Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- Androgeos, followed by a thronging band
- of Greeks, first met us on our desperate way;
- but heedless, and confounding friend with foe,
- thus, all unchallenged, hailed us as his own :
- “Haste, heroes! Are ye laggards at this hour?
- Others bear off the captives and the spoil
- of burning Troy. Just from the galleys ye?”
- He spoke; but straightway, when no safe reply
- returned, he knew himself entrapped, and fallen
- into a foeman's snare; struck dumb was he
- and stopped both word and motion; as one steps,
- when blindly treading a thick path of thorns,
- upon a snake, and sick with fear would flee
- that lifted wrath and swollen gorge of green:
- so trembling did Androgeos backward fall.
- At them we flew and closed them round with war;
- and since they could not know the ground, and fear
- had whelmed them quite, we swiftly laid them low.
- Thus Fortune on our first achievement smiled;
- and, flushed with victory, Cormbus cried:
- “Come, friends, and follow Fortune's finger, where
- she beckons us what path deliverance lies.
- Change we our shields, and these Greek emblems wear.
- 'Twixt guile and valor who will nicely weigh
- When foes are met? These dead shall find us arms.”
- With this, he dons Androgeos' crested helm
- and beauteous, blazoned shield; and to his side
- girds on a Grecian blade. Young Rhipeus next,
- with Dymas and the other soldiery,
- repeat the deed, exulting, and array
- their valor in fresh trophies from the slain.
- Now intermingled with our foes we moved,
- and alien emblems wore; the long, black night
- brought many a grapple, and a host of Greeks
- down to the dark we hurled. Some fled away,
- seeking their safe ships and the friendly shore.
- Some cowards foul went clambering back again
- to that vast horse and hid them in its maw.
- But woe is me! If gods their help withhold,
- 't is impious to be brave. That very hour
- the fair Cassandra passed us, bound in chains,
- King Priam's virgin daughter, from the shrine
- and altars of Minerva; her loose hair
- had lost its fillet; her impassioned eyes
- were lifted in vain prayer,—her eyes alone!
- For chains of steel her frail, soft hands confined.
- Coroebus' eyes this horror not endured,
- and, sorrow-crazed, he plunged him headlong in
- the midmost fray, self-offered to be slain,
- while in close mass our troop behind him poured.
- But, at this point, the overwhelming spears
- of our own kinsmen rained resistless down
- from a high temple-tower; and carnage wild
- ensued, because of the Greek arms we bore
- and our false crests. The howling Grecian band,
- crazed by Cassandra's rescue, charged at us
- from every side; Ajax of savage soul,
- the sons of Atreus, and that whole wild horde
- Achilles from Dolopian deserts drew.
- 'T was like the bursting storm, when gales contend,
- west wind and South, and jocund wind of morn
- upon his orient steeds—while forests roar,
- and foam-flecked Nereus with fierce trident stirs
- the dark deep of the sea. All who did hide
- in shadows of the night, by our assault
- surprised, and driven in tumultuous flight,
- now start to view. Full well they now can see
- our shields and borrowed arms, and clearly note
- our speech of alien sound; their multitude
- o'erwhelms us utterly. Coroebus first
- at mailed Minerva's altar prostrate lay,
- pierced by Peneleus, blade; then Rhipeus fell;
- we deemed him of all Trojans the most just,
- most scrupulously righteous; but the gods
- gave judgment otherwise. There Dymas died,
- and Hypanis, by their compatriots slain;
- nor thee, O Panthus, in that mortal hour,
- could thy clean hands or Phoebus, priesthood save.
- O ashes of my country! funeral pyre
- of all my kin! bear witness that my breast
- shrank not from any sword the Grecian drew,
- and that my deeds the night my country died
- deserved a warrior's death, had Fate ordained.
- But soon our ranks were broken; at my side
- stayed Iphitus and Pelias; one with age
- was Iong since wearied, and the other bore
- the burden of Ulysses' crippling wound.
- Straightway the roar and tumult summoned us
- to Priam's palace,where a battle raged
- as if save this no conflict else were known,
- and all Troy's dying brave were mustered there.
- There we beheld the war-god unconfined;
- The Greek besiegers to the roof-tops fled;
- or, with shields tortoise-back, the gates assailed.
- Ladders were on the walls; and round by round,
- up the huge bulwark as they fight their way,
- the shielded left-hand thwarts the falling spears,
- the right to every vantage closely clings.
- The Trojans hurl whole towers and roof-tops down
- upon the mounting foe; for well they see
- that the last hour is come, and with what arms
- the dying must resist. Rich gilded beams,
- with many a beauteous blazon of old time,
- go crashing down. Men armed with naked swords
- defend the inner doors in close array.
- Thus were our hearts inflamed to stand and strike
- for the king's house, and to his body-guard
- bring succor, and renew their vanquished powers.
- A certain gate I knew, a secret way,
- which gave free passage between Priam's halls,
- and exit rearward; hither, in the days
- before our fall, the lone Andromache
- was wont with young Astyanax to pass
- in quest of Priam and her husband's kin.
- This way to climb the palace roof I flew,
- where, desperate, the Trojans with vain skill
- hurled forth repellent arms. A tower was there,
- reared skyward from the roof-top, giving view
- of Troy's wide walls and full reconnaissance
- of all Achaea's fleets and tented field;
- this, with strong steel, our gathered strength assailed,
- and as the loosened courses offered us
- great threatening fissures, we uprooted it
- from its aerial throne and thrust it down.
- It fell with instantaneous crash of thunder
- along the Danaan host in ruin wide.
- But fresh ranks soon arrive; thick showers of stone
- rain down, with every missile rage can find.
- Now at the threshold of the outer court
- Pyrrhus triumphant stood, with glittering arms
- and helm of burnished brass. He glittered like
- some swollen viper, fed on poison-leaves,
- whom chilling winter shelters underground,
- till, fresh and strong, he sheds his annual scales
- and, crawling forth rejuvenate, uncoils
- his slimy length; his lifted gorge insults
- the sunbeam with three-forked and quivering tongue.
- Huge Periphas was there; Automedon,
- who drove Achilles' steeds, and bore his arms.
- Then Scyros' island-warriors assault
- the palaces, and hurl reiterate fire
- at wall and tower. Pyrrhus led the van;
- seizing an axe he clove the ponderous doors
- and rent the hinges from their posts of bronze;
- he cut the beams, and through the solid mass
- burrowed his way, till like a window huge
- the breach yawned wide, and opened to his gaze
- a vista of long courts and corridors,
- the hearth and home of many an ancient king,
- and Priam's own; upon its sacred bourne
- the sentry, all in arms, kept watch and ward.
- Confusion, groans, and piteous turmoil
- were in that dwelling; women shrieked and wailed
- from many a dark retreat, and their loud cry
- rang to the golden stars. Through those vast halls
- the panic-stricken mothers wildly roved,
- and clung with frantic kisses and embrace
- unto the columns cold. Fierce as his sire,
- Pyrrhus moves on; nor bar nor sentinel
- may stop his way; down tumbles the great door
- beneath the battering beam, and with it fall
- hinges and framework violently torn.
- Force bursts all bars; th' assailing Greeks break in,
- do butchery, and with men-at-arms possess
- what place they will. Scarce with an equal rage
- a foaming river, when its dykes are down,
- o'erwhelms its mounded shores, and through the plain
- rolls mountain-high, while from the ravaged farms
- its fierce flood sweeps along both flock and fold.
- My own eyes looked on Neoptolemus
- frenzied with slaughter, and both Atreus' sons
- upon the threshold frowning; I beheld
- her hundred daughters with old Hecuba;
- and Priam, whose own bleeding wounds defiled
- the altars where himself had blessed the fires;
- there fifty nuptial beds gave promise proud
- of princely heirs; but all their brightness now,
- of broidered cunning and barbaric gold,
- lay strewn and trampled on. The Danaan foe
- stood victor, where the raging flame had failed.
- But would ye haply know what stroke of doom
- on Priam fell? Now when his anguish saw
- his kingdom lost and fallen, his abode
- shattered, and in his very hearth and home
- th' exulting foe, the aged King did bind
- his rusted armor to his trembling thews,—
- all vainly,— and a useless blade of steel
- he girded on; then charged, resolved to die
- encircled by the foe. Within his walls
- there stood, beneath the wide and open sky,
- a lofty altar; an old laurel-tree
- leaned o'er it, and enclasped in holy shade
- the statues of the tutelary powers.
- Here Hecuba and all the princesses
- took refuge vain within the place of prayer.
- Like panic-stricken doves in some dark storm,
- close-gathering they sate, and in despair
- embraced their graven gods. But when the Queen
- saw Priam with his youthful harness on,
- “What frenzy, O my wretched lord,” she cried,
- “Arrayed thee in such arms? O, whither now?
- Not such defences, nor such arm as thine,
- the time requires, though thy companion were
- our Hector's self. O, yield thee, I implore!
- This altar now shall save us one and all,
- or we must die together.” With these words
- she drew him to her side, and near the shrine
- made for her aged spouse a place to cling.
- But, lo! just 'scaped of Pyrrhus' murderous hand,
- Polites, one of Priam's sons, fled fast
- along the corridors, through thronging foes
- and a thick rain of spears. Wildly he gazed
- across the desolate halls, wounded to death.
- Fierce Pyrrhus followed after, pressing hard
- with mortal stroke, and now his hand and spear
- were close upon:— when the lost youth leaped forth
- into his father's sight, and prostrate there
- lay dying, while his life-blood ebbed away.
- Then Priam, though on all sides death was nigh,
- quit not the strife, nor from loud wrath refrained:
- “Thy crime and impious outrage, may the gods
- (if Heaven to mortals render debt and due)
- justly reward and worthy honors pay!
- My own son's murder thou hast made me see,
- blood and pollution impiously throwing
- upon a father's head. Not such was he,
- not such, Achilles, thy pretended sire,
- when Priam was his foe. With flush of shame
- he nobly listened to a suppliant's plea
- in honor made. He rendered to the tomb
- my Hector's body pale, and me did send
- back to my throne a king.” With this proud word
- the aged warrior hurled with nerveless arm
- his ineffectual spear, which hoarsely rang
- rebounding on the brazen shield, and hung
- piercing the midmost boss,- but all in vain.
- Then Pyrrhus: “Take these tidings, and convey
- message to my father, Peleus' son!
- tell him my naughty deeds! Be sure and say
- how Neoptolemus hath shamed his sires.
- Now die!” With this, he trailed before the shrines
- the trembling King, whose feet slipped in the stream
- of his son's blood. Then Pyrrhus' left hand clutched
- the tresses old and gray; a glittering sword
- his right hand lifted high, and buried it
- far as the hilt in that defenceless heart.
- So Priam's story ceased. Such final doom
- fell on him, while his dying eyes surveyed
- Troy burning, and her altars overthrown,
- though once of many an orient land and tribe
- the boasted lord. In huge dismemberment
- his severed trunk lies tombless on the shore,
- the head from shoulder torn, the corpse unknown.
- Then first wild horror on my spirit fell
- and dazed me utterly. A vision rose
- of my own cherished father, as I saw
- the King, his aged peer, sore wounded Iying
- in mortal agony; a vision too
- of lost Creusa at my ravaged hearth,
- and young Iulus' peril. Then my eyes
- looked round me seeking aid. But all were fled,
- war-wearied and undone; some earthward leaped
- from battlement or tower; some in despair
- yielded their suffering bodies to the flame.
- I stood there sole surviving; when, behold,
- to Vesta's altar clinging in dumb fear,
- hiding and crouching in the hallowed shade,
- Tyndarus' daughter!— 't was the burning town
- lighted full well my roving steps and eyes.
- In fear was she both of some Trojan's rage
- for Troy o'erthrown, and of some Greek revenge,
- or her wronged husband's Iong indignant ire.
- So hid she at that shrine her hateful brow,
- being of Greece and Troy, full well she knew,
- the common curse. Then in my bosom rose
- a blaze of wrath; methought I should avenge
- my dying country, and with horrid deed
- pay crime for crime. “Shall she return unscathed
- to Sparta, to Mycenae's golden pride,
- and have a royal triumph? Shall her eyes
- her sire and sons, her hearth and husband see,
- while Phrygian captives follow in her train?
- is Priam murdered? Have the flames swept o'er
- my native Troy? and cloth our Dardan strand
- sweat o'er and o'er with sanguinary dew?
- O, not thus unavenged! For though there be
- no glory if I smite a woman's crime,
- nor conqueror's fame for such a victory won,
- yet if I blot this monster out, and wring
- full punishment from guilt, the time to come
- will praise me, and sweet pleasure it will be
- to glut my soul with vengeance and appease
- the ashes of my kindred.”So I raved,
- and to such frenzied purpose gave my soul.
- Then with clear vision (never had I seen
- her presence so unclouded) I beheld,
- in golden beams that pierced the midnight gloom,
- my gracious mother, visibly divine,
- and with that mien of majesty she wears
- when seen in heaven; she stayed me with her hand,
- and from her lips of rose this counsel gave:
- “O son, what sorrow stirs thy boundless rage?
- what madness this? Or whither vanisheth
- thy love of me? Wilt thou not seek to know
- where bides Anchises, thy abandoned sire,
- now weak with age? or if Creusa lives
- and young Ascanius, who are ringed about
- with ranks of Grecian foes, and long ere this—
- save that my love can shield them and defend—
- had fallen on flame or fed some hungry sword?
- Not Helen's hated beauty works thee woe;
- nor Paris, oft-accused. The cruelty
- of gods, of gods unaided, overwhelms
- thy country's power, and from its Iofty height
- casts Ilium down. Behold, I take away
- the barrier-cloud that dims thy mortal eye,
- with murk and mist o'er-veiling. Fear not thou
- to heed thy mother's word, nor let thy heart
- refuse obedience to her counsel given.
- 'Mid yonder trembling ruins, where thou see'st
- stone torn from stone, with dust and smoke uprolling,
- 't is Neptune strikes the wall; his trident vast
- makes her foundation tremble, and unseats
- the city from her throne. Fierce Juno leads
- resistless onset at the Scaean gate,
- and summons from the ships the league of powers,
- wearing her wrathful sword. On yonder height
- behold Tritonia in the citadel
- clothed with the lightning and her Gorgon-shield!
- Unto the Greeks great Jove himself renews
- their courage and their power; 't is he thrusts on
- the gods themselves against the Trojan arms.
- Fly, O my son! The war's wild work give o'er!
- I will be always nigh and set thee safe
- upon thy father's threshold.” Having said,
- she fled upon the viewless night away.