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