Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- Him the god Ammon got by forced embrace
- upon a Libyan nymph; his kingdoms wide
- possessed a hundred ample shrines to Jove,
- a hundred altars whence ascended ever
- the fires of sacrifice, perpetual seats
- for a great god's abode, where flowing blood
- enriched the ground, and on the portals hung
- garlands of every flower. The angered King,
- half-maddened by malignant Rumor's voice,
- unto his favored altars came, and there,
- surrounded by the effluence divine,
- upraised in prayer to Jove his suppliant hands.
- “Almighty Jupiter, to whom each day,
- at banquet on the painted couch reclined,
- Numidia pours libation! Do thine eyes
- behold us? Or when out of yonder heaven,
- o sire, thou launchest the swift thunderbolt,
- is it for naught we fear thee? Do the clouds
- shoot forth blind fire to terrify the soul
- with wild, unmeaning roar? O, Iook upon
- that woman, who was homeless in our realm,
- and bargained where to build her paltry town,
- receiving fertile coastland for her farms,
- by hospitable grant! She dares disdain
- our proffered nuptial vow. She has proclaimed
- Aeneas partner of her bed and throne.
- And now that Paris, with his eunuch crew,
- beneath his chin and fragrant, oozy hair
- ties the soft Lydian bonnet, boasting well
- his stolen prize. But we to all these fanes,
- though they be thine, a fruitless offering bring,
- and feed on empty tales our trust in thee.”
- As thus he prayed and to the altars clung,
- th' Omnipotent gave ear, and turned his gaze
- upon the royal dwelling, where for love
- the amorous pair forgot their place and name.
- Then thus to Mercury he gave command:
- “Haste thee, my son, upon the Zephyrs call,
- and take thy winged way! My mandate bear
- unto that prince of Troy who tarries now
- in Tyrian Carthage, heedless utterly
- of empire Heaven-bestowed. On winged winds
- hasten with my decrees. Not such the man
- his beauteous mother promised; not for this
- twice did she shield him from the Greeks in arms:
- but that he might rule Italy, a land
- pregnant with thrones and echoing with war;
- that he of Teucer's seed a race should sire,
- and bring beneath its law the whole wide world.
- If such a glory and event supreme
- enkindle not his bosom; if such task
- to his own honor speak not; can the sire
- begrudge Ascanius the heritage
- of the proud name of Rome? What plans he now?
- What mad hope bids him linger in the lap
- of enemies, considering no more
- the land Lavinian and Ausonia's sons.
- Let him to sea! Be this our final word:
- this message let our herald faithful bear.”
- He spoke. The god a prompt obedience gave
- to his great sire's command. He fastened first
- those sandals of bright gold, which carry him
- aloft o'er land or sea, with airy wings
- that race the fleeting wind; then lifted he
- his wand, wherewith he summons from the grave
- pale-featured ghosts, or, if he will, consigns
- to doleful Tartarus; or by its power
- gives slumber or dispels; or quite unseals
- the eyelids of the dead: on this relying,
- he routs the winds or cleaves th' obscurity
- of stormful clouds. Soon from his flight he spied
- the summit and the sides precipitous
- of stubborn Atlas, whose star-pointing peak
- props heaven; of Atlas, whose pine-wreathed brow
- is girdled evermore with misty gloom
- and lashed of wind and rain; a cloak of snow
- melts on his shoulder; from his aged chin
- drop rivers, and ensheathed in stiffening ice
- glitters his great grim beard. Here first was stayed
- the speed of Mercury's well-poising wing;
- here making pause, from hence he headlong flung
- his body to the sea; in motion like
- some sea-bird's, which along the levelled shore
- or round tall crags where rove the swarming fish,
- flies Iow along the waves: o'er-hovering so
- between the earth and skies, Cyllene's god
- flew downward from his mother's mountain-sire,
- parted the winds and skimmed the sandy merge
- of Libya. When first his winged feet
- came nigh the clay-built Punic huts, he saw
- Aeneas building at a citadel,
- and founding walls and towers; at his side
- was girt a blade with yellow jaspers starred,
- his mantle with the stain of Tyrian shell
- flowed purple from his shoulder, broidered fair
- by opulent Dido with fine threads of gold,
- her gift of love; straightway the god began:
- “Dost thou for lofty Carthage toil, to build
- foundations strong? Dost thou, a wife's weak thrall,
- build her proud city? Hast thou, shameful loss!
- Forgot thy kingdom and thy task sublime?
- From bright Olympus, I. He who commands
- all gods, and by his sovran deity
- moves earth and heaven—he it was who bade
- me bear on winged winds his high decree.
- What plan is thine? By what mad hope dost thou
- linger so Iong in lap of Libyan land?
- If the proud reward of thy destined way
- move not thy heart, if all the arduous toil
- to thine own honor speak not, Iook upon
- Iulus in his bloom, thy hope and heir
- Ascanius. It is his rightful due
- in Italy o'er Roman lands to reign.”
- After such word Cyllene's winged god
- vanished, and e'er his accents died away,
- dissolved in air before the mortal's eyes.
- Aeneas at the sight stood terror-dumb
- with choking voice and horror-rising hair.
- He fain would fly at once and get him gone
- from that voluptuous land, much wondering
- at Heaven's wrathful word. Alas! how stir?
- What cunning argument can plead his cause
- before th' infuriate Queen? How break such news?
- Flashing this way and that, his startled mind
- makes many a project and surveys them all.
- But, pondering well, his final counsel stopped
- at this resolve: he summoned to his side
- Mnestheus, Sergestus, and Serestus bold,
- and bade them fit the fleet, all silently
- gathering the sailors and collecting gear,
- but carefully dissembling what emprise
- such novel stir intends: himself the while
- (Since high-born Dido dreamed not love so fond
- could have an end) would seek an audience,
- at some indulgent time, and try what shift
- such matters may require. With joy they heard,
- and wrought, assiduous, at their prince's plan.
- But what can cheat true love? The Queen foreknew
- his stratagem, and all the coming change
- perceived ere it began. Her jealous fear
- counted no hour secure. That unclean tongue
- of Rumor told her fevered heart the fleet
- was fitting forth, and hastening to be gone.
- Distractedly she raved, and passion-tossed
- roamed through her city, like a Maenad roused
- by the wild rout of Bacchus, when are heard
- the third year's orgies, and the midnight scream
- to cold Cithaeron calls the frenzied crew.
- Finding Aeneas, thus her plaint she poured:
- “Didst hope to hide it, false one, that such crime
- was in thy heart,—to steal without farewell
- out of my kingdom? Did our mutual joy
- not move thee; nor thine own true promise given
- once on a time? Nor Dido, who will die
- a death of sorrow? Why compel thy ships
- to brave the winter stars? Why off to sea
- so fast through stormy skies? O, cruelty!
- If Troy still stood, and if thou wert not bound
- for alien shore unknown, wouldst steer for Troy
- through yonder waste of waves? Is it from me
- thou takest flight? O, by these flowing tears,
- by thine own plighted word (for nothing more
- my weakness left to miserable me),
- by our poor marriage of imperfect vow,
- if aught to me thou owest, if aught in me
- ever have pleased thee—O, be merciful
- to my low-fallen fortunes! I implore,
- if place be left for prayer, thy purpose change!
- Because of thee yon Libyan savages
- and nomad chiefs are grown implacable,
- and my own Tyrians hate me. Yes, for thee
- my chastity was slain and honor fair,
- by which alone to glory I aspired,
- in former days. To whom dost thou in death
- abandon me? my guest!—since but this name
- is left me of a husband! Shall I wait
- till fell Pygmalion, my brother, raze
- my city walls? Or the Gaetulian king,
- Iarbas, chain me captive to his car? .
- O, if, ere thou hadst fled, I might but bear
- some pledge of love to thee, and in these halls
- watch some sweet babe Aeneas at his play,
- whose face should be the memory of thine own —
- I were not so forsaken, Iost, undone!”
- She said. But he, obeying Jove's decree,
- gazed steadfastly away; and in his heart
- with strong repression crushed his cruel pain;
- then thus the silence broke: “O Queen, not one
- of my unnumbered debts so strongly urged
- would I gainsay. Elissa's memory
- will be my treasure Iong as memory holds,
- or breath of life is mine. Hear my brief plea!
- 'T was not my hope to hide this flight I take,
- as thou hast dreamed. Nay, I did never light
- a bridegroom's torch, nor gave I thee the vow
- of marriage. Had my destiny decreed,
- that I should shape life to my heart's desire,
- and at my own will put away the weight
- of foil and pain, my place would now be found
- in Troy, among the cherished sepulchres
- of my own kin, and Priam's mansion proud
- were standing still; or these my loyal hands
- had rebuilt Ilium for her vanquished sons.
- But now to Italy Apollo's power
- commands me forth; his Lycian oracles
- are loud for Italy. My heart is there,
- and there my fatherland. If now the towers
- of Carthage and thy Libyan colony
- delight thy Tyrian eyes; wilt thou refuse
- to Trojan exiles their Ausonian shore?
- I too by Fate was driven, not less than thou,
- to wander far a foreign throne to find.
- Oft when in dewy dark night hides the world,
- and flaming stars arise, Anchises' shade
- looks on me in my dreams with angered brow.
- I think of my Ascanius, and the wrong
- to that dear heart, from whom I steal away
- Hesperia, his destined home and throne.
- But now the winged messenger of Heaven,
- sent down by Jove (I swear by thee and me!),
- has brought on winged winds his sire's command.
- My own eyes with unclouded vision saw
- the god within these walls; I have received
- with my own ears his word. No more inflame
- with lamentation fond thy heart and mine.
- 'T is not my own free act seeks Italy.”
- She with averted eyes and glance that rolled
- speechless this way and that, had listened long
- to his reply, till thus her rage broke forth:
- “No goddess gave thee birth. No Dardanus
- begot thy sires. But on its breast of stone
- Caucasus bore thee, and the tigresses
- of fell Hyrcania to thy baby lip
- their udders gave. Why should I longer show
- a lying smile? What worse can I endure?
- Did my tears draw one sigh? Did he once drop
- his stony stare? or did he yield a tear
- to my lament, or pity this fond heart?
- Why set my wrongs in order? Juno, now,
- and Jove, the son of Saturn, heed no more
- where justice lies. No trusting heart is safe
- in all this world. That waif and castaway
- I found in beggary and gave him share—
- fool that I was!—in my own royal glory.
- His Iost fleet and his sorry crews I steered
- from death away. O, how my fevered soul
- unceasing raves! Forsooth Apollo speaks!
- His Lycian oracles! and sent by Jove
- the messenger of Heaven on fleeting air
- the ruthless bidding brings! Proud business
- for gods, I trow, that such a task disturbs
- their still abodes! I hold thee back no more,
- nor to thy cunning speeches give the lie.
- Begone! Sail on to Italy, thy throne,
- through wind and wave! I pray that, if there be
- any just gods of power, thou mayest drink down
- death on the mid-sea rocks, and often call
- with dying gasps on Dido's name—while I
- pursue with vengeful fire. When cold death rends
- the body from the breath, my ghost shall sit
- forever in thy path. Full penalties
- thy stubborn heart shall pay. They'll bring me never
- in yon deep gulf of death of all thy woe.”
- Abrupt her utterance ceased; and sick at heart
- she fled the light of day, as if to shrink
- from human eyes, and left Aeneas there
- irresolute with horror, while his soul
- framed many a vain reply. Her swooning shape
- her maidens to a marble chamber bore
- and on her couch the helpless limbs reposed.