Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- They heard, and took their places. The loud horn
- gave signal, and impetuous from the line,
- swift as a bursting storm they sped away,
- eyes fixed upon the goal. Far in advance
- Nisus shot forward, swifter than the winds
- or winged thunderbolt; the next in course,
- next, but out-rivalled far, was Salius,
- and after him a space, Euryalus
- came third; him Helymus was hard upon;
- and, look! Diores follows, heel on heel,
- close at his shoulder—if the race be long
- he sure must win, or claim a doubtful prize.
- Now at the last stretch, spent and panting, all
- pressed to the goal, when in a slime of blood
- Nisus, hard fate! slipped down, where late the death
- of victims slain had drenched the turf below.
- Here the young victor, with his triumph flushed,
- lost foothold on the yielding ground, and plunged
- face forward in the pool of filth and gore;
- but not of dear Euryalus was he
- forgetful then, nor heedless of his friend;
- but rising from the mire he hurled himself
- in Salius' way; so he in equal plight
- rolled in the filthy slough. Euryalus
- leaped forth, the winner of the race by gift
- of his true friend, and flying to the goal
- stood first, by many a favoring shout acclaimed.
- Next Helymus ran in; and, for the third, last prize,
- Diores. But the multitude now heard
- the hollowed hill-side ringing with wild wrath
- from Salius, clamoring where the chieftains sate
- for restitution of his stolen prize,
- lost by a cheat. But general favor smiles
- upon Euryalus, whose beauteous tears
- commend him much, and nobler seems the worth
- of valor clothed in youthful shape so fair.
- Diores, too, assists the victor's claim,
- with loud appeal—he too has won a prize,
- and vainly holds his last place, if the first
- to Salius fall. Aeneas then replied:
- “Your gifts, my gallant youths, remain secure.
- None can re-judge the prize. But to console
- the misadventure of a blameless friend,
- is in my power.” Therewith to Salius
- an Afric lion's monstrous pelt he gave,
- with ponderous mane, the claws o'erlaid with gold.
- But Nisus cried: “If such a gift be found
- for less than victory, and men who fall
- are worthy so much sorrow, pray, what prize
- shall Nisus have? For surely I had won
- the proudest of the garlands, if one stroke
- of inauspicious fortune had not fallen
- on Salius and me.” So saying, he showed
- his smeared face and his sorry limbs befouled
- with mire and slime. Then laughed the gracious sire,
- and bade a shield be brought, the cunning work
- of Didymaon, which the Greeks tore down
- from Neptune's temple; with this noble gift
- he sent the high-born youth upon his way.
- The foot-race over and the gifts disbursed,
- “Come forth!” he cries, “if any in his heart
- have strength and valor, let him now pull on
- the gauntlets and uplift his thong-bound arms
- in challenge.” For the reward of this fight
- a two-fold gift he showed: the victor's meed,
- a bullock decked and gilded; but a sword
- and glittering helmet to console the fallen.
- Straightway, in all his pride of giant strength,
- Dares Ioomed up, and wondering murmurs ran
- along the gazing crowd; for he alone
- was wont to match with Paris, he it was
- met Butes, the huge-bodied champion
- boasting the name and race of Amycus,
- Bythinian-born; him felled he at a blow,
- and stretched him dying on the tawny sand.
- Such Dares was, who now held high his head,
- fierce for the fray, bared both his shoulders broad,
- lunged out with left and right, and beat the air.
- Who shall his rival be? Of all the throng
- not one puts on the gauntlets, or would face
- the hero's challenge. Therefore, striding forth,
- believing none now dare but yield the palm,
- he stood before Aeneas, and straightway
- seized with his left hand the bull's golden horn,
- and cried, “O goddess-born, if no man dares
- to risk him in this fight, how Iong delay?
- how Iong beseems it I should stand and wait?
- Bid me bear off my prize.” The Trojans all
- murmured assent, and bade the due award
- of promised gift. But with a brow severe
- Acestes to Entellus at his side
- addressed upbraiding words, where they reclined
- on grassy bank and couch of pleasant green:
- “O my Entellus, in the olden days
- bravest among the mighty, but in vain!
- Endurest thou to see yon reward won
- without a blow? Where, prithee, is that god
- who taught thee? Are thy tales of Eryx vain?
- Does all Sicilia praise thee? Is thy roof
- with trophies hung?” The other in reply:
- “My jealous honor and good name yield not
- to fear. But age, so cold and slow to move,
- makes my blood laggard, and my ebbing powers
- in all my body are but slack and chill.
- O, if I had what yonder ruffian boasts—
- my own proud youth once more! I would not ask
- the fair bull for a prize, nor to the lists
- in search of gifts come forth.” So saying, he threw
- into the mid-arena a vast pair
- of ponderous gauntlets, which in former days
- fierce Eryx for his fights was wont to bind
- on hand and arm, with the stiff raw-hide thong.
- All marvelled; for a weight of seven bulls' hides
- was pieced with lead and iron. Dares stared
- astonished, and step after step recoiled;
- high-souled Anchises' son, this way and that,
- turned o'er the enormous coil of knots and thongs;
- then with a deep-drawn breath the veteran spoke:
- “O, that thy wondering eyes had seen the arms
- of Hercules, and what his gauntlets were!
- Would thou hadst seen the conflict terrible
- upon this self-same shore! These arms were borne
- by Eryx. Look; thy brother's!—spattered yet
- with blood, with dashed-out brains! In these he stood
- when he matched Hercules. I wore them oft
- when in my pride and prime, ere envious age
- shed frost upon my brows. But if these arms
- be of our Trojan Dares disapproved,
- if good Aeneas rules it so, and King
- Acestes wills it, let us offer fight
- on even terms. Let Eryx' bull's-hide go.
- Tremble no more! But strip those gauntlets off —
- fetched here from Troy.” So saying, he dropped down
- the double-folded mantle from his shoulders,
- stripped bare the huge joints, the huge arms and thews,
- and towered gigantic in the midmost ring.
- Anchises' son then gave two equal pairs
- of gauntlets, and accoutred with like arms
- both champions. Each lifted him full height
- on tiptoe; each with mien unterrified
- held both fists high in air, and drew his head
- far back from blows assailing. Then they joined
- in struggle hand to hand, and made the fray
- each moment fiercer. One was light of foot
- and on his youth relied; the other strong
- in bulk of every limb, but tottering
- on sluggish knees, while all his body shook
- with labor of his breath. Without avail
- they rained their blows, and on each hollow side,
- each sounding chest, the swift, reverberate strokes
- fell without pause; around their ears and brows
- came blow on blow, and with relentless shocks
- the smitten jaws cracked loud. Entellus stands
- unshaken, and, the self-same posture keeping,
- only by body-movement or quick eye
- parries attack. Dares (like one in siege
- against a mountain-citadel, who now will drive
- with ram and engine at the craggy wall,
- now wait in full-armed watch beneath its towers)
- tries manifold approach, most craftily
- invests each point of vantage, and renews
- his unsuccessful, ever various war.
- Then, rising to the stroke, Entellus poised
- aloft his ponderous right; but, quick of eye,
- the other the descending wrath foresaw
- and nimbly slipped away; Entellus so
- wasted his stroke on air, and, self-o'erthrown,
- dropped prone to earth his monstrous length along,
- as when on Erymanth or Ida falls
- a hollowed pine from giant roots uptorn.
- Alike the Teucrian and Trinacrian throng
- shout wildly; while Acestes, pitying, hastes
- to lift his gray companion. But, unchecked,
- undaunted by his fall, the champion brave
- rushed fiercer to the fight, his strength now roused
- by rage, while shame and courage confident
- kindle his soul; impetuous he drives
- Dares full speed all round the ring, with blows
- redoubled right and left. No stop or stay
- gives he, but like a storm of rattling hail
- upon a house-top, so from each huge hand
- the champion's strokes on dizzy Dares fall.
- Then Sire Aeneas willed to make a stay
- to so much rage, nor let Entellus' soul
- flame beyond bound, but bade the battle pause,
- and, rescuing weary Dares, thus he spoke
- in soothing words: “Ill-starred! What mad attempt
- is in thy mind? Will not thy heart confess
- thy strength surpassed, and auspices averse?
- Submit, for Heaven decrees!” With such wise words
- he sundered the fell strife. But trusty friends
- bore Dares off: his spent limbs helpless trailed,
- his head he could not lift, and from his lips
- came blood and broken teeth. So to the ship
- they bore him, taking, at Aeneas' word,
- the helmet and the sword—but left behind
- Entellus' prize of victory, the bull.
- He, then, elate and glorying, spoke forth:
- “See, goddess-born, and all ye Teucrians, see,
- what strength was mine in youth, and from what death
- ye have clelivered Dares.” Saying so,
- he turned him full front to the bull, who stood
- for reward of the fight, and, drawing back
- his right hand, poising the dread gauntlet high,
- swung sheer between the horns and crushed the skull;
- a trembling, lifeless creature, to the ground
- the bull dropped forward dead. Above the fallen
- Entellus cried aloud, “This victim due
- I give thee, Eryx, more acceptable
- than Dares' death to thy benignant shade.
- For this last victory and joyful day,
- my gauntlets and my art I leave with thee.”
- Forthwith Aeneas summons all who will
- to contest of swift arrows, and displays
- reward and prize. With mighty hand he rears
- a mast within th' arena, from the ship
- of good Sergestus taken; and thereto
- a fluttering dove by winding cord is bound
- for target of their shafts. Soon to the match
- the rival bowmen came and cast the lots
- into a brazen helmet. First came forth
- Hippocoon's number, son of Hyrtacus,
- by cheers applauded; Mnestheus was the next,
- late victor in the ship-race, Mnestheus crowned
- with olive-garland; next Eurytion,
- brother of thee, O bowman most renowned,
- Pandarus, breaker of the truce, who hurled
- his shaft upon the Achaeans, at the word
- the goddess gave. Acestes' Iot and name
- came from the helmet last, whose royal hand
- the deeds of youth dared even yet to try.
- Each then with strong arm bends his pliant bow,
- each from the quiver plucks a chosen shaft.
- First, with loud arrow whizzing from the string,
- the young Hippocoon with skyward aim
- cuts through the yielding air; and lo! his barb
- pierces the very wood, and makes the mast
- tremble; while with a fluttering, frighted wing
- the bird tugs hard,—and plaudits fill the sky.
- Boldly rose Mnestheus, and with bow full-drawn
- aimed both his eye and shaft aloft; but he
- failing, unhappy man, to bring his barb
- up to the dove herself, just cut the cord
- and broke the hempen bond, whereby her feet
- were captive to the tree: she, taking flight,
- clove through the shadowing clouds her path of air.
- But swiftly—for upon his waiting bow
- he held a shaft in rest—Eurytion
- invoked his brother's shade, and, marking well
- the dove, whose happy pinions fluttered free
- in vacant sky, pierced her, hard by a cloud;
- lifeless she fell, and left in light of heaven
- her spark of life, as, floating down, she bore
- the arrow back to earth. Acestes now
- remained, last rival, though the victor's palm
- to him was Iost; yet did the aged sire,
- to show his prowess and resounding bow,
- hurl forth one shaft in air; then suddenly
- all eyes beheld such wonder as portends
- events to be (but when fulfilment came,
- too late the fearful seers its warning sung):
- for, soaring through the stream of cloud, his shaft
- took fire, tracing its bright path in flame,
- then vanished on the wind,—as oft a star
- will fall unfastened from the firmament,
- while far behind its blazing tresses flow.
- Awe-struck both Trojan and Trinacrian stood,
- calling upon the gods. Nor came the sign
- in vain to great Aeneas. But his arms
- folded the blest Acestes to his heart,
- and, Ioading him with noble gifts, he cried:
- “Receive them, sire! The great Olympian King
- some peerless honor to thy name decrees
- by such an omen given. I offer thee
- this bowl with figures graven, which my sire,
- good gray Anchises, for proud gift received
- of Thracian Cisseus, for their friendship's pledge
- and memory evermore.” Thereon he crowned
- his brows with garland of the laurel green,
- and named Acestes victor over all.
- Nor could Eurytion, noble youth, think ill
- of honor which his own surpassed, though he,
- he only, pierced the bird in upper air.
- Next gift was his whose arrow cut the cord;
- last, his whose light shaft clove the lofty pine.
- Father Aeneas now, not making end
- of game and contest, summoned to his side
- Epytides, the mentor and true friend
- of young Iulus, and this bidding gave
- to his obedient ear: “Arise and go
- where my Ascanius has lined his troop
- of youthful cavalry, and trained the steeds
- to tread in ranks of war. Bid him lead forth
- the squadron in our sire Anchises' name,
- and wear a hero's arms!” So saying, he bade
- the course be cleared, and from the whole wide field
- th' insurging, curious multitude withdrew.
- In rode the boys, to meet their parents' eyes,
- in even lines, a glittering cavalry;
- while all Trinacria and the host from Troy
- made loud applause. On each bright brow
- a well-trimmed wreath the flowing tresses bound;
- two javelins of corner tipped with steel
- each bore for arms; some from the shoulder slung
- a polished quiver; to each bosom fell
- a pliant necklace of fine, twisted gold.
- Three bands of horsemen ride, three captains proud
- prance here and there, assiduous in command,
- each of his twelve, who shine in parted lines
- which lesser captains lead. One cohort proud
- follows a little Priam's royal name —
- one day, Polites, thy illustrious race
- through him prolonged, shall greater glory bring
- to Italy. A dappled Thracian steed
- with snow-white spots and fore-feet white as snow
- bears him along, its white face lifted high.
- Next Atys rode, young Atys, sire to be
- of th' Atian house in Rome, a boy most dear
- unto the boy Iulus; last in line,
- and fairest of the throng, Iulus came,
- astride a steed from Sidon, the fond gift
- of beauteous Dido and her pledge of love.
- Close followed him the youthful chivalry
- of King Acestes on Trinacrian steeds.
- The Trojans, with exultant, Ioud acclaim,
- receive the shy-faced boys, and joyfully
- trace in the features of the sons their sires.
- After, with smiling eyes, the horsemen proud
- have greeted each his kin in all the throng,
- Epytides th' appointed signal calls,
- and cracks his lash; in even lines they move,
- then, Ioosely sundering in triple band,
- wheel at a word and thrust their lances forth
- in hostile ranks; or on the ample field
- retreat or charge, in figure intricate
- of circling troop with troop, and swift parade
- of simulated war; now from the field
- they flee with backs defenceless to the foe;
- then rally, lance in rest—or, mingling all,
- make common front, one legion strong and fair.
- As once in Crete, the lofty mountain-isle,
- that-fabled labyrinthine gallery
- wound on through lightless walls, with thousand paths
- which baffled every clue, and led astray
- in unreturning mazes dark and blind:
- so did the sons of Troy their courses weave
- in mimic flights and battles fought for play,
- like dolphins tumbling in the liquid waves,
- along the Afric or Carpathian seas.
- This game and mode of march Ascanius,
- when Alba Longa's bastions proudly rose,
- taught to the Latin people of the prime;
- and as the princely Trojan and his train
- were wont to do, so Alba to her sons
- the custom gave; so glorious Rome at last
- the heritage accepted and revered;
- and still we know them for the “Trojan Band,”
- and call the lads a “Troy.” Such was the end
- of game and contest at Anchises' grave.
- Then fortune veered and different aspect wore.
- For 'ere the sacred funeral games are done,
- Saturnian Juno from high heaven sent down
- the light-winged Iris to the ships of Troy,
- giving her flight good wind—still full of schemes
- and hungering to avenge her ancient wrong.
- Unseen of mortal eye, the virgin took
- her pathway on the thousand-colored bow,
- and o'er its gliding passage earthward flew.
- She scanned the vast assemblage; then her gaze
- turned shoreward, where along the idle bay
- the Trojan galleys quite unpeopled rode.
- But far removed, upon a lonely shore,
- a throng of Trojan dames bewailed aloud
- their lost Anchises, and with tears surveyed
- the mighty deep. “O weary waste of seas!
- What vast, untravelled floods beyond us roll!”
- So cried they with one voice, and prayed the gods
- for an abiding city; every heart
- loathed utterly the long, laborious sea.
- Then in their midst alighted, not unskilled
- in working woe, the goddess; though she wore
- nor garb nor form divine, but made herself
- one Beroe, Doryclus' aged wife,
- who in her happier days had lineage fair
- and sons of noble name; in such disguise
- she called the Trojan dames:“O ye ill-starred,
- that were not seized and slain by Grecian foes
- under your native walls! O tribe accursed,
- what death is Fate preparing? Since Troy fell
- the seventh summer flies, while still we rove
- o'er cruel rocks and seas, from star to star,
- from alien land to land, as evermore
- we chase, storm-tossed, that fleeting Italy
- across the waters wide. Behold this land
- of Eryx, of Acestes, friend and kin;
- what hinders them to raise a rampart here
- and build a town? O city of our sires!
- O venerated gods from haughty foes
- rescued in vain! Will nevermore a wall
- rise in the name of Troy? Shall I not see
- a Xanthus or a Simois, the streams
- to Hector dear? Come now! I lead the way.
- Let us go touch their baneful ships with fire!
- I saw Cassandra in a dream. Her shade,
- prophetic ever, gave me firebrands,
- and cried, ‘Find Ilium so! The home for thee
- is where thou art.’ Behold, the hour is ripe
- for our great act! No longer now delay
- to heed the heavenly omen. Yonder stand
- four altars unto Neptune. 'T is the god,
- the god himself, gives courage for the deed,
- and swift-enkindling fire.” So having said,
- she seized a dreadful brand; then, lifting high,
- waved it all flaming, and with furious arm
- hurled it from far. The Ilian matrons gazed,
- bewildered and appalled. But one, of all
- the eldest, Pyrgo, venerated nurse
- of Priam's numerous sons, exclaimed, “Nay, nay!
- This is no Beroe, my noble dames.
- Doryclus knew her not. Behold and see
- her heavenly beauty and her radiant eyes!
- What voice of music and majestic mien,
- what movement like a god! Myself am come
- from Beroe sick, and left her grieving sore
- that she, she only, had no gift to bring
- of mournful honor to Anchises' shade.”
- She spoke. The women with ill-boding eyes
- looked on the ships. Their doubting hearts were torn
- 'twixt tearful passion for the beauteous isle
- their feet then trod, and that prophetic call
- of Fate to lands unknown. Then on wide wings
- soared Iris into heaven, and through the clouds
- clove a vast arch of light. With wonder dazed,
- the women in a shrieking frenzy rose,
- took embers from the hearth-stones, stole the fires
- upon the altars—faggots, branches, brands —
- and rained them on the ships. The god of fire,
- through thwarts and oars and bows of painted fir,
- ran in unbridled flame. Swift to the tomb
- of Sire Anchises, to the circus-seats,
- the messenger Eumelus flew, to bring
- news of the ships on fire; soon every eye
- the clouds of smoke and hovering flame could see.
- Ascanius, who had led with smiling brow
- his troops of horse, accoutred as he was,
- rode hot-haste to the turmoil of the camp,
- nor could his guards restrain . “What madness now?
- What is it ye would do?” he cried. “Alas!
- Ill-fated women! Not our enemies,
- nor the dread bulwarks of the Greek ye burn,
- but all ye have to hope for. Look at me,
- your own Ascanius!” His helmet then
- into their midst he flung, which he had worn
- for pageantry of war. Aeneas, too,
- with Trojan bands sped thither. But far off,
- the women, panic-scattered on the shore,
- fled many ways, and deep in caverned crags
- or shadowed forests hid them, for they Ioathed
- their deed and life itself; their thoughts were changed;
- they knew their kin and husbands, and their hearts
- from Juno were set free. But none the less
- the burning and indomitable flames
- raged without stay; beneath the ships' smeared sides
- the hempen fuel puffed a lingering smoke,
- as, through the whole bulk creeping, the slow fire
- devoured its way; and little it availed
- that strong men fought the fire with stream on stream.
- Then good Aeneas from his shoulder rent
- his garment, and with lifted hands implored
- the help of Heaven. “O Jove omnipotent!
- If thou not yet thy wrath implacable
- on every Trojan pourest, if thou still
- hast pity, as of old, for what men bear,
- O, grant my fleet deliverance from this flame!
- From uttermost destruction, Father, save
- our desperate Trojan cause! Or even now —
- last cruelty! thy fatal thunders throw.
- If this be my just meed, let thy dread arm
- confound us all.” But scarce the prayer is said,
- when with a bursting deluge a dark storm
- falls, marvellous to see; while hills and plains
- with thunder shake, and to each rim of heaven
- spreads swollen cloud-rack, black with copious rain
- and multitudinous gales. The full flood pours
- on every ship, and all the smouldering beams
- are drenched, until the smoke and flames expire
- and (though four ships be lost) the burning fleet
- rides rescued from its doom. But smitten sore
- by this mischance, Aeneas doubtfully
- weighs in his heart its mighty load of cares,
- and ponders if indeed he may abide
- in Sicily, not heeding prophet-songs,
- or seek Italian shores. Thereon uprose
- Nautes, an aged sire, to whom alone
- Tritonian Pallas of her wisdom gave
- and made his skill renowned; he had the power
- to show celestial anger's warning signs,
- or tell Fate's fixed decree. The gifted man
- thus to Aeneas comfortably spoke:
- “O goddess-born, we follow here or there,
- as Fate compels or stays. But come what may,
- he triumphs over Fortune, who can bear
- whate'er she brings. Behold, Acestes draws
- from Dardanus his origin divine!
- Make him thy willing friend, to share with thee
- thy purpose and thy counsel. Leave with him
- the crews of the lost ships, and all whose hearts
- repine at thy high task and great emprise:
- the spent old men, the women ocean-weary,
- whate'er is feeble found, or faint of heart
- in danger's hour,—set that apart, and give
- such weary ones within this friendly isle
- a city called Acesta,—if he will.”
- Much moved Aeneas was by this wise word
- of his gray friend, though still his anxious soul
- was vexed by doubt and care. But when dark night
- had brought her chariot to the middle sky,
- the sacred shade of Sire Anchises seemed,
- from heaven descending, thus to speak aloud:
- “My son, than life more dear, when life was mine!
- O son, upon whose heart the Trojan doom
- has weighed so Iong! Beside thy couch I stand,
- at pleasure of great Jove, whose hand dispelled
- the mad fire from thy ships; and now he looks
- from heaven with pitying brow. I bid thee heed
- the noble counsels aged Nautes gave.
- Only with warriors of dauntless breast
- to Italy repair; of hardy breed,
- of wild, rough life, thy Latin foes will be.
- But first the shores of Pluto and the Shades
- thy feet must tread, and through the deep abyss
- of dark Avernus come to me, thy sire:
- for I inhabit not the guilty gloom
- of Tartarus, but bright Elysian day,
- where all the just their sweet assemblies hold.
- Hither the virgin Sibyl, if thou give
- full offerings of the blood of sable kine,
- shall lead thee down; and visions I will show
- of cities proud and nations sprung from thee.
- Farewell, for dewy Night has wheeled her way
- far past her middle course; the panting steeds
- of orient Morn breathe pitiless upon me.”
- He spoke, and passed, like fleeting clouds of smoke,
- to empty air. “O, whither haste away?”
- Aeneas cried. “Whom dost thou fly? What god
- from my fond yearning and embrace removes?”
- Then on the altar of the gods of Troy
- he woke the smouldering embers, at the shrine
- of venerable Vesta, worshipping
- with hallowed bread and incense burning free.
- Straightway he calls assembly of his friends, —
- Acestes first in honor,—and makes known
- Jove's will, the counsel of his cherished sire,
- and his own fresh resolve. With prompt assent
- they hear his word, nor does Acestes fail
- the task to share. They people the new town
- with women; and leave every wight behind
- who wills it—souls not thirsting for high praise.
- Themselves re-bench their ships, rebuild, and fit
- with rope and oar the flame-swept galleys all;
- a band not large, but warriors bold and true.
- Aeneas, guiding with his hand a plough,
- marks out the city's ground, gives separate lands
- by lot, and bids within this space appear
- a second Troy. Trojan Acestes takes
- the kingly power, and with benignant joy
- appoints a forum, and decrees just laws
- before a gathered senate. Then they raise
- on that star-circled Erycinian hill,
- the temple to Idalian Venus dear;
- and at Anchises' sepulchre ordain
- a priesthood and wide groves of hallowed shade.
- Now the nine days of funeral pomp are done,
- and every altar has had honors due
- from all the folk. Now tranquil-breathing winds
- have levelled the great deep, while brisk and free,
- a favoring Auster bids them launch away.
- But sound of many a wailing voice is heard
- along the winding shore; for ere they go,
- in fond embraces for a night and day
- they linger still. The women—aye, and men! —
- who hated yesterday the ocean's face
- and loathed its name, now clamor to set sail
- and bear all want and woe to exiles known.
- But good Aeneas with benignant words
- their sorrow soothes, and, not without a tear,
- consigns them to Acestes' kindred care.
- Then bids he sacrifice to Eryx' shade
- three bulls, and to the wind-gods and the storm
- a lamb, then loose the ships in order due.
- He, with a garland of shorn olive, stood
- holding aloft the sacrificial bowl
- from his own vessel's prow, and scattered far
- the sacred entrails o'er the bitter wave,
- with gift of flowing wine. Swift at the stern
- a fair wind rose and thrust them; while the crews
- with rival strokes swept o'er the spreading sea.
- Venus, the while, disturbed with grief and care,
- to Neptune thus her sorrowing heart outpoured:
- “Stern Juno's wrath and breast implacable
- compel me, Neptune, to abase my pride
- in lowly supplication. Lapse of days,
- nor prayers, nor virtues her hard heart subdue,
- nor Jove's command; nor will she rest or yield
- at Fate's decree. Her execrable grudge
- is still unfed, although she did consume
- the Trojan city, Phrygia's midmost throne,
- and though she has accomplished stroke on stroke
- of retribution. But she now pursues
- the remnant—aye! the ashes and bare bones
- of perished Ilium; though the cause and spring
- of wrath so great none but herself can tell.
- Wert thou not witness on the Libyan wave
- what storm she stirred, immingling sea and sky,
- and with Aeolian whirlwinds made her war, —
- in vain and insolent invasion, sire,
- of thine own realm and power? Behold, but now,
- goading to evil deeds the Trojan dames,
- she basely burned his ships; he in strange lands
- must leave the crews of his Iost fleet behind.
- O, I entreat thee, let the remnant sail
- in safety o'er thy sea, and end their way
- in Tiber's holy stream;—if this my prayer
- be lawful, and that city's rampart proud
- be still what Fate intends.”Then Saturn's son,
- the ruler of the seas profound, replied:
- “Queen of Cythera, it is meet for thee
- to trust my waves from which thyself art sprung.
- Have I not proved a friend, and oft restrained
- the anger and wild wrath of seas and skies?
- On land, let Simois and Xanthus tell
- if I have loved Aeneas! On that day
- Achilles drove the shuddering hosts of Troy
- in panic to the walls, and hurled to death
- innumerable foes, until the streams
- were choked with dead, and Xanthus scarce could find
- his wonted path to sea; that self-same day,
- aeneas, spent, and with no help of Heaven,
- met Peleus' dreadful son:—who else but I
- in cloudy mantle bore him safe afar?
- Though 't was my will to cast down utterly
- the walls of perjured Troy, which my own hands
- had built beside the sea. And even to-day
- my favor changes not. Dispel thy fear!
- Safe, even as thou prayest, he shall ride
- to Cumae's haven, where Avernus lies.
- One only sinks beneath th' engulfing seas, —
- one life in lieu of many.” Having soothed
- and cheered her heart divine, the worshipped sire
- flung o'er his mated steeds a yoke of gold,
- bridled the wild, white mouths, and with strong hand
- shook out long, Ioosened reins. His azure car
- skimmed light and free along the crested waves;
- before his path the rolling billows all
- were calm and still, and each o'er-swollen flood
- sank 'neath his sounding wheel; while from the skies
- the storm-clouds fled away. Behind him trailed
- a various company; vast bulk of whales,
- the hoary band of Glaucus, Ino's son,
- Palaemon and the nimble Tritons all,
- the troop of Phorcus; and to leftward ranged
- Thalia, Thetis, and fair Alelite,
- with virgin Panopea, and the nymphs
- Nesaea, Spio and Cymodoce.