Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- Now in Aeneas' ever-burdened breast
- the voice of hope revived. He bade make haste
- to raise the masts, spread canvas on the spars;
- all hands hauled at the sheets, and left or right
- shook out the loosened sails, or twirled in place
- the horn-tipped yards. Before a favoring wind
- the fleet sped on. The line in close array
- was led by Palinurus, in whose course
- all ships were bid to follow. Soon the car
- of dewy Night drew near the turning-point
- of her celestial round. The oarsmen all
- yielded their limbs to rest, and prone had fallen
- on the hard thwarts, in deep, unpillowed slumber.
- Then from the high stars on light-moving wings,
- the God of Sleep found passage through the dark
- and clove the gloom,—to bring upon thy head,
- O Palinurus, an ill-boding sleep,
- though blameless thou. Upon thy ship the god
- in guise of Phorbas stood, thus whispering:
- “Look, Palinurus, how the flowing tides
- lift on thy fleet unsteered, and changeless winds
- behind thee breathe! 'T is now a happy hour
- take thy rest. Lay down the weary head.
- Steal tired eyes from toiling. I will do
- thine office for thee, just a little space.”
- But Palinurus, lifting scarce his eyes,
- thus answered him: “Have I not known the face
- of yonder placid seas and tranquil waves?
- Put faith in such a monster? Could I trust —
- I, oft by ocean's treacherous calm betrayed —
- my lord Aeneas to false winds and skies?”
- So saying, he grasped his rudder tight, and clung
- more firmly, fixing on the stars his eyes.
- Then waved the god above his brows a branch
- wet with the dews of Lethe and imbued
- with power of Stygian dark, until his eyes
- wavered and slowly sank. The slumberous snare
- had scarce unbound his limbs, when, leaning o'er,
- the god upon the waters flung him forth,
- hands clutching still the helm and ship-rail torn,
- and calling on his comrades, but in vain.
- Then soared th' immortal into viewless air;
- and in swift course across the level sea
- the fleet sped safe, protected from all fear
- by Neptune's vow. Yet were they drawing nigh
- the sirens' island-steep, where oft are seen
- white, bleaching bones, and to the distant ear
- the rocks roar harshly in perpetual foam.
- Then of his drifting fleet and pilot gone
- Aeneas was aware, and, taking helm,
- steered through the midnight waves, with many a sigh;
- and, by his comrade's pitiable death
- sore-smitten, cried, “O, thou didst trust too far
- fair skies and seas, and liest without a grave,
- my Palinurus, in a land unknown!”
- After such words and tears, he flung free rein
- To the swift fleet, which sped along the wave
- To old Euboean Cumae's sacred shore.
- They veer all prows to sea; the anchor fluke
- Makes each ship sure, and shading the long strand
- The rounded sterns jut o'er. Impetuously
- The eager warriors leap forth to land
- Upon Hesperian soil. One strikes the flint
- To find the seed-spark hidden in its veins;
- One breaks the thick-branched trees, and steals away
- The shelter where the woodland creatures bide;
- One leads his mates where living waters flow.
- Aeneas, servant of the gods, ascends
- The templed hill where lofty Phoebus reigns,
- And that far-off, inviolable shrine
- Of dread Sibylla, in stupendous cave,
- O'er whose deep soul the god of Delos breathes
- Prophetic gifts, unfolding things to come.
- Here are pale Trivia's golden house and grove.
- Here Daedalus, the ancient story tells,
- Escaping Minos' power, and having made
- Hazard of heaven on far-mounting wings,
- Floated to northward, a cold, trackless way,
- And lightly poised, at last, o'er Cumae's towers.
- Here first to earth come down, he gave to thee
- His gear of wings, Apollo! and ordained
- Vast temples to thy name and altars fair.
- On huge bronze doors Androgeos' death was done;
- And Cecrops' children paid their debt of woe,
- Where, seven and seven,—0 pitiable sight!—
- The youths and maidens wait the annual doom,
- Drawn out by lot from yonder marble urn.
- Beyond, above a sea, lay carven Crete:—
- The bull was there; the passion, the strange guile;
- And Queen Pasiphae's brute-human son,
- The Minotaur—of monstrous loves the sign.
- Here was the toilsome, labyrinthine maze,
- Where, pitying love-lorn Ariadne's tears,
- The crafty Daedalus himself betrayed
- The secret of his work; and gave the clue
- To guide the path of Theseus through the gloom.
- 0 Icarus, in such well-graven scene
- How proud thy place should be! but grief forbade:
- Twice in pure gold a father's fingers strove
- To shape thy fall, and twice they strove in vain.
- Aeneas long the various work would scan;
- But now Achates comes, and by his side
- Deiphobe, the Sibyl, Glaucus' child.
- Thus to the prince she spoke :
- “Is this thine hour
- To stand and wonder? Rather go obtain
- From young unbroken herd the bullocks seven,
- And seven yearling ewes, our wonted way.”
- Thus to Aeneas; his attendants haste
- To work her will; the priestess, calling loud,
- Gathers the Trojans to her mountain-shrine.
- Deep in the face of that Euboean crag
- A cavern vast is hollowed out amain,
- With hundred openings, a hundred mouths,
- Whence voices flow, the Sibyl's answering songs.
- While at the door they paused, the virgin cried :
- “Ask now thy doom!—the god! the god is nigh!”
- So saying, from her face its color flew,
- Her twisted locks flowed free, the heaving breast
- Swelled with her heart's wild blood; her stature seemed
- Vaster, her accent more than mortal man,
- As all th' oncoming god around her breathed :
- “On with thy vows and prayers, 0 Trojan, on!
- For only unto prayer this haunted cave
- May its vast lips unclose.” She spake no more.
- An icy shudder through the marrow ran
- Of the bold Trojans; while their sacred King
- Poured from his inmost soul this plaint and prayer :
- “Phoebus, who ever for the woes of Troy
- Hadst pitying eyes! who gavest deadly aim
- To Paris when his Dardan shaft he hurled
- On great Achilles! Thou hast guided me
- Through many an unknown water, where the seas
- Break upon kingdoms vast, and to the tribes
- Of the remote Massyli, whose wild land
- To Syrtes spreads. But now; because at last
- I touch Hesperia's ever-fleeting bound,
- May Troy's ill fate forsake me from this day!
- 0 gods and goddesses, beneath whose wrath
- Dardania's glory and great Ilium stood,
- Spare, for ye may, the remnant of my race!
- And thou, most holy prophetess, whose soul
- Foreknows events to come, grant to my prayer
- (Which asks no kingdom save what Fate decrees)
- That I may stablish in the Latin land
- My Trojans, my far-wandering household-gods,
- And storm-tossed deities of fallen Troy.
- Then unto Phoebus and his sister pale
- A temple all of marble shall be given,
- And festal days to Phoebus evermore.
- Thee also in my realms a spacious shrine
- Shall honor; thy dark books and holy songs
- I there will keep, to be my people's law;
- And thee, benignant Sibyl for all time
- A company of chosen priests shall serve.
- O, not on leaves, light leaves, inscribe thy songs!
- Lest, playthings of each breeze, they fly afar
- In swift confusion! Sing thyself, I pray.”
- So ceased his voice;the virgin through the cave,
- Scarce bridled yet by Phoebus' hand divine,
- Ecstatic swept along, and vainly stove
- To fing its potent master from her breast;
- But he more strongly plied his rein and curb
- Upon her frenzied lips, and soon subdued
- Her spirit fierce, and swayed her at his will.
- Free and self-moved the cavern's hundred adoors
- Swung open wide, and uttered to the air
- The oracles the virgin-priestess sung :
- “Thy long sea-perils thou hast safely passed;
- But heavier woes await thee on the land.
- Truly thy Trojans to Lavinian shore
- Shall come—vex not thyself thereon—but, oh!
- Shall rue their coming thither! war, red war!
- And Tiber stained with bloody foam I see.
- Simois, Xanthus, and the Dorian horde
- Thou shalt behold; a new Achilles now
- In Latium breathes,—he, too, of goddess born;
- And Juno, burden of the sons of Troy,
- Will vex them ever; while thyself shalt sue
- In dire distress to many a town and tribe
- Through Italy; the cause of so much ill
- Again shall be a hostess-queen, again
- A marriage-chamber for an alien bride.
- Oh! yield not to thy woe, but front it ever,
- And follow boldly whither Fortune calls.
- Thy way of safety, as thou least couldst dream,
- Lies through a city of the Greeks, thy foes.”
- Thus from her shrine Cumaea's prophetess
- Chanted the dark decrees; the dreadful sound
- Reverberated through the bellowing cave,
- Commingling truth with ecstasies obscure.
- Apollo, as she raged, flung loosened rein,
- And thrust beneath her heart a quickening spur.
- When first her madness ceased, and her wild lips
- Were still at last, the hero thus began :
- “No tribulations new, 0 Sibyl blest,
- Can now confront me; every future pain
- I have foretasted; my prophetic soul
- Endured each stroke of fate before it fell.
- One boon I ask. If of th' infernal King
- This be the portal where the murky wave
- Of swollen Acheron o'erflows its bound,
- Here let me enter and behold the face
- Of my loved sire. Thy hand may point the way;
- Thy word will open wide yon holy doors.
- My father through the flames and falling spears,
- Straight through the centre of our foes, I bore
- Upon these shoulders. My long flight he shared
- From sea to sea, and suffered at my side
- The anger of rude waters and dark skies,—
- Though weak—0 task too great for old and gray!
- Thus as a suppliant at thy door to stand,
- Was his behest and prayer. On son and sire,
- 0 gracious one, have pity,—for thy rule
- Is over all; no vain authority
- Hadst thou from Trivia o'er th' Avernian groves.
- If Orpheus could call back his loved one's shade,
- Emboldened by the lyre's melodious string :
- If Pollux by the interchange of death
- Redeemed his twin, and oft repassed the way :
- If Theseus—but why name him? why recall
- Alcides' task? I, too, am sprung from Jove.”
- Thus, to the altar clinging, did he pray :
- The Sibyl thus replied : “Offspring of Heaven,
- Anchises' son, the downward path to death
- Is easy; all the livelong night and day
- Dark Pluto's door stands open for a guest.
- But 0! remounting to the world of light,
- This is a task indeed, a strife supreme.
- Few, very few, whom righteous Jove did bless,
- Or quenchless virtue carried to the stars,
- Children of gods, have such a victory won.
- Grim forests stop the way, and, gliding slow,
- Cocytus circles through the sightless gloom.
- But if it be thy dream and fond desire
- Twice o'er the Stygian gulf to travel, twice
- On glooms of Tartarus to set thine eyes,
- If such mad quest be now thy pleasure—hear
- What must be first fulfilled . A certain tree
- Hides in obscurest shade a golden bough,
- Of pliant stems and many a leaf of gold,
- Sacred to Proserpine, infernal Queen.
- Far in the grove it hides; in sunless vale
- Deep shadows keep it in captivity.
- No pilgrim to that underworld can pass
- But he who plucks this burgeoned, leafy gold;
- For this hath beauteous Proserpine ordained
- Her chosen gift to be. Whene'er it is culled,
- A branch out-leafing in like golden gleam,
- A second wonder-stem, fails not to spring.
- Therefore go seek it with uplifted eyes!
- And when by will of Heaven thou findest it,
- Reach forth and pluck; for at a touch it yields,
- A free and willing gift, if Fate ordain;
- But otherwise no mortal strength avails,
- Nor strong, sharp steel, to rend it from the tree.
- Another task awaits; thy friend's cold clay
- Lies unentombed. Alas! thou art not ware
- (While in my house thou lingerest, seeking light)
- That all thy ships are by his death defiled.
- Unto his resting-place and sepulchre,
- Go, carry him! And sable victims bring,
- In expiation, to his mournful shade.
- So at the last on yonder Stygian groves,
- And realms to things that breathe impassable,
- Thine eye shall gaze.” So closed her lips inspired.
- Aeneas then drew forth, with downcast eyes,
- From that dark cavern, pondering in his heart
- The riddle of his fate. His faithful friend
- Achates at his side, with paces slow,
- Companioned all his care, while their sad souls
- Made mutual and oft-renewed surmise
- What comrade dead, what cold and tombless clay,
- The Sibyl's word would show.
- But as they mused,
- Behold Misenus on the dry sea-sands,
- By hasty hand of death struck guiltless down!
- A son of Aeolus, none better knew
- To waken heroes by the clarion's call,
- With war-enkindling sound. Great Hector's friend
- In happier days, he oft at Hector's side
- Strode to the fight with glittering lance and horn.
- But when Achilles stripped his fallen foe,
- This dauntless hero to Aeneas gave
- Allegiance true, in not less noble cause.
- But, on a day, he chanced beside the sea
- To blow his shell-shaped horn, and wildly dared
- Challenge the gods themselves to rival song;
- Till jealous Triton, if the tale be true,
- Grasped the rash mortal, and out-flung him far
- 'mid surf-beat rocks and waves of whirling foam.
- Now from all sides, with tumult and loud cry,
- The Trojans came,—Aeneas leading all
- In faithful grief; they hasten to fulfil
- The Sibyl's mandate, and with many a tear
- Build, altar-wise, a pyre, of tree on tree
- Heaped high as heaven : then they penetrate
- The tall, old forest, where wild creatures bide,
- And fell pitch-pines, or with resounding blows
- Of axe and wedge, cleave oak and ash-tree through,
- Or logs of rowan down the mountains roll.
- Aeneas oversees and shares the toil,
- Cheers on his mates, and swings a woodman's steel.
- But, sad at heart with many a doubt and care,
- O'erlooks the forest wide; then prays aloud :
- “0, that the Golden Bough from this vast grove
- Might o'er me shine! For, 0 Aeolides,
- The oracle foretold thy fate, too well!”
- Scarce had he spoken, when a pair of doves
- Before his very eyes flew down from heaven
- To the green turf below; the prince of Troy
- Knew them his mother's birds, and joyful cried,
- “0, guide me on, whatever path there be!
- In airy travel through the woodland fly,
- To where yon rare branch shades the blessed ground.
- Fail thou not me, in this my doubtful hour,
- 0 heavenly mother!” So saying, his steps lie stayed,
- Close watching whither they should signal give;
- The lightly-feeding doves flit on and on,
- Ever in easy ken of following eyes,
- Till over foul Avernus' sulphurous throat
- Swiftly they lift them through the liquid air,
- In silent flight, and find a wished-for rest
- On a twy-natured tree, where through green boughs
- Flames forth the glowing gold's contrasted hue.
- As in the wintry woodland bare and chill,
- Fresh-budded shines the clinging mistletoe,
- Whose seed is never from the parent tree
- O'er whose round limbs its tawny tendrils twine,—
- So shone th' out-leafing gold within the shade
- Of dark holm-oak, and so its tinsel-bract
- Rustled in each light breeze. Aeneas grasped
- The lingering bough, broke it in eager haste,
- And bore it straightway to the Sibyl's shrine.
- Meanwhile the Trojans on the doleful shore
- Bewailed Misenus, and brought tribute there
- Of grief's last gift to his unheeding clay.
- First, of the full-sapped pine and well-hewn oak
- A lofty pyre they build; then sombre boughs
- Around it wreathe, and in fair order range
- Funereal cypress; glittering arms are piled
- High over all; on blazing coals they lift
- Cauldrons of brass brimmed o'er with waters pure;
- And that cold, lifeless clay lave and anoint
- With many a moan and cry; on their last couch
- The poor, dead limbs they lay, and mantle o'er
- With purple vesture and familiar pall.
- Then in sad ministry the chosen few,
- With eyes averted, as our sires did use,
- Hold the enkindling torch beneath the pyre :
- They gather up and burn the gifts of myrrh,
- The sacred bread and bowls of flowing oil;
- And when in flame the dying embers fall,
- On thirsty ash they pour the streams of wine.
- Good Corynaeus, in an urn of brass
- The gathered relics hides; and three times round,
- With blessed olive branch and sprinkling dew,
- Purges the people with ablution cold,
- In lustral rite; oft chanting, “Hail! Farewell!”
- Faithful Aeneas for his comrade built
- A mighty tomb, and dedicated there
- Trophy of arms, with trumpet and with oar,
- Beneath a windy hill, which now is called
- “Misenus,”—for all time the name to bear.
- After these toils, they hasten to fulfil
- What else the Sibyl said. Straightway they find
- A cave profound, of entrance gaping wide,
- O'erhung with rock, in gloom of sheltering grove,
- Near the dark waters of a lake, whereby
- No bird might ever pass with scathless wing,
- So dire an exhalation is breathed out
- From that dark deep of death to upper air :—
- Hence, in the Grecian tongue, Aornos called.
- Here first four youthful bulls of swarthy hide
- Were led for sacrifice; on each broad brow
- The priestess sprinkled wine; 'twixt the two horns
- Outplucked the lifted hair, and cast it forth
- Upon the holy flames, beginning so
- Her offerings; then loudly sued the power
- of Hecate, a Queen in heaven and hell.
- Some struck with knives, and caught in shallow bowls
- The smoking blood. Aeneas' lifted hand
- Smote with a sword a sable-fleeced ewe
- To Night, the mother of th' Eumenides,
- And Earth, her sister dread; next unto thee,
- O Proserpine, a curst and barren cow;
- Then unto Pluto, Stygian King, he built
- An altar dark, and piled upon the flames
- The ponderous entrails of the bulls, and poured
- Free o'er the burning flesh the goodly oil.
- Then lo! at dawn's dim, earliest beam began
- Beneath their feet a groaning of the ground :
- The wooded hill-tops shook, and, as it seemed,
- She-hounds of hell howled viewless through the shade ,
- To hail their Queen. “Away, 0 souls profane!
- Stand far away!” the priestess shrieked, “nor dare
- Unto this grove come near! Aeneas, on!
- Begin thy journey! Draw thy sheathed blade!
- Now, all thy courage! now, th' unshaken soul!”
- She spoke, and burst into the yawning cave
- With frenzied step; he follows where she leads,
- And strides with feet unfaltering at her side.