Aeneid

Virgil

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

Likewise the mournful Latins far away
have built their myriad pyres. Yet of the slain
not few in graves are laid, and borne with tears
to neighboring country-side or native town;
the rest—promiscuous mass of dead unknown—
to nameless and unhonored ashes burn;
with multitude of fires the far-spread fields
blaze forth unweariedly. But when from heaven
the third morn had dispelled the dark and cold,
the mournful bands raked forth the mingled bones
and plenteous ashes from the smouldering pyres,
then heaped with earth the one sepulchral mound.
Now from the hearth-stones of the opulent town
of old Latinus a vast wail burst forth,
for there was found the chief and bitterest share
of all the woe. For mothers in their tears,
lone brides, and stricken souls of sisters fond,
and boys left fatherless, fling curses Ioud
on Turnus' troth-plight and the direful war:
“Let him, let Turnus, with his single sword
decide the strife,”—they cry,—“and who shall claim
Lordship of Italy and power supreme.”
Fierce Drances whets their fury, urging all
that Turnus singly must the challenge hear,
and singly wage the war; but others plead
in Turnus' favor; the Queen's noble name
protects him, and his high renown in arms
defends his cause with well-won trophies fair.

Amid these tumults of the wrathful throng,
lo, the ambassadors to Diomed
arrive with cloudy forehead from their quest
in his illustrious town; for naught availed
their toilsome errand, nor the gifts and gold,
nor strong entreaty. Other help in war
the Latins now must find, or humbly sue
peace from the Trojan. At such tidings dire
even Latinus trembles: Heaven's decrees
and influence of gods too visible
sustain Aeneas; so the wrath divine
and new-filled sepulchres conspicuous
give warning clear. Therefore the King convenes
a general council of his captains brave
beneath the royal towers. They, gathering,
throng the approaches thither, where their Iord,
gray-haired Latinus, takes the central throne,
wearing authority with mournful brow.
He bids the envoys from Aetolia's King
sent back, to speak and tell the royal words
in order due. Forthwith on every tongue
fell silence, while the princely Venulus,
heeding his Iord's behest, began the parle:

“My countrymen,” he said, “our eyes have seen
strongholds of Greeks and Diomed the King.
We braved all perils to our journey's end
and clasped that hand whereof the dreadful stroke
wrought Ilium's fall. The hero built a town,
Argyripa, hereditary name,
near mount Garganus in Apulian land:
passing that city's portal and the King's,
we found free audience, held forth thy gifts,
and told our names and fatherland. We showed
what condict was enkindled, and what cause
brought us to Arpi's King. He, hearing all,
with brow benign made answer to our plea:
‘O happy tribes in Saturn's kingdom born,
Ausonia's ancient stem! What fortune blind
tempts ye from peace away, and now ensnares
in wars unknown? Look how we men that dared
lay Ilium waste (I speak not of what woes
in battling neath her lofty walls we bore,
nor of dead warriors sunk in Simois' wave)
have paid the penalty in many a land
with chastisement accurst and changeful woe,
till Priam's self might pity. Let the star
of Pallas tell its tale of fatal storm,
off grim Caphereus and Eubcea's crags.
Driven asunder from one field of war,
Atrides unto farthest Egypt strayed,
and wise Ulysses saw from Aetna's caves
the Cyclops gathering. Why name the throne
of Pyrrhus, or the violated hearth
whence fled Idomeneus? Or Locri cast
on Libya's distant shore? For even he,
Lord of Mycenae by the Greeks obeyed,
fell murdered on his threshold by the hand
of that polluted wife, whose paramour
trapped Asia's conqueror. The envious gods
withheld me also from returning home
to see once more the hearth-stone of my sires,
the wife I yearn for, and my Calydon,
the beauteous land. For wonders horrible
pursue me still. My vanished followers
through upper air take wing, or haunt and rove
in forms of birds the island waters o'er:
ah me, what misery my people feel!
The tall rocks ring with their lament and cry.
Naught else had I to hope for from that day
when my infatuate sword on gods I drew,
and outraged with abominable wound
the hand of Venus. Urge me not, I pray,
to conflicts in this wise. No more for me
of war with Trojans after Ilium's fall!
I take no joy in evils past, nor wish
such memory to renew. Go, lay these gifts,
brought to my honor from your ancient land,
at great Aeneas' feet. We twain have stood
confronting close with swords implacable
in mortal fray. Believe me, I have known
the stature of him when he lifts his shield,
and swings the whirlwind of his spear. If Troy
two more such sons had bred, the Dardan horde
had stormed at Argos' gates, and Greece to-day
were for her fallen fortunes grieving sore.
Our lingering at Ilium's stubborn wall,
our sluggard conquest halting ten years Iong,
was his and Hector's work. Heroic pair!
Each one for valor notable, and each
famous in enterprise of arms,—but he
was first in piety. Enclasp with his
your hands in plighted peace as best ye may:
but shock of steel on steel ye well may shun.’
now hast thou heard, good King, a king's reply,
and how his wisdom sits in this vast war.”

Soon as the envoys ceased, an answering sound
of troubled voices through the council flowed
of various note, as when its rocky bed
impedes an arrowy stream, and murmurs break
from the strait-channelled flood; the fringing shores
repeat the tumult of the clamorous wave.
But when their hearts and troublous tongues were still,
the King, invoking first the gods in heaven,
thus from a Iofty throne his sentence gave:

“Less evil were our case, if long ago
ye had provided for your country's weal,
O Latins, as I urged. It is no time
to hold dispute, while, compassing our walls,
the foeman waits. Ill-omened war is ours
against a race of gods, my countrymen,
invincible, unwearied in the fray,
and who, though lost and fallen, clutch the sword.
If hope ye cherished of Aetolia's power,
dismiss it! For what hope ye have is found
in your own bosoms only. But ye know
how slight it is and small. What ruin wide
has fallen, is now palpable and clear.
No blame I cast. What valor's uttermost
may do was done; our kingdom in this war
strained its last thews. Now therefore I will tell
such project as my doubtful mind may frame,
and briefly, if ye give good heed, unfold:
an ancient tract have I, close-bordering
the river Tiber; it runs westward far
beyond Sicania's bound, and filth it bears
to Rutule and Auruncan husbandmen,
who furrow its hard hills or feed their flocks
along the stonier slopes. Let this demesne,
together with its pine-clad mountain tall,
be given the Teucrian for our pledge of peace,
confirmed by free and equitable league,
and full alliance with our kingly power.
Let them abide there, if it please them so,
and build their city's wall. But if their hearts
for other land or people yearn, and fate
permits them hence to go, then let us build
twice ten good galleys of Italian oak,
or more, if they can man them. All the wood
lies yonder on the shore. Let them but say
how numerous and large the ships they crave,
and we will give the brass, the artisans,
and ship-supplies. Let us for envoys choose
a hundred of the Latins noblest born
to tell our message and arrange the peace,
bearing mild olive-boughs and weighty gifts
of ivory and gold, with chair of state
and purple robe, our emblems as a king.
But freely let this council speak; give aid
to our exhausted cause.” Then Drances rose,
that foe inveterate, whom Turnus' fame
to stinging hate and envy double-tongued
ever pricked on. Of liberal wealth was he
and flowing speech, but slack of hand in war
at council board accounted no weak voice,
in quarrels stronger still; of lofty birth
in the maternal line, but by his sire's
uncertain and obscure. He, claiming place,
thus multiplies with words the people's ire:
“A course most clear, nor needing voice of mine,
thy council is, good King; for all men see
the way of public weal, but smother close
the telling of it. Turnus must concede
freedom to speak, and his own arrogance
diminish! Under his ill-boding star
and fatal conduct—yea, I speak it plain,
though with his naked steel my death he swear—
yon host of princes fell, and we behold
the whole land bowed with grief; while he assails
the Trojan camp (beating such bold retreats!)
and troubles Heaven with war. One gift the more,
among the many to the Trojans given,
one chiefly, best of kings, thy choice should be.
Let not wild violence thy will restrain
from granting, sire, thy virgin daughter's hand
to son-in-law illustrious, in a match
worthy of both,—and thus the lasting bond
of peace establish. But if verily
our hearts and souls be weak with craven fear,
let us on Turnus call, and grace implore
even of him. Let him no more oppose;
but to his country and his King concede
their natural right. Why wilt thou o'er and o'er
fling thy poor countrymen in danger's way,
O chief and fountain of all Latium's pain?
War will not save us. Not a voice but sues
for peace, O Turnus! and, not less than peace,
its one inviolable pledge. Behold,
I lead in this petition! even I
whom thou dost feign thy foe—(I waste no words
denying)—look! I supplicate of thee,
take pity on thy kindred; drop thy pride,
and get thee home defeated. We have seen
slaughter enough, enough of funeral flames,
and many a wide field waste and desolate.
If glory move thee, if thy martial breast
so swell with strength, and if a royal dower
be thy dear dream, go, pluck thy courage up,
and front thy own brave bosom to the foe.
for, lo, that Turnus on his wedding day
may win a princess, our cheap, common lives—
we the mere mob, unwept, unsepulchred—
must be spilled forth in battle! Thou, I say,
if there be mettle in thee and some drops
of thy undaunted sires, Iook yonder where
the Trojan chieftain waits thee in the field.”