Aeneid

Virgil

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

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.

A spreading bay is there, impregnable
to all invading storms; and Aetna's throat
with roar of frightful ruin thunders nigh.
Now to the realm of light it lifts a cloud
of pitch-black, whirling smoke, and fiery dust,
shooting out globes of flame, with monster tongues
that lick the stars; now huge crags of itself,
out of the bowels of the mountain torn,
its maw disgorges, while the molten rock
rolls screaming skyward; from the nether deep
the fathomless abyss makes ebb and flow.
Enceladus, his body lightning-scarred,
lies prisoned under all, so runs the tale:
o'er him gigantic Aetna breathes in fire
from crack and seam; and if he haply turn
to change his wearied side, Trinacria's isle
trembles and moans, and thick fumes mantle heaven.
That night in screen and covert of a grove
we bore the dire convulsion, unaware
whence the loud horror came. For not a star
its lamp allowed, nor burned in upper sky
the constellated fires, but all was gloom,
and frowning night confined the moon in cloud.

When from the eastern waves the light of morn
began to peer, and from the upper sky
Aurora flamed away the dark and dew,
out of the forest sprang a startling shape
of hunger-wasted misery; a man
in wretched guise, who shoreward came with hands
outstretched in supplication. We turned back
and scanned him well. All grime and foulness he,
with long and tangled beard, his savage garb
fastened with thorns; but in all else he seemed
a Greek, and in his country's league of arms
sent to the seige of Troy. Then he beheld
the Dardan habit, and our Trojan steel,
he somewhat paused, as if in dread dismay
such sight to see, and falteringly moved;
but soon with headlong steps he sought the shore,
ejaculating broken sobs and prayers:
“By stars above! By gods on high! O, hear!
By this bright heavenly air we mortals breathe,
save me, sweet Trojans! Carry me away
unto what land ye will! I ask no more.
I came, I know it, in the ships of Greece;
and I did war, 't is true, with Ilium's gods.
O, if the crime deserve it, fling my corse
on yonder waves, and in the boundless brine
sink me forever! Give me in my death
the comfort that by human hands I die.”
He clasped our knees, and writhing on his own
clung fast. We bid him tell his race and name,
and by what fate pursued. Anchises gave
his own right hand in swift and generous aid,
and by prompt token cheered the exile's heart,
who, banishing his fears, poured forth this tale :—

“My home was Ithaca, and I partook
the fortunes of Ulysses evil-starred.
My name is Achemenides, my sire
was Adamastus, and I sailed for Troy,
being so poor,—O, that I ne'er had change
the lot I bore! In yon vast Cyclops' cave
my comrades, flying from its gruesome door,
left me behind, forgotten. 'T is a house
of gory feasts of flesh, 't is deep and dark,
and vaulted high. He looms as high as heaven;
I pray the blessed gods to rid the earth
of the vile monster! None can look on him,
none speak with him. He feeds on clotted gore
of disembowelled men. These very eyes
saw him seize two of our own company,
and, as he lolled back in the cave, he clutched
and dashed them on the stones, fouling the floor
with torrent of their blood; myself I saw him
crunch with his teeth the dripping, bloody limbs
still hot and pulsing on his hungry jaw.
But not without reward! For such a sight
Ulysses would not brook, and Ithaca
forgot not in such strait the name he bore.
For soon as, gorged with feasting and o'ercome
with drunken slumber, the foul giant lay
sprawled through the cave, his head dropped helpless down,
disgorging as he slept thick drool of gore
and gobbets drenched with bloody wine; then we,
calling on Heaven and taking place by lot,
drew round him like one man, and with a beam
sharpened at end bored out that monster eye,
which, huge and sole, lay under the grim brow,
round as an Argive shield or Phoebus' star.
Thus took we joyful vengeance for the shades
of our lost mates. But, O ill-fated men!
Fly, I implore, and cut the cables free
along the beach! For in the land abide,
like Polyphemus, who in hollow cave
kept fleecy sheep, and milked his fruitful ewes,
a hundred other, huge as he, who rove
wide o'er this winding shore and mountains fair:
Cyclops accursed, bestial! Thrice the moon
has filled her horns with light, while here I dwell
in lonely woods and lairs of creatures wild;
or from tall cliffs out-peering I discern
the Cyclops, and shrink shuddering from the sound
of their vast step and cry. My sorry fare
is berries and hard corners dropped from trees,
or herb-roots torn out from the niggard ground.
Though watching the whole sea, only today
Have I had sight of ships. To you I fled.
Whate'er ye be, it was my only prayer
to 'scape that monster brood. I ask no more.
O, set me free by any death ye will!”

He scarce had said, when moving o'er the crest
of a high hill a giant shape we saw:
that shepherd Polyphemus, with his flocks
down-wending to the well-known water-side;
huge, shapeless, horrible, with blinded eye,
bearing a lopped pine for a staff, he made
his footing sure, while the white, fleecy sheep,
sole pleasure now, and solace of his woes,
ran huddling at his side.
Soon to the vast flood of the level brine
he came, and washed the flowing gore away
from that out-hollowed eye; he gnashed his teeth,
groaning, and deep into the watery way
stalked on, his tall bulk wet by scarce a wave.
We fled in haste, though far, and with us bore
the truthful suppliant; cut silently
the anchor-ropes, and, bending to the oar,
swept on with eager strokes clean out to sea.
Aware he was, and toward our loud halloo
whirled sudden round; but when no power had he
to seize or harm, nor could his fierce pursuit
o'ertake the Ionian surges as they rolled,
he raised a cry incredible; the sea
with all its billows trembled; the wide shore
of Italy from glens and gorges moaned,
and Aetna roared from every vaulted cave.

Then rallied from the grove-clad, Iofty isle
the Cyclops' clan, and lined the beach and bay.
We saw each lonely eyeball glare in vain,
as side by side those brothers Aetna-born
stood towering high, a conclave dark and dire:
as when, far up some mountain's famous crest,
wind-fronting oaks or cone-clad cypresses
have made assembling in the solemn hills,
Jove's giant wood or Dian's sacred grove.
We, terror-struck, would fly we knew not where,
with loosened sheet and canvas swelling strong
before a welcome wind; but Helenus
bade us both Scylla and Charybdis fear,
where 'twixt the twain death straitly hems the way;
and so the counsel was to veer our bark
the course it came. But lo! a northern gale
burst o'er us from Pelorus' narrowed side,
and on we rode far past Pantagia's bay
of unhewn rock, and past the haven strong
of Megara, and Thapsus Iying low.
Such were the names retold, and such the shores
shown us by Achemenides, whose fate
made him familiar there, for he had sailed
with evil-starred Ulysses o'er that sea.

Off the Sicilian shore an island lies,
wave-washed Plemmyrium, called in olden days
Ortygia; here Alpheus, river-god,
from Elis flowed by secret sluice, they say,
beneath the sea, and mingles at thy mouth,
fair Arethusa! with Sicilian waves.
Our voices hailed the great gods of the land
with reverent prayer; then skirted we the shore,
where smooth Helorus floods the fruitful plain.
Under Pachynus' beetling precipice
we kept our course; then Camarina rose
in distant view, firm-seated evermore
by Fate's decree; and that far-spreading vale
of Gela, with the name of power it takes
from its wide river; and, uptowering far,
the ramparts of proud Acragas appeared,
where fiery steeds were bred in days of old.
Borne by the winds, along thy coast I fled,
Selinus, green with palm! and past the shore
of Lilybaeum with its treacherous reef;
till at the last the port of Drepanum
received me to its melancholy strand.
Here, woe is me I outworn by stormful seas,
my sire, sole comfort of my grievous doom,
Anchises ceased to be. O best of sires!
Here didst thou leave me in the weary way;
through all our perils—O the bitter loss! —
borne safely, but in vain. King Helenus,
whose prophet-tongue of dark events foretold,
spoke not this woe; nor did Celeno's curse
of this forebode. Such my last loss and pain;
such, of my weary way, the destined goal.
From thence departing, the divine behest
impelled me to thy shores, O listening queen!

Such was, while all gave ear, the tale sublime
father Aeneas, none but he, set forth
of wanderings and of dark decrees divine:
silent at last, he ceased, and took repose.

Now felt the Queen the sharp, slow-gathering pangs
of love; and out of every pulsing vein
nourished the wound and fed its viewless fire.
Her hero's virtues and his lordly line
keep calling to her soul; his words, his glance,
cling to her heart like lingering, barbed steel,
and rest and peace from her vexed body fly.
A new day's dawn with Phoebus' lamp divine
lit up all lands, and from the vaulted heaven
Aurora had dispelled the dark and dew;
when thus unto the ever-answering heart
of her dear sister spoke the stricken Queen:
“Anna, my sister, what disturbing dreams
perplex me and alarm? What guest is this
new-welcomed to our house? How proud his mien!
What dauntless courage and exploits of war!
Sooth, I receive it for no idle tale
that of the gods he sprang. 'T is cowardice
betrays the base-born soul. Ah me! How fate
has smitten him with storms! What dire extremes
of war and horror in his tale he told!
O, were it not immutably resolved
in my fixed heart, that to no shape of man
I would be wed again (since my first love
left me by death abandoned and betrayed);
loathed I not so the marriage torch and train,
I could—who knows?—to this one weakness yield.
Anna, I hide it not! But since the doom
of my ill-starred Sichaeus, when our shrines
were by a brother's murder dabbled o'er,
this man alone has moved me; he alone
has shaken my weak will. I seem to feel
the motions of love's lost, familiar fire.
But may the earth gape open where I tread,
and may almighty Jove with thunder-scourge
hurl me to Erebus' abysmal shade,
to pallid ghosts and midnight fathomless,
before, O Chastity! I shall offend
thy holy power, or cast thy bonds away!
He who first mingled his dear life with mine
took with him all my heart. 'T is his alone —
o, let it rest beside him in the grave!”
She spoke: the bursting tears her breast o'erflowed.

“O dearer to thy sister than her life,”
Anna replied, “wouldst thou in sorrow's weed
waste thy long youth alone, nor ever know
sweet babes at thine own breast, nor gifts of love?
Will dust and ashes, or a buried ghost
reck what we do? 'T is true thy grieving heart
was cold to earlier wooers, Libya's now,
and long ago in Tyre. Iarbas knew
thy scorn, and many a prince and captain bred
in Afric's land of glory. Why resist
a love that makes thee glad? Hast thou no care
what alien lands are these where thou dost reign?
Here are Gaetulia's cities and her tribes
unconquered ever; on thy borders rove
Numidia's uncurbed cavalry; here too
lies Syrtis' cruel shore, and regions wide
of thirsty desert, menaced everywhere
by the wild hordes of Barca. Shall I tell
of Tyre's hostilities, the threats and rage
of our own brother? Friendly gods, I bow,
wafted the Teucrian ships, with Juno's aid,
to these our shores. O sister, what a throne,
and what imperial city shall be thine,
if thus espoused! With Trojan arms allied
how far may not our Punic fame extend
in deeds of power? Call therefore on the gods
to favor thee; and, after omens fair,
give queenly welcome, and contrive excuse
to make him tarry, while yon wintry seas
are loud beneath Orion's stormful star,
and on his battered ships the season frowns.”