Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- When Turnus from Laurentum's bastion proud
- published the war, and roused the dreadful note
- of the harsh trumpet's song; when on swift steeds
- the lash he laid and clashed his sounding arms;
- then woke each warrior soul; all Latium stirred
- with tumult and alarm; and martial rage
- enkindled youth's hot blood. The chieftains proud,
- Messapus, Ufens, and that foe of Heaven,
- Mezentius, compel from far and wide
- their loyal hosts, and strip the field and farm
- of husbandmen. To seek auxiliar arms
- they send to glorious Diomed's domain
- the herald Venulus, and bid him cry:
- “Troy is to Latium come; Aeneas' fleet
- has come to land. He brings his vanquished gods,
- and gives himself to be our destined King.
- Cities not few accept him, and his name
- through Latium waxes large. But what the foe
- by such attempt intends, what victory
- is his presumptuous hope, if Fortune smile,
- Aetolia's lord will not less wisely fear
- than royal Turnus or our Latin King.”
- Thus Latium's cause moved on. Meanwhile the heir
- of great Laomedon, who knew full well
- the whole wide land astir, was vexed and tossed
- in troubled seas of care. This way and that
- his swift thoughts flew, and scanned with like dismay
- each partial peril or the general storm.
- Thus the vexed waters at a fountain's brim,
- smitten by sunshine or the silver sphere
- of a reflected moon, send forth a beam
- of flickering light that leaps from wall to wall,
- or, skyward lifted in ethereal flight,
- glances along some rich-wrought, vaulted dome.
- Now night had fallen, and all weary things,
- all shapes of beast or bird, the wide world o'er,
- lay deep in slumber. So beneath the arch
- of a cold sky Aeneas laid him down
- upon the river-bank, his heart sore tried
- by so much war and sorrow, and gave o'er
- his body to its Iong-delayed repose.
- There, 'twixt the poplars by the gentle stream,
- the River-Father, genius of that place,
- old Tiberinus visibly uprose;
- a cloak of gray-green lawn he wore, his hair
- o'erhung with wreath of reeds. In soothing words
- thus, to console Aeneas' cares, he spoke:
- “Seed of the gods! who bringest to my shore
- thy Trojan city wrested from her foe,
- a stronghold everlasting, Latium's plain
- and fair Laurentum long have looked for thee.
- Here truly is thy home. Turn not away.
- Here the true guardians of thy hearth shall be.
- Fear not the gathering war. The wrath of Heaven
- has stilled its swollen wave. A sign I tell:
- Lest thou shouldst deem this message of thy sleep
- a vain, deluding dream, thou soon shalt find
- in the oak-copses on my margent green,
- a huge sow, with her newly-littered brood
- of thirty young; along the ground she lies,
- snow-white, and round her udders her white young.
- There shall thy city stand, and there thy toil
- shall find untroubled rest. After the lapse
- of thrice ten rolling years, Ascanius
- shall found a city there of noble name,
- White-City, Alba; 't is no dream I sing!
- But I instruct thee now by what wise way
- th' impending wars may bring thee victory:
- receive the counsel, though the words be few:
- within this land are men of Arcady,
- of Pallas' line, who, following in the train
- of King Evander and his men-at-arms,
- built them a city in the hills, and chose
- (honoring Pallas, their Pelasgian sire),
- the name of Pallanteum. They make war
- incessant with the Latins. Therefore call
- this people to thy side and bind them close
- in federated power. My channel fair
- and shaded shore shall guide thee where they dwell,
- and thy strong oarsmen on my waters borne
- shall mount my falling stream. Rise, goddess-born,
- and ere the starlight fade give honor due
- to Juno, and with supplicating vow
- avert her wrath and frown. But unto me
- make offering in thy victorious hour,
- in time to come. I am the copious flood
- which thou beholdest chafing at yon shores
- and parting fruitful fields: cerulean stream
- of Tiber, favored greatly of high Heaven.
- here shall arise my house magnificent,
- a city of all cities chief and crown.”
- So spake the river-god, and sank from view
- down to his deepest cave; then night and sleep
- together from Aeneas fled away.
- He rose, and to the orient beams of morn
- his forehead gave; in both his hollowed palms
- he held the sacred waters of the stream,
- and called aloud: “O ye Laurentian nymphs,
- whence flowing rills be born, and chiefly thou,
- O Father Tiber, worshipped stream divine,
- accept Aeneas, and from peril save!
- If in some hallowed lake or haunted spring
- thy power, pitying my woes, abides,
- or wheresoe'er the blessed place be found
- whence first thy beauty flows, there evermore
- my hands shall bring thee gift and sacrifice.
- O chief and sovereign of Hesperian streams,
- O river-god that hold'st the plenteous horn,
- protect us, and confirm thy words divine!”
- He spoke; then chose twin biremes from the fleet,
- gave them good gear and armed their loyal crews.
- But, lo! a sudden wonder met his eyes:
- white gleaming through the grove, with all her brood
- white like herself, on the green bank the Sow
- stretched prone. The good Aeneas slew her there,
- Great Juno, for a sacrifice to thee,
- himself the priest, and with the sucklings all
- beside shine altar stood. So that whole night
- the god of Tiber calmed his swollen wave,
- ebbing or lingering in silent flow,
- till like some gentle lake or sleeping pool
- his even waters lay, and strove no more
- against the oarsmen's toil. Upon their way
- they speed with joyful sound; the well-oiled wood
- slips through the watery floor; the wondering waves,
- and all the virgin forests wondering,
- behold the warriors in far-shining arms
- their painted galleys up the current drive.
- O'er the long reaches of the winding flood
- their sturdy oars outweary the slow course
- of night and day. Fair groves of changeful green
- arch o'er their passage, and they seem to cleave
- green forests in the tranquil wave below.
- Now had the flaming sun attained his way
- to the mid-sphere of heaven, when they discerned
- walls and a citadel in distant view,
- with houses few and far between; 't was there,
- where sovran Rome to-day has rivalled Heaven,
- Evander's realm its slender strength displayed:
- swiftly they turned their prows and neared the town.
- It chanced th' Arcadian King had come that day
- to honor Hercules, Amphitryon's son,
- and to the powers divine pay worship due
- in groves outside the wall. Beside him stood
- Pallas his son, his noblest men-at-arms,
- and frugal senators, who at the shrines
- burnt incense, while warm blood of victims flowed.
- But when they saw the tall ships in the shade
- of that dark forest plying noiseless oars,
- the sudden sight alarmed, and all the throng
- sprang to its feet and left the feast divine.
- But dauntless Pallas bade them give not o'er
- the sacred festival, and spear in hand
- flew forward to a bit of rising ground,
- and cried from far: “Hail, warriors! what cause
- drives you to lands unknown, and whither bound?
- Your kin, your country? Bring ye peace or war?”
- Father Aeneas then held forth a bough
- of peaceful olive from the lofty ship,
- thus answering : “Men Trojan-born are we,
- foes of the Latins, who have driven us forth
- with insolent assault. We fain would see
- Evander. Pray, deliver this, and say
- that chosen princes of Dardania
- sue for his help in arms.” So wonder fell
- on Pallas, awestruck at such mighty name.
- O, come, whoe'er thou art,” he said, “and speak
- in presence of my father. Enter here,
- guest of our hearth and altar.” He put forth
- his right hand in true welcome, and they stood
- with lingering clasp; then hand in hand advanced
- up the steep woodland, leaving Tiber's wave.
- Aeneas to Evander speaking fair,
- these words essayed: “O best of Grecian-born!
- whom Fortune's power now bids me seek and sue,
- lifting this olive-branch with fillets bound,
- I have not feared thee, though I know thou art
- a Greek, and an Arcadian king, allied
- to the two sons of Atreus. For behold,
- my conscious worth, great oracles from Heaven,
- the kinship of our sires, thy own renown
- spread through the world—all knit my cause with thine,
- all make me glad my fates have so decreed.
- The sire and builder of the Trojan town
- was Dardanus; but he, Electra's child,
- came over sea to Teucria; the sire
- of fair Electra was great Atlas, he
- whose shoulder carries the vast orb of heaven.
- But thy progenitor was Mercury,
- and him conceiving, Maia, that white maid,
- on hoar Cyllene's frosty summit bore.
- But Maia's sire, if aught of truth be told,
- was Atlas also, Atlas who sustains
- the weight of starry skies. Thus both our tribes
- are one divided stem. Secure in this,
- no envoys have I sent, nor tried thy mind
- with artful first approaches, but myself,
- risking my person and my life, have come
- a suppliant here. For both on me and thee
- the house of Daunus hurls insulting war.
- If us they quell, they doubt not to obtain
- lordship of all Hesperia, and subdue
- alike the northern and the southern sea.
- Accept good faith, and give! Behold, our hearts
- quail not in battle; souls of fire are we,
- and warriors proved in many an action brave.”
- Aeneas ceased. The other long had scanned
- the hero's face, his eyes, and wondering viewed
- his form and mien divine; in answer now
- he briefly spoke: “With hospitable heart,
- O bravest warrior of all Trojan-born,
- I know and welcome thee. I well recall
- thy sire Anchises, how he looked and spake.
- For I remember Priam, when he came
- to greet his sister, Queen Hesione,
- in Salamis, and thence pursued his way
- to our cool uplands of Arcadia.
- The bloom of tender boyhood then was mine,
- and with a wide-eyed wonder I did view
- those Teucrian lords, Laomedon's great heir,
- and, towering highest in their goodly throng,
- Anchises, whom my warm young heart desired
- to speak with and to clasp his hand in mine.
- So I approached, and joyful led him home
- to Pheneus' olden wall. He gave me gifts
- the day he bade adieu; a quiver rare
- filled with good Lycian arrows, a rich cloak
- inwove with thread of gold, and bridle reins
- all golden, now to youthful Pallas given.
- Therefore thy plea is granted, and my hand
- here clasps in loyal amity with thine.
- To-morrow at the sunrise thou shalt have
- my tribute for the war, and go thy way
- my glad ally. But now this festival,
- whose solemn rite 't were impious to delay,
- I pray thee celebrate, and bring with thee
- well-omened looks and words. Allies we are!
- Use this our sacred feast as if your own.”
- So saying, he bade his followers renew
- th' abandoned feast and wine; and placed each guest
- on turf-built couch of green, most honoring
- Aeneas by a throne of maple fair
- decked with a lion's pelt and flowing mane.
- Then high-born pages, with the altar's priest,
- bring on the roasted beeves and load the board
- with baskets of fine bread; and wine they bring —
- of Ceres and of Bacchus gift and toil.
- While good Aeneas and his Trojans share
- the long whole ox and meats of sacrifice.
- When hunger and its eager edge were gone,
- Evander spoke: “This votive holiday,
- yon tables spread and altar so divine,
- are not some superstition dark and vain,
- that knows not the old gods, O Trojan King!
- But as men saved from danger and great fear
- this thankful sacrifice we pay. Behold,
- yon huge rock, beetling from the mountain wall,
- hung from the cliff above. How lone and bare
- the hollowed mountain looks! How crag on crag
- tumbled and tossed in huge confusion lie!
- A cavern once it was, which ran deep down
- into the darkness. There th' half-human shape
- of Cacus made its hideous den, concealed
- from sunlight and the day. The ground was wet
- at all times with fresh gore; the portal grim
- was hung about with heads of slaughtered men,
- bloody and pale—a fearsome sight to see.
- Vulcan begat this monster, which spewed forth
- dark-fuming flames from his infernal throat,
- and vast his stature seemed. But time and tide
- brought to our prayers the advent of a god
- to help us at our need. For Hercules,
- divine avenger, came from laying low
- three-bodied Geryon, whose spoils he wore
- exultant, and with hands victorious drove
- the herd of monster bulls, which pastured free
- along our river-valley. Cacus gazed
- in a brute frenzy, and left not untried
- aught of bold crime or stratagem, but stole
- four fine bulls as they fed, and heifers four,
- all matchless; but, lest hoof-tracks point his way,
- he dragged them cave-wards by the tails, confusing
- the natural trail, and hid the stolen herd
- in his dark den; and not a mark or sign
- could guide the herdsmen to that cavern-door.
- But after, when Amphitryon's famous son,
- preparing to depart, would from the meads
- goad forth the full-fed herd, his lingering bulls
- roared loud, and by their lamentable cry
- filled grove and hills with clamor of farewell:
- one heifer from the mountain-cave lowed back
- in answer, so from her close-guarded stall
- foiling the monster's will. Then hadst thou seen
- the wrath of Hercules in frenzy blaze
- from his exasperate heart. His arms he seized,
- his club of knotted oak, and climbed full-speed
- the wind-swept hill. Now first our people saw
- Cacus in fear, with panic in his eyes.
- Swift to the black cave like a gale he flew,
- his feet by terror winged. Scarce had he passed
- the cavern door, and broken the big chains,
- and dropped the huge rock which was pendent there
- by Vulcan's well-wrought steel; scarce blocked and barred
- the guarded gate: when there Tirynthius stood,
- with heart aflame, surveying each approach,
- rolling this way and that his wrathful eyes,
- gnashing his teeth. Three times his ire surveyed
- the slope of Aventine; three times he stormed
- the rock-built gate in vain; and thrice withdrew
- to rest him in the vale. But high above
- a pointed peak arose, sheer face of rock
- on every side, which towered into view
- from the long ridge above the vaulted cave,
- fit haunt for birds of evil-boding wing.
- This peak, which leftward toward the river leaned,
- he smote upon its right—his utmost blow —
- breaking its bases Ioose; then suddenly
- thrust at it: as he thrust, the thunder-sound
- filled all the arching sky, the river's banks
- asunder leaped, and Tiber in alarm
- reversed his flowing wave. So Cacus' lair
- lay shelterless, and naked to the day
- the gloomy caverns of his vast abode
- stood open, deeply yawning, just as if
- the riven earth should crack, and open wide
- th' infernal world and fearful kingdoms pale,
- which gods abhor; and to the realms on high
- the measureless abyss should be laid bare,
- and pale ghosts shrink before the entering sun.
- Now upon Cacus, startled by the glare,
- caged in the rocks and howling horribly,
- Alcides hurled his weapons, raining down
- all sorts of deadly missiles—trunks of trees,
- and monstrous boulders from the mountain torn.
- But when the giant from his mortal strait
- no refuge knew, he blew from his foul jaws
- a storm of smoke—incredible to tell —
- and with thick darkness blinding every eye,
- concealed his cave, uprolling from below
- one pitch-black night of mingled gloom and fire.
- This would Alcides not endure, but leaped
- headlong across the flames, where densest hung
- the rolling smoke, and through the cavern surged
- a drifting and impenetrable cloud.
- With Cacus, who breathed unavailing flame,
- he grappled in the dark, locked limb with limb,
- and strangled him, till o'er the bloodless throat
- the starting eyeballs stared.Then Hercules
- burst wide the doorway of the sooty den,
- and unto Heaven and all the people showed
- the stolen cattle and the robber's crimes,
- and dragged forth by the feet the shapeless corpse
- of the foul monster slain. The people gazed
- insatiate on the grewsome eyes, the breast
- of bristling shag, the face both beast and man,
- and that fire-blasted throat whence breathed no more
- the extinguished flame. 'T is since that famous day
- we celebrate this feast, and glad of heart
- each generation keeps the holy time.
- Potitius began the worship due,
- and our Pinarian house is vowed to guard
- the rites of Hercules. An altar fair
- within this wood they raised; 't is called ‘the Great,’
- and Ara Maxima its name shall be.
- Come now, my warriors, and bind your brows
- with garlands worthy of the gift of Heaven.
- Lift high the cup in every thankful hand,
- and praise our people's god with plenteous wine.”
- He spoke; and of the poplar's changeful sheen,
- sacred to Hercules, wove him a wreath
- to shade his silvered brow. The sacred cup
- he raised in his right hand, while all the rest
- called on the gods and pure libation poured.
- Soon from the travelling heavens the western star
- glowed nearer, and Potitius led forth
- the priest-procession, girt in ancient guise
- with skins of beasts and carrying burning brands.
- new feasts are spread, and altars heaped anew
- with gifts and laden chargers. Then with song
- the Salian choir surrounds the blazing shrine,
- their foreheads wreathed with poplar. Here the youth,
- the elders yonder, in proud anthem sing
- the glory and the deeds of Hercules:
- how first he strangled with strong infant hand
- two serpents, Juno's plague; what cities proud,
- Troy and Oechalia, his famous war
- in pieces broke; what labors numberless
- as King Eurystheus' bondman he endured,
- by cruel Juno's will. “Thou, unsubdued,
- didst strike the twy-formed, cloud-bred centaurs down,
- Pholus and tall Hylaeus. Thou hast slain
- the Cretan horror, and the lion huge
- beneath the Nemean crag. At sight of thee
- the Stygian region quailed, and Cerberus,
- crouching o'er half-picked bones in gory cave.
- Nothing could bid thee fear. Typhoeus towered
- in his colossal Titan-panoply
- o'er thee in vain; nor did thy cunning fail
- when Lema's wonder-serpent round thee drew
- its multudinous head. Hail, Jove's true son!
- New glory to the gods above, come down,
- and these thine altars and thy people bless!”
- Such hymns they chanted, telling oft the tale
- of Cacus' cave and blasting breath of fire:
- while hills and sacred grove the note prolong.