Aeneid

Virgil

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

Meanwhile Olympus, seat of sovereign sway,
threw wide its portals, and in conclave fair
the Sire of gods and King of all mankind
summoned th' immortals to his starry court,
whence, high-enthroned, the spreading earth he views—
and Teucria's camp and Latium's fierce array.
Beneath the double-gated dome the gods
were sitting; Jove himself the silence broke:
“O people of Olympus, wherefore change
your purpose and decree, with partial minds
in mighty strife contending? I refused
such clash of war 'twixt Italy and Troy.
Whence this forbidden feud? What fears
seduced to battles and injurious arms
either this folk or that? Th' appointed hour
for war shall be hereafter—speed it not!—
When cruel Carthage to the towers of Rome
shall bring vast ruin, streaming fiercely down
the opened Alp. Then hate with hate shall vie,
and havoc have no bound. Till then, give o'er,
and smile upon the concord I decree!”

Thus briefly, Jove. But golden Venus made
less brief reply. “O Father, who dost hold
o'er Man and all things an immortal sway!
Of what high throne may gods the aid implore
save thine? Behold of yonder Rutuli
th' insulting scorn! Among them Turnus moves
in chariot proud, and boasts triumphant war
in mighty words. Nor do their walls defend
my Teucrians now. But in their very gates,
and on their mounded ramparts, in close fight
they breast their foes and fill the moats with blood.
Aeneas knows not, and is far away.
Will ne'er the siege have done? A second time
above Troy's rising walls the foe impends;
another host is gathered, and once more
from his Aetolian Arpi wrathful speeds
a Diomed. I doubt not that for me
wounds are preparing. Yea, thy daughter dear
awaits a mortal sword! If by thy will
unblest and unapproved the Trojans came
to Italy, for such rebellious crime
give them their due, nor lend them succor, thou,
with thy strong hand! But if they have obeyed
unnumbered oracles from gods above
and sacred shades below, who now has power
to thwart thy bidding, or to weave anew
the web of Fate? Why speak of ships consumed
along my hallowed Erycinian shore?
Or of the Lord of Storms, whose furious blasts
were summoned from Aeolia? Why tell
of Iris sped from heaven? Now she moves
the region of the shades (one kingdom yet
from her attempt secure) and thence lets loose
Alecto on the world above, who strides
in frenzied wrath along th' Italian hills.
No more my heart now cherishes its hope
of domination, though in happier days
such was thy promise. Let the victory fall
to victors of thy choice! If nowhere lies
the land thy cruel Queen would deign accord
unto the Teucrian people,—O my sire,
I pray thee by yon smouldering wreck of Troy
to let Ascanius from the clash of arms
escape unscathed. Let my own offspring live!
Yea, let Aeneas, tossed on seas unknown,
find some chance way; let my right hand avail
to shelter him and from this fatal war
in safety bring. For Amathus is mine,
mine are Cythera and the Paphian hills
and temples in Idalium. Let him drop
the sword, and there live out inglorious days.
By thy decree let Carthage overwhelm
Ausonia's power; nor let defence be found
to stay the Tyrian arms! What profits it
that he escaped the wasting plague of war
and fled Argolic fires? or that he knew
so many perils of wide wilderness
and waters rude? The Teucrians seek in vain
new-born Troy in Latium. Better far
crouched on their country's ashes to abide,
and keep that spot of earth where once was Troy!
Give back, O Father, I implore thee, give
Xanthus and Simois back! Let Teucer's sons
unfold once more the tale of Ilium's woe!”

Then sovereign Juno, flushed with solemn scorn,
made answer. “Dost thou bid me here profane
the silence of my heart, and gossip forth
of secret griefs? What will of god or man
impelled Aeneas on his path of war,
or made him foeman of the Latin King?
Fate brought him to Italia? Be it so!
Cassandra's frenzy he obeyed. What voice —
say, was it mine?—urged him to quit his camp,
risk life in storms, or trust his war, his walls,
to a boy-captain, or stir up to strife
Etruria's faithful, unoffending sons?
What god, what pitiless behest of mine,
impelled him to such harm? Who traces here
the hand of Juno, or of Iris sped
from heaven? Is it an ignoble stroke
that Italy around the new-born Troy
makes circling fire, and Turnus plants his heel
on his hereditary earth, the son
of old Pilumnus and the nymph divine,
Venilia? For what offence would Troy
bring sword and fire on Latium, or enslave
lands of an alien name, and bear away
plunder and spoil? Why seek they marriages,
and snatch from arms of love the plighted maids?
An olive-branch is in their hands; their ships
make menace of grim steel. Thy power one day
ravished Aeneas from his Argive foes,
and gave them shape of cloud and fleeting air
to strike at for a man. Thou hast transformed
his ships to daughters of the sea. What wrong
if I, not less, have lent the Rutuli
something of strength in war? Aeneas, then,
is far away and knows not! Far away
let him remain, not knowing! If thou sway'st
Cythera, Paphos, and Idalium,
why rouse a city pregnant with loud wars,
and fiery hearts provoke? That fading power
of Phrygia, do I, forsooth, essay
to ruin utterly? O, was it I
exposed ill-fated Troy to Argive foe?
For what offence in vast array of arms
did Europe rise and Asia, for a rape
their peace dissolving? Was it at my word
th' adulterous Dardan shepherd came to storm
the Spartan city? Did my hand supply
his armament, or instigate a war
for Cupid's sake? Then was thy decent hour
to tremble for thy children; now too late
the folly of thy long lament to Heaven,
and objurgation vain.” Such Juno's plea;
the throng of gods with voices loud or low
gave various reply: as gathering winds
sing through the tree-tops in dark syllables,
and fling faint murmur on the far-off sea,
to tell some pilot of to-morrow's storm.
Then Jupiter omnipotent, whose hands
have governance supreme, began reply;
deep silence at his word Olympus knew,
Earth's utmost cavern shook; the realms of light
were silent; the mild zephyrs breathed no more,
and perfect calm o'erspread the levelled sea.
“Give ear, ye gods, and in your hearts record
my mandate and decree. Fate yet allows
no peace 'twixt Troy and Italy, nor bids
your quarrel end. Therefore, what Chance this day
to either foe shall bring, whatever hope
either may cherish,—the Rutulian cause
and Trojan have like favor in my eyes.
The destinies of Italy constrain
the siege; which for the fault of Troy fulfills
an oracle of woe. Yon Rutule host
I scatter not. But of his own attempt
let each the triumph and the burden bear;
for Jove is over all an equal King.
The Fates will find the way.” The god confirmed
his sentence by his Stygian brother's wave,
the shadowy flood and black, abysmal shore.
He nodded; at the bending of his brow
Olympus shook. It is the council's end.
Now from the golden throne uprises Jove;
the train of gods attend him to the doors.

Meanwhile at every gate the Rutule foe
urges the slaughter on, and closes round
the battlements with ring of flame. The host
of Trojans, prisoned in the palisades,
lies in strict siege and has no hope to fly.
In wretched plight they man the turrets tall,
to no avail, and with scant garrison
the ramparts crown. In foremost line of guard
are Asius Imbrasides, the twin
Assaraci, and Hicetaon's son
Thymoetes, and with Castor at his side
the veteran Thymbris; then the brothers both
of slain Sarpedon, and from Lycian steep
Clarus and Themon. With full-straining thews
lifting a rock, which was of some huge hill
no fragment small, Lyrnesian Acmon stood;
nor less than Clytius his sire he seemed,
nor Mnestheus his great brother. Some defend
the wall with javelins; some hurl down stones
or firebrands, or to the sounding string
fit arrows keen. But lo! amid the throng,
well worth to Venus her protecting care,
the Dardan boy, whose princely head shone forth
without a helm, like radiant jewel set
in burnished gold for necklace or for crown;
or like immaculate ivory inclosed
in boxwood or Orician terebinth;
his tresses o'er his white neck rippled down,
confined in circlet of soft twisted gold.
Thee, too, the warrior nations gaze upon,
high-nurtured Ismarus, inflicting wounds
with shafts of venomed reed: Maeonia's vale
thy cradle was, where o'er the fruitful fields
well-tilled and rich, Pactolus pours his gold.
Mnestheus was there, who, for his late repulse
of Turnus from the rampart, towered forth
in glory eminent; there Capys stood,
whose name the Capuan citadel shall bear.

While these in many a shock of grievous war
hotly contend, Aeneas cleaves his way
at midnight through the waters. He had fared
from old Evander to th' Etruscan folk,
addressed their King, and to him told the tale
of his own race and name, his suit, his powers;
of what allies Mezentius had embraced,
and Turnus' lawless rage. He bids him know
how mutable is man, and warning gives,
with supplication joined. Without delay
Tarchon made amity and sacred league,
uniting with his cause. The Lydian tribe,
now destined from its tyrant to be free,
embarked, obedient to the gods, and gave
allegiance to the foreign King. The ship
Aeneas rode moved foremost in the line:
its beak a pair of Phrygian lions bore;
above them Ida rose, an emblem dear
to exiled Trojans. On his Iofty seat
was great Aeneas, pondering the events
of changeful war; and clinging to his side
the youthful Pallas fain would learn the lore
of stars, the highway of dark night, and asks
the story of his toils on land and sea.