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.

When Asia's power and Priam's race and throne,
though guiltless, were cast down by Heaven's decree,
when Ilium proud had fallen, and Neptune's Troy
in smouldering ash lay level with the ground,
to wandering exile then and regions wild
the gods by many an augury and sign
compelled us forth. We fashioned us a fleet
within Antander's haven, in the shade
of Phrygian Ida's peak (though knowing not
whither our fate would drive, or where afford
a resting-place at last), and my small band
of warriors I arrayed. As soon as smiled
the light of summer's prime, my reverend sire
Anchises bade us on the winds of Fate
to spread all sail. Through tears I saw recede
my native shore, the haven and the plains
where once was Troy. An exile on the seas,
with son and followers and household shrines,
and Troy's great guardian-gods, I took my way.

There is a far-off land where warriors breed,
where Thracians till the boundless plains, and where
the cruel-eyed Lycurgus once was king.
Troy's old ally it was, its deities
had brotherhood with ours before our fall.
Thither I fared, and on its winding shores
set my first walls, though partial Fate opposed
our entrance there. In memory of my name
I called its people the Aeneadae.

Unto Dione's daughter, and all gods
who blessed our young emprise, due gifts were paid;
and unto the supreme celestial King
I slew a fair white bull beside the sea.
But haply near my place of sacrifice
a mound was seen, and on the summit grew
a copse of corner and a myrtle tree,
with spear-like limbs outbranched on every side.
This I approached, and tried to rend away
from its deep roots that grove of gloomy green,
and dress my altars in its leafy boughs.
But, horrible to tell, a prodigy
smote my astonished eyes: for the first tree,
which from the earth with broken roots I drew,
dripped black with bloody drops, and gave the ground
dark stains of gore. Cold horror shook my frame,
and every vein within me froze for fear.
Once more I tried from yet another stock
the pliant stem to tear, and to explore
the mystery within,—but yet again
the foul bark oozed with clots of blackest gore!
From my deep-shaken soul I made a prayer
to all the woodland nymphs and to divine
Gradivus, patron of the Thracian plain,
to bless this sight, to lift its curse away.
But when at a third sheaf of myrtle spears
I fell upon my knees, and tugged amain
against the adverse ground (I dread to tell!),
a moaning and a wail from that deep grave
burst forth and murmured in my listening ear:
“Why wound me, great Aeneas, in my woe?
O, spare the dead, nor let thy holy hands
do sacrilege and sin! I, Trojan-born,
was kin of thine. This blood is not of trees.
Haste from this murderous shore, this land of greed.
O, I am Polydorus! Haste away!
Here was I pierced; a crop of iron spears
has grown up o'er my breast, and multiplied
to all these deadly javelins, keen and strong.”
Then stood I, burdened with dark doubt and fear
I quailed, my hair rose and my utterance choked.

For once this Polydorus, with much gold,
ill-fated Priam sent by stealth away
for nurture with the Thracian king, what time
Dardania's war Iooked hopeless, and her towers
were ringed about by unrelenting siege.
That king, when Ilium's cause was ebbing low,
and fortune frowned, gave o'er his plighted faith
to Agamemnon's might and victory;
he scorned all honor and did murder foul
on Polydorus, seizing lawlessly
on all the gold. O, whither at thy will,
curst greed of gold, may mortal hearts be driven?
Soon as my shuddering ceased, I told this tale
of prodigies before the people's chiefs,
who sat in conclave with my kingly sire,
and bade them speak their reverend counsel forth.
All found one voice; to leave that land of sin,
where foul abomination had profaned
a stranger's right; and once more to resign
our fleet unto the tempest and the wave.
But fit and solemn funeral rites were paid
to Polydorus. A high mound we reared
of heaped-up earth, and to his honored shade
built a perpetual altar, sadly dressed
in cypress dark and purple pall of woe.
Our Ilian women wailed with loosened hair;
new milk was sprinkled from a foaming cup,
and from the shallow bowl fresh blood out-poured
upon the sacred ground. So in its tomb
we laid his ghost to rest, and loudly sang,
with prayer for peace, the long, the last farewell.

After these things, when first the friendly sea
looked safe and fair, and o'er its tranquil plain
light-whispering breezes bade us launch away,
my men drew down our galleys to the brine,
thronging the shore. Soon out of port we ran,
and watched the hills and cities fading far.
There is a sacred island in mid-seas,
to fruitful Doris and to Neptune dear,
which grateful Phoebus, wielder of the bow,
the while it drifted loose from land to land,
chained firmly where the crags of Gyaros
and Myconos uptower, and bade it rest
immovable, in scorn of wind and wave.
Thither I sped; by this my weary ships
found undisturbed retreat and haven fair.
To land we came and saw with reverent eyes
Apollo's citadel. King Anius,
his people's king, and priest at Phoebus' fane,
came forth to meet us, wearing on his brow
the fillets and a holy laurel crown.
Unto Anchises he gave greeting kind,
claimed old acquaintance, grasped us by the hand,
and bade us both his roof and welcome share.

Then, kneeling at the shrine of time-worn stone:
“Thou who at Thymbra on the Trojan shore
hast often blessed my prayer, O, give to me
a hearth and home, and to this war-worn band
defensive towers and offspring multiplied
in an abiding city; give to Troy
a second citadel, that shall survive
Achilles' wrath and all our Argive foe.
Whom shall we follow? Whither lies our way?
Where wilt thou grant us an abiding-place?
Send forth, O King, thy voice oracular,
and on our spirits move.” Scarce had I spoke
when sudden trembling through the laurels ran
and smote the holy portals; far and wide
the mighty ridges of the mountain shook,
and from the opening shrine the tripod moaned.
Prostrate to earth we fall, as on our ears
this utterance breaks: “O breed of iron men,
ye sons of Dardanus! the self-same land
where bloomed at first your far-descended stem
shall to its bounteous bosom draw ye home.
Seek out your ancient Mother! There at last
Aeneas' race shall reign on every shore,
and his sons' sons, and all their house to be.”
So Phoebus spoke; and mighty joy uprose
from all my thronging people, who would know
where Phoebus' city lay, and whitherward
the god ordained the wandering tribe's return.
Then spake my father, pondering olden days
and sacred memories of heroes gone:
“Hear, chiefs and princes, what your hopes shall be!
The Isle of Crete, abode of lofty Jove,
rests in the middle sea. Thence Ida soars;
there is the cradle of our race. It boasts
a hundred cities, seats of fruitful power.
Thence our chief sire, if duly I recall
the olden tale, King Teucer sprung, who first
touched on the Trojan shore, and chose his seat
of kingly power. There was no Ilium then
nor towered Pergama; in lowly vales
their dwelling; hence the ancient worship given
to the Protectress of Mount Cybele,
mother of Gods, what time in Ida's grove
the brazen Corybantic cymbals clang,
or sacred silence guards her mystery,
and lions yoked her royal chariot draw.
Up, then, and follow the behests divine!
Pour offering to the winds, and point your keels
unto that realm of Minos. It is near.
if Jove but bless, the third day's dawn should see
our ships at Cretan land.” So, having said,
he slew the victims for each altar's praise.
A bull to Neptune, and a bull to thee,
o beauteous Apollo! A black lamb
unto the clouds and storms; but fleece of snow
to the mild zephyrs was our offering.

The tale was told us that Idomeneus,
from his hereditary kindgom driven,
had left his Crete abandoned, that no foe
now harbored there, but all its dwellings lay
untenanted of man. So forth we sailed
out of the port of Delos, and sped far
along the main. The maenad-haunted hills
of Naxos came in view; the ridges green
of fair Donysa, with Olearos,
and Paros, gleaming white, and Cyclades
scattered among the waves, as close we ran
where thick-strewn islands vex the channelled seas
with rival shout the sailors cheerly called:
“On, comrades! On, to Crete and to our sires!”
Freely behind us blew the friendly winds,
and gave smooth passage to that fabled shore,
the land of the Curetes, friends of Jove.
There eagerly I labored at the walls
of our long-prayed-for city; and its name
was Pergamea; to my Trojan band,
pleased with such name, I gave command to build
altar and hearth, and raise the lofty tower.

But scarce the ships were beached along the strand
(While o'er the isle my busy mariners
ploughed in new fields and took them wives once more, —
I giving homes and laws) when suddenly
a pestilence from some infectious sky
seized on man's flesh, and horribly exhaled
o'er trees and crops a fatal year of plague.
Some breathed their last, while others weak and worn
lived on; the dog-star parched the barren fields;
grass withered, and the sickly, mouldering corn
refused us life. My aged father then
bade us re-cross the waves and re-implore
Apollo's mercy at his island shrine;
if haply of our weariness and woe
he might vouchsafe the end, or bid us find
help for our task, or guidance o'er the sea.

'T was night, and sleep possessed all breathing things;
when, lo! the sacred effigies divine,
the Phrygian gods which through the flames I bore
from fallen Troy, seemed in a vision clear
to stand before me where I slumbering lay,
bathed in bright beams which from the moon at full
streamed through the latticed wall: and thus they spoke
to soothe my care away. “Apollo's word,
which in far Delos the god meant for thee,
is uttered here. Behold, he sends ourselves
to this thy house, before thy prayer is made.
We from Troy's ashes have companioned thee
in every fight; and we the swollen seas,
guided by thee, in thine own ships have crossed;
our power divine shall set among the stars
thy seed to be, and to thy city give
dominion evermore. For mighty men
go build its mighty walls! Seek not to shun
the hard, long labors of an exile's way.
Change this abode! Not thine this Cretan shore,
nor here would Delian Phoebus have thee bide.
There is a land the roving Greeks have named
Hesperia. It is a storied realm
made mighty by great wars and fruitful land.
Oenotrians had it, and their sons, 't is said,
have called it Italy, a chieftain's name
to a whole region given. That land alone
our true abode can be; for Dardanus
was cradled there, and old Iasius,
their blood the oldest of our ancient line.
Arise! go forth and cheer thy father gray
with the glad tidings! Bid him doubt no more!
Ausonia seek and Corythus; for Jove
denies this Cretan realm to thine and thee.”
I marvelled at the heavenly presences
so vocal and so bright, for 't was not sleep;
but face to face I deemed I could discern
each countenance august and holy brow,
each mantled head; and from my body ran
cold sweat of awe. From my low couch I sprang,
lifting to heaven my suppliant hands and prayer,
and o'er my hearth poured forth libations free.
After th' auspicious offering, I told
Anchises the whole tale in order due.
He owned our stock two-branched, of our great sires
the twofold line, and that his thought had strayed,
in new confusion mingling ancient names;
then spoke: “O son, in Ilium's doom severe
afflicted ever! To my ears alone
this dark vicissitude Cassandra sang.
I mind me now that her wild tongue foretold
such destiny. For oft she called aloud
‘Hesperia!’ oft ‘Italia's kingdom!’ called.
But who had faith that Teucer's sons should come
to far Hesperia? What mortal ear
gave heed to sad Cassandra's voice divine?
Now Phoebus speaks. Obedient let us be,
and, warned by him, our happier Iot pursue!”
He spoke: with heart of hope we all obeyed;
again we changed abode; and, leaving there
a feeble few, again with spreading sails
we coursed in hollow ship the spacious sea.

When from the deep the shores had faded far,
and only sky and sea were round our way,
full in the zenith hung a purple cloud,
storm-laden, dark as night, and every wave
grew black and angry, while perpetual gales
came rolling o'er the main, and mountain-high
the wreckful surges rose; our ships were hurled
wide o'er the whirling waters; thunder-clouds
and misty murk of night made end of all
the light of heaven, save where the rifted storm
flashed with the oft-reiterate shaft of Jove.
Then went we drifting, beaten from our course,
upon a trackless sea. Not even the eyes
of Palinurus could tell night from noon
or ken our way. Three days of blinding dark,
three nights without a star, we roved the seas;
The fourth, land seemed to rise. Far distant hills
and rolling smoke we saw. Down came our sails,
out flew the oars, and with prompt stroke the crews
swept the dark waves and tossed the crested foam.
From such sea-peril safe, I made the shores
of Strophades,—a name the Grecians gave
to islands in the broad Ionic main, —
the Strophades, where dread Celaeno bides,
with other Harpies, who had quit the halls
of stricken Phineus, and for very fear
fled from the routed feast; no prodigy
more vile than these, nor plague more pitiless
ere rose by wrath divine from Stygian wave;
birds seem they, but with face like woman-kind;
foul-flowing bellies, hands with crooked claws,
and ghastly lips they have, with hunger pale.
Scarce had we made the haven, when, behold!
Fair herds of cattle roaming a wide plain,
and horned goats, untended, feeding free
in pastures green, surprised our happy eyes.
with eager blades we ran to take and slay,
asking of every god, and chicfly Jove,
to share the welcome prize: we ranged a feast,
with turf-built couches and a banquet-board
along the curving strand. But in a trice,
down from the high hills swooping horribly,
the Harpies loudly shrieking, flapped their wings,
snatched at our meats, and with infectious touch
polluted all; infernal was their cry,
the stench most vile. Once more in covert far
beneath a caverned rock, and close concealed
with trees and branching shade, we raised aloft
our tables, altars, and rekindled fires.
Once more from haunts unknown the clamorous flock
from every quarter flew, and seized its prey
with taloned feet and carrion lip most foul.
I called my mates to arms and opened war
on that accursed brood. My band obeyed;
and, hiding in deep grass their swords and shields,
in ambush lay. But presently the foe
swept o'er the winding shore with loud alarm :
then from a sentry-crag, Misenus blew
a signal on his hollow horn. My men
flew to the combat strange, and fain would wound
with martial steel those foul birds of the sea;
but on their sides no wounding blade could fall,
nor any plume be marred. In swiftest flight
to starry skies they soared, and left on earth
their half-gnawed, stolen feast, and footprints foul.
Celaeno only on a beetling crag
took lofty perch, and, prophetess of ill,
shrieked malediction from her vulture breast:
“Because of slaughtered kine and ravished herd,
sons of Laomedon, have ye made war?
And will ye from their rightful kingdom drive
the guiltless Harpies? Hear, O, hear my word
(Long in your bosoms may it rankle sore!)
which Jove omnipotent to Phoebus gave,
Phoebus to me: a word of doom, which I,
the Furies' elder sister, here unfold:
‘To Italy ye fare. The willing winds
your call have heard; and ye shall have your prayer
in some Italian haven safely moored.
But never shall ye rear the circling walls
of your own city, till for this our blood
by you unjustly spilt, your famished jaws
bite at your tables, aye,—and half devour.’”

She spoke: her pinions bore her to the grove,
and she was seen no more. But all my band
shuddered with shock of fear in each cold vein;
their drooping spirits trusted swords no more,
but turned to prayers and offerings, asking grace,
scarce knowing if those creatures were divine,
or but vast birds, ill-omened and unclean.
Father Anchises to the gods in heaven
uplifted suppliant hands, and on that shore
due ritual made, crying aloud; “Ye gods
avert this curse, this evil turn away!
Smile, Heaven, upon your faithful votaries.”
Then bade he launch away, the chain undo,
set every cable free and spread all sail.
O'er the white waves we flew, and took our way
where'er the helmsman or the winds could guide.
Now forest-clad Zacynthus met our gaze,
engirdled by the waves; Dulichium,
same, and Neritos, a rocky steep,
uprose. We passed the cliffs of Ithaca
that called Laertes king, and flung our curse
on fierce Ulysses' hearth and native land.
nigh hoar Leucate's clouded crest we drew,
where Phoebus' temple, feared by mariners,
loomed o'er us; thitherward we steered and reached
the little port and town. Our weary fleet
dropped anchor, and lay beached along the strand.

So, safe at land, our hopeless peril past,
we offered thanks to Jove, and kindled high
his altars with our feast and sacrifice;
then, gathering on Actium's holy shore,
made fair solemnities of pomp and game.
My youth, anointing their smooth, naked limbs,
wrestled our wonted way. For glad were we,
who past so many isles of Greece had sped
and 'scaped our circling foes. Now had the sun
rolled through the year's full circle, and the waves
were rough with icy winter's northern gales.
I hung for trophy on that temple door
a swelling shield of brass (which once was worn
by mighty Abas) graven with this line:
SPOIL OF AENEAS FROM TRIUMPHANT FOES.
Then from that haven I command them forth;
my good crews take the thwarts, smiting the sea
with rival strokes, and skim the level main.
Soon sank Phaeacia's wind-swept citadels
out of our view; we skirted the bold shores
of proud Epirus, in Chaonian land,
and made Buthrotum's port and towering town.