome take
beneath her royal roof, and to the gods
made sacrifice in temples, while she sent
unto the thankful Trojans on the shore
a score of bulls, and of huge, bristling swine,
a herd of a whole hundred, and a flock
of goodly lambs, a hundred, who ran close
beside the mother-ewes: and all were given
in joyful feast to please the Heavenly Powers.
Her palace showed a monarch's fair array
all glittering and proud, and feasts were spread
within the ample court. Rich broideries
hung deep incarnadined with Tyrian skill;
the board had massy silver, gold-embossed,
where gleamed the mighty deeds of all her sires,
a graven chronicle of peace and war
prolonged, since first her ancient line began,
from royal sire to son.