Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- 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.”
- So saying, she stirred a passion-burning breast
- to Iove more madly still; her words infused
- a doubting mind with hope, and bade the blush
- of shame begone. First to the shrines they went
- and sued for grace; performing sacrifice,
- choosing an offering of unblemished ewes,
- to law-bestowing Ceres, to the god
- of light, to sire Lyeus, Iord of wine;
- but chiefly unto Juno, patroness
- of nuptial vows. There Dido, beauteous Queen
- held forth in her right hand the sacred bowl
- and poured it full between the lifted horns
- of the white heifer; or on temple floors
- she strode among the richly laden shrines,
- the eyes of gods upon her, worshipping
- with many a votive gift; or, peering deep
- into the victims' cloven sides, she read
- the fate-revealing tokens trembling there.
- How blind the hearts of prophets be! Alas!
- Of what avail be temples and fond prayers
- to change a frenzied mind? Devouring ever,
- love's fire burns inward to her bones; she feels
- quick in her breast the viewless, voiceless wound.
- Ill-fated Dido ranges up and down
- the spaces of her city, desperate
- her life one flame—like arrow-stricken doe
- through Cretan forest rashly wandering,
- pierced by a far-off shepherd, who pursues
- with shafts, and leaves behind his light-winged steed,
- not knowing; while she scours the dark ravines
- of Dicte and its woodlands; at her heart
- the mortal barb irrevocably clings.
- around her city's battlements she guides
- aeneas, to make show of Sidon's gold,
- and what her realm can boast; full oft her voice
- essays to speak and frembling dies away:
- or, when the daylight fades, she spreads anew
- a royal banquet, and once more will plead
- mad that she is, to hear the Trojan sorrow;
- and with oblivious ravishment once more
- hangs on his lips who tells; or when her guests
- are scattered, and the wan moon's fading horn
- bedims its ray, while many a sinking star
- invites to slumber, there she weeps alone
- in the deserted hall, and casts her down
- on the cold couch he pressed. Her love from far
- beholds her vanished hero and receives
- his voice upon her ears; or to her breast,
- moved by a father's image in his child,
- she clasps Ascanius, seeking to deceive
- her unblest passion so. Her enterprise
- of tower and rampart stops: her martial host
- no Ionger she reviews, nor fashions now
- defensive haven and defiant wall;
- but idly all her half-built bastions frown,
- and enginery of sieges, high as heaven.
- But soon the chosen spouse of Jove perceived
- the Queen's infection; and because the voice
- of honor to such frenzy spoke not, she,
- daughter of Saturn, unto Venus turned
- and counselled thus: “How noble is the praise,
- how glorious the spoils of victory,
- for thee and for thy boy! Your names should be
- in lasting, vast renown—that by the snare
- of two great gods in league one woman fell!
- it 'scapes me not that my protected realms
- have ever been thy fear, and the proud halls
- of Carthage thy vexation and annoy.
- Why further go? Prithee, what useful end
- has our long war? Why not from this day forth
- perpetual peace and nuptial amity?
- Hast thou not worked thy will? Behold and see
- how Iove-sick Dido burns, and all her flesh
- 'The madness feels! So let our common grace
- smile on a mingled people! Let her serve
- a Phrygian husband, while thy hands receive
- her Tyrian subjects for the bridal dower!”
- In answer (reading the dissembler's mind
- which unto Libyan shores were fain to shift
- italia's future throne) thus Venus spoke:
- “'T were mad to spurn such favor, or by choice
- be numbered with thy foes. But can it be
- that fortune on thy noble counsel smiles?
- To me Fate shows but dimly whether Jove
- unto the Trojan wanderers ordains
- a common city with the sons of Tyre,
- with mingling blood and sworn, perpetual peace.
- His wife thou art; it is thy rightful due
- to plead to know his mind. Go, ask him, then!
- For humbly I obey!” With instant word
- Juno the Queen replied: “Leave that to me!
- But in what wise our urgent task and grave
- may soon be sped, I will in brief unfold
- to thine attending ear. A royal hunt
- in sylvan shades unhappy Dido gives
- for her Aeneas, when to-morrow's dawn
- uplifts its earliest ray and Titan's beam
- shall first unveil the world. But I will pour
- black storm-clouds with a burst of heavy hail
- along their way; and as the huntsmen speed
- to hem the wood with snares, I will arouse
- all heaven with thunder. The attending train
- shall scatter and be veiled in blinding dark,
- while Dido and her hero out of Troy
- to the same cavern fly. My auspices
- I will declare—if thou alike wilt bless;
- and yield her in true wedlock for his bride.
- Such shall their spousal be!” To Juno's will
- Cythera's Queen inclined assenting brow,
- and laughed such guile to see. Aurora rose,
- and left the ocean's rim. The city's gates
- pour forth to greet the morn a gallant train
- of huntsmen, bearing many a woven snare
- and steel-tipped javelin; while to and fro
- run the keen-scented dogs and Libyan squires.
- The Queen still keeps her chamber; at her doors
- the Punic lords await; her palfrey, brave
- in gold and purple housing, paws the ground
- and fiercely champs the foam-flecked bridle-rein.
- At last, with numerous escort, forth she shines:
- her Tyrian pall is bordered in bright hues,
- her quiver, gold; her tresses are confined
- only with gold; her robes of purple rare
- meet in a golden clasp. To greet her come
- the noble Phrygian guests; among them smiles
- the boy Iulus; and in fair array
- Aeneas, goodliest of all his train.
- In such a guise Apollo (when he leaves
- cold Lycian hills and Xanthus' frosty stream
- to visit Delos to Latona dear)
- ordains the song, while round his altars cry
- the choirs of many islands, with the pied,
- fantastic Agathyrsi; soon the god
- moves o'er the Cynthian steep; his flowing hair
- he binds with laurel garland and bright gold;
- upon his shining shoulder as he goes
- the arrows ring:—not less uplifted mien
- aeneas wore; from his illustrious brow
- such beauty shone. Soon to the mountains tall
- the cavalcade comes nigh, to pathless haunts
- of woodland creatures; the wild goats are seen,
- from pointed crag descending leap by leap
- down the steep ridges; in the vales below
- are routed deer, that scour the spreading plain,
- and mass their dust-blown squadrons in wild flight,
- far from the mountain's bound. Ascanius
- flushed with the sport, spurs on a mettled steed
- from vale to vale, and many a flying herd
- his chase outspeeds; but in his heart he prays
- among these tame things suddenly to see
- a tusky boar, or, leaping from the hills,
- a growling mountain-lion, golden-maned.