Aeneid

Virgil

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

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.

Here wondrous tidings met us, that the son
of Priam, Helenus, held kingly sway
o'er many Argive cities, having wed
the Queen of Pyrrhus, great Achilles' son,
and gained his throne; and that Andromache
once more was wife unto a kindred lord.
Amazement held me; all my bosom burned
to see the hero's face and hear this tale
of strange vicissitude. So up I climbed,
leaving the haven, fleet, and friendly shore.
That self-same hour outside the city walls,
within a grove where flowed the mimic stream
of a new Simois, Andromache,
with offerings to the dead, and gifts of woe,
poured forth libation, and invoked the shade
of Hector, at a tomb which her fond grief
had consecrated to perpetual tears,
though void; a mound of fair green turf it stood,
and near it rose twin altars to his name.
She saw me drawing near; our Trojan helms
met her bewildered eyes, and, terror-struck
at the portentous sight, she swooning fell
and lay cold, rigid, lifeless, till at last,
scarce finding voice, her lips addressed me thus :
“Have I true vision? Bringest thou the word
Of truth, O goddess-born? Art still in flesh?
Or if sweet light be fled, my Hector, where?”
With flood of tears she spoke, and all the grove
reechoed to her cry. Scarce could I frame
brief answer to her passion, but replied
with broken voice and accents faltering:
“I live, 't is true. I lengthen out my days
through many a desperate strait. But O, believe
that what thine eyes behold is vision true.
Alas! what lot is thine, that wert unthroned
from such a husband's side? What after-fate
could give thee honor due? Andromache,
once Hector's wife, is Pyrrhus still thy lord?”

With drooping brows and lowly voice she cried :
“O, happy only was that virgin blest,
daughter of Priam, summoned forth to die
in sight of Ilium, on a foeman's tomb!
No casting of the lot her doom decreed,
nor came she to her conqueror's couch a slave.
Myself from burning Ilium carried far
o'er seas and seas, endured the swollen pride
of that young scion of Achilles' race,
and bore him as his slave a son. When he
sued for Hermione, of Leda's line,
and nuptial-bond with Lacedaemon's Iords,
I, the slave-wife, to Helenus was given,
and slave was wed with slave. But afterward
Orestes, crazed by loss of her he loved,
and ever fury-driven from crime to crime,
crept upon Pyrrhus in a careless hour
and murdered him upon his own hearth-stone.
Part of the realm of Neoptolemus
fell thus to Helenus, who called his lands
Chaonian, and in Trojan Chaon's name
his kingdom is Chaonia. Yonder height
is Pergamus, our Ilian citadel.
What power divine did waft thee to our shore,
not knowing whither? Tell me of the boy
Ascanius! Still breathes he earthly air?
In Troy she bore him—is he mourning still
that mother ravished from his childhood's eyes?
what ancient valor stirs the manly soul
of thine own son, of Hector's sister's child?”
Thus poured she forth full many a doleful word
with unavailing tears. But as she ceased,
out of the city gates appeared the son
of Priam, Helenus, with princely train.
He welcomed us as kin, and glad at heart
gave guidance to his house, though oft his words
fell faltering and few, with many a tear.
Soon to a humbler Troy I lift my eyes,
and of a mightier Pergamus discern
the towering semblance; there a scanty stream
runs on in Xanthus' name, and my glad arms
the pillars of a Scaean gate embrace.
My Teucrian mariners with welcome free
enjoyed the friendly town; his ample halls
our royal host threw wide; full wine-cups flowed
within the palace; golden feast was spread,
and many a goblet quaffed. Day followed day,
while favoring breezes beckoned us to sea,
and swelled the waiting canvas as they blew.
Then to the prophet-priest I made this prayer:
“Offspring of Troy, interpreter of Heaven!
Who knowest Phoebus' power, and readest well
the tripod, stars, and vocal laurel leaves
to Phoebus dear, who know'st of every bird
the ominous swift wing or boding song,
o, speak! For all my course good omens showed,
and every god admonished me to sail
in quest of Italy's far-distant shores;
but lone Celaeno, heralding strange woe,
foretold prodigious horror, vengeance dark,
and vile, unnatural hunger. How elude
such perils? Or by what hard duty done
may such huge host of evils vanquished be?”
Then Helenus, with sacrifice of kine
in order due, implored the grace of Heaven,
unloosed the fillets from his sacred brow,
and led me, Phoebus, to thy temple's door,
awed by th' o'er-brooding godhead, whose true priest,
with lips inspired, made this prophetic song:

“O goddess-born, indubitably shines
the blessing of great gods upon thy path
across the sea; the heavenly King supreme
thy destiny ordains; 't is he unfolds
the grand vicissitude, which now pursues
a course immutable. I will declare
of thy large fate a certain bounded part;
that fearless thou may'st view the friendly sea,
and in Ausonia's haven at the last
find thee a fixed abode. Than this no more
the Sister Fates to Helenus unveil,
and Juno, Saturn's daughter, grants no more.
First, that Italia (which nigh at hand
thou deemest, and wouldst fondly enter in
by yonder neighboring bays) lies distant far
o'er trackless course and long, with interval
of far-extended lands. Thine oars must ply
the waves of Sicily; thy fleet must cleave
the large expanse of that Ausonian brine;
the waters of Avernus thou shalt see,
and that enchanted island where abides
Aeaean Circe, ere on tranquil shore
thou mayest plant thy nation. Lo! a sign
I tell thee; hide this wonder in thy heart:
Beside a certain stream's sequestered wave,
thy troubled eyes, in shadowy flex grove
that fringes on the river, shall descry
a milk-white, monstrous sow, with teeming brood
of thirty young, new littered, white like her,
all clustering at her teats, as prone she lies.
There is thy city's safe, predestined ground,
and there thy labors' end. Vex not thy heart
about those ‘tables bitten’, for kind fate
thy path will show, and Phoebus bless thy prayer.
But from these lands and yon Italian shore,
where from this sea of ours the tide sweeps in,
escape and flee, for all its cities hold
pernicious Greeks, thy foes: the Locri there
have builded walls; the wide Sallentine fields
are filled with soldiers of Idomeneus;
there Meliboean Philoctetes' town,
petilia, towers above its little wall.
Yea, even when thy fleet has crossed the main,
and from new altars built along the shore
thy vows to Heaven are paid, throw o'er thy head
a purple mantle, veiling well thy brows,
lest, while the sacrificial fire ascends
in offering to the gods, thine eye behold
some face of foe, and every omen fail.
Let all thy people keep this custom due,
and thou thyself be faithful; let thy seed
forever thus th' immaculate rite maintain.
After departing hence, thou shalt be blown
toward Sicily, and strait Pelorus' bounds
will open wide. Then take the leftward way:
those leftward waters in long circuit sweep,
far from that billowy coast, the opposing side.
These regions, so they tell, in ages gone
by huge and violent convulsion riven
(Such mutability is wrought by time),
sprang wide asunder; where the doubled strand
sole and continuous lay, the sea's vast power
burst in between, and bade its waves divide
Hesperia's bosom from fair Sicily,
while with a straitened firth it interflowed
their fields and cities sundered shore from shore.
The right side Scylla keeps; the left is given
to pitiless Charybdis, who draws down
to the wild whirling of her steep abyss
the monster waves, and ever and anon
flings them at heaven, to lash the tranquil stars.
But Scylla, prisoned in her eyeless cave,
thrusts forth her face, and pulls upon the rocks
ship after ship; the parts that first be seen
are human; a fair-breasted virgin she,
down to the womb; but all that lurks below
is a huge-membered fish, where strangely join
the flukes of dolphins and the paunch of wolves.
Better by far to round the distant goal
of the Trinacrian headlands, veering wide
from thy true course, than ever thou shouldst see
that shapeless Scylla in her vaulted cave,
where grim rocks echo her dark sea-dogs' roar.
Yea, more, if aught of prescience be bestowed
on Helenus, if trusted prophet he,
and Phoebus to his heart true voice have given,
o goddess-born, one counsel chief of all
I tell thee oft, and urge it o'er and o'er.
To Juno's godhead lift thy Ioudest prayer;
to Juno chant a fervent votive song,
and with obedient offering persuade
that potent Queen. So shalt thou, triumphing,
to Italy be sped, and leave behind
Trinacria.When wafted to that shore,
repair to Cumae's hill, and to the Lake
Avernus with its whispering grove divine.
There shalt thou see a frenzied prophetess,
who from beneath the hollow scarped crag
sings oracles, or characters on leaves
mysterious names. Whate'er the virgin writes,
on leaves inscribing the portentous song,
she sets in order, and conceals them well
in her deep cave, where they abide unchanged
in due array. Yet not a care has she,
if with some swinging hinge a breeze sweeps in,
to catch them as they whirl: if open door
disperse them flutterlig through the hollow rock,
she will not link their shifted sense anew,
nor re-invent her fragmentary song.
Oft her unanswered votaries depart,
scorning the Sibyl's shrine. But deem not thou
thy tarrying too Iong, whate'er thy stay.
Though thy companions chide, though winds of power
invite thy ship to sea, and well would speed
the swelling sail, yet to that Sibyl go.
Pray that her own lips may sing forth for thee
the oracles, uplifting her dread voice
in willing prophecy. Her rede shall tell
of Italy, its wars and tribes to be,
and of what way each burden and each woe
may be escaped, or borne. Her favoring aid
will grant swift, happy voyages to thy prayer.
Such counsels Heaven to my lips allows.
arise, begone! and by thy glorious deeds
set Troy among the stars! “

So spake the prophet with benignant voice.
Then gifts he bade be brought of heavy gold
and graven ivory, which to our ships
he bade us bear; each bark was Ioaded full
with messy silver and Dodona's pride
of brazen cauldrons; a cuirass he gave
of linked gold enwrought and triple chain;
a noble helmet, too, with flaming crest
and lofty cone, th' accoutrement erewhile
of Neoptolemus. My father too
had fit gifts from the King; whose bounty then
gave steeds and riders; and new gear was sent
to every sea-worn ship, while he supplied
seafarers, kit to all my loyal crews.

Anchises bade us speedily set sail,
nor lose a wind so fair; and answering him,
Apollo's priest made reverent adieu:
“Anchises, honored by the love sublime
of Venus, self and twice in safety borne
from falling Troy, chief care of kindly Heaven,
th' Ausonian shore is thine. Sail thitherward!
For thou art pre-ordained to travel far
o'er yonder seas; far in the distance lies
that region of Ausonia, Phoebus' voice
to thee made promise of. Onward, I say,
o blest in the exceeding loyal love
of thy dear son! Why keep thee longer now?
Why should my words yon gathering winds detain?”
Likewise Andromache in mournful guise
took last farewell, bringing embroidered robes
of golden woof; a princely Phrygian cloak
she gave Ascanius, vying with the King
in gifts of honor; and threw o'er the boy
the labors of her loom, with words like these:
“Accept these gifts, sweet youth, memorials
of me and my poor handicraft, to prove
th' undying friendship of Andromache,
once Hector's wife. Take these last offerings
of those who are thy kin—O thou that art
of my Astyanax in all this world
the only image! His thy lovely eyes!
Thy hands, thy lips, are even what he bore,
and like thy own his youthful bloom would be.”
Thus I made answer, turning to depart
with rising tears: “Live on, and be ye blessed,
whose greatness is accomplished! As for me,
from change to change Fate summons, and I go;
but ye have won repose. No leagues of sea
await your cleaving keel. Not yours the quest
of fading Italy's delusive shore.
Here a new Xanthus and a second Troy
your labor fashioned and your eyes may see—
more blest, I trust, less tempting to our foes!
If e'er on Tiber and its bordering vales
I safely enter, and these eyes behold
our destined walls, then in fraternal bond
let our two nations live, whose mutual boast
is one Dardanian blood, one common story.
Epirus with Hesperia shall be
one Troy in heart and soul. But this remains
for our sons' sons the happy task and care.”

Forth o'er the seas we sped and kept our course
nigh the Ceraunian headland, where begins
the short sea-passage unto Italy.
Soon sank the sun, while down the shadowed hills
stole deeper gloom; then making shore, we flung
our bodies on a dry, sea-bordering sand,
couched on earth's welcome breast; the oars were ranged
in order due; the tides of slumber dark
o'erflowed our lives. But scarce the chariot
of Night, on wings of swift, obedient Hours,
had touched the middle sky, when wakeful sprang
good Palinurus from his pillowed stone:
with hand at ear he caught each airy gust
and questioned of the winds; the gliding stars
he called by name, as onward they advanced
through the still heaven; Arcturus he beheld,
the Hyades, rain-bringers, the twin Bears,
and vast Orion girt in golden arms.
He blew a trumpet from his ship; our camp
stirred to the signal for embarking; soon
we rode the seas once more with swelling sail.

Scarce had Aurora's purple from the sky
warned off the stars, when Iying very low
along th' horizon, the dimmed hills we saw
of Italy; Achates first gave cry
“Italia!” with answering shouts of joy,
my comrades' voices cried, “Italia, hail!”
Anchises, then, wreathed a great bowl with flowers
and filled with wine, invoking Heaven to bless,
and thus he prayed from our ship's lofty stern:
“O Iords of land and sea and every storm!
Breathe favoring breezes for our onward way!”
Fresh blew the prayed-for winds. A haven fair
soon widened near us; and its heights were crowned
by a Greek fane to Pallas. Yet my men
furled sail and shoreward veered the pointing prow.
the port receding from the orient wave
is curved into a bow; on either side
the jutting headlands toss the salt sea-foam
and hide the bay itself. Like double wall
the towered crags send down protecting arms,
while distant from the shore the temple stands.
Here on a green sward, the first omen given,
I saw four horses grazing through the field,
each white as snow. Father Anchises cried:
“Is war thy gift, O new and alien land?
Horses make war; of war these creatures bode.
Yet oft before the chariot of peace
their swift hoofs go, and on their necks they bear
th' obedient yoke and rein. Therefore a hope
of peace is also ours.” Then we implored
Minerva's mercy, at her sacred shrine,
the mail-clad goddess who gave welcome there;
and at an altar, mantling well our brows
the Phrygian way, as Helenus ordained,
we paid the honors his chief counsel urged,
with blameless rite, to Juno, Argive Queen.

No tarrying now, but after sacrifice
we twirled the sailyards and shook out all sail,
leaving the cities of the sons of Greece
and that distrusted land. Tarentum's bay
soon smiled before us, town of Hercules,
if fame be true; opposing it uptowers
Lacinia's headland unto Juno dear,
the heights of Caulon, and that sailors' bane,
ship-shattering Scylaceum. Thence half seen,
trinacrian Aetna cleaves th' horizon line;
we hear from far the crash of shouting seas,
where lifted billows leap the tide-swept sand.
Father Anchises cried: “'T is none but she—
Charybdis! Helenus this reef foretold,
and rocks of dreadful name. O, fly, my men!
Rise like one man with long, strong sweep of oars!”
Not unobedient they! First Palinure
veered to the leftward wave the willing keel,
and sails and oars together leftward strove.
We shot to skyward on the arching surge,
then, as she sank, dropped deeper than the grave;
thrice bellowed the vast cliffs from vaulted wall;
thrice saw we spouted foam and showers of stars.
After these things both wind and sun did fail;
and weary, worn, not witting of our way,
we drifted shoreward to the Cyclops' land.