Aeneid

Virgil

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

Then loomed o'er Troy the apparition vast
of her dread foes divine; I seemed to see
all Ilium sink in fire, and sacred Troy,
of Neptune's building, utterly o'erthrown.
So some huge ash-tree on the mountain's brow
(when rival woodmen, heaving stroke on stroke
of two-edged axes, haste to cast her down)
sways ominously her trembling, leafy top,
and drops her smitten head; till by her wounds
vanquished at last, she makes her dying groan,
and falls in loud wreck from the cliffs uptorn.
I left the citadel; and, led by Heaven,
threaded the maze of deadly foes and fires,
through spears that glanced aside and flames that fell.

Soon came I to my father's ancient seat,
our home and heritage. But lo! my sire
(whom first of all I sought, and first would bear
to safe asylum in the distant hills)
vowed he could never, after fallen Troy,
live longer on, or bear an exile's woe.
“O you,” he cried, “whose blood not yet betrays
the cruel taint of time, whose powers be still
unpropped and undecayed, go, take your flight.
If heavenly wrath had willed my life to spare,
this dwelling had been safe. It is too much
that I have watched one wreck, and for too Iong
outlived my vanquished country. Thus, O, thus!
Compose these limbs for death, and say farewell.
My own hand will procure it; or my foe
will end me of mere pity, and for spoil
will strip me bare. It is an easy loss
to have no grave. For many a year gone by,
accursed of Heaven, I tarry in this world
a useless burden, since that fatal hour
when Jove, of gods the Sire and men the King,
his lightnings o'er me breathed and blasting fire.”

Such fixed resolve he uttered o'er and o'er,
and would not yield, though with my tears did join
my spouse Creusa, fair Ascanius,
and our whole house, imploring the gray sire
not with himself to ruin all, nor add
yet heavier burdens to our crushing doom.
He still cried, “No!” and clung to where he sat
and to the same dread purpose. I once more
back to the fight would speed. For death alone
I made my wretched prayer. What space was left
for wisdom now? What chance or hope was given?
“Didst thou, dear father, dream that I could fly
sundered from thee? Did such an infamy
fall from a father's lips? If Heaven's decree
will of this mighty nation not let live
a single soul, if thine own purpose be
to cast thyself and thy posterity
into thy country's grave, behold, the door
is open to thy death! Lo, Pyrrhus comes
red-handed from King Priam! He has slain
a son before a father's eyes, and spilt
a father's blood upon his own hearthstone.
Was it for this, O heavenly mother mine,
that thou hast brought me safe through sword and fire?
that I might see these altars desecrate
by their worst foes? that I might look upon
my sire, my wife, and sweet Ascanius
dead at my feet in one another's blood?
To arms, my men, to arms! The hour of death
now beckons to the vanquished. Let me go
whither the Greeks are gathered; let me stand
where oft revives the flagging stroke of war:
Not all of us die unavenged this day!”

I clasped my sword-belt round me once again,
fitted my left arm to my shield, and turned
to fly the house; but at the threshold clung
Creusa to my knees, and lifted up
Iulus to his father's arms. “If thou
wouldst rush on death,” she cried, “O, suffer us
to share thy perils with thee to the end.
But if this day's work bid thee trust a sword,
defend thy hearthstone first. Who else shall guard
thy babe Iulus, or thy reverend sire?
Or me, thy wife that was—what help have I?”

So rang the roof-top with her piteous cries:
but lo! a portent wonderful to see
on sudden rose; for while his parents' grief
held the boy close in arm and full in view,
there seemed upon Iulus' head to glow
a flickering peak of fire; the tongue of flame
innocuous o'er his clustering tresses played,
and hovered round his brows. We, horror-struck,
grasped at his burning hair, and sprinkled him,
to quench that holy and auspicious fire.
then sire Anchises with exultant eyes
looked heavenward, and lifted to the stars
his voice and outstretched hands. “Almighty Jove,
if aught of prayer may move thee, let thy grace
now visit us! O, hear this holy vow!
And if for service at thine altars done,
we aught can claim, O Father, lend us aid,
and ratify the omen thou hast given!”

Scarce ceased his aged voice, when suddenly
from leftward, with a deafening thunder-peal,
cleaving the blackness of the vaulted sky,
a meteor-star in trailing splendor ran,
exceeding bright. We watched it glide sublime
o'er tower and town, until its radiant beam
in forest-mantled Ida died away;
but left a furrow on its track in air,
a glittering, Iong line, while far and wide
the sulphurous fume and exhalation flowed.
My father strove not now; but lifted him
in prayer to all the gods, in holy awe
of that auspicious star, and thus exclaimed:
“Tarry no moment more! Behold, I come!
Whithersoe'er ye lead, my steps obey.
Gods of my fathers, O, preserve our name!
Preserve my son, and his! This augury
is yours; and Troy on your sole strength relies.
I yield, dear son; I journey at thy side.”
He spoke; and higher o'er the blazing walls
leaped the loud fire, while ever nearer drew
the rolling surges of tumultuous flame.
“Haste, father, on these bending shoulders climb!
This back is ready, and the burden light;
one peril smites us both, whate'er befall;
one rescue both shall find. Close at my side
let young Iulus run, while, not too nigh,
my wife Creusa heeds what way we go.
Ye servants of our house, give ear, I pray,
to my command. Outside the city's gates
lies a low mound and long since ruined fane
to Ceres vowed; a cypress, ancient shade
o'erhangs it, which our fathers' pious care
protected year by year; by various paths
be that our meeting-place. But in thy hands
bring, sire, our household gods, and sanctifies:
for me to touch, who come this very hour
from battle and the fresh blood of the slain,
were but abomination, till what time
in living waters I shall make me clean.”
So saying, I bowed my neck and shoulders broad,
o'erspread me with a lion's tawny skin,
and lifted up my load. Close at my side
little Iulus twined his hand in mine
and followed, with unequal step, his sire.
My wife at distance came. We hastened on,
creeping through shadows; I, who once had viewed
undaunted every instrument of war
and all the gathered Greeks in grim array,
now shook at every gust, and heard all sounds
with fevered trepidation, fearing both
for him I bore and him who clasped my hand.
Now near the gates I drew, and deemed our flight
safely at end, when suddenly I heard
the sounding tread of many warriors
that seemed hard-by, while through the murky night
my father peered, and shouted, “O my son,
away, away! for surely all our foes
are here upon us, and my eyes behold
the glance of glittering shields and flash of arms.”
O, then some evil-working, nameless god
clouded my senses quite: for while I sped
along our pathless way, and left behind
all paths and regions known—O wretched me!—
Creusa on some dark disaster fell;
she stopped, or wandered, or sank down undone,—
I never knew what way,—and nevermore
I looked on her alive. Yet knew I not
my loss, nor backward turned a look or thought,
till by that hallowed hill to Ceres vowed
we gathered all,— and she alone came not,
while husband, friends, and son made search in vain.
What god, what man, did not my grief accuse
in frenzied word? In all the ruined land
what worse woe had I seen? Entrusting then
my sire, my son, and all the Teucrian gods
to the deep shadows of a slanting vale
where my allies kept guard, I tried me back
to that doomed town, re-girt in glittering arms.
Resolved was I all hazards to renew,
all Troy to re-explore, and once again
offer my life to perils without end.

The walls and gloomy gates whence forth I came
I first revisit, and retrace my way,
searching the night once more. On all sides round
horror spread wide; the very silence breathed
a terror on my soul. I hastened then
back to my fallen home, if haply there
her feet had strayed; but the invading Greeks
were its possessors, though the hungry fire
was blown along the roof-tree, and the flames
rolled raging upward on the fitful gale.
To Priam's house I haste, and climb once more
the citadel; in Juno's temple there,
the chosen guardians of her wasted halls,
Phoenix and dread Ulysses watched the spoil.
Here, snatched away from many a burning fane,
Troy's treasures lay,—rich tables for the gods,
thick bowls of messy gold, and vestures rare,
confusedly heaped up, while round the pile
fair youths and trembling virgins stood forlorn.
Yet oft my voice rang dauntless through the gloom,
from street to street I cried with anguish vain;
and on Creusa piteously calling,
woke the lamenting echoes o'er and o'er.
While on this quest I roamed the city through,
of reason reft there rose upon my sight—
O shape of sorrow!— my Creusa's ghost,
hers truly, though a loftier port it wore.
I quailed, my hair rose, and I gasped for fear;
but thus she spoke, and soothed my grief away:
“Why to these frenzied sorrows bend thy soul,
O husband ever dear! The will of Heaven
hath brought all this to pass. Fate doth not send
Creusa the long journeys thou shalt take,
or hath th' Olympian King so given decree.
Long is thy banishment; thy ship must plough
the vast, far-spreading sea. Then shalt thou come
unto Hesperia, whose fruitful plains
are watered by the Tiber, Lydian stream,
of smooth, benignant Bow. Thou shalt obtain
fair fortunes, and a throne and royal bride.
For thy beloved Creusa weep no more!
No Myrmidon's proud palace waits me now;
Dolopian shall not scorn, nor Argive dames
command a slave of Dardan's royal stem
and wife to Venus' son. On these loved shores
the Mother of the Gods compels my stay.
Farewell! farewell! O, cherish evermore
thy son and mine!” Her utterance scarce had ceased,
when, as I strove through tears to make reply,
she left me, and dissolved in empty air.
Thrice would my frustrate arms her form enfold;
thrice from the clasp of hand that vision fled,
like wafted winds and like a fleeting dream.

The night had passed, and to my friends once more
I made my way, much wondering to find
a mighty multitude assembled there
of friends new-come,—matrons and men-at-arms,
and youth for exile bound,— a doleful throng.
From far and near they drew, their hearts prepared
and their possessions gathered, to sail forth
to lands unknown, wherever o'er the wave
I bade them follow. Now above the crest
of loftiest Ida rose the morning-star,
chief in the front of day. The Greeks held fast
the captive gates of Troy. No help or hope
was ours any more. Then, yielding all,
and lifting once again my aged sire,
for refuge to the distant hills I fled.