{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_22456/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_22456","id":"gutenberg_22456","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/22456","summary":null,"tags":["Aeneas (Legendary character) -- Poetry","Category: Classics of Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","Classical Antiquity","Epic poetry, Latin -- Translations into English","Harvard Classics"],"text":"Transcriber's note:\n\n   Numbers in brackets [ ] refer to line numbers in Virgil's\n   Aeneid. These numbers appeared at the top of each page of text\n   and have been retained for reference.\n\n   Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. A complete\n   list follows the text.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE AENEID OF VIRGIL\n\nTranslated into English\n\nby\n\nJ. W. MACKAIL, M.A.\nFellow Of Balliol College, Oxford\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLondon\nMacMillan and Co.\n1885\n\nPrinted by R. & R. CLARK, Edinburgh.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThere is something grotesque in the idea of a prose translation of a\npoet, though the practice is become so common that it has ceased to\nprovoke a smile or demand an apology. The language of poetry is language\nin fusion; that of prose is language fixed and crystallised; and an\nattempt to copy the one material in the other must always count on\nfailure to convey what is, after all, one of the most essential things\nin poetry,--its poetical quality. And this is so with Virgil more,\nperhaps, than with any other poet; for more, perhaps, than any other\npoet Virgil depends on his poetical quality from first to last. Such a\ntranslation can only have the value of a copy of some great painting\nexecuted in mosaic, if indeed a copy in Berlin wool is not a closer\nanalogy; and even at the best all it can have to say for itself will be\nin Virgil's own words, _Experiar sensus; nihil hic nisi carmina desunt._\n\nIn this translation I have in the main followed the text of Conington\nand Nettleship. The more important deviations from this text are\nmentioned in the notes; but I have not thought it necessary to give a\ncomplete list of various readings, or to mention any change except where\nit might lead to misapprehension. Their notes have also been used by me\nthroughout.\n\nBeyond this I have made constant use of the mass of ancient commentary\ngoing under the name of Servius; the most valuable, perhaps, of all, as\nit is in many ways the nearest to the poet himself. The explanation\ngiven in it has sometimes been followed against those of the modern\neditors. To other commentaries only occasional reference has been made.\nThe sense that Virgil is his own best interpreter becomes stronger as\none studies him more.\n\nMy thanks are due to Mr. EVELYN ABBOTT, Fellow and Tutor of Balliol, and\nto the Rev. H. C. BEECHING, for much valuable suggestion and criticism.\n\n\n\n\nTHE AENEID\n\n\n\n\nBOOK FIRST\n\nTHE COMING OF AENEAS TO CARTHAGE\n\n\nI sing of arms and the man who of old from the coasts of Troy came, an\nexile of fate, to Italy and the shore of Lavinium; hard driven on land\nand on the deep by the violence of heaven, for cruel Juno's unforgetful\nanger, and hard bestead in war also, ere he might found a city and carry\nhis gods into Latium; from whom is the Latin race, the lords of Alba,\nand the stately city Rome.\n\nMuse, tell me why, for what attaint of her deity, or in what vexation,\ndid the Queen of heaven drive one so excellent in goodness to circle\nthrough so many afflictions, to face so many toils? Is anger so fierce\nin celestial spirits?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThere was a city of ancient days that Tyrian settlers dwelt in,\nCarthage, over against Italy and the Tiber mouths afar; rich of store,\nand mighty in war's fierce pursuits; wherein, they say, alone beyond all\nother lands had Juno her seat, and held Samos itself less dear. Here was\nher armour, here her chariot; even now, if fate permit, the goddess\nstrives to nurture it for queen of the nations. Nevertheless she had\nheard a race was issuing of the blood of [20-53]Troy, which sometime\nshould overthrow her Tyrian citadel; from it should come a people, lord\nof lands and tyrannous in war, the destroyer of Libya: so rolled the\ndestinies. Fearful of that, the daughter of Saturn, the old war in her\nremembrance that she fought at Troy for her beloved Argos long ago,--nor\nhad the springs of her anger nor the bitterness of her vexation yet gone\nout of mind: deep stored in her soul lies the judgment of Paris, the\ninsult of her slighted beauty, the hated race and the dignities of\nravished Ganymede; fired with this also, she tossed all over ocean the\nTrojan remnant left of the Greek host and merciless Achilles, and held\nthem afar from Latium; and many a year were they wandering driven of\nfate around all the seas. Such work was it to found the Roman people.\n\nHardly out of sight of the land of Sicily did they set their sails to\nsea, and merrily upturned the salt foam with brazen prow, when Juno, the\nundying wound still deep in her heart, thus broke out alone:\n\n'Am I then to abandon my baffled purpose, powerless to keep the Teucrian\nking from Italy? and because fate forbids me? Could Pallas lay the\nArgive fleet in ashes, and sink the Argives in the sea, for one man's\nguilt, mad O\u00eflean Ajax? Her hand darted Jove's flying fire from the\nclouds, scattered their ships, upturned the seas in tempest; him, his\npierced breast yet breathing forth the flame, she caught in a whirlwind\nand impaled on a spike of rock. But I, who move queen among immortals, I\nsister and wife of Jove, wage warfare all these years with a single\npeople; and is there any who still adores Juno's divinity, or will kneel\nto lay sacrifice on her altars?'\n\nSuch thoughts inly revolving in her kindled bosom, the goddess reaches\nAeolia, the home of storm-clouds, the land laden with furious southern\ngales. Here in a desolate cavern Aeolus keeps under royal dominion and\nyokes in [54-85]dungeon fetters the struggling winds and loud storms.\nThey with mighty moan rage indignant round their mountain barriers. In\nhis lofty citadel Aeolus sits sceptred, assuages their temper and\nsoothes their rage; else would they carry with them seas and lands, and\nthe depth of heaven, and sweep them through space in their flying\ncourse. But, fearful of this, the lord omnipotent hath hidden them in\ncaverned gloom, and laid a mountain mass high over them, and appointed\nthem a ruler, who should know by certain law to strain and slacken the\nreins at command. To him now Juno spoke thus in suppliant accents:\n\n'Aeolus--for to thee hath the father of gods and king of men given the\nwind that lulls and that lifts the waves--a people mine enemy sails the\nTyrrhene sea, carrying into Italy the conquered gods of their Ilian\nhome. Rouse thy winds to fury, and overwhelm their sinking vessels, or\ndrive them asunder and strew ocean with their bodies. Mine are twice\nseven nymphs of passing loveliness; her who of them all is most\nexcellent in beauty, De\u00efopea, I will unite to thee in wedlock to be\nthine for ever; that for this thy service she may fulfil all her years\nat thy side, and make thee father of a beautiful race.'\n\nAeolus thus returned: 'Thine, O queen, the task to search whereto thou\nhast desire; for me it is right to do thy bidding. From thee have I this\npoor kingdom, from thee my sceptre and Jove's grace; thou dost grant me\nto take my seat at the feasts of the gods, and makest me sovereign over\nclouds and storms.'\n\nEven with these words, turning his spear, he struck the side of the\nhollow hill, and the winds, as in banded array, pour where passage is\ngiven them, and cover earth with eddying blasts. East wind and west wind\ntogether, and the gusty south-wester, falling prone on the sea, stir it\nup [86-120]from its lowest chambers, and roll vast billows to the\nshore. Behind rises shouting of men and whistling of cordage. In a\nmoment clouds blot sky and daylight from the Teucrians' eyes; black\nnight broods over the deep. Pole thunders to pole, and the air quivers\nwith incessant flashes; all menaces them with instant death. Straightway\nAeneas' frame grows unnerved and chill, and stretching either hand to\nheaven, he cries thus aloud: 'Ah, thrice and four times happy they who\nfound their doom under high Troy town before their fathers' faces! Ah,\nson of Tydeus, bravest of the Grecian race, that I could not have fallen\non the Ilian plains, and gasped out this my life beneath thine hand!\nwhere under the spear of Aeacides lies fierce Hector, lies mighty\nSarpedon; where Simo\u00efs so often bore beneath his whirling wave shields\nand helmets and brave bodies of men.'\n\nAs the cry leaves his lips, a gust of the shrill north strikes full on\nthe sail and raises the waves up to heaven. The oars are snapped; the\nprow swings away and gives her side to the waves; down in a heap comes a\nbroken mountain of water. These hang on the wave's ridge; to these the\nyawning billow shows ground amid the surge, where the sea churns with\nsand. Three ships the south wind catches and hurls on hidden rocks,\nrocks amid the waves which Italians call the Altars, a vast reef banking\nthe sea. Three the east forces from the deep into shallows and\nquicksands, piteous to see, dashes on shoals and girdles with a\nsandbank. One, wherein loyal Orontes and his Lycians rode, before their\nlord's eyes a vast sea descending strikes astern. The helmsman is dashed\naway and rolled forward headlong; her as she lies the billow sends\nspinning thrice round with it, and engulfs in the swift whirl. Scattered\nswimmers appear in the vast eddy, armour of men, timbers and Trojan\ntreasure amid the water. Ere now the stout ship of Ilioneus, ere now of\nbrave Achates, and she wherein [121-152]Abas rode, and she wherein aged\nAletes, have yielded to the storm; through the shaken fastenings of\ntheir sides they all draw in the deadly water, and their opening seams\ngive way.\n\nMeanwhile Neptune discerned with astonishment the loud roaring of the\nvexed sea, the tempest let loose from prison, and the still water\nboiling up from its depths, and lifting his head calm above the waves,\nlooked forth across the deep. He sees all ocean strewn with Aeneas'\nfleet, the Trojans overwhelmed by the waves and the ruining heaven.\nJuno's guile and wrath lay clear to her brother's eye; east wind and\nwest he calls before him, and thereon speaks thus:\n\n'Stand you then so sure in your confidence of birth? Careless, O winds,\nof my deity, dare you confound sky and earth, and raise so huge a coil?\nyou whom I--But better to still the aroused waves; for a second sin you\nshall pay me another penalty. Speed your flight, and say this to your\nking: not to him but to me was allotted the stern trident of ocean\nempire. His fastness is on the monstrous rocks where thou and thine,\neast wind, dwell: there let Aeolus glory in his palace and reign over\nthe barred prison of his winds.'\n\nThus he speaks, and ere the words are done he soothes the swollen seas,\nchases away the gathered clouds, and restores the sunlight. Cymotho\u00eb and\nTriton together push the ships strongly off the sharp reef; himself he\neases them with his trident, channels the vast quicksands, and assuages\nthe sea, gliding on light wheels along the water. Even as when oft in a\nthrong of people strife hath risen, and the base multitude rage in their\nminds, and now brands and stones are flying; madness lends arms; then if\nperchance they catch sight of one reverend for goodness and service,\nthey are silent and stand by with attentive ear; he with\n[153-190]speech sways their temper and soothes their breasts; even so\nhath fallen all the thunder of ocean, when riding forward beneath a\ncloudless sky the lord of the sea wheels his coursers and lets his\ngliding chariot fly with loosened rein.\n\nThe outworn Aeneadae hasten to run for the nearest shore, and turn to\nthe coast of Libya. There lies a spot deep withdrawn; an island forms a\nharbour with outstretched sides, whereon all the waves break from the\nopen sea and part into the hollows of the bay. On this side and that\nenormous cliffs rise threatening heaven, and twin crags beneath whose\ncrest the sheltered water lies wide and calm; above hangs a background\nof flickering forest, and the dark shade of rustling groves. Beneath the\nseaward brow is a rock-hung cavern, within it fresh springs and seats in\nthe living stone, a haunt of nymphs; where tired ships need no fetters\nto hold nor anchor to fasten them with crooked bite. Here with seven\nsail gathered of all his company Aeneas enters; and disembarking on the\nland of their desire the Trojans gain the chosen beach, and set their\nfeet dripping with brine upon the shore. At once Achates struck a spark\nfrom the flint and caught the fire on leaves, and laying dry fuel round\nkindled it into flame. Then, weary of fortune, they fetch out corn\nspoiled by the sea and weapons of corn-dressing, and begin to parch over\nthe fire and bruise in stones the grain they had rescued.\n\nMeanwhile Aeneas scales the crag, and seeks the whole view wide over\nocean, if he may see aught of Antheus storm-tossed with his Phrygian\ngalleys, aught of Capys or of Ca\u00efcus' armour high astern. Ship in sight\nis none; three stags he espies straying on the shore; behind whole herds\nfollow, and graze in long train across the valley. Stopping short, he\nsnatched up a bow and swift arrows, the arms trusty Achates was\ncarrying; and first the leaders, their stately heads high with branching\nantlers, then the common [191-222]herd fall to his hand, as he drives\nthem with his shafts in a broken crowd through the leafy woods. Nor\nstays he till seven great victims are stretched on the sod, fulfilling\nthe number of his ships. Thence he seeks the harbour and parts them\namong all his company. The casks of wine that good Acestes had filled on\nthe Trinacrian beach, the hero's gift at their departure, he thereafter\nshares, and calms with speech their sorrowing hearts:\n\n'O comrades, for not now nor aforetime are we ignorant of ill, O tried\nby heavier fortunes, unto this last likewise will God appoint an end.\nThe fury of Scylla and the roaring recesses of her crags you have been\nanigh; the rocks of the Cyclops you have trodden. Recall your courage,\nput dull fear away. This too sometime we shall haply remember with\ndelight. Through chequered fortunes, through many perilous ways, we\nsteer for Latium, where destiny points us a quiet home. There the realm\nof Troy may rise again unforbidden. Keep heart, and endure till\nprosperous fortune come.'\n\nSuch words he utters, and sick with deep distress he feigns hope on his\nface, and keeps his anguish hidden deep in his breast. The others set to\nthe spoil they are to feast upon, tear chine from ribs and lay bare the\nflesh; some cut it into pieces and pierce it still quivering with spits;\nothers plant cauldrons on the beach and feed them with flame. Then they\nrepair their strength with food, and lying along the grass take their\nfill of old wine and fat venison. After hunger is driven from the\nbanquet, and the board cleared, they talk with lingering regret of their\nlost companions, swaying between hope and fear, whether they may believe\nthem yet alive, or now in their last agony and deaf to mortal call. Most\ndoes good Aeneas inly wail the loss now of valiant Orontes, now of\nAmycus, the cruel doom of Lycus, of brave Gyas, and brave Cloanthus.\n[223-254]And now they ceased; when from the height of air Jupiter\nlooked down on the sail-winged sea and outspread lands, the shores and\nbroad countries, and looking stood on the cope of heaven, and cast down\nhis eyes on the realm of Libya. To him thus troubled at heart Venus, her\nbright eyes brimming with tears, sorrowfully speaks:\n\n'O thou who dost sway mortal and immortal things with eternal command\nand the terror of thy thunderbolt, how can my Aeneas have transgressed\nso grievously against thee? how his Trojans? on whom, after so many\ndeaths outgone, all the world is barred for Italy's sake. From them\nsometime in the rolling years the Romans were to arise indeed; from them\nwere to be rulers who, renewing the blood of Teucer, should hold sea and\nland in universal lordship. This thou didst promise: why, O father, is\nthy decree reversed? This was my solace for the wretched ruin of sunken\nTroy, doom balanced against doom. Now so many woes are spent, and the\nsame fortune still pursues them; Lord and King, what limit dost thou set\nto their agony? Antenor could elude the encircling Achaeans, could\nthread in safety the Illyrian bays and inmost realms of the Liburnians,\ncould climb Timavus' source, whence through nine mouths pours the\nbursting tide amid dreary moans of the mountain, and covers the fields\nwith hoarse waters. Yet here did he set Patavium town, a dwelling-place\nfor his Teucrians, gave his name to a nation and hung up the armour of\nTroy; now settled in peace, he rests and is in quiet. We, thy children,\nwe whom thou beckonest to the heights of heaven, our fleet miserably\ncast away for a single enemy's anger, are betrayed and severed far from\nthe Italian coasts. Is this the reward of goodness? Is it thus thou dost\nrestore our throne?'\n\nSmiling on her with that look which clears sky and [255-289]storms, the\nparent of men and gods lightly kissed his daughter's lips; then answered\nthus:\n\n'Spare thy fear, Cytherean; thy people's destiny abides unshaken. Thine\neyes shall see the city Lavinium, their promised home; thou shalt exalt\nto the starry heaven thy noble Aeneas; nor is my decree reversed. He\nthou lovest (for I will speak, since this care keeps torturing thee, and\nwill unroll further the secret records of fate) shall wage a great war\nin Italy, and crush warrior nations; he shall appoint his people a law\nand a city; till the third summer see him reigning in Latium, and three\nwinters' camps pass over the conquered Rutulians. But the boy Ascanius,\nwhose surname is now I\u00fclus--Ilus he was while the Ilian state stood\nsovereign--thirty great circles of rolling months shall he fulfil in\ngovernment; he shall carry the kingdom from its fastness in Lavinium,\nand make a strong fortress of Alba the Long. Here the full space of\nthrice an hundred years shall the kingdom endure under the race of\nHector's kin, till the royal priestess Ilia from Mars' embrace shall\ngive birth to a twin progeny. Thence shall Romulus, gay in the tawny\nhide of the she-wolf that nursed him, take up their line, and name them\nRomans after his own name. I appoint to these neither period nor\nboundary of empire: I have given them dominion without end. Nay, harsh\nJuno, who in her fear now troubles earth and sea and sky, shall change\nto better counsels, and with me shall cherish the lords of the world,\nthe gowned race of Rome. Thus is it willed. A day will come in the lapse\nof cycles, when the house of Assaracus shall lay Phthia and famed\nMycenae in bondage, and reign over conquered Argos. From the fair line\nof Troy a Caesar shall arise, who shall limit his empire with ocean, his\nglory with the firmament, Julius, inheritor of great I\u00fclus' name. Him\none day, thy care done, thou shalt welcome to heaven loaded\n[290-321]with Eastern spoils; to him too shall vows be addressed. Then\nshall war cease, and the iron ages soften. Hoar Faith and Vesta,\nQuirinus and Remus brothers again, shall deliver statutes. The dreadful\nsteel-riveted gates of war shall be shut fast; on murderous weapons the\ninhuman Fury, his hands bound behind him with an hundred fetters of\nbrass, shall sit within, shrieking with terrible blood-stained lips.'\n\nSo speaking, he sends Maia's son down from above, that the land and\ntowers of Carthage, the new town, may receive the Trojans with open\nwelcome; lest Dido, ignorant of doom, might debar them her land. Flying\nthrough the depth of air on winged oarage, the fleet messenger alights\non the Libyan coasts. At once he does his bidding; at once, for a god\nwilled it, the Phoenicians allay their haughty temper; the queen above\nall takes to herself grace and compassion towards the Teucrians.\n\nBut good Aeneas, nightlong revolving many and many a thing, issues\nforth, so soon as bountiful light is given, to explore the strange\ncountry; to what coasts the wind has borne him, who are their habitants,\nmen or wild beasts, for all he sees is wilderness; this he resolves to\nsearch, and bring back the certainty to his comrades. The fleet he hides\nclose in embosoming groves beneath a caverned rock, amid shivering\nshadow of the woodland; himself, Achates alone following, he strides\nforward, clenching in his hand two broad-headed spears. And amid the\nforest his mother crossed his way, wearing the face and raiment of a\nmaiden, the arms of a maiden of Sparta, or like Harpalyce of Thrace when\nshe tires her coursers and outstrips the winged speed of Hebrus in her\nflight. For huntress fashion had she slung the ready bow from her\nshoulder, and left her blown tresses free, bared her knee, and knotted\ntogether her garments' flowing folds. 'Ha! my men,' she begins, 'shew me\nif [322-355]haply you have seen a sister of mine straying here girt\nwith quiver and a lynx's dappled fell, or pressing with shouts on the\ntrack of a foaming boar.'\n\nThus Venus, and Venus' son answering thus began:\n\n'Sound nor sight have I had of sister of thine, O maiden unnamed; for\nthy face is not mortal, nor thy voice of human tone; O goddess\nassuredly! sister of Phoebus perchance, or one of the nymphs' blood?\nBe thou gracious, whoso thou art, and lighten this toil of ours; deign\nto instruct us beneath what skies, on what coast of the world, we are\nthrown. Driven hither by wind and desolate waves, we wander in a strange\nland among unknown men. Many a sacrifice shall fall by our hand before\nthine altars.'\n\nThen Venus: 'Nay, to no such offerings do I aspire. Tyrian maidens are\nwont ever to wear the quiver, to tie the purple buskin high above their\nankle. Punic is the realm thou seest, Tyrian the people, and the city of\nAgenor's kin; but their borders are Libyan, a race unassailable in war.\nDido sways the sceptre, who flying her brother set sail from the Tyrian\ntown. Long is the tale of crime, long and intricate; but I will briefly\nfollow its argument. Her husband was Sychaeus, wealthiest in lands of\nthe Phoenicians, and loved of her with ill-fated passion; to whom with\nvirgin rites her father had given her maidenhood in wedlock. But the\nkingdom of Tyre was in her brother Pygmalion's hands, a monster of guilt\nunparalleled. Between these madness came; the unnatural brother, blind\nwith lust of gold, and reckless of his sister's love, lays Sychaeus low\nbefore the altars with stealthy unsuspected weapon; and for long he hid\nthe deed, and by many a crafty pretence cheated her love-sickness with\nhollow hope. But in slumber came the very ghost of her unburied husband;\nlifting up a face pale in wonderful wise, he exposed the merciless\naltars and [356-387]his breast stabbed through with steel, and unwove\nall the blind web of household guilt. Then he counsels hasty flight out\nof the country, and to aid her passage discloses treasures long hidden\nunderground, an untold mass of silver and gold. Stirred thereby, Dido\ngathered a company for flight. All assemble in whom hatred of the tyrant\nwas relentless or fear keen; they seize on ships that chanced to lie\nready, and load them with the gold. Pygmalion's hoarded wealth is borne\noverseas; a woman leads the work. They came at last to the land where\nthou wilt descry a city now great, New Carthage, and her rising citadel,\nand bought ground, called thence Byrsa, as much as a bull's hide would\nencircle. But who, I pray, are you, or from what coasts come, or whither\nhold you your way?'\n\nAt her question he, sighing and drawing speech deep from his breast,\nthus replied:\n\n'Ah goddess, should I go on retracing from the fountain head, were time\nfree to hear the history of our woes, sooner would the evening star lay\nday asleep in the closed gates of heaven. Us, as from ancient Troy (if\nthe name of Troy hath haply passed through your ears) we sailed over\nalien seas, the tempest at his own wild will hath driven on the Libyan\ncoast. I am Aeneas the good, who carry in my fleet the household gods I\nrescued from the enemy; my fame is known high in heaven. I seek Italy my\ncountry, my kin of Jove's supreme blood. With twenty sail did I climb\nthe Phrygian sea; oracular tokens led me on; my goddess mother pointed\nthe way; scarce seven survive the shattering of wave and wind. Myself\nunknown, destitute, driven from Europe and Asia, I wander over the\nLibyan wilderness.'\n\nBut staying longer complaint, Venus thus broke in on his half-told\nsorrows:\n\n'Whoso thou art, not hated I think of the immortals [388-420]dost thou\ndraw the breath of life, who hast reached the Tyrian city. Only go on,\nand betake thee hence to the courts of the queen. For I declare to thee\nthy comrades are restored, thy fleet driven back into safety by the\nshifted northern gales, except my parents were pretenders, and\nunavailing the augury they taught me. Behold these twelve swans in\njoyous line, whom, stooping from the tract of heaven, the bird of Jove\nfluttered over the open sky; now in long train they seem either to take\nthe ground or already to look down on the ground they took. As they\nagain disport with clapping wings, and utter their notes as they circle\nthe sky in company, even so do these ships and crews of thine either lie\nfast in harbour or glide under full sail into the harbour mouth. Only go\non, and turn thy steps where the pathway leads thee.'\n\nSpeaking she turned away, and her neck shone roseate, her immortal\ntresses breathed the fragrance of deity; her raiment fell flowing down\nto her feet, and the godhead was manifest in her tread. He knew her for\nhis mother, and with this cry pursued her flight: 'Thou also merciless!\nWhy mockest thou thy son so often in feigned likeness? Why is it\nforbidden to clasp hand in hand, to hear and utter true speech?' Thus\nreproaching her he bends his steps towards the city. But Venus girt them\nin their going with dull mist, and shed round them a deep divine\nclothing of cloud, that none might see them, none touch them, or work\ndelay, or ask wherefore they came. Herself she speeds through the sky to\nPaphos, and joyfully revisits her habitation, where the temple and its\nhundred altars steam with Sabaean incense, and are fresh with fragrance\nof chaplets in her worship.\n\nThey meantime have hasted along where the pathway points, and now were\nclimbing the hill which hangs enormous over the city, and looks down on\nits facing towers. [421-456]Aeneas marvels at the mass of building,\npastoral huts once of old, marvels at the gateways and clatter of the\npavements. The Tyrians are hot at work to trace the walls, to rear the\ncitadel, and roll up great stones by hand, or to choose a spot for their\ndwelling and enclose it with a furrow. They ordain justice and\nmagistrates, and the august senate. Here some are digging harbours, here\nothers lay the deep foundations of their theatre, and hew out of the\ncliff vast columns, the lofty ornaments of the stage to be: even as bees\nwhen summer is fresh over the flowery country ply their task beneath the\nsun, when they lead forth their nation's grown brood, or when they press\nthe liquid honey and strain their cells with nectarous sweets, or\nrelieve the loaded incomers, or in banded array drive the idle herd of\ndrones far from their folds; they swarm over their work, and the odorous\nhoney smells sweet of thyme. 'Happy they whose city already rises!'\ncries Aeneas, looking on the town roofs below. Girt in the cloud he\npasses amid them, wonderful to tell, and mingling with the throng is\ndescried of none.\n\nIn the heart of the town was a grove deep with luxuriant shade, wherein\nfirst the Phoenicians, buffeted by wave and whirlwind, dug up the token\nQueen Juno had appointed, the head of a war horse: thereby was their\nrace to be through all ages illustrious in war and opulent in living.\nHere to Juno was Sidonian Dido founding a vast temple, rich with\nofferings and the sanctity of her godhead: brazen steps rose on the\nthreshold, brass clamped the pilasters, doors of brass swung on grating\nhinges. First in this grove did a strange chance meet his steps and\nallay his fears; first here did Aeneas dare to hope for safety and have\nfairer trust in his shattered fortunes. For while he closely scans the\ntemple that towers above him, while, awaiting the queen, he admires the\nfortunate city, the emulous hands and elaborate work of her craftsmen,\nhe sees ranged in order the [457-491]battles of Ilium, that war whose\nfame was already rumoured through all the world, the sons of Atreus and\nPriam, and Achilles whom both found pitiless. He stopped and cried\nweeping, 'What land is left, Achates, what tract on earth that is not\nfull of our agony? Behold Priam! Here too is the meed of honour, here\nmortal estate touches the soul to tears. Dismiss thy fears; the fame of\nthis will somehow bring thee salvation.'\n\nSo speaks he, and fills his soul with the painted show, sighing often\nthe while, and his face wet with a full river of tears. For he saw, how\nwarring round the Trojan citadel here the Greeks fled, the men of Troy\nhard on their rear; here the Phrygians, plumed Achilles in his chariot\npressing their flight. Not far away he knows the snowy canvas of Rhesus'\ntents, which, betrayed in their first sleep, the blood-stained son of\nTydeus laid desolate in heaped slaughter, and turns the ruddy steeds\naway to the camp ere ever they tasted Trojan fodder or drunk of Xanthus.\nElsewhere Tro\u00eflus, his armour flung away in flight--luckless boy, no\nmatch for Achilles to meet!--is borne along by his horses, and thrown\nback entangled with his empty chariot, still clutching the reins; his\nneck and hair are dragged over the ground, and his reversed spear scores\nthe dust. Meanwhile the Ilian women went with disordered tresses to\nunfriendly Pallas' temple, and bore the votive garment, sadly beating\nbreast with palm: the goddess turning away held her eyes fast on the\nground. Thrice had Achilles whirled Hector round the walls of Troy, and\nwas selling the lifeless body for gold; then at last he heaves a loud\nand heart-deep groan, as the spoils, as the chariot, as the dear body\nmet his gaze, and Priam outstretching unarmed hands. Himself too he knew\njoining battle with the foremost Achaeans, knew the Eastern ranks and\nswart Memnon's armour. Penthesilea leads her crescent-shielded Amazonian\ncolumns in furious heat with [492-524]thousands around her; clasping a\ngolden belt under her naked breast, the warrior maiden clashes boldly\nwith men.\n\nWhile these marvels meet Dardanian Aeneas' eyes, while he dizzily hangs\nrapt in one long gaze, Dido the queen entered the precinct, beautiful\nexceedingly, a youthful train thronging round her. Even as on Eurotas'\nbanks or along the Cynthian ridges Diana wheels the dance, while behind\nher a thousand mountain nymphs crowd to left and right; she carries\nquiver on shoulder, and as she moves outshines them all in deity;\nLatona's heart is thrilled with silent joy; such was Dido, so she\njoyously advanced amid the throng, urging on the business of her rising\nempire. Then in the gates of the goddess, beneath the central vault of\nthe temple roof, she took her seat girt with arms and high enthroned.\nAnd now she gave justice and laws to her people, and adjusted or\nallotted their taskwork in due portion; when suddenly Aeneas sees\nadvancing with a great crowd about them Antheus and Sergestus and brave\nCloanthus, and other of his Trojans, whom the black squall had sundered\nat sea and borne far away on the coast. Dizzy with the shock of joy and\nfear he and Achates together were on fire with eagerness to clasp their\nhands; but in confused uncertainty they keep hidden, and clothed in the\nsheltering cloud wait to espy what fortune befalls them, where they are\nleaving their fleet ashore, why they now come; for they advanced, chosen\nmen from all the ships, praying for grace, and held on with loud cries\ntowards the temple.\n\nAfter they entered in, and free speech was granted, aged Ilioneus with\nplacid mien thus began:\n\n'Queen, to whom Jupiter hath given to found this new city, and lay the\nyoke of justice upon haughty tribes, we beseech thee, we wretched\nTrojans storm-driven over all [525-559]the seas, stay the dreadful\nflames from our ships; spare a guiltless race, and bend a gracious\nregard on our fortunes. We are not come to deal slaughter through Libyan\nhomes, or to drive plundered spoils to the coast. Such violence sits not\nin our mind, nor is a conquered people so insolent. There is a place\nGreeks name Hesperia, an ancient land, mighty in arms and foison of the\nclod; Oenotrian men dwelt therein; now rumour is that a younger race\nfrom their captain's name have called it Italy. Thither lay our course\n. . . when Orion rising on us through the cloudrack with sudden surf\nbore us on blind shoals, and scattered us afar with his boisterous gales\nand whelming brine over waves and trackless reefs. To these your coasts\nwe a scanty remnant floated up. What race of men, what land how\nbarbarous soever, allows such a custom for its own? We are debarred the\nshelter of the beach; they rise in war, and forbid us to set foot on the\nbrink of their land. If you slight human kinship and mortal arms, yet\nlook for gods unforgetful of innocence and guilt. Aeneas was our king,\nforemost of men in righteousness, incomparable in goodness as in warlike\narms; whom if fate still preserves, if he draws the breath of heaven and\nlies not yet low in dispiteous gloom, fear we have none; nor mayest thou\nrepent of challenging the contest of service. In Sicilian territory too\nis tilth and town, and famed Acestes himself of Trojan blood. Grant us\nto draw ashore our storm-shattered fleet, to shape forest trees into\nbeams and strip them for oars; so, if to Italy we may steer with our\nking and comrades found, Italy and Latium shall we gladly seek; but if\nsalvation is clean gone, if the Libyan gulf holds thee, dear lord of thy\nTrojans, and I\u00fclus our hope survives no more, seek we then at least the\nstraits of Sicily, the open homes whence we sailed hither, and Acestes\nfor our king.' Thus Ilioneus, and all the Dardanian company\n[560-593]murmured assent. . . . Then Dido, with downcast face, briefly\nspeaks:\n\n'Cheer your anxious hearts, O Teucrians; put by your care. Hard fortune\nin a strange realm forces me to this task, to keep watch and ward on my\nwide frontiers. Who can be ignorant of the race of Aeneas' people, who\nof Troy town and her men and deeds, or of the great war's consuming\nfire? Not so dull are the hearts of our Punic wearing, not so far doth\nthe sun yoke his steeds from our Tyrian town. Whether your choice be\nbroad Hesperia, the fields of Saturn's dominion, or Eryx for your\ncountry and Acestes for your king, my escort shall speed you in safety,\nmy arsenals supply your need. Or will you even find rest here with me\nand share my kingdom? The city I establish is yours; draw your ships\nashore; Trojan and Tyrian shall be held by me in even balance. And would\nthat he your king, that Aeneas were here, storm-driven to this same\nhaven! But I will send messengers along the coast, and bid them trace\nLibya to its limits, if haply he strays shipwrecked in forest or town.'\n\nStirred by these words brave Achates and lord Aeneas both ere now burned\nto break through the cloud. Achates first accosts Aeneas: 'Goddess-born,\nwhat purpose now rises in thy spirit? Thou seest all is safe, our fleet\nand comrades are restored. One only is wanting, whom our eyes saw\nwhelmed amid the waves; all else is answerable to thy mother's words.'\n\nScarce had he spoken when the encircling cloud suddenly parts and melts\ninto clear air. Aeneas stood discovered in sheen of brilliant light,\nlike a god in face and shoulders; for his mother's self had shed on her\nson the grace of clustered locks, the radiant light of youth, and the\nlustre of joyous eyes; as when ivory takes beauty under the artist's\nhand, or when silver or Parian stone is inlaid in gold. [594-625]Then\nbreaking in on all with unexpected speech he thus addresses the queen:\n\n'I whom you seek am here before you, Aeneas of Troy, snatched from the\nLibyan waves. O thou who alone hast pitied Troy's untold agonies, thou\nwho with us the remnant of the Grecian foe, worn out ere now by every\nsuffering land and sea can bring, with us in our utter want dost share\nthy city and home! to render meet recompense is not possible for us, O\nDido, nor for all who scattered over the wide world are left of our\nDardanian race. The gods grant thee worthy reward, if their deity turn\nany regard on goodness, if aught avails justice and conscious purity of\nsoul. What happy ages bore thee? what mighty parents gave thy virtue\nbirth? While rivers run into the sea, while the mountain shadows move\nacross their slopes, while the stars have pasturage in heaven, ever\nshall thine honour, thy name and praises endure in the unknown lands\nthat summon me.' With these words he advances his right hand to dear\nIlioneus, his left to Serestus; then to the rest, brave Gyas and brave\nCloanthus.\n\nDido the Sidonian stood astonished, first at the sight of him, then at\nhis strange fortunes; and these words left her lips:\n\n'What fate follows thee, goddess-born, through perilous ways? what\nviolence lands thee on this monstrous coast? Art thou that Aeneas whom\nVenus the bountiful bore to Dardanian Anchises by the wave of Phrygian\nSimo\u00efs? And well I remember how Teucer came to Sidon, when exiled from\nhis native land he sought Belus' aid to gain new realms; Belus my father\neven then ravaged rich Cyprus and held it under his conquering sway.\nFrom that time forth have I known the fall of the Trojan city, known thy\nname and the Pelasgian princes. Their very foe would extol the Teucrians\nwith highest praises, and boasted himself a branch [626-661]of the\nancient Teucrian stem. Come therefore, O men, and enter our house. Me\ntoo hath a like fortune driven through many a woe, and willed at last to\nfind my rest in this land. Not ignorant of ill do I learn to succour the\nafflicted.'\n\nWith such speech she leads Aeneas into the royal house, and orders\nsacrifice in the gods' temples. Therewith she sends his company on\nthe shore twenty bulls, an hundred great bristly-backed swine, an\nhundred fat lambs and their mothers with them, gifts of the day's\ngladness. . . . But the palace within is decked with splendour of royal\nstate, and a banquet made ready amid the halls. The coverings are\ncuriously wrought in splendid purple; on the tables is massy silver and\ndeeds of ancestral valour graven in gold, all the long course of history\ndrawn through many a heroic name from the nation's primal antiquity.\n\nAeneas--for a father's affection denied his spirit rest--sends Achates\nspeeding to his ships, to carry this news to Ascanius, and lead him to\nthe town: in Ascanius is fixed all the parent's loving care. Presents\nlikewise he bids him bring saved from the wreck of Ilium, a mantle stiff\nwith gold embroidery, and a veil with woven border of yellow\nacanthus-flower, that once decked Helen of Argos, the marvel of her\nmother Leda's giving; Helen had borne them from Mycenae, when she sought\nTroy towers and a lawless bridal; the sceptre too that Ilione, Priam's\neldest daughter, once had worn, a beaded necklace, and a double circlet\nof jewelled gold. Achates, hasting on his message, bent his way towards\nthe ships.\n\nBut in the Cytherean's breast new arts, new schemes revolve; if Cupid,\nchanged in form and feature, may come in sweet Ascanius' room, and his\ngifts kindle the queen to madness and set her inmost sense aflame.\nVerily she fears the uncertain house, the double-tongued race of Tyre;\n[662-698]cruel Juno frets her, and at nightfall her care floods back.\nTherefore to winged Love she speaks these words:\n\n'Son, who art alone my strength and sovereignty, son, who scornest the\nmighty father's Typho\u00efan shafts, to thee I fly for succour, and sue\nhumbly to thy deity. How Aeneas thy brother is driven about all the\nsea-coasts by bitter Juno's malignity, this thou knowest, and hast often\ngrieved in our grief. Now Dido the Phoenician holds him stayed with soft\nwords, and I tremble to think how the welcome of Juno's house may issue;\nshe will not be idle in this supreme turn of fortune. Wherefore I\ncounsel to prevent her wiles and circle the queen with flame, that,\nunalterable by any deity, she may be held fast to me by passionate love\nfor Aeneas. Take now my thought how to do this. The boy prince, my\nchiefest care, makes ready at his dear father's summons to go to the\nSidonian city, carrying gifts that survive the sea and the flames of\nTroy. Him will I hide deep asleep in my holy habitation, high on\nCythera's hills or in Idalium, that he may not know nor cross our wiles.\nDo thou but for one night feign his form, and, boy as thou art, put on\nthe familiar face of a boy; so when in festal cheer, amid royal dainties\nand Bacchic juice, Dido shall take thee to her lap, shall fold thee in\nher clasp and kiss thee close and sweet, thou mayest imbreathe a hidden\nfire and unsuspected poison.'\n\nLove obeys his dear mother's words, lays by his wings, and walks\nrejoicingly with I\u00fclus' tread. But Venus pours gentle dew of slumber on\nAscanius' limbs, and lifts him lulled in her lap to the tall Idalian\ngroves of her deity, where soft amaracus folds him round with the\nshadowed sweetness of its odorous blossoms. And now, obedient to her\nwords, Cupid went merrily in Achates' guiding, with the royal gifts for\nthe Tyrians. Already at his coming the queen hath sate her down in the\nmidmost on her golden [699-733]throne under the splendid tapestries;\nnow lord Aeneas, now too the men of Troy gather, and all recline on the\nstrewn purple. Servants pour water on their hands, serve corn from\nbaskets, and bring napkins with close-cut pile. Fifty handmaids are\nwithin, whose task is in their course to keep unfailing store and kindle\nthe household fire. An hundred others, and as many pages all of like\nage, load the board with food and array the wine cups. Therewithal the\nTyrians are gathered full in the wide feasting chamber, and take their\nappointed places on the broidered cushions. They marvel at Aeneas'\ngifts, marvel at I\u00fclus, at the god's face aflame and forged speech, at\nthe mantle and veil wrought with yellow acanthus-flower. Above all the\nhapless Phoenician, victim to coming doom, cannot satiate her soul, but,\nstirred alike by the boy and the gifts, she gazes and takes fire. He,\nwhen hanging clasped on Aeneas' neck he had satisfied all the deluded\nparent's love, makes his way to the queen; the queen clings to him with\nher eyes and all her soul, and ever and anon fondles him in her lap, ah,\npoor Dido! witless how mighty a deity sinks into her breast; but he,\nmindful of his mother the Acidalian, begins touch by touch to efface\nSychaeus, and sows the surprise of a living love in the\nlong-since-unstirred spirit and disaccustomed heart. Soon as the noise\nof banquet ceased and the board was cleared, they set down great bowls\nand enwreathe the wine. The house is filled with hum of voices eddying\nthrough the spacious chambers; lit lamps hang down by golden chainwork,\nand flaming tapers expel the night. Now the queen called for a heavy cup\nof jewelled gold, and filled it with pure wine; therewith was the use of\nBelus and all of Belus' race: then the hall was silenced. 'Jupiter,' she\ncries, 'for thou art reputed lawgiver of hospitality, grant that this be\na joyful day to the Tyrians and the voyagers from Troy, a day to live in\nour children's memory. [734-756]Bacchus, the giver of gladness, be with\nus, and Juno the bountiful; and you, O Tyrians, be favourable to our\nassembly.' She spoke, and poured liquid libation on the board, which\ndone, she first herself touched it lightly with her lips, then handed it\nto Bitias and bade him speed; he valiantly drained the foaming cup, and\nflooded him with the brimming gold. The other princes followed.\nLong-haired Iopas on his gilded lyre fills the chamber with songs\nancient Atlas taught; he sings of the wandering moon and the sun's\ntravails; whence is the human race and the brute, whence water and fire;\nof Arcturus, the rainy Hyades, and the twin Oxen; why wintry suns make\nsuch haste to dip in ocean, or what delay makes the nights drag\nlingeringly. Tyrians and Trojans after them redouble applause.\nTherewithal Dido wore the night in changing talk, alas! and drank long\ndraughts of love, asking many a thing of Priam, many a thing of Hector;\nnow in what armour the son of the Morning came; now of what fashion were\nDiomede's horses; now of mighty Achilles. 'Nay, come,' she cries, 'tell\nto us, O guest, from their first beginning the treachery of the\nGrecians, thy people's woes, and thine own wanderings; for this is now\nthe seventh summer that bears thee a wanderer over all the earth and\nsea.'\n\n\n\n\nBOOK SECOND\n\nTHE STORY OF THE SACK OF TROY\n\n\nAll were hushed, and sate with steadfast countenance; thereon, high from\nhis cushioned seat, lord Aeneas thus began:\n\n'Dreadful, O Queen, is the woe thou bidst me recall, how the Grecians\npitiably overthrew the wealth and lordship of Troy; and I myself saw\nthese things in all their horror, and I bore great part in them. What\nMyrmidon or Dolopian, or soldier of stern Ulysses, could in such a tale\nrestrain his tears! and now night falls dewy from the steep of heaven,\nand the setting stars counsel to slumber. Yet if thy desire be such to\nknow our calamities, and briefly to hear Troy's last agony, though my\nspirit shudders at the remembrance and recoils in pain, I will essay.\n\n'Broken in war and beaten back by fate, and so many years now slid away,\nthe Grecian captains build by Pallas' divine craft a horse of\nmountainous build, ribbed with sawn fir; they feign it vowed for their\nreturn, and this rumour goes about. Within the blind sides they\nstealthily imprison chosen men picked out one by one, and fill the vast\ncavern of its womb full with armed soldiery.\n\n'There lies in sight an island well known in fame, Tenedos, rich of\nstore while the realm of Priam endured, [23-55]now but a bay and\nroadstead treacherous to ships. Hither they launch forth, and hide on\nthe solitary shore: we fancied they were gone, and had run down the wind\nfor Mycenae. So all the Teucrian land put her long grief away. The gates\nare flung open; men go rejoicingly to see the Doric camp, the deserted\nstations and abandoned shore. Here the Dolopian troops were tented, here\ncruel Achilles; here their squadrons lay; here the lines were wont to\nmeet in battle. Some gaze astonished at the deadly gift of Minerva the\nVirgin, and wonder at the horse's bulk; and Thymoetes begins to advise\nthat it be drawn within our walls and set in the citadel, whether in\nguile, or that the doom of Troy was even now setting thus. But Capys and\nthey whose mind was of better counsel, bid us either hurl sheer into the\nsea the guileful and sinister gift of Greece, or heap flames beneath to\nconsume it, or pierce and explore the hollow hiding-place of its womb.\nThe wavering crowd is torn apart in high dispute.\n\n'At that, foremost of all and with a great throng about him, Laoco\u00f6n\nruns hotly down from the high citadel, and cries from far: \"Ah, wretched\ncitizens, what height of madness is this? Believe you the foe is gone?\nor think you any Grecian gift is free of treachery? is it thus we know\nUlysses? Either Achaeans are hid in this cage of wood, or the engine is\nfashioned against our walls to overlook the houses and descend upon the\ncity; some delusion lurks there: trust not the horse, O Trojans. Be it\nwhat it may, I fear the Grecians even when they offer gifts.\" Thus\nspeaking, he hurled his mighty spear with great strength at the\ncreature's side and the curved framework of the belly: the spear stood\nquivering, and the jarred cavern of the womb sounded hollow and uttered\na groan. And had divine ordinance, had a soul not infatuate been with\nus, he had moved us to lay violent steel on the Argolic hiding place;\n[56-90]and Troy would now stand, and you, tall towers of Priam, yet\nabide.\n\n'Lo, Dardanian shepherds meanwhile dragged clamorously before the King a\nman with hands tied behind his back, who to compass this very thing, to\nlay Troy open to the Achaeans, had gone to meet their ignorant approach,\nconfident in spirit and doubly prepared to spin his snares or to meet\nassured death. From all sides, in eagerness to see, the people of Troy\nrun streaming in, and vie in jeers at their prisoner. Know now the\ntreachery of the Grecians, and from a single crime learn all. . . . For\nas he stood amid our gaze confounded, disarmed, and cast his eyes around\nthe Phrygian columns, \"Alas!\" he cried, \"what land now, what seas may\nreceive me? or what is the last doom that yet awaits my misery? who have\nneither any place among the Grecians, and likewise the Dardanians\nclamour in wrath for the forfeit of my blood.\" At that lament our spirit\nwas changed, and all assault stayed: we encourage him to speak, and tell\nof what blood he is sprung, or what assurance he brings his captors.\n\n'\"In all things assuredly,\" says he, \"O King, befall what may, I will\nconfess to thee the truth; nor will I deny myself of Argolic birth--this\nfirst--nor, if Fortune hath made Sinon unhappy, shall her malice mould\nhim to a cheat and a liar. Hath a tale of the name of Palamedes, son of\nBelus, haply reached thine ears, and of his glorious rumour and renown;\nwhom under false evidence the Pelasgians, because he forbade the war,\nsent innocent to death by wicked witness; now they bewail him when he\nhath left the light;--in his company, being near of blood, my father,\npoor as he was, sent me hither to arms from mine earliest years. While\nhe stood unshaken in royalty and potent in the councils of the kings, we\ntoo wore a name and honour. When by subtle Ulysses' malice (no unknown\ntale do I tell) [91-124]he left the upper regions, my shattered life\ncrept on in darkness and grief, inly indignant at the fate of my\ninnocent friend. Nor in my madness was I silent: and, should any chance\noffer, did I ever return a conqueror to my native Argos, I vowed myself\nhis avenger, and with my words I stirred his bitter hatred. From this\ncame the first taint of ill; from this did Ulysses ever threaten me with\nfresh charges, from this flung dark sayings among the crowd and sought\nconfederate arms. Nay, nor did he rest, till by Calchas' service--but\nyet why do I vainly unroll the unavailing tale, or why hold you in\ndelay, if all Achaeans are ranked together in your mind, and it is\nenough that I bear the name? Take the vengeance deferred; this the\nIthacan would desire, and the sons of Atreus buy at a great ransom.\"\n\n'Then indeed we press on to ask and inquire the cause, witless of\nwickedness so great and Pelasgian craft. Tremblingly the false-hearted\none pursues his speech:\n\n'\"Often would the Grecians have taken to flight, leaving Troy behind,\nand disbanded in weariness of the long war: and would God they had! as\noften the fierce sea-tempest barred their way, and the gale frightened\nthem from going. Most of all when this horse already stood framed with\nbeams of maple, storm clouds roared over all the sky. In perplexity we\nsend Eurypylus to inquire of Phoebus' oracle; and he brings back from\nthe sanctuary these words of terror: _With blood of a slain maiden, O\nGrecians, you appeased the winds when first you came to the Ilian\ncoasts; with blood must you seek your return, and an Argive life be the\naccepted sacrifice._ When that utterance reached the ears of the crowd,\ntheir hearts stood still, and a cold shudder ran through their inmost\nsense: for whom is doom purposed? who is claimed of Apollo? At this the\nIthacan with loud clamour drags Calchas the soothsayer forth amidst\nthem, and demands of him what is this the gods signify. And now many an\none [125-158]foretold me the villain's craft and cruelty, and silently\nsaw what was to come. Twice five days he is speechless in his tent, and\nwill not have any one denounced by his lips, or given up to death.\nScarcely at last, at the loud urgence of the Ithacan, he breaks into\nspeech as was planned, and appoints me for the altar. All consented; and\neach one's particular fear was turned, ah me! to my single destruction.\nAnd now the dreadful day was at hand; the rites were being ordered for\nme, the salted corn, and the chaplets to wreathe my temples. I broke\naway, I confess it, from death; I burst my bonds, and lurked all night\ndarkling in the sedge of the marshy pool, till they might set their\nsails, if haply they should set them. Nor have I any hope more of seeing\nmy old home nor my sweet children and the father whom I desire. Of them\nwill they even haply claim vengeance for my flight, and wash away this\ncrime in their wretched death. By the heavenly powers I beseech thee,\nthe deities to whom truth is known, by all the faith yet unsullied that\nis anywhere left among mortals; pity woes so great; pity an undeserving\nsufferer.\"\n\n'At these his tears we grant him life, and accord our pity. Priam\nhimself at once commands his shackles and strait bonds to be undone, and\nthus speaks with kindly words: \"Whoso thou art, now and henceforth\ndismiss and forget the Greeks: thou shalt be ours. And unfold the truth\nto this my question: wherefore have they reared this vast size of horse?\nwho is their counsellor? or what their aim? what propitiation, or what\nengine of war is this?\" He ended; the other, stored with the treacherous\ncraft of Pelasgia, lifts to heaven his freed hands. \"You, everlasting\nfires,\" he cries, \"and your inviolable sanctity be my witness; you, O\naltars and accursed swords I fled, and chaplets of the gods I wore as\nvictim! unblamed may I break the oath of Greek allegiance, unblamed hate\nthem and bring all to light that they [159-191]conceal; nor am I bound\nby any laws of country. Do thou only keep by thy promise, O Troy, and\npreserve faith with thy preserver, as my news shall be true, as my\nrecompense great.\n\n'\"All the hope of Greece, and the confidence in which the war began,\never centred in Pallas' aid. But since the wicked son of Tydeus, and\nUlysses, forger of crime, made bold to tear the fated Palladium from her\nsanctuary, and cut down the sentries on the towered height; since they\ngrasped the holy image, and dared with bloody hands to touch the maiden\nchaplets of the goddess; since then the hope of Greece ebbed and slid\naway backwards, their strength was broken, and the mind of the goddess\nestranged. Whereof the Tritonian gave token by no uncertain signs.\nScarcely was the image set in the camp; flame shot sparkling from its\nlifted eyes, and salt sweat started over its body; thrice, wonderful to\ntell, it leapt from the ground with shield and spear quivering.\nImmediately Calchas prophesies that the seas must be explored in flight,\nnor may Troy towers be overthrown by Argive weapons, except they repeat\ntheir auspices at Argos, and bring back that divine presence they have\nborne away with them in the curved ships overseas. And now they have run\ndown the wind for their native Mycenae, to gather arms and gods to\nattend them; they will remeasure ocean and be on you unawares. So\nCalchas expounds the omens. This image at his warning they reared in\nrecompense for the Palladium and the injured deity, to expiate the\nhorror of sacrilege. Yet Calchas bade them raise it to this vast size\nwith oaken crossbeams, and build it up to heaven, that it may not find\nentry at the gates nor be drawn within the city, nor protect your people\nbeneath the consecration of old. For if hand of yours should violate\nMinerva's offering, then utter destruction (the gods turn rather on\nhimself his augury!) should be upon Priam's empire and [192-226]the\nPhrygian people. But if under your hands it climbed into your city, Asia\nshould advance in mighty war to the walls of Pelops, and a like fate\nawaited our children's children.\"\n\n'So by Sinon's wiles and craft and perjury the thing gained belief; and\nwe were ensnared by treachery and forced tears, we whom neither the son\nof Tydeus nor Achilles of Larissa, whom not ten years nor a thousand\nships brought down.\n\n'Here another sight, greater, alas! and far more terrible meets us, and\nalarms our thoughtless senses. Laoco\u00f6n, allotted priest of Neptune, was\nslaying a great bull at the accustomed altars. And lo! from Tenedos,\nover the placid depths (I shudder as I recall) two snakes in enormous\ncoils press down the sea and advance together to the shore; their\nbreasts rise through the surge, and their blood-red crests overtop the\nwaves; the rest trails through the main behind and wreathes back in\nvoluminous curves; the brine gurgles and foams. And now they gained the\nfields, while their bloodshot eyes blazed with fire, and their tongues\nlapped and flickered in their hissing mouths. We scatter, pallid at the\nsight. They in unfaltering train make towards Laoco\u00f6n. And first the\nserpents twine in their double embrace his two little children, and bite\ndeep in their wretched limbs; then him likewise, as he comes up to help\nwith arms in his hand, they seize and fasten in their enormous coils;\nand now twice clasping his waist, twice encircling his neck with their\nscaly bodies, they tower head and neck above him. He at once strains his\nhands to tear their knots apart, his fillets spattered with foul black\nvenom; at once raises to heaven awful cries; as when, bellowing, a bull\nshakes the wavering axe from his neck and runs wounded from the altar.\nBut the two snakes glide away to the high sanctuary and seek the fierce\nTritonian's citadel, [227-261]and take shelter under the goddess' feet\nbeneath the circle of her shield. Then indeed a strange terror thrills\nin all our amazed breasts; and Laoco\u00f6n, men say, hath fulfilled his\ncrime's desert, in piercing the consecrated wood and hurling his guilty\nspear into its body. All cry out that the image must be drawn to its\nhome and supplication made to her deity. . . . We sunder the walls, and\nlay open the inner city. All set to the work; they fix rolling wheels\nunder its feet, and tie hempen bands on its neck. The fated engine\nclimbs our walls, big with arms. Around it boys and unwedded girls chant\nhymns and joyfully lay their hand on the rope. It moves up, and glides\nmenacing into the middle of the town. O native land! O Ilium, house of\ngods, and Dardanian city renowned in war! four times in the very gateway\ndid it come to a stand, and four times armour rang in its womb. Yet we\nurge it on, mindless and infatuate, and plant the ill-ominous thing in\nour hallowed citadel. Even then Cassandra opens her lips to the coming\ndoom, lips at a god's bidding never believed by the Trojans. We, the\nwretched people, to whom that day was our last, hang the shrines of the\ngods with festal boughs throughout the city. Meanwhile the heavens wheel\non, and night rises from the sea, wrapping in her vast shadow earth and\nsky and the wiles of the Myrmidons; about the town the Teucrians are\nstretched in silence; slumber laps their tired limbs.\n\n'And now the Argive squadron was sailing in order from Tenedos, and in\nthe favouring stillness of the quiet moon sought the shores it knew;\nwhen the royal galley ran out a flame, and, protected by the gods'\nmalign decrees, Sinon stealthily lets loose the imprisoned Grecians from\ntheir barriers of pine; the horse opens and restores them to the air;\nand joyfully issuing from the hollow wood, Thessander and Sthenelus the\ncaptains, and terrible Ulysses, [262-295]slide down the dangling rope,\nwith Acamas and Thoas and Neoptolemus son of Peleus, and Machaon first\nof all, and Menelaus, and Epe\u00fcs himself the artificer of the treachery.\nThey sweep down the city buried in drunken sleep; the watchmen are cut\ndown, and at the open gates they welcome all their comrades, and unite\ntheir confederate bands.\n\n'It was the time when by the gift of God rest comes stealing first and\nsweetest on unhappy men. In slumber, lo! before mine eyes Hector seemed\nto stand by, deep in grief and shedding abundant tears; torn by the\nchariot, as once of old, and black with gory dust, his swoln feet\npierced with the thongs. Ah me! in what guise was he! how changed from\nthe Hector who returns from putting on Achilles' spoils, or launching\nthe fires of Phrygia on the Grecian ships! with ragged beard and tresses\nclotted with blood, and all the many wounds upon him that he received\naround his ancestral walls. Myself too weeping I seemed to accost him\nere he spoke, and utter forth mournful accents: \"O light of Dardania, O\nsurest hope of the Trojans, what long delay is this hath held thee? from\nwhat borders comest thou, Hector our desire? with what weary eyes we see\nthee, after many deaths of thy kin, after divers woes of people and\ncity! What indignity hath marred thy serene visage? or why discern I\nthese wounds?\" He replies naught, nor regards my idle questioning; but\nheavily drawing a heart-deep groan, \"Ah, fly, goddess-born,\" he says,\n\"and rescue thyself from these flames. The foe holds our walls; from her\nhigh ridges Troy is toppling down. Thy country and Priam ask no more. If\nTroy towers might be defended by strength of hand, this hand too had\nbeen their defence. Troy commends to thee her holy things and household\ngods; take them to accompany thy fate; seek for them a city, which,\nafter all the seas have known thy wanderings, thou shalt at last\nestablish in [296-327]might.\" So speaks he, and carries forth in his\nhands from their inner shrine the chaplets and strength of Vesta, and\nthe everlasting fire.\n\n'Meanwhile the city is stirred with mingled agony; and more and more,\nthough my father Anchises' house lay deep withdrawn and screened by\ntrees, the noises grow clearer and the clash of armour swells. I shake\nmyself from sleep and mount over the sloping roof, and stand there with\nears attent: even as when flame catches a corn-field while south winds\nare furious, or the racing torrent of a mountain stream sweeps the\nfields, sweeps the smiling crops and labours of the oxen, and hurls the\nforest with it headlong; the shepherd in witless amaze hears the roar\nfrom the cliff-top. Then indeed proof is clear, and the treachery of the\nGrecians opens out. Already the house of De\u00efphobus hath crashed down in\nwide ruin amid the overpowering flames; already our neighbour Ucalegon\nis ablaze: the broad Sigean bay is lit with the fire. Cries of men and\nblare of trumpets rise up. Madly I seize my arms, nor is there so much\npurpose in arms; but my spirit is on fire to gather a band for fighting\nand charge for the citadel with my comrades. Fury and wrath drive me\nheadlong, and I think how noble is death in arms.\n\n'And lo! Panthus, eluding the Achaean weapons, Panthus son of Othrys,\npriest of Phoebus in the citadel, comes hurrying with the sacred vessels\nand conquered gods and his little grandchild in his hand, and runs\ndistractedly towards my gates. \"How stands the state, O Panthus? what\nstronghold are we to occupy?\" Scarcely had I said so, when groaning he\nthus returns: \"The crowning day is come, the irreversible time of the\nDardanian land. No more are we a Trojan people; Ilium and the great\nglory of the Teucrians is no more. Angry Jupiter hath cast all into the\nscale of Argos. The Grecians are lords of the burning [328-362]town.\nThe horse, standing high amid the city, pours forth armed men, and Sinon\nscatters fire, insolent in victory. Some are at the wide-flung gates,\nall the thousands that ever came from populous Mycenae. Others have\nbeset the narrow streets with lowered weapons; edge and glittering point\nof steel stand drawn, ready for the slaughter; scarcely at the entry do\nthe guards of the gates essay battle, and hold out in the blind fight.\"\n\n'Heaven's will thus declared by the son of Othrys drives me amid flames\nand arms, where the baleful Fury calls, and tumult of shouting rises up.\nRhipeus and Epytus, most mighty in arms, join company with me; Hypanis\nand Dymas meet us in the moonlight and attach themselves to our side,\nand young Coroebus son of Mygdon. In those days it was he had come to\nTroy, fired with mad passion for Cassandra, and bore a son's aid to\nPriam and the Phrygians: hapless, that he listened not to his raving\nbride's counsels. . . . Seeing them close-ranked and daring for battle,\nI therewith began thus: \"Men, hearts of supreme and useless bravery, if\nyour desire be fixed to follow one who dares the utmost; you see what is\nthe fortune of our state: all the gods by whom this empire was upheld\nhave gone forth, abandoning shrine and altar; your aid comes to a\nburning city. Let us die, and rush on their encircling weapons. The\nconquered have one safety, to hope for none.\"\n\n'So their spirit is heightened to fury. Then, like wolves ravening in a\nblack fog, whom mad malice of hunger hath driven blindly forth, and\ntheir cubs left behind await with throats unslaked; through the weapons\nof the enemy we march to certain death, and hold our way straight into\nthe town. Night's sheltering shadow flutters dark around us. Who may\nunfold in speech that night's horror and death-agony, or measure its\nwoes in weeping? The [363-397]ancient city falls with her long years of\nsovereignty; corpses lie stretched stiff all about the streets and\nhouses and awful courts of the gods. Nor do Teucrians alone pay forfeit\nof their blood; once and again valour returns even in conquered hearts,\nand the victorious Grecians fall. Everywhere is cruel agony, everywhere\nterror, and the sight of death at every turn.\n\n'First, with a great troop of Grecians attending him, Androgeus meets\nus, taking us in ignorance for an allied band, and opens on us with\nfriendly words: \"Hasten, my men; why idly linger so late? others plunder\nand harry the burning citadel; are you but now on your march from the\ntall ships?\" He spoke, and immediately (for no answer of any assurance\nwas offered) knew he was fallen among the foe. In amazement, he checked\nfoot and voice; even as one who struggling through rough briers hath\ntrodden a snake on the ground unwarned, and suddenly shrinks fluttering\nback as it rises in anger and puffs its green throat out; even thus\nAndrogeus drew away, startled at the sight. We rush in and encircle them\nwith serried arms, and cut them down dispersedly in their ignorance of\nthe ground and seizure of panic. Fortune speeds our first labour. And\nhere Coroebus, flushed with success and spirit, cries: \"O comrades,\nfollow me where fortune points before us the path of safety, and shews\nher favour. Let us exchange shields, and accoutre ourselves in Grecian\nsuits; whether craft or courage, who will ask of an enemy? the foe shall\narm our hands.\" Thus speaking, he next dons the plumed helmet and\nbeautifully blazoned shield of Androgeus, and fits the Argive sword to\nhis side. So does Rhipeus, so Dymas in like wise, and all our men in\ndelight arm themselves one by one in the fresh spoils. We advance,\nmingling with the Grecians, under a protection not our own, and join\nmany a battle [398-432]with those we meet amid the blind night; many a\nGreek we send down to hell. Some scatter to the ships and run for the\nsafety of the shore; some in craven fear again climb the huge horse, and\nhide in the belly they knew. Alas that none may trust at all to\nestranged gods!\n\n'Lo! Cassandra, maiden daughter of Priam, was being dragged with\ndisordered tresses from the temple and sanctuary of Minerva, straining\nto heaven her blazing eyes in vain; her eyes, for fetters locked her\ndelicate hands. At this sight Coroebus burst forth infuriate, and flung\nhimself on death amid their columns. We all follow him up, and charge\nwith massed arms. Here first from the high temple roof we are\noverwhelmed with our own people's weapons, and a most pitiful slaughter\nbegins through the fashion of our armour and the mistaken Greek crests;\nthen the Grecians, with angry cries at the maiden's rescue, gather from\nevery side and fall on us; Ajax in all his valour, and the two sons of\nAtreus, and the whole Dolopian army: as oft when bursting in whirlwind\nWest and South clash with adverse blasts, and the East wind exultant on\nthe coursers of the Dawn; the forests cry, and fierce in foam Nereus\nwith his trident stirs the seas from their lowest depth. Those too\nappear, whom our stratagem routed through the darkness of dim night and\ndrove all about the town; at once they know the shields and lying\nweapons, and mark the alien tone on our lips. We go down, overwhelmed by\nnumbers. First Coroebus is stretched by Peneleus' hand at the altar of\nthe goddess armipotent; and Rhipeus falls, the one man who was most\nrighteous and steadfast in justice among the Teucrians: the gods' ways\nare not as ours: Hypanis and Dymas perish, pierced by friendly hands;\nnor did all thy goodness, O Panthus, nor Apollo's fillet protect thy\nfall. O ashes of Ilium and death flames of my people! you I call to\nwitness that in your ruin I [433-465]shunned no Grecian weapon or\nencounter, and my hand earned my fall, had destiny been thus. We tear\nourselves away, I and Iphitus and Pelias, Iphitus now stricken in age,\nPelias halting too under the wound of Ulysses, called forward by the\nclamour to Priam's house.\n\n'Here indeed the battle is fiercest, as if all the rest of the fighting\nwere nowhere, and no slaughter but here throughout the city, so do we\ndescry the war in full fury, the Grecians rushing on the building, and\ntheir shielded column driving up against the beleaguered threshold.\nLadders cling to the walls; and hard by the doors and planted on the\nrungs they hold up their shields in the left hand to ward off our\nweapons, and with their right clutch the battlements. The Dardanians\ntear down turrets and the covering of the house roof against them; with\nthese for weapons, since they see the end is come, they prepare to\ndefend themselves even in death's extremity: and hurl down gilded beams,\nthe stately decorations of their fathers of old. Others with drawn\nswords have beset the doorway below and keep it in crowded column. We\nrenew our courage, to aid the royal dwelling, to support them with our\nsuccour, and swell the force of the conquered.\n\n'There was a blind doorway giving passage through the range of Priam's\nhalls by a solitary postern, whereby, while our realm endured, hapless\nAndromache would often and often glide unattended to her father-in-law's\nhouse, and carry the boy Astyanax to his grandsire. I issue out on the\nsloping height of the ridge, whence wretched Teucrian hands were hurling\ntheir ineffectual weapons. A tower stood on the sheer brink, its roof\nascending high into heaven, whence was wont to be seen all Troy and the\nGrecian ships and Achaean camp: attacking it with iron round about,\nwhere the joints of the lofty flooring yielded, we wrench it from its\ndeep foundations and shake it free; it gives way, and [466-498]suddenly\nfalls thundering in ruin, crashing wide over the Grecian ranks. But\nothers swarm up; nor meanwhile do stones nor any sort of missile\nslacken. . . . Right before the vestibule and in the front doorway\nPyrrhus moves rejoicingly in the sparkle of arms and gleaming brass:\nlike as when a snake fed on poisonous herbs, whom chill winter kept hid\nand swollen underground, now fresh from his weeds outworn and shining in\nyouth, wreathes his slippery body into the daylight, his upreared breast\nmeets the sun, and his triple-cloven tongue flickers in his mouth. With\nhim huge Periphas, and Automedon the armour-bearer, driver of Achilles'\nhorses, with him all his Scyrian men climb the roof and hurl flames on\nthe housetop. Himself among the foremost he grasps a poleaxe, bursts\nthrough the hard doorway, and wrenches the brazen-plated doors from the\nhinge; and now he hath cut out a plank from the solid oak and pierced a\nvast gaping hole. The house within is open to sight, and the long halls\nlie plain; open to sight are the secret chambers of Priam and the kings\nof old, and they see armed men standing in front of the doorway.\n\n'But the inner house is stirred with shrieks and misery and confusion,\nand the court echoes deep with women's wailing; the golden stars are\nsmitten with the din. Affrighted mothers stray about the vast house, and\ncling fast to the doors and print them with kisses. With his father's\nmight Pyrrhus presses on; nor guards nor barriers can hold out. The gate\ntotters under the hard driven ram, and the doors fall flat, rent from\nthe hinge. Force makes way; the Greeks burst through the entrance and\npour in, slaughtering the foremost, and filling the space with a wide\nstream of soldiers. Not so furiously when a foaming river bursts his\nbanks and overflows, beating down the opposing dykes with whirling\nwater, is he borne mounded over the fields, and sweeps herds and\n[499-529]pens all about the plains. Myself I saw in the gateway\nNeoptolemus mad in slaughter, and the two sons of Atreus, saw Hecuba and\nthe hundred daughters of her house, and Priam polluting with his blood\nthe altar fires of his own consecration. The fifty bridal chambers--so\ngreat was the hope of his children's children--their doors magnificent\nwith spoils of barbaric gold, have sunk in ruin; where the fire fails\nthe Greeks are in possession.\n\n'Perchance too thou mayest inquire what was Priam's fate. When he saw\nthe ruin of his captured city, the gates of his house burst open, and\nthe enemy amid his innermost chambers, the old man idly fastens round\nhis aged trembling shoulders his long disused armour, girds on the\nunavailing sword, and advances on his death among the thronging foe.\n\n'Within the palace and under the bare cope of sky was a massive altar,\nand hard on the altar an ancient bay tree leaned clasping the household\ngods in its shadow. Here Hecuba and her daughters crowded vainly about\nthe altar-stones, like doves driven headlong by a black tempest, and\ncrouched clasping the gods' images. And when she saw Priam her lord with\nthe armour of youth on him, \"What spirit of madness, my poor husband,\"\nshe cries, \"hath stirred thee to gird on these weapons? or whither dost\nthou run? Not such the succour nor these the defenders the time\nrequires: no, were mine own Hector now beside us. Retire, I beseech\nthee, hither; this altar will protect us all, or thou wilt share our\ndeath.\" With these words on her lips she drew the aged man to her, and\nset him on the holy seat.\n\n'And lo, escaped from slaughtering Pyrrhus through the weapons of the\nenemy, Polites, one of Priam's children, flies wounded down the long\ncolonnades and circles the empty halls. Pyrrhus pursues him fiercely\nwith aimed [530-563]wound, just catching at him, and follows hard on\nhim with his spear. As at last he issued before his parents' eyes and\nfaces, he fell, and shed his life in a pool of blood. At this Priam,\nalthough even now fast in the toils of death, yet withheld not nor\nspared a wrathful cry: \"Ah, for thy crime, for this thy hardihood, may\nthe gods, if there is goodness in heaven to care for aught such, pay\nthee in full thy worthy meed, and return thee the reward that is due!\nwho hast made me look face to face on my child's murder, and polluted a\nfather's countenance with death. Ah, not such to a foe was the Achilles\nwhose parentage thou beliest; but he revered a suppliant's right and\ntrust, restored to the tomb Hector's pallid corpse, and sent me back to\nmy realm.\" Thus the old man spoke, and launched his weak and unwounding\nspear, which, recoiling straight from the jarring brass, hung idly from\nhis shield above the boss. Thereat Pyrrhus: \"Thou then shalt tell this,\nand go with the message to my sire the son of Peleus: remember to tell\nhim of my baleful deeds, and the degeneracy of Neoptolemus. Now die.\" So\nsaying, he drew him quivering to the very altar, slipping in the pool of\nhis child's blood, and wound his left hand in his hair, while in his\nright the sword flashed out and plunged to the hilt in his side. This\nwas the end of Priam's fortunes; thus did allotted fate find him, with\nburning Troy and her sunken towers before his eyes, once magnificent\nlord over so many peoples and lands of Asia. The great corpse lies along\nthe shore, a head severed from the shoulders and a body without a name.\n\n'But then an awful terror began to encircle me; I stood in amaze; there\nrose before me the likeness of my loved father, as I saw the king, old\nas he, sobbing out his life under the ghastly wound; there rose Cre\u00fcsa\nforlorn, my plundered house, and little I\u00fclus' peril. I look back\n[564-596]and survey what force is around me. All, outwearied, have\ngiven up and leapt headlong to the ground, or flung themselves\nwretchedly into the fire:\n\n['Yes, and now I only was left; when I espy the daughter of Tyndarus\nclose in the courts of Vesta, crouching silently in the fane's recesses;\nthe bright glow of the fires lights my wandering, as my eyes stray all\nabout. Fearing the Teucrians' anger for the overthrown towers of Troy,\nand the Grecians' vengeance and the wrath of the husband she had\nabandoned, she, the common Fury of Troy and her native country, had\nhidden herself and cowered unseen by the altars. My spirit kindles to\nfire, and rises in wrath to avenge my dying land and take repayment for\nher crimes. Shall she verily see Sparta and her native Mycenae\nunscathed, and depart a queen and triumphant? Shall she see her spousal\nand her home, her parents and children, attended by a crowd of Trojan\nwomen and Phrygians to serve her? and Priam have fallen under the sword?\nTroy blazed in fire? the shore of Dardania so often soaked with blood?\nNot so. For though there is no name or fame in a woman's punishment, nor\nhonour in the victory, yet shall I have praise in quenching a guilty\nlife and exacting a just recompense; and it will be good to fill my soul\nwith the flame of vengeance, and satisfy the ashes of my people. Thus\nbroke I forth, and advanced infuriate;]\n\n'----When my mother came visibly before me, clear to sight as never till\nthen, and shone forth in pure radiance through the night, gracious,\nevident in godhead, in shape and stature such as she is wont to appear\nto the heavenly people; she caught me by the hand and stayed me, and\npursued thus with roseate lips:\n\n'\"Son, what overmastering pain thus wakes thy wrath? Why ravest thou? or\nwhither is thy care for us fled? Wilt thou not first look to it, where\nthou hast left Anchises, [597-630]thine aged worn father; or if Cre\u00fcsa\nthy wife and the child Ascanius survive? round about whom all the Greek\nbattalions range; and without my preventing care, the flames ere this\nhad made them their portion, and the hostile sword drunk their blood.\nNot the hated face of the Laconian woman, Tyndarus' daughter; not Paris\nis to blame; the gods, the gods in anger overturn this magnificence, and\nmake Troy topple down. Look, for all the cloud that now veils thy gaze\nand dulls mortal vision with damp encircling mist, I will rend from\nbefore thee. Fear thou no commands of thy mother, nor refuse to obey her\ncounsels. Here, where thou seest sundered piles of masonry and rocks\nviolently torn from rocks, and smoke eddying mixed with dust, Neptune\nwith his great trident shakes wall and foundation out of their places,\nand upturns all the city from her base. Here Juno in all her terror\nholds the Scaean gates at the entry, and, girt with steel, calls her\nallied army furiously from their ships. . . . Even now on the citadel's\nheight, look back! Tritonian Pallas is planted in glittering halo and\nGorgonian terror. Their lord himself pours courage and prosperous\nstrength on the Grecians, himself stirs the gods against the arms of\nDardania. Haste away, O son, and put an end to the struggle. I will\nnever desert thee; I will set thee safe in the courts of thy father's\nhouse.\"\n\n'She ended, and plunged in the dense blackness of the night. Awful faces\nshine forth, and, set against Troy, divine majesties . . .\n\n'Then indeed I saw all Ilium sinking in flame, and Neptunian Troy\nuprooted from her base: even as an ancient ash on the mountain heights,\nhacked all about with steel and fast-falling axes, when husbandmen\nemulously strain to cut it down: it hangs threateningly, with shaken top\nand quivering tresses asway; till gradually, overmastered with\n[631-662]wounds, it utters one last groan, and rending itself away,\nfalls in ruin along the ridge. I descend, and under a god's guidance\nclear my way between foe and flame; weapons give ground before me, and\nflames retire.\n\n'And now, when I have reached the courts of my ancestral dwelling, our\nhome of old, my father, whom it was my first desire to carry high into\nthe hills, and whom first I sought, declines, now Troy is rooted out, to\nprolong his life through the pains of exile.\n\n'\"Ah, you,\" he cries, \"whose blood is at the prime, whose strength\nstands firm in native vigour, do you take your flight. . . . Had the\nlords of heaven willed to prolong life for me, they should have\npreserved this my home. Enough and more is the one desolation we have\nseen, survivors of a captured city. Thus, oh thus salute me and depart,\nas a body laid out for burial. Mine own hand shall find me death: the\nfoe will be merciful and seek my spoils: light is the loss of a tomb.\nThis long time hated of heaven, I uselessly delay the years, since the\nfather of gods and king of men blasted me with wind of thunder and\nscathe of flame.\"\n\n'Thus held he on in utterance, and remained obstinate. We press him,\ndissolved in tears, my wife Cre\u00fcsa, Ascanius, all our household, that\nour father involve us not all in his ruin, and add his weight to the\nsinking scale of doom. He refuses, and keeps seated steadfast in his\npurpose. Again I rush to battle, and choose death in my misery. For what\nhad counsel or chance yet to give? Thoughtest thou my feet, O father,\ncould retire and abandon thee? and fell so unnatural words from a\nparent's lips? \"If heaven wills that naught be left of our mighty city,\nif this be thy planted purpose, thy pleasure to cast in thyself and\nthine to the doom of Troy; for this death indeed the gate is wide, and\neven now Pyrrhus will be here newly bathed in Priam's [663-695]blood,\nPyrrhus who slaughters the son before the father's face, the father upon\nhis altars. For this was it, bountiful mother, thou dost rescue me amid\nfire and sword, to see the foe in my inmost chambers, and Ascanius and\nmy father, Cre\u00fcsa by their side, hewn down in one another's blood? My\narms, men, bring my arms! the last day calls on the conquered. Return me\nto the Greeks; let me revisit and renew the fight. Never to-day shall we\nall perish unavenged.\"\n\n'Thereat I again gird on my sword, and fitting my left arm into the\nclasps of the shield, strode forth of the palace. And lo! my wife clung\nround my feet on the threshold, and held little I\u00fclus up to his father's\nsight. \"If thou goest to die, let us too hurry with thee to the end. But\nif thou knowest any hope to place in arms, be this household thy first\ndefence. To what is little I\u00fclus and thy father, to what am I left who\nonce was called thy wife?\"\n\n'So she shrieked, and filled all the house with her weeping; when a sign\narises sudden and marvellous to tell. For, between the hands and before\nthe faces of his sorrowing parents, lo! above I\u00fclus' head there seemed\nto stream a light luminous cone, and a flame whose touch hurt not to\nflicker in his soft hair and play round his brows. We in a flutter of\naffright shook out the blazing hair and quenched the holy fires with\nspring water. But lord Anchises joyfully upraised his eyes; and\nstretching his hands to heaven: \"Jupiter omnipotent,\" he cries, \"if thou\ndost relent at any prayers, look on us this once alone; and if our\ngoodness deserve it, give thine aid hereafter, O lord, and confirm this\nthine omen.\"\n\n'Scarcely had the aged man spoken thus, when with sudden crash it\nthundered on the left, and a star gliding through the dusk shot from\nheaven drawing a bright trail of light. We watch it slide over the\npalace roof, leaving [696-730]the mark of its pathway, and bury its\nbrilliance in the wood of Ida; the long drawn track shines, and the\nregion all about fumes with sulphur. Then conquered indeed my father\nrises to address the gods and worship the holy star. \"Now, now delay is\ndone with: I follow, and where you lead, I come. Gods of my fathers,\nsave my house, save my grandchild. Yours is this omen, and in your deity\nTroy stands. I yield, O my son, and refuse not to go in thy company.\"\n\n'He ended; and now more loudly the fire roars along the city, and the\nburning tides roll nearer. \"Up then, beloved father, and lean on my\nneck; these shoulders of mine will sustain thee, nor will so dear a\nburden weigh me down. Howsoever fortune fall, one and undivided shall be\nour peril, one the escape of us twain. Little I\u00fclus shall go along with\nme, and my wife follow our steps afar. You of my household, give heed to\nwhat I say. As you leave the city there is a mound and ancient temple of\nCeres lonely on it, and hard by an aged cypress, guarded many years in\nancestral awe: to this resting-place let us gather from diverse\nquarters. Thou, O father, take the sacred things and the household gods\nof our ancestors in thine hand. For me, just parted from the desperate\nbattle, with slaughter fresh upon me, to handle them were guilt, until I\nwash away in a living stream the soilure. . . .\" So spoke I, and spread\nover my neck and broad shoulders a tawny lion-skin for covering, and\nstoop to my burden. Little I\u00fclus, with his hand fast in mine, keeps\nuneven pace after his father. Behind my wife follows. We pass on in the\nshadows. And I, lately moved by no weapons launched against me, nor by\nthe thronging bands of my Grecian foes, am now terrified at every\nbreath, startled by every noise, thrilling with fear alike for my\ncompanion and my burden.\n\n'And now I was nearing the gates, and thought I had [731-764]outsped\nall the way; when suddenly the crowded trampling of feet came to our\nears, and my father, looking forth into the darkness, cries: \"My son, my\nson, fly; they draw near. I espy the gleaming shields and the flicker of\nbrass.\" At this, in my flurry and confusion, some hostile god bereft me\nof my senses. For while I plunge down byways, and swerve from where the\nfamiliar streets ran, Cre\u00fcsa, alas! whether, torn by fate from her\nunhappy husband, she stood still, or did she mistake the way, or sink\ndown outwearied? I know not; and never again was she given back to our\neyes; nor did I turn to look for my lost one, or cast back a thought,\nere we were come to ancient Ceres' mound and hallowed seat; here at\nlast, when all gathered, one was missing, vanished from her child's and\nher husband's company. What man or god did I spare in frantic\nreproaches? or what crueller sight met me in our city's overthrow? I\ncharge my comrades with Ascanius and lord Anchises, and the gods of\nTeucria, hiding them in the winding vale. Myself I regain the city,\ngirding on my shining armour; fixed to renew every danger, to retrace my\nway throughout Troy, and fling myself again on its perils. First of all\nI regain the walls and the dim gateway whence my steps had issued; I\nscan and follow back my footprints with searching gaze in the night.\nEverywhere my spirit shudders, dismayed at the very silence. Thence I\npass on home, if haply her feet (if haply!) had led her thither. The\nGrecians had poured in, and filled the palace. The devouring fire goes\nrolling before the wind high as the roof; the flames tower over it, and\nthe heat surges up into the air. I move on, and revisit the citadel and\nPriam's dwelling; where now in the spacious porticoes of Juno's\nsanctuary, Phoenix and accursed Ulysses, chosen sentries, were guarding\nthe spoil. Hither from all quarters is flung in masses the treasure of\nTroy torn from burning shrines, [765-798]tables of the gods, bowls of\nsolid gold, and raiment of the captives. Boys and cowering mothers in\nlong file stand round. . . . Yes, and I dared to cry abroad through the\ndarkness; I filled the streets with calling, and again and yet again\nwith vain reiterance cried piteously on Cre\u00fcsa. As I stormed and sought\nher endlessly among the houses of the town, there rose before mine eyes\na melancholy phantom, the ghost of very Cre\u00fcsa, in likeness larger than\nher wont. I was motionless; my hair stood up, and the accents faltered\non my tongue. Then she thus addressed me, and with this speech allayed\nmy distresses: \"What help is there in this mad passion of grief, sweet\nmy husband? not without divine influence does this come to pass: nor may\nit be, nor does the high lord of Olympus allow, that thou shouldest\ncarry Cre\u00fcsa hence in thy company. Long shall be thine exile, and weary\nspaces of sea must thou furrow through; and thou shalt come to the land\nHesperia, where Lydian Tiber flows with soft current through rich and\npopulous fields. There prosperity awaits thee, and a kingdom, and a\nking's daughter for thy wife. Dispel these tears for thy beloved Cre\u00fcsa.\nNever will I look on the proud homes of the Myrmidons or Dolopians, or\ngo to be the slave of Greek matrons, I a daughter of Dardania, a\ndaughter-in-law of Venus the goddess. . . . But the mighty mother of the\ngods keeps me in these her borders. And now farewell, and still love thy\nchild and mine.\" This speech uttered, while I wept and would have said\nmany a thing, she left me and retreated into thin air. Thrice there was\nI fain to lay mine arms round her neck; thrice the vision I vainly\nclasped fled out of my hands, even as the light breezes, or most like to\nfluttering sleep. So at last, when night is spent, I revisit my\ncomrades.\n\n'And here I find a marvellous great company, newly flocked in, mothers\nand men, a people gathered for exile, [799-804]a pitiable crowd. From\nall quarters they are assembled, ready in heart and fortune, to\nwhatsoever land I will conduct them overseas. And now the morning star\nrose over the high ridges of Ida, and led on the day; and the Grecians\nheld the gateways in leaguer, nor was any hope of help given. I\nwithdrew, and raising my father up, I sought the mountain.'\n\n\n\n\nBOOK THIRD\n\nTHE STORY OF THE SEVEN YEARS' WANDERING\n\n\n'After heaven's lords pleased to overthrow the state of Asia and Priam's\nguiltless people, and proud Ilium fell, and Neptunian Troy smokes all\nalong the ground, we are driven by divine omens to seek distant places\nof exile in waste lands. Right under Antandros and the mountains of\nPhrygian Ida we build a fleet, uncertain whither the fates carry us or\nwhere a resting-place is given, and gather the people together. Scarcely\nhad the first summer set in, when lord Anchises bids us spread our sails\nto fortune, and weeping I leave the shores and havens of my country, and\nthe plains where once was Troy. I sail to sea an exile, with my comrades\nand son and the gods of household and state.\n\n'A land of vast plains lies apart, the home of Mavors, in Thracian\ntillage, and sometime under warrior Lycurgus' reign; friendly of old to\nTroy, and their gods in alliance while our fortune lasted. Hither I\npass, and on the winding shore I lay under thwarting fates the first\nfoundations of a city, and from my own name fashion its name, Aeneadae.\n\n'I was paying sacrifice to my mother, daughter of Dione, and to all the\ngods, so to favour the work begun, and slew a shining bull on the shore\nto the high lord of [22-54]the heavenly people. Haply there lay a mound\nhard at hand, crowned with cornel thickets and bristling dense with\nshafts of myrtle. I drew near; and essaying to tear up the green wood\nfrom the soil, that I might cover the altar with leafy boughs, I see a\nportent ominous and wonderful to tell. For from the first tree whose\nroots are rent away and broken from the ground, drops of black blood\ntrickle, and gore stains the earth. An icy shudder shakes my limbs, and\nmy blood curdles chill with terror. Yet from another I go on again to\ntear away a tough shoot, fully to fathom its secret; yet from another\nblack blood follows out of the bark. With many searchings of heart I\nprayed the woodland nymphs, and lord Gradivus, who rules in the Getic\nfields, to make the sight propitious as was meet and lighten the omen.\nBut when I assail a third spearshaft with a stronger effort, pulling\nwith knees pressed against the sand; shall I speak or be silent? from\nbeneath the mound is heard a pitiable moan, and a voice is uttered to my\nears: \"Woe's me, why rendest thou me, Aeneas? spare me at last in the\ntomb, spare pollution to thine innocent hands. Troy bore me; not alien\nto thee am I, nor this blood that oozes from the stem. Ah, fly the cruel\nland, fly the greedy shore! For I am Polydorus; here the iron harvest of\nweapons hath covered my pierced body, and shot up in sharp javelins.\"\nThen indeed, borne down with dubious terror, I was motionless, my hair\nstood up, and the accents faltered on my tongue.\n\n'This Polydorus once with great weight of gold had hapless Priam sent in\nsecret to the nurture of the Thracian king, when now he was losing trust\nin the arms of Dardania, and saw his city leaguered round about. The\nking, when the Teucrian power was broken and fortune withdrew, following\nAgamemnon's estate and triumphant arms, [55-87]severs every bond of\nduty; murders Polydorus, and lays strong hands on the gold. O accursed\nhunger of gold, to what dost thou not compel human hearts! When the\nterror left my senses, I lay the divine tokens before the chosen princes\nof the people, with my father at their head, and demand their judgment.\nAll are of one mind, to leave the guilty land, and abandoning a polluted\nhome, to let the gales waft our fleets. So we bury Polydorus anew, and\nthe earth is heaped high over his mound; altars are reared to his ghost,\nsad with dusky chaplets and black cypress; and around are the Ilian\nwomen with hair unbound in their fashion. We offer bubbling bowls of\nwarm milk and cups of consecrated blood, and lay the spirit to rest in\nher tomb, and with loud voice utter the last call.\n\n'Thereupon, so soon as ocean may be trusted, and the winds leave the\nseas in quiet, and the soft whispering south wind calls seaward, my\ncomrades launch their ships and crowd the shores. We put out from\nharbour, and lands and towns sink away. There lies in mid sea a holy\nland, most dear to the mother of the Nereids and Neptune of Aegae, which\nstrayed about coast and strand till the Archer god in his affection\nchained it fast from high Myconos and Gyaros, and made it lie immoveable\nand slight the winds. Hither I steer; and it welcomes my weary crew to\nthe quiet shelter of a safe haven. We disembark and worship Apollo's\ntown. Anius the king, king at once of the people and priest of Phoebus,\nhis brows garlanded with fillets and consecrated laurel, comes to meet\nus; he knows Anchises, his friend of old; we clasp hands in welcome, and\nenter his palace. I worshipped the god's temple, an ancient pile of\nstone. \"Lord of Thymbra, give us an enduring dwelling-place; grant a\nhouse and family to thy weary servants, and a city to abide: keep Troy's\nsecond fortress, the remnant left of the Grecians and merciless\nAchilles. Whom follow [88-121]we? or whither dost thou bid us go, where\nfix our seat? Grant an omen, O lord, and inspire our minds.\"\n\n'Scarcely had I spoken thus; suddenly all seemed to shake, all the\ncourts and laurels of the god, the whole hill to be stirred round about,\nand the cauldron to moan in the opening sanctuary. We sink low on the\nground, and a voice is borne to our ears: \"Stubborn race of Dardanus,\nthe same land that bore you by parentage of old shall receive you again\non her bountiful breast. Seek out your ancient mother; hence shall the\nhouse of Aeneas sway all regions, his children's children and they who\nshall be born of them.\" Thus Phoebus; and mingled outcries of great\ngladness uprose; all ask, what is that city? whither calls Phoebus our\nwandering, and bids us return? Then my father, unrolling the records of\nmen of old, \"Hear, O princes,\" says he, \"and learn your hopes. In mid\nocean lies Crete, the island of high Jove, wherein is mount Ida, the\ncradle of our race. An hundred great towns are inhabited in that opulent\nrealm; from it our forefather Teucer of old, if I recall the tale\naright, sailed to the Rhoetean coasts and chose a place for his kingdom.\nNot yet was Ilium nor the towers of Pergama reared; they dwelt in the\nvalley bottoms. Hence came our Lady, haunter of Cybele, the Corybantic\ncymbals and the grove of Ida; hence the rites of inviolate secrecy, and\nthe lions yoked under the chariot of their mistress. Up then, and let us\nfollow where divine commandments lead; let us appease the winds, and\nseek the realm of Gnosus. Nor is it a far journey away. Only be Jupiter\nfavourable, the third day shall bring our fleet to anchor on the Cretan\ncoast.\" So spoke he, and slew fit sacrifice on the altars, a bull to\nNeptune, a bull to thee, fair Apollo, a black sheep to Tempest, a white\nto the prosperous West winds.\n\n'Rumour flies that Idomeneus the captain is driven [122-154]forth of\nhis father's realm, and the shores of Crete are abandoned, that the\nhouses are void of foes and the dwellings lie empty to our hand. We\nleave the harbour of Ortygia, and fly along the main, by the revel-trod\nridges of Naxos, by green Donusa, Olearos and snow-white Paros, and the\nsea-strewn Cyclades, threading the racing channels among the crowded\nlands. The seamen's clamour rises in emulous dissonance; each cheers his\ncomrade: _Seek we Crete and our forefathers._ A wind rising astern\nfollows us forth on our way, and we glide at last to the ancient\nCuretean coast. So I set eagerly to work on the walls of my chosen town,\nand call it Pergamea, and exhort my people, joyful at the name, to\ncherish their homes and rear the castle buildings. And even now the\nships were drawn up on the dry beach; the people were busy in marriages\nand among their new fields; I was giving statutes and homesteads; when\nsuddenly from a tainted space of sky came, noisome on men's bodies and\npitiable on trees and crops, pestilence and a year of death. They left\ntheir sweet lives or dragged themselves on in misery; Sirius scorched\nthe fields into barrenness; the herbage grew dry, and the sickly harvest\ndenied sustenance. My father counsels to remeasure the sea and go again\nto Phoebus in his Ortygian oracle, to pray for grace and ask what issue\nhe ordains to our exhausted state; whence he bids us search for aid to\nour woes, whither bend our course.\n\n'Night fell, and sleep held all things living on the earth. The sacred\nimages of the gods and the household deities of Phrygia, that I had\nborne with me from Troy out of the midst of the burning city, seemed to\nstand before mine eyes as I lay sleepless, clear in the broad light\nwhere the full moon poured through the latticed windows; then thus\naddressed me, and with this speech allayed my distresses: \"What Apollo\nhath to tell thee when thou dost [155-188]reach Ortygia, he utters\nhere, and sends us unsought to thy threshold. We who followed thee and\nthine arms when Dardania went down in fire; we who under thee have\ntraversed on shipboard the swelling sea; we in like wise will exalt to\nheaven thy children to be, and give empire to their city. Do thou\nprepare a mighty town for a mighty people, nor draw back from the long\nwearisome chase. Thou must change thy dwelling. Not to these shores did\nthe god at Delos counsel thee, or Apollo bid thee find rest in Crete.\nThere is a region Greeks name Hesperia, an ancient land, mighty in arms\nand foison of the clod; Oenotrian men dwell therein; now rumour is that\na younger race have called it Italy after their captain's name. This is\nour true dwelling place; hence is Dardanus sprung, and lord Iasius, the\nfirst source of our race. Up, arise, and tell with good cheer to thine\naged parent this plain tale, to seek Corythus and the lands of Ausonia.\nJupiter denies thee the Dictaean fields.\"\n\n'Astonished at this vision and divine utterance (nor was that slumber;\nbut openly I seemed to know their countenances, their veiled hair and\ngracious faces, and therewith a cold sweat broke out all over me) I\nspring from my bed and raise my voice and upturned hands skyward and pay\npure offering on the hearth. The sacrifice done, I joyfully tell\nAnchises, and relate all in order. He recognises the double descent and\ntwofold parentage, and the later wanderings that had deceived him among\nancient lands. Then he speaks: \"O son, hard wrought by the destinies of\nIlium, Cassandra only foretold me this fortune. Now I recall how she\nprophesied this was fated to our race, and often cried of Hesperia,\noften of an Italian realm. But who was to believe that Teucrians should\ncome to Hesperian shores? or whom might Cassandra then move by prophecy?\nYield we to Phoebus, and follow the better [189-222]way he counsels.\"\nSo says he, and we all rejoicingly obey his speech. This dwelling\nlikewise we abandon; and leaving some few behind, spread our sails and\nrun over the waste sea in our hollow wood.\n\n'After our ships held the high seas, nor any land yet appears, the sky\nall round us and all round us the deep, a dusky shower drew up overhead\ncarrying night and tempest, and the wave shuddered and gloomed.\nStraightway the winds upturn the main, and great seas rise; we are\ntossed asunder over the dreary gulf. Stormclouds enwrap the day, and\nrainy gloom blots out the sky; out of the clouds bursts fire fast upon\nfire. Driven from our course, we go wandering on the blind waves.\nPalinurus himself professes he cannot tell day from night on the sky,\nnor remember the way amid the waters. Three dubious days of blind\ndarkness we wander on the deep, as many nights without a star. Not till\nthe fourth day was land at last seen to rise, discovering distant hills\nand sending up wreaths of smoke. The sails drop; we swing back to the\noars; without delay the sailors strongly toss up the foam, and sweep\nthrough the green water. The shores of the Strophades first receive me\nthus won from the waves, Strophades the Greek name they bear, islands\nlying in the great Ionian sea, which boding Celaeno and the other\nHarpies inhabit since Phineus' house was shut on them, and they fled in\nterror from the board of old. Than these no deadlier portent nor any\nfiercer plague of divine wrath hath issued from the Stygian waters;\nwinged things with maidens' countenance, bellies dropping filth, and\nclawed hands and faces ever wan with hunger. . . .\n\n'When borne hitherward we enter the haven, lo! we see goodly herds of\noxen scattered on the plains, and goats flocking untended over the\ngrass. We attack them with the sword, and call the gods and Jove himself\nto share our [223-258]spoil. Then we build seats on the winding shore\nand banquet on the dainty food. But suddenly the Harpies are upon us,\nswooping awfully from the mountains, and shaking their wings with loud\nclangour, plunder the feast, and defile everything with unclean touch,\nspreading a foul smell, and uttering dreadful cries. Again, in a deep\nrecess under a caverned rock, shut in with waving shadows of woodland,\nwe array the board and renew the altar fires; again, from their blind\nambush in diverse quarters of the sky, the noisy crowd flutter with\nclawed feet around their prey, defiling the feast with their lips. Then\nI bid my comrades take up arms, and proclaim war on the accursed race.\nEven as I bade they do, range their swords in cover among the grass, and\nhide their shields out of sight. So when they swooped clamorously down\nalong the winding shore, Misenus from his watch-tower on high signals on\nthe hollow brass; my comrades rush in and essay the strange battle, to\nset the stain of steel on the winged horrors of the sea. But they take\nno violence on their plumage, nor wounds on their bodies; and soaring\ninto the firmament with rapid flight, leave their foul traces on the\nspoil they had half consumed. Celaeno alone, prophetess of ill, alights\non a towering cliff, and thus breaks forth in deep accents:\n\n'\"War is it for your slaughtered oxen and steers cut down, O children of\nLaomedon, war is it you would declare, and drive the guiltless Harpies\nfrom their ancestral kingdom? Take then to heart and fix fast these\nwords of mine; which the Lord omnipotent foretold to Phoebus, Phoebus\nApollo to me, I eldest born of the Furies reveal to you. Italy is your\ngoal; wooing the winds you shall go to Italy, and enter her harbours\nunhindered. Yet shall you not wall round your ordained city, ere this\nmurderous outrage on us compel you, in portentous hunger, to eat your\ntables with gnawing teeth.\"\n\n'She spoke, and winged her way back to the shelter of [259-293]the\nwood. But my comrades' blood froze chill with sudden affright; their\nspirits fell; and no longer with arms, nay with vows and prayers they\nbid me entreat favour, whether these be goddesses, or winged things\nill-ominous and foul. And lord Anchises from the beach calls with\noutspread hands on the mighty gods, ordering fit sacrifices: \"Gods,\navert their menaces! Gods, turn this woe away, and graciously save the\nrighteous!\" Then he bids pluck the cable from the shore and shake loose\nthe sheets. Southern winds stretch the sails; we scud over the\nfoam-flecked waters, whither wind and pilot called our course. Now\nwooded Zacynthos appears amid the waves, and Dulichium and Same and\nNeritos' sheer rocks. We fly past the cliffs of Ithaca, La\u00ebrtes' realm,\nand curse the land, fostress of cruel Ulysses. Soon too Mount Leucata's\ncloudy peaks are sighted, and Apollo dreaded of sailors. Hither we steer\nwearily, and stand in to the little town. The anchor is cast from the\nprow; the sterns are grounded on the beach.\n\n'So at last having attained to land beyond our hopes, we purify\nourselves in Jove's worship, and kindle altars of offering, and make the\nActian shore gay with the games of Ilium. My comrades strip, and,\nslippery with oil, exercise their ancestral contests; glad to have got\npast so many Argive towns, and held on their flight through the\nencircling foe. Meanwhile the sun rounds the great circle of the year,\nand icy winter ruffles the waters with Northern gales. I fix against the\ndoorway a hollow shield of brass, that tall Abas had borne, and mark the\nstory with a verse: _These arms Aeneas from the conquering Greeks._ Then\nI bid leave the harbour and sit down at the thwarts; emulously my\ncomrades strike the water, and sweep through the seas. Soon we see the\ncloud-capped Phaeacian towers sink away, skirt the shores of Epirus, and\nenter the Chaonian haven and approach high Buthrotum town.\n\n[294-328]'Here the rumour of a story beyond belief comes on our ears;\nHelenus son of Priam is reigning over Greek towns, master of the bride\nand sceptre of Pyrrhus the Aeacid; and Andromache hath again fallen to a\nhusband of her people. I stood amazed; and my heart kindled with\nmarvellous desire to accost him and learn of so strange a fortune. I\nadvance from the harbour, leaving the fleet ashore; just when haply\nAndromache, in a grove before the town, by the waters of a feigned\nSimo\u00efs, was pouring libation to the dust, and calling Hector's ghost to\na tomb with his name, on an empty turfed green with two altars that she\nhad consecrated, a wellspring of tears. When she caught sight of me\ncoming, and saw distractedly the encircling arms of Troy,\nterror-stricken at the vision marvellously shewn, her gaze fixed, and\nthe heat left her frame. She swoons away, and hardly at last speaks\nafter long interval: \"Comest thou then a real face, a real messenger to\nme, goddess-born? livest thou? or if sweet light is fled, ah, where is\nHector?\" She spoke, and bursting into tears filled all the place with\nher crying. Just a few words I force up, and deeply moved gasp out in\nbroken accents: \"I live indeed, I live on through all extremities; doubt\nnot, for real are the forms thou seest . . . Alas! after such an\nhusband, what fate receives thy fall? or what worthier fortune revisits\nthee? Dost thou, Hector's Andromache, keep bonds of marriage with\nPyrrhus?\" She cast down her countenance, and spoke with lowered voice:\n\n'\"O single in happy eminence that maiden daughter of Priam, sentenced to\ndie under high Troy town at an enemy's grave, who never bore the shame\nof the lot, nor came a captive to her victorious master's bed! We,\nsailing over alien seas from our burning land, have endured the\nhaughty youthful pride of Achilles' seed, and borne children in\nslavery: he thereafter, wooing Leda's Hermione and a Lacedaemonian\n[329-363]marriage, passed me over to Helenus' keeping, a bondwoman to a\nbondman. But him Orestes, aflame with passionate desire for his stolen\nbride, and driven by the furies of crime, catches unguarded and murders\nat his ancestral altars. At Neoptolemus' death a share of his realm fell\nto Helenus' hands, who named the plains Chaonian, and called all the\nland Chaonia after Chaon of Troy, and built withal a Pergama and this\nIlian citadel on the hills. But to thee how did winds, how fates give\npassage? or whose divinity landed thee all unwitting on our coasts? what\nof the boy Ascanius? lives he yet, and draws breath, thy darling, whom\nTroy's . . . Yet hath the child affection for his lost mother? is he\nroused to the valour of old and the spirit of manhood by his father\nAeneas, by his uncle Hector?\"\n\n'Such words she poured forth weeping, and prolonged the vain wail; when\nthe hero Helenus son of Priam approaches from the town with a great\ncompany, knows us for his kin, and leads us joyfully to his gates,\nshedding a many tears at every word. I advance and recognise a little\nTroy, and a copy of the great Pergama, and a dry brook with the name of\nXanthus, and clasp a Scaean gateway. Therewithal my Teucrians make\nholiday in the friendly town. The king entertained them in his spacious\ncolonnades; in the central hall they poured goblets of wine in libation,\nand held the cups while the feast was served on gold.\n\n'And now a day and another day hath sped; the breezes woo our sails, and\nthe canvas blows out to the swelling south. With these words I accost\nthe prophet, and thus make request:\n\n'\"Son of Troy, interpreter of the gods, whose sense is open to Phoebus'\ninfluences, his tripods and laurels, to stars and tongues of birds and\nauguries of prosperous flight, tell me now,--for the voice of revelation\nwas all favourable to my course, and all divine influence counselled me\nto [364-396]seek Italy and explore remote lands; only Celaeno the Harpy\nprophesies of strange portents, a horror to tell, and cries out of wrath\nand bale and foul hunger,--what perils are the first to shun? or in what\nguidance may I overcome these sore labours?\"\n\n'Hereat Helenus, first suing for divine favour with fit sacrifice of\nsteers, and unbinding from his head the chaplets of consecration, leads\nme in his hand to thy courts, O Phoebus, thrilled with the fulness of\nthe deity, and then utters these prophetic words from his augural lips:\n\n'\"Goddess-born: since there is clear assurance that under high omens\nthou dost voyage through the deep; so the king of the gods allots\ndestiny and unfolds change; this is the circle of ordinance; a few\nthings out of many I will unfold to thee in speech, that so thou mayest\nmore safely traverse the seas of thy sojourn, and find rest in the\nAusonian haven; for Helenus is forbidden by the destinies to know, and\nby Juno daughter of Saturn to utter more: first of all, the Italy thou\ndeemest now nigh, and close at hand, unwitting! the harbours thou\nwouldst enter, far are they sundered by a long and trackless track\nthrough length of lands. First must the Trinacrian wave clog thine oar,\nand thy ships traverse the salt Ausonian plain, by the infernal pools\nand Aeaean Circe's isle, ere thou mayest build thy city in safety on a\npeaceful land. I will tell thee the token, and do thou keep it close in\nthine heart. When in thy perplexity, beside the wave of a sequestered\nriver, a great sow shall be discovered lying under the oaks on the\nbrink, with her newborn litter of thirty, couched white on the ground,\nher white brood about her teats; that shall be the place of the city,\nthat the appointed rest from thy toils. Neither shrink thou at the gnawn\ntables that await thee; the fates will find a way, and Apollo aid thy\ncall. These lands moreover, on this nearest border of the Italian shore\n[397-432]that our own sea's tide washes, flee thou: evil Greeks dwell\nin all their towns. Here the Locrians of Narycos have set their city,\nand here Lyctian Idomeneus beset the Sallentine plains with soldiery;\nhere is the town of the Meliboean captain, Philoctetes' little Petelia\nfenced by her wall. Nay, when thy fleets have crossed overseas and lie\nat anchor, when now thou rearest altars and payest vows on the beach,\nveil thine hair with a purple garment for covering, that no hostile face\nat thy divine worship may meet thee amid the holy fires and make void\nthe omens. This fashion of sacrifice keep thou, thyself and thy\ncomrades, and let thy children abide in this pure observance. But when\nat thy departure the wind hath borne thee to the Sicilian coast, and the\nbarred straits of Pelorus open out, steer for the left-hand country and\nthe long circuit of the seas on the left hand; shun the shore and water\non thy right. These lands, they say, of old broke asunder, torn and\nupheaved by vast force, when either country was one and undivided; the\nocean burst in between, cutting off with its waves the Hesperian from\nthe Sicilian coast, and with narrow tide washes tilth and town along the\nseverance of shore. On the right Scylla keeps guard, on the left\nunassuaged Charybdis, who thrice swallows the vast flood sheer down her\nswirling gulf, and ever again hurls it upward, lashing the sky with\nwater. But Scylla lies prisoned in her cavern's blind recesses,\nthrusting forth her mouth and drawing ships upon the rocks. In front her\nface is human, and her breast fair as a maiden's to the waist down;\nbehind she is a sea-dragon of monstrous frame, with dolphins' tails\njoined on her wolf-girt belly. Better to track the goal of Trinacrian\nPachynus, lingering and wheeling round through long spaces, than once\ncatch sight of misshapen Scylla deep in her dreary cavern, and of the\nrocks that ring to her sea-coloured hounds. Moreover, if\n[433-466]Helenus hath aught of foresight or his prophecy of assurance,\nif Apollo fills his spirit with the truth, this one thing, goddess-born,\none thing for all will I foretell thee, and again and again repeat my\ncounsel: to great Juno's deity be thy first prayer and worship; to Juno\nutter thy willing vows, and overcome thy mighty mistress with gifts and\nsupplications; so at last thou shalt leave Trinacria behind, and be sped\nin triumph to the Italian borders. When borne hither thou drawest nigh\nthe Cymaean city, the haunted lakes and rustling woods of Avernus, thou\nshalt behold the raving prophetess who deep in the rock chants of fate,\nand marks down her words on leaves. What verses she writes down on them,\nthe maiden sorts into order and shuts behind her in the cave; they stay\nin their places unstirred and quit not their rank. But when at the turn\nof the hinge the light wind from the doorway stirs them, and disarranges\nthe delicate foliage, never after does she trouble to capture them as\nthey flutter about the hollow rock, nor restore their places or join the\nverses; men depart without counsel, and hate the Sibyl's dwelling. Here\nlet no waste in delay be of such account to thee (though thy company\nchide, and the passage call thy sails strongly to the deep, and thou\nmayest fill out their folds to thy desire) that thou do not approach the\nprophetess, and plead with prayers that she herself utter her oracles\nand deign to loose the accents from her lips. The nations of Italy and\nthe wars to come, and the fashion whereby every toil may be avoided or\nendured, she shall unfold to thee, and grant her worshipper prosperous\npassage. Thus far is our voice allowed to counsel thee: go thy way, and\nexalt Troy to heaven by thy deeds.\"\n\n'This the seer uttered with friendly lips; then orders gifts to be\ncarried to my ships, of heavy gold and sawn ivory, and loads the hulls\nwith massy silver and cauldrons [467-502]of Dodona, a mail coat\ntriple-woven with hooks of gold, and a helmet splendid with spike and\ntressed plumes, the armour of Neoptolemus. My father too hath his gifts.\nHorses besides he brings, and grooms . . . fills up the tale of our\noarsmen, and equips my crews with arms.\n\n'Meanwhile Anchises bade the fleet set their sails, that the fair wind\nmight meet no delay. Him Phoebus' interpreter accosts with high\ncourtesy: \"Anchises, honoured with the splendour of Venus' espousal, the\ngods' charge, twice rescued from the fallen towers of Troy, lo! the land\nof Ausonia is before thee: sail thou and seize it. And yet needs must\nthou float past it on the sea; far away lies the quarter of Ausonia that\nis revealed of Apollo. Go,\" he continues, \"happy in thy son's affection:\nwhy do I run on further, and delay the rising winds in talk?\" Andromache\ntoo, sad at this last parting, brings figured raiment with woof of gold,\nand a Phrygian scarf for Ascanius, and wearies not in courtesy, loading\nhim with gifts from the loom. \"Take these too,\" so says she, \"my child,\nto be memorials to thee of my hands, and testify long hence the love of\nAndromache wife of Hector. Take these last gifts of thy kinsfolk, O sole\nsurviving likeness to me of my own Astyanax! Such was he, in eyes and\nhands and features; and now his equal age were growing into manhood like\nthine.\"\n\n'To them as I departed I spoke with starting tears: \"Live happily, as\nthey do whose fortunes are perfected! We are summoned ever from fate to\nfate. For you there is rest in store, and no ocean floor to furrow, no\never-retreating Ausonian fields to pursue. You see a pictured Xanthus,\nand a Troy your own hands have built; with better omens, I pray, and to\nbe less open to the Greeks. If ever I enter Tiber and Tiber's bordering\nfields, and see a city granted to my nation, then of these kindred towns\n[503-537]and allied peoples in Epirus and Hesperia, which have the same\nDardanus for founder, and whose story is one, of both will our hearts\nmake a single Troy. Let that charge await our posterity.\"\n\n'We put out to sea, keeping the Ceraunian mountains close at hand,\nwhence is the shortest passage and seaway to Italy. The sun sets\nmeanwhile, and the dusky hills grow dim. We choose a place, and fling\nourselves on the lap of earth at the water's edge, and, allotting the\noars, spread ourselves on the dry beach for refreshment: the dew of\nslumber falls on our weary limbs. Not yet had Night driven of the Hours\nclimbed her mid arch; Palinurus rises lightly from his couch, explores\nall the winds, and listens to catch a breeze; he marks the\nconstellations gliding together through the silent sky, Arcturus, the\nrainy Hyades and the twin Oxen, and scans Orion in his armour of gold.\nWhen he sees the clear sky quite unbroken, he gives from the stern his\nshrill signal; we disencamp and explore the way, and spread the wings of\nour sails. And now reddening Dawn had chased away the stars, when we\ndescry afar dim hills and the low line of Italy. Achates first raises\nthe cry of _Italy_; and with joyous shouts my comrades salute Italy.\nThen lord Anchises enwreathed a great bowl and filled it up with wine;\nand called on the gods, standing high astern . . . \"Gods sovereign over\nsea and land and weather! bring wind to ease our way, and breathe\nfavourably.\" The breezes freshen at his prayer, and now the harbour\nopens out nearer at hand, and a temple appears on the Fort of Minerva.\nMy comrades furl the sails and swing the prows to shore. The harbour is\nscooped into an arch by the Eastern flood; reefs run out and foam with\nthe salt spray; itself it lies concealed; turreted walls of rock let\ndown their arms on either hand, and the temple retreats from the beach.\nHere, an inaugural sight, four horses of snowy [538-570]whiteness are\ngrazing abroad on the grassy plain. And lord Anchises: \"War dost thou\ncarry, land of our sojourn; horses are armed in war, and menace of war\nis in this herd. But yet these same beasts are wont in time to enter\nharness, and carry yoke and bit in concord; there is hope of peace too,\"\nsays he. Then we pray to the holy deity, Pallas of the clangorous arms,\nthe first to welcome our cheers. And before the altars we veil our heads\nin Phrygian garments, and duly, after the counsel Helenus had urged\ndeepest on us, pay the bidden burnt-sacrifice to Juno of Argos.\n\n'Without delay, once our vows are fully paid, we round to the arms of\nour sailyards and leave the dwellings and menacing fields of the Grecian\npeople. Next is descried the bay of Tarentum, town, if rumour is true,\nof Hercules. Over against it the goddess of Lacinium rears her head,\nwith the towers of Caulon, and Scylaceum wrecker of ships. Then\nTrinacrian Aetna is descried in the distance rising from the waves, and\nwe hear from afar a great roaring of the sea on beaten rocks, and broken\nnoises by the shore: the channels boil up, and the surge churns with\nsand. And lord Anchises: \"Of a surety this is that Charybdis; of these\ncliffs, these awful rocks did Helenus prophesy. Out, O comrades, and\nrise together to the oars.\" Even as bidden they do; and first Palinurus\nswung the gurgling prow leftward through the water; to the left all our\nsquadron bent with oar and wind. We are lifted skyward on the crescent\nwave, and again sunk deep into the nether world as the water is sucked\naway. Thrice amid their rocky caverns the cliffs uttered a cry; thrice\nwe see the foam flung out, and the stars through a dripping veil.\nMeanwhile the wind falls with sundown; and weary and ignorant of the way\nwe glide on to the Cyclopes' coast.\n\n'There lies a harbour large and unstirred by the winds'\n[571-604]entrance; but nigh it Aetna thunders awfully in wrack, and\never and again hurls a black cloud into the sky, smoking with boiling\npitch and embers white hot, and heaves balls of flame flickering up to\nthe stars: ever and again vomits out on high crags from the torn\nentrails of the mountain, tosses up masses of molten rock with a groan,\nand boils forth from the bottom. Rumour is that this mass weighs down\nthe body of Enceladus, half-consumed by the thunderbolt, and mighty\nAetna laid over him suspires the flame that bursts from her furnaces;\nand so often as he changes his weary side, all Trinacria shudders and\nmoans, veiling the sky in smoke. That night we spend in cover of the\nforest among portentous horrors, and see not from what source the noise\ncomes. For neither did the stars show their fires, nor was the vault of\nconstellated sky clear; but vapours blotted heaven, and the moon was\nheld in a storm-cloud through dead of night.\n\n'And now the morrow was rising in the early east, and the dewy darkness\nrolled away from the sky by Dawn, when sudden out of the forest advances\na human shape strange and unknown, worn with uttermost hunger and\npitiably attired, and stretches entreating hands towards the shore. We\nlook back. Filthy and wretched, with shaggy beard and a coat pinned\ntogether with thorns, he was yet a Greek, and had been sent of old to\nTroy in his father's arms. And he, when he saw afar the Dardanian habits\nand armour of Troy, hung back a little in terror at the sight, and\nstayed his steps; then ran headlong to the shore with weeping and\nprayers: \"By the heavens I beseech you, by the heavenly powers and this\nluminous sky that gives us breath, take me up, O Trojans, carry me away\nto any land soever, and it will be enough. I know I am one out of the\nGrecian fleets, I confess I warred against the household gods of Ilium;\nfor that, if our wrong and guilt is so great, throw [605-639]me\npiecemeal on the flood or plunge me in the waste sea. If I do perish,\ngladly will I perish at human hands.\" He ended; and clung clasping our\nknees and grovelling at them. We encourage him to tell who he is and of\nwhat blood born, and reveal how Fortune pursues him since then. Lord\nAnchises after little delay gives him his hand, and strengthens his\ncourage by visible pledge. At last, laying aside his terror, he speaks\nthus:\n\n'\"I am from an Ithacan home, Achemenides by name, set out for Troy in\nluckless Ulysses' company; poor was my father Adamastus, and would God\nfortune had stayed thus! Here my comrades abandoned me in the Cyclops'\nvast cave, mindless of me while they hurry away from the barbarous\ngates. It is a house of gore and blood-stained feasts, dim and huge\nwithin. Himself he is great of stature and knocks at the lofty sky\n(gods, take away a curse like this from earth!) to none gracious in\naspect or courteous of speech. He feeds on the flesh and dark blood of\nwretched men. I myself saw, when he caught the bodies of two of us with\nhis great hand, and lying back in the middle of the cave crushed them on\nthe rock, and the courts splashed and swam with gore; I saw when he\nchamped the flesh adrip with dark clots of blood, and the warm limbs\nquivered under his teeth. Yet not unavenged. Ulysses brooked not this,\nnor even in such straits did the Ithacan forget himself. For so soon as\nhe, gorged with his feast and buried in wine, lay with bent neck\nsprawling huge over the cave, in his sleep vomiting gore and gobbets\nmixed with wine and blood, we, praying to the great gods and with parts\nallotted, pour at once all round him, and pierce with a sharp weapon the\nhuge eye that lay sunk single under his savage brow, in fashion of an\nArgolic shield or the lamp of the moon; and at last we exultingly avenge\nthe ghosts of our comrades. But fly, O wretched men, fly [640-674]and\npluck the cable from the beach. . . . For even in the shape and stature\nof Polyphemus, when he shuts his fleeced flocks and drains their udders\nin the cave's covert, an hundred other horrible Cyclopes dwell all about\nthis shore and stray on the mountain heights. Thrice now does the horned\nmoon fill out her light, while I linger in life among desolate lairs and\nhaunts of wild beasts in the woodland, and from a rock survey the giant\nCyclopes and shudder at their cries and echoing feet. The boughs yield a\nmiserable sustenance, berries and stony sloes, and plants torn up by the\nroot feed me. Sweeping all the view, I at last espied this fleet\nstanding in to shore. On it, whatsoever it were, I cast myself; it is\nenough to have escaped the accursed tribe. Do you rather, by any death\nyou will, destroy this life of mine.\"\n\n'Scarcely had he spoken thus, when on the mountain top we see\nshepherding his flocks a vast moving mass, Polyphemus himself seeking\nthe shores he knew, a horror ominous, shapeless, huge, bereft of sight.\nA pine lopped by his hand guides and steadies his footsteps. His fleeced\nsheep attend him, this his single delight and solace in ill. . . . After\nhe hath touched the deep flood and come to the sea, he washes in it the\nblood that oozes from his eye-socket, grinding his teeth with groans;\nand now he strides through the sea up to his middle, nor yet does the\nwave wet his towering sides. We hurry far away in precipitate flight,\nwith the suppliant who had so well merited rescue; and silently cut the\ncable, and bending forward sweep the sea with emulous oars. He heard,\nand turned his steps towards the echoing sound. But when he may in no\nwise lay hands on us, nor can fathom the Ionian waves in pursuit, he\nraises a vast cry, at which the sea and all his waves shuddered, and the\ndeep land of Italy was startled, and Aetna's vaulted caverns moaned. But\nthe tribe of the [675-709]Cyclopes, roused from the high wooded hills,\nrun to the harbour and fill the shore. We descry the Aetnean brotherhood\nstanding impotent with scowling eye, their stately heads up to heaven, a\ndreadful consistory; even as on a mountain summit stand oaks high in air\nor coned cypresses, a high forest of Jove or covert of Diana. Sharp fear\nurges us to shake out the sheets in reckless haste, and spread our sails\nto the favouring wind. Yet Helenus' commands counsel that our course\nkeep not the way between Scylla and Charybdis, the very edge of death on\neither hand. We are resolved to turn our canvas back. And lo! from the\nnarrow fastness of Pelorus the North wind comes down and reaches us. I\nsail past Pantagias' mouth with its living stone, the Megarian bay, and\nlow-lying Thapsus. Such names did Achemenides, of luckless Ulysses'\ncompany, point out as he retraced his wanderings along the returning\nshores.\n\n'Stretched in front of a bay of Sicily lies an islet over against\nwavebeat Plemyrium; they of old called it Ortygia. Hither Alpheus the\nriver of Elis, so rumour runs, hath cloven a secret passage beneath the\nsea, and now through thy well-head, Arethusa, mingles with the Sicilian\nwaves. We adore as bidden the great deities of the ground; and thence I\ncross the fertile soil of Helorus in the marsh. Next we graze the high\nreefs and jutting rocks of Pachynus; and far off appears Camarina,\nforbidden for ever by oracles to move, and the Geloan plains, and vast\nGela named after its river. Then Acragas on the steep, once the breeder\nof noble horses, displays its massive walls in the distance; and with\ngranted breeze I leave thee behind, palm-girt Selinus, and thread the\ndifficult shoals and blind reefs of Lilybaeum. Thereon Drepanum receives\nme in its haven and joyless border. Here, so many tempestuous seas\noutgone, alas! my father, the solace of every care and chance, Anchises\nis [710-718]lost to me. Here thou, dear lord, abandonest me in\nweariness, alas! rescued in vain from peril and doom. Not Helenus the\nprophet, though he counselled of many a terror, not boding Celaeno\nforetold me of this grief. This was the last agony, this the goal of the\nlong ways; thence it was I had departed when God landed me on your\ncoasts.'\n\nThus lord Aeneas with all attent retold alone the divine doom and the\nhistory of his goings. At last he was hushed, and here in silence made\nan end.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK FOURTH\n\nTHE LOVE OF DIDO, AND HER END\n\n\nBut the Queen, long ere now pierced with sore distress, feeds the wound\nwith her life-blood, and catches the fire unseen. Again and again his\nown valiance and his line's renown flood back upon her spirit; look and\naccent cling fast in her bosom, and the pain allows not rest or calm to\nher limbs. The morrow's dawn bore the torch of Phoebus across the earth,\nand had rolled away the dewy darkness from the sky, when, scarce\nherself, she thus opens her confidence to her sister:\n\n'Anna, my sister, such dreams of terror thrill me through! What guest\nunknown is this who hath entered our dwelling? How high his mien! how\nbrave in heart as in arms! I believe it well, with no vain assurance,\nhis blood is divine. Fear proves the vulgar spirit. Alas, by what\ndestinies is he driven! what wars outgone he chronicled! Were my mind\nnot planted, fixed and immoveable, to ally myself to none in wedlock\nsince my love of old was false to me in the treachery of death; were I\nnot sick to the heart of bridal torch and chamber, to this temptation\nalone I might haply yield. Anna, I will confess it; since Sychaeus mine\nhusband met his piteous doom, and our household was shattered by a\nbrother's murder, he only hath [22-55]touched mine heart and stirred\nthe balance of my soul. I know the prints of the ancient flame. But\nrather, I pray, may earth first yawn deep for me, or the Lord omnipotent\nhurl me with his thunderbolt into gloom, the pallid gloom and profound\nnight of Erebus, ere I soil thee, mine honour, or unloose thy laws. He\ntook my love away who made me one with him long ago; he shall keep it\nwith him, and guard it in the tomb.' She spoke, and welling tears filled\nthe bosom of her gown.\n\nAnna replies: 'O dearer than the daylight to thy sister, wilt thou\nwaste, sad and alone, all thy length of youth, and know not the\nsweetness of motherhood, nor love's bounty? Deemest thou the ashes care\nfor that, or the ghost within the tomb? Be it so: in days gone by no\nwooers bent thy sorrow, not in Libya, not ere then in Tyre; Iarbas was\nslighted, and other princes nurtured by the triumphal land of Africa;\nwilt thou contend so with a love to thy liking? nor does it cross thy\nmind whose are these fields about thy dwelling? On this side are the\nGaetulian towns, a race unconquerable in war; the reinless Numidian\nriders and the grim Syrtis hem thee in; on this lies a thirsty tract of\ndesert, swept by the raiders of Barca. Why speak of the war gathering\nfrom Tyre, and thy brother's menaces? . . . With gods' auspices to my\nthinking, and with Juno's favour, hath the Ilian fleet held on hither\nbefore the gale. What a city wilt thou discern here, O sister! what a\nrealm will rise on such a union! the arms of Troy ranged with ours, what\nglory will exalt the Punic state! Do thou only, asking divine favour\nwith peace-offerings, be bounteous in welcome and draw out reasons for\ndelay, while the storm rages at sea and Orion is wet, and his ships are\nshattered and the sky unvoyageable.' With these words she made the fire\nof love flame up in her spirit, put hope in her wavering soul, and let\nhonour slip away.\n\n[56-90]First they visit the shrines, and desire grace from altar to\naltar; they sacrifice sheep fitly chosen to Ceres the Lawgiver, to\nPhoebus and lord Lyaeus, to Juno before all, guardian of the marriage\nbond. Dido herself, excellent in beauty, holds the cup in her hand, and\npours libation between the horns of a milk-white cow, or moves in state\nto the rich altars before the gods' presences, day by day renewing her\ngifts, and gazing athirst into the breasts of cattle laid open to take\ncounsel from the throbbing entrails. Ah, witless souls of soothsayers!\nhow may vows or shrines help her madness? all the while the subtle flame\nconsumes her inly, and deep in her breast the wound is silent and alive.\nStung to misery, Dido wanders in frenzy all down the city, even as an\narrow-stricken deer, whom, far and heedless amid the Cretan woodland, a\nshepherd archer hath pierced and left the flying steel in her unaware;\nshe ranges in flight the Dictaean forest lawns; fast in her side clings\nthe deadly reed. Now she leads Aeneas with her through the town, and\ndisplays her Sidonian treasure and ordered city; she essays to speak,\nand breaks off half-way in utterance. Now, as day wanes, she seeks the\nrepeated banquet, and again madly pleads to hear the agonies of Ilium,\nand again hangs on the teller's lips. Thereafter, when all are gone\ntheir ways, and the dim moon in turn quenches her light, and the setting\nstars counsel to sleep, alone in the empty house she mourns, and flings\nherself on the couch he left: distant she hears and sees him in the\ndistance; or enthralled by the look he has of his father, she holds\nAscanius on her lap, if so she may steal the love she may not utter. No\nmore do the unfinished towers rise, no more do the people exercise in\narms, nor work for safety in war on harbour or bastion; the works hang\nbroken off, vast looming walls and engines towering into the sky.\n\nSo soon as she perceives her thus fast in the toils, and [91-124]madly\ncareless of her name, Jove's beloved wife, daughter of Saturn, accosts\nVenus thus:\n\n'Noble indeed is the fame and splendid the spoils you win, thou and that\nboy of thine, and mighty the renown of deity, if two gods have\nvanquished one woman by treachery. Nor am I so blind to thy terror of\nour town, thine old suspicion of the high house of Carthage. But what\nshall be the end? or why all this contest now? Nay, rather let us work\nan enduring peace and a bridal compact. Thou hast what all thy soul\ndesired; Dido is on fire with love, and hath caught the madness through\nand through. Then rule we this people jointly in equal lordship; allow\nher to be a Phrygian husband's slave, and to lay her Tyrians for dowry\nin thine hand.'\n\nTo her--for she knew the dissembled purpose of her words, to turn the\nTeucrian kingdom away to the coasts of Libya--Venus thus began in\nanswer: 'Who so mad as to reject these terms, or choose rather to try\nthe fortune of war with thee? if only when done, as thou sayest, fortune\nfollow. But I move in uncertainty of Jove's ordinance, whether he will\nthat Tyrians and wanderers from Troy be one city, or approve the\nmingling of peoples and the treaty of union. Thou art his wife, and thy\nprayers may essay his soul. Go on; I will follow.'\n\nThen Queen Juno thus rejoined: 'That task shall be mine. Now, by what\nmeans the present need may be fulfilled, attend and I will explain in\nbrief. Aeneas and Dido (alas and woe for her!) are to go hunting\ntogether in the woodland when to-morrow's rising sun goes forth and his\nrays unveil the world. On them, while the beaters run up and down, and\nthe lawns are girt with toils, will I pour down a blackening rain-cloud\nmingled with hail, and startle all the sky in thunder. Their company\nwill scatter for shelter in the dim darkness; Dido and the Trojan\ncaptain [125-159]shall take refuge in the same cavern. I will be there,\nand if thy goodwill is assured me, I will unite them in wedlock, and\nmake her wholly his; here shall Hymen be present.' The Cytherean gave\nready assent to her request, and laughed at the wily invention.\n\nMeanwhile Dawn rises forth of ocean. A chosen company issue from the\ngates while the morning star is high; they pour forth with meshed nets,\ntoils, broad-headed hunting spears, Massylian horsemen and sinewy\nsleuth-hounds. At her doorway the chief of Carthage await their queen,\nwho yet lingers in her chamber, and her horse stands splendid in gold\nand purple with clattering feet and jaws champing on the foamy bit. At\nlast she comes forth amid a great thronging train, girt in a Sidonian\nmantle, broidered with needlework; her quiver is of gold, her tresses\nknotted into gold, a golden buckle clasps up her crimson gown.\nTherewithal the Phrygian train advances with joyous I\u00fclus. Himself first\nand foremost of all, Aeneas joins her company and unites his party to\nhers: even as Apollo, when he leaves wintry Lycia and the streams of\nXanthus to visit his mother's Delos, and renews the dance, while Cretans\nand Dryopes and painted Agathyrsians mingle clamorous about his altars:\nhimself he treads the Cynthian ridges, and plaits his flowing hair with\nsoft heavy sprays and entwines it with gold; the arrows rattle on his\nshoulder: as lightly as he went Aeneas; such glow and beauty is on his\nprincely face. When they are come to the mountain heights and pathless\ncoverts, lo, wild goats driven from the cliff-tops run down the ridge;\nin another quarter stags speed over the open plain and gather their\nflying column in a cloud of dust as they leave the hills. But the boy\nAscanius is in the valleys, exultant on his fiery horse, and gallops\npast one and another, praying that among the unwarlike herds a foaming\nboar may issue or a tawny lion descend the hill.\n\n[160-194]Meanwhile the sky begins to thicken and roar aloud. A\nrain-cloud comes down mingled with hail; the Tyrian train and the men of\nTroy, and the Dardanian boy of Venus' son scatter in fear, and seek\nshelter far over the fields. Streams pour from the hills. Dido and the\nTrojan captain take refuge in the same cavern. Primeval Earth and Juno\nthe bridesmaid give the sign; fires flash out high in air, witnessing\nthe union, and Nymphs cry aloud on the mountain-top. That day opened the\ngate of death and the springs of ill. For now Dido recks not of eye or\ntongue, nor sets her heart on love in secret: she calls it marriage, and\nwith this name veils her fall.\n\nStraightway Rumour runs through the great cities of Libya,--Rumour, than\nwhom none other is more swift to mischief; she thrives on restlessness\nand gains strength by going: at first small and timorous; soon she lifts\nherself on high and paces the ground with head hidden among the clouds.\nHer, one saith, Mother Earth, when stung by wrath against the gods, bore\nlast sister to Coeus and Enceladus, fleet-footed and swift of wing,\nominous, awful, vast; for every feather on her body is a waking eye\nbeneath, wonderful to tell, and a tongue, and as many loud lips and\nstraining ears. By night she flits between sky and land, shrilling\nthrough the dusk, and droops not her lids in sweet slumber; in daylight\nshe sits on guard upon tall towers or the ridge of the house-roof, and\nmakes great cities afraid; obstinate in perverseness and forgery no less\nthan messenger of truth. She then exultingly filled the countries with\nmanifold talk, and blazoned alike what was done and undone: one Aeneas\nis come, born of Trojan blood; on him beautiful Dido thinks no shame to\nfling herself; now they hold their winter, long-drawn through mutual\ncaresses, regardless of their realms and enthralled by passionate\ndishonour. This the pestilent goddess [195-227]spreads abroad in the\nmouths of men, and bends her course right on to King Iarbas, and with\nher words fires his spirit and swells his wrath.\n\nHe, the seed of Ammon by a ravished Garamantian Nymph, had built to Jove\nin his wide realms an hundred great temples, an hundred altars, and\nconsecrated the wakeful fire that keeps watch by night before the gods\nperpetually, where the soil is fat with blood of beasts and the courts\nblossom with pied garlands. And he, distracted and on fire at the bitter\ntidings, before his altars, amid the divine presences, often, it is\nsaid, bowed in prayer to Jove with uplifted hands:\n\n'Jupiter omnipotent, to whom from the broidered cushions of their\nbanqueting halls the Maurusian people now pour Lenaean offering, lookest\nthou on this? or do we shudder vainly when our father hurls the\nthunderbolt, and do blind fires in the clouds and idle rumblings appal\nour soul? The woman who, wandering in our coasts, planted a small town\non purchased ground, to whom we gave fields by the shore and laws of\nsettlement, she hath spurned our alliance and taken Aeneas for lord of\nher realm. And now that Paris, with his effeminate crew, his chin and\noozy hair swathed in the turban of Maeonia, takes and keeps her; since\nto thy temples we bear oblation, and hallow an empty name.'\n\nIn such words he pleaded, clasping the altars; the Lord omnipotent\nheard, and cast his eye on the royal city and the lovers forgetful of\ntheir fairer fame. Then he addresses this charge to Mercury:\n\n'Up and away, O son! call the breezes and slide down them on thy wings:\naccost the Dardanian captain who now loiters in Tyrian Carthage and\ncasts not a look on destined cities; carry down my words through the\nfleet air. Not such an one did his mother most beautiful vouch him to\n[228-264]us, nor for this twice rescue him from Grecian arms; but he\nwas to rule an Italy teeming with empire and loud with war, to transmit\nthe line of Teucer's royal blood, and lay all the world beneath his law.\nIf such glories kindle him in nowise, and he take no trouble for his own\nhonour, does a father grudge his Ascanius the towers of Rome? with what\ndevice or in what hope loiters he among a hostile race, and casts not a\nglance on his Ausonian children and the fields of Lavinium? Let him set\nsail: this is the sum: thereof be thou our messenger.'\n\nHe ended: his son made ready to obey his high command. And first he\nlaces to his feet the shoes of gold that bear him high winging over seas\nor land as fleet as the gale; then takes the rod wherewith he calls wan\nsouls forth of Orcus, or sends them again to the sad depth of hell,\ngives sleep and takes it away and unseals dead eyes; in whose strength\nhe courses the winds and swims across the tossing clouds. And now in\nflight he descries the peak and steep sides of toiling Atlas, whose\ncrest sustains the sky; Atlas, whose pine-clad head is girt alway with\nblack clouds and beaten by wind and rain; snow is shed over his\nshoulders for covering; rivers tumble over his aged chin; and his rough\nbeard is stiff with ice. Here the Cyllenian, poised evenly on his wings,\nmade a first stay; hence he shot himself sheer to the water. Like a bird\nthat flies low, skirting the sea about the craggy shores of its fishery,\neven thus the brood of Cyllene left his mother's father, and flew,\ncutting the winds between sky and land, along the sandy Libyan shore. So\nsoon as his winged feet reached the settlement, he espies Aeneas\nfounding towers and ordering new dwellings; his sword twinkled with\nyellow jasper, and a cloak hung from his shoulders ablaze with Tyrian\nsea-purple, a gift that Dido had made costly and shot the warp with thin\ngold. Straightway [265-299]he breaks in: 'Layest thou now the\nfoundations of tall Carthage, and buildest up a fair city in dalliance?\nah, forgetful of thine own kingdom and state! From bright Olympus I\ndescend to thee at express command of heaven's sovereign, whose deity\nsways sky and earth; expressly he bids me carry this charge through the\nfleet air: with what device or in what hope dost thou loiter idly on\nLibyan lands? if such glories kindle thee in nowise, yet cast an eye on\ngrowing Ascanius, on I\u00fclus thine hope and heir, to whom the kingdom of\nItaly and the Roman land are due.' As these words left his lips the\nCyllenian, yet speaking, quitted mortal sight and vanished into thin air\naway out of his eyes.\n\nBut Aeneas in truth gazed in dumb amazement, his hair thrilled up, and\nthe accents faltered on his tongue. He burns to flee away and leave the\npleasant land, aghast at the high warning and divine ordinance. Alas,\nwhat shall he do? how venture to smooth the tale to the frenzied queen?\nwhat prologue shall he find? and this way and that he rapidly throws his\nmind, and turns it on all hands in swift change of thought. In his\nperplexity this seemed the better counsel; he calls Mnestheus and\nSergestus, and brave Serestus, and bids them silently equip the fleet,\ngather their crews on shore, and order their armament, keeping the cause\nof the commotion hid; himself meanwhile, since Dido the gracious knows\nnot nor looks for severance to so strong a love, will essay to approach\nher when she may be told most gently, and the way for it be fair. All at\nonce gladly do as bidden, and obey his command.\n\nBut the Queen--who may delude a lover?--foreknew his devices, and at\nonce caught the presaging stir. Safety's self was fear; to her likewise\nhad evil Rumour borne the maddening news that they equip the fleet and\nprepare [300-334]for passage. Helpless at heart, she reels aflame with\nrage throughout the city, even as the startled Thyiad in her frenzied\ntriennial orgies, when the holy vessels move forth and the cry of\nBacchus re-echoes, and Cithaeron calls her with nightlong din. Thus at\nlast she opens out upon Aeneas:\n\n'And thou didst hope, traitor, to mask the crime, and slip away in\nsilence from my land? Our love holds thee not, nor the hand thou once\ngavest, nor the bitter death that is left for Dido's portion? Nay, under\nthe wintry star thou labourest on thy fleet, and hastenest to launch\ninto the deep amid northern gales; ah, cruel! Why, were thy quest not of\nalien fields and unknown dwellings, did thine ancient Troy remain,\nshould Troy be sought in voyages over tossing seas? Fliest thou from me?\nme who by these tears and thine own hand beseech thee, since naught\nelse, alas! have I kept mine own--by our union and the marriage rites\npreparing; if I have done thee any grace, or aught of mine hath once\nbeen sweet in thy sight,--pity our sinking house, and if there yet be\nroom for prayers, put off this purpose of thine. For thy sake Libyan\ntribes and Nomad kings are hostile; my Tyrians are estranged; for thy\nsake, thine, is mine honour perished, and the former fame, my one title\nto the skies. How leavest thou me to die, O my guest? since to this the\nname of husband is dwindled down. For what do I wait? till Pygmalion\noverthrow his sister's city, or Gaetulian Iarbas lead me to captivity?\nAt least if before thy flight a child of thine had been clasped in my\narms,--if a tiny Aeneas were playing in my hall, whose face might yet\nimage thine,--I would not think myself ensnared and deserted utterly.'\n\nShe ended; he by counsel of Jove held his gaze unstirred, and kept his\ndistress hard down in his heart. At last he briefly answers:\n\n'Never, O Queen, will I deny that thy goodness hath [335-368]gone high\nas thy words can swell the reckoning; nor will my memory of Elissa be\nungracious while I remember myself, and breath sways this body. Little\nwill I say in this. I never hoped to slip away in stealthy flight; fancy\nnot that; nor did I ever hold out the marriage torch or enter thus into\nalliance. Did fate allow me to guide my life by mine own government, and\ncalm my sorrows as I would, my first duty were to the Trojan city and\nthe dear remnant of my kindred; the high house of Priam should abide,\nand my hand had set up Troy towers anew for a conquered people. But now\nfor broad Italy hath Apollo of Grynos bidden me steer, for Italy the\noracles of Lycia. Here is my desire; this is my native country. If thy\nPhoenician eyes are stayed on Carthage towers and thy Libyan city, what\nwrong is it, I pray, that we Trojans find our rest on Ausonian land? We\ntoo may seek a foreign realm unforbidden. In my sleep, often as the dank\nshades of night veil the earth, often as the stars lift their fires, the\ntroubled phantom of my father Anchises comes in warning and dread; my\nboy Ascanius, how I wrong one so dear in cheating him of an Hesperian\nkingdom and destined fields. Now even the gods' interpreter, sent\nstraight from Jove--I call both to witness--hath borne down his commands\nthrough the fleet air. Myself in broad daylight I saw the deity passing\nwithin the walls, and these ears drank his utterance. Cease to madden me\nand thyself alike with plaints. Not of my will do I follow Italy. . . .'\n\nLong ere he ended she gazes on him askance, turning her eyes from side\nto side and perusing him with silent glances; then thus wrathfully\nspeaks:\n\n'No goddess was thy mother, nor Dardanus founder of thy line, traitor!\nbut rough Caucasus bore thee on his iron crags, and Hyrcanian tigresses\ngave thee suck. For why do I conceal it? For what further outrage do I\nwait? [369-400]Hath our weeping cost him a sigh, or a lowered glance?\nHath he broken into tears, or had pity on his lover? Where, where shall\nI begin? Now neither doth Queen Juno nor our Saturnian lord regard us\nwith righteous eyes. Nowhere is trust safe. Cast ashore and destitute I\nwelcomed him, and madly gave him place and portion in my kingdom; I\nfound him his lost fleet and drew his crews from death. Alas, the fire\nof madness speeds me on. Now prophetic Apollo, now oracles of Lycia, now\nthe very gods' interpreter sent straight from Jove through the air\ncarries these rude commands! Truly that is work for the gods, that a\ncare to vex their peace! I detain thee not, nor gainsay thy words: go,\nfollow thine Italy down the wind; seek thy realm overseas. Yet midway my\nhope is, if righteous gods can do aught at all, thou wilt drain the cup\nof vengeance on the rocks, and re-echo calls on Dido's name. In murky\nfires I will follow far away, and when chill death hath severed body\nfrom soul, my ghost will haunt thee in every region. Wretch, thou shalt\nrepay! I will hear; and the rumour of it shall reach me deep in the\nunder world.'\n\nEven on these words she breaks off her speech unfinished, and, sick at\nheart, escapes out of the air and sweeps round and away out of sight,\nleaving him in fear and much hesitance, and with much on his mind to\nsay. Her women catch her in their arms, and carry her swooning to her\nmarble chamber and lay her on her bed.\n\nBut good Aeneas, though he would fain soothe and comfort her grief, and\ntalk away her distress, with many a sigh, and melted in soul by his\ngreat love, yet fulfils the divine commands and returns to his fleet.\nThen indeed the Teucrians set to work, and haul down their tall ships\nall along the shore. The hulls are oiled and afloat; they carry from the\nwoodland green boughs for oars and massy logs unhewn, in hot haste to\ngo. . . . One might descry them shifting [401-433]their quarters and\npouring out of all the town: even as ants, mindful of winter, plunder a\ngreat heap of wheat and store it in their house; a black column advances\non the plain as they carry home their spoil on a narrow track through\nthe grass. Some shove and strain with their shoulders at big grains,\nsome marshal the ranks and chastise delay; all the path is aswarm with\nwork. What then were thy thoughts, O Dido, as thou sawest it? What sighs\ndidst thou utter, viewing from the fortress roof the broad beach aswarm,\nand seeing before thine eyes the whole sea stirred with their noisy din?\nInjurious Love, to what dost thou not compel mortal hearts! Again, she\nmust needs break into tears, again essay entreaty, and bow her spirit\ndown to love, not to leave aught untried and go to death in vain.\n\n'Anna, thou seest the bustle that fills the shore. They have gathered\nround from every quarter; already their canvas woos the breezes, and the\nmerry sailors have garlanded the sterns. This great pain, my sister, I\nshall have strength to bear, as I have had strength to foresee. Yet this\none thing, Anna, for love and pity's sake--for of thee alone was the\ntraitor fain, to thee even his secret thoughts were confided, alone thou\nknewest his moods and tender fits--go, my sister, and humbly accost the\nhaughty stranger: I did not take the Grecian oath in Aulis to root out\nthe race of Troy; I sent no fleet against her fortresses; neither have I\ndisentombed his father Anchises' ashes and ghost, that he should refuse\nmy words entrance to his stubborn ears. Whither does he run? let him\ngrant this grace--alas, the last!--to his lover, and await fair winds\nand an easy passage. No more do I pray for the old delusive marriage,\nnor that he give up fair Latium and abandon a kingdom. A breathing-space\nI ask, to give my madness rest and room, till my very [434-469]fortune\nteach my grief submission. This last favour I implore: sister, be\npitiful; grant this to me, and I will restore it in full measure when I\ndie.'\n\nSo she pleaded, and so her sister carries and recarries the piteous tale\nof weeping. But by no weeping is he stirred, inflexible to all the words\nhe hears. Fate withstands, and lays divine bars on unmoved mortal ears.\nEven as when the eddying blasts of northern Alpine winds are emulous to\nuproot the secular strength of a mighty oak, it wails on, and the trunk\nquivers and the high foliage strews the ground; the tree clings fast on\nthe rocks, and high as her top soars into heaven, so deep strike her\nroots to hell; even thus is the hero buffeted with changeful perpetual\naccents, and distress thrills his mighty breast, while his purpose stays\nunstirred, and tears fall in vain.\n\nThen indeed, hapless and dismayed by doom, Dido prays for death, and is\nweary of gazing on the arch of heaven. The more to make her fulfil her\npurpose and quit the light, she saw, when she laid her gifts on the\naltars alight with incense, awful to tell, the holy streams blacken, and\nthe wine turn as it poured into ghastly blood. Of this sight she spoke\nto none--no, not to her sister. Likewise there was within the house a\nmarble temple of her ancient lord, kept of her in marvellous honour, and\nfastened with snowy fleeces and festal boughs. Forth of it she seemed to\nhear her husband's voice crying and calling when night was dim upon\nearth, and alone on the house-tops the screech-owl often made moan with\nfuneral note and long-drawn sobbing cry. Therewithal many a warning of\nwizards of old terrifies her with appalling presage. In her sleep fierce\nAeneas drives her wildly, and ever she seems being left by herself\nalone, ever going uncompanioned on a weary way, and seeking her Tyrians\nin a solitary land: even as frantic Pentheus sees the [470-503]arrayed\nFuries and a double sun, and Thebes shows herself twofold to his eyes:\nor Agamemnonian Orestes, renowned in tragedy, when his mother pursues\nhim armed with torches and dark serpents, and the Fatal Sisters crouch\navenging in the doorway.\n\nSo when, overcome by her pangs, she caught the madness and resolved to\ndie, she works out secretly the time and fashion, and accosts her\nsorrowing sister with mien hiding her design and hope calm on her brow.\n\n'I have found a way, mine own--wish me joy, sisterlike--to restore him\nto me or release me of my love for him. Hard by the ocean limit and the\nset of sun is the extreme Aethiopian land, where ancient Atlas turns on\nhis shoulders the starred burning axletree of heaven. Out of it hath\nbeen shown to me a priestess of Massylian race, warder of the temple of\nthe Hesperides, even she who gave the dragon his food, and kept the holy\nboughs on the tree, sprinkling clammy honey and slumberous poppy-seed.\nShe professes with her spells to relax the purposes of whom she will,\nbut on others to bring passion and pain; to stay the river-waters and\nturn the stars backward: she calls up ghosts by night; thou shalt see\nearth moaning under foot and mountain-ashes descending from the hills. I\ntake heaven, sweet, to witness, and thee, mine own darling sister, I do\nnot willingly arm myself with the arts of magic. Do thou secretly raise\na pyre in the inner court, and let them lay on it the arms that the\naccursed one left hanging in our chamber, and all the dress he wore, and\nthe bridal bed where I fell. It is good to wipe out all the wretch's\ntraces, and the priestess orders thus.' So speaks she, and is silent,\nwhile pallor overruns her face. Yet Anna deems not her sister veils\ndeath behind these strange rites, and grasps not her wild purpose, nor\nfears aught deeper than at Sychaeus' death. So she makes ready as\nbidden. . . .\n\n[504-538]But the Queen, the pyre being built up of piled faggots and\nsawn ilex in the inmost of her dwelling, hangs the room with chaplets\nand garlands it with funeral boughs: on the pillow she lays the dress he\nwore, the sword he left, and an image of him, knowing what was to come.\nAltars are reared around, and the priestess, with hair undone, thrice\npeals from her lips the hundred gods of Erebus and Chaos, and the\ntriform Hecate, the triple-faced maidenhood of Diana. Likewise she had\nsprinkled pretended waters of Avernus' spring, and rank herbs are sought\nmown by moonlight with brazen sickles, dark with milky venom, and sought\nis the talisman torn from a horse's forehead at birth ere the dam could\nsnatch it. . . . Herself, the holy cake in her pure hands, hard by the\naltars, with one foot unshod and garments flowing loose, she invokes the\ngods ere she die, and the stars that know of doom; then prays to\nwhatsoever deity looks in righteousness and remembrance on lovers ill\nallied.\n\nNight fell; weary creatures took quiet slumber all over earth, and\nwoodland and wild waters had sunk to rest; now the stars wheel midway on\ntheir gliding path, now all the country is silent, and beasts and gay\nbirds that haunt liquid levels of lake or thorny rustic thicket lay\ncouched asleep under the still night. But not so the distressed\nPhoenician, nor does she ever sink asleep or take the night upon eyes or\nbreast; her pain redoubles, and her love swells to renewed madness, as\nshe tosses on the strong tide of wrath. Even so she begins, and thus\nrevolves with her heart alone:\n\n'See, what do I? Shall I again make trial of mine old wooers that will\nscorn me? and stoop to sue for a Numidian marriage among those whom\nalready over and over I have disdained for husbands? Then shall I follow\nthe Ilian fleets and the uttermost bidding of the Teucrians? because it\nis good to think they were once raised up by my [539-570]succour, or\nthe grace of mine old kindness is fresh in their remembrance? And how\nshould they let me, if I would? or take the odious woman on their\nhaughty ships? art thou ignorant, ah me, even in ruin, and knowest not\nyet the forsworn race of Laomedon? And then? shall I accompany the\ntriumphant sailors, a lonely fugitive? or plunge forth girt with all my\nTyrian train? so hardly severed from Sidon city, shall I again drive\nthem seaward, and bid them spread their sails to the tempest? Nay die\nthou, as thou deservest, and let the steel end thy pain. With thee it\nbegan; overborne by my tears, thou, O my sister, dost load me with this\nmadness and agony, and layest me open to the enemy. I could not spend a\nwild life without stain, far from a bridal chamber, and free from touch\nof distress like this! O faith ill kept, that was plighted to Sychaeus'\nashes!' Thus her heart broke in long lamentation.\n\nNow Aeneas was fixed to go, and now, with all set duly in order, was\ntaking hasty sleep on his high stern. To him as he slept the god\nappeared once again in the same fashion of countenance, and thus seemed\nto renew his warning, in all points like to Mercury, voice and hue and\ngolden hair and limbs gracious in youth. 'Goddess-born, canst thou sleep\non in such danger? and seest not the coming perils that hem thee in,\nmadman! nor hearest the breezes blowing fair? She, fixed on death, is\nrevolving craft and crime grimly in her bosom, and swells the changing\nsurge of wrath. Fliest thou not hence headlong, while headlong flight is\nyet possible? Even now wilt thou see ocean weltering with broken\ntimbers, see the fierce glare of torches and the beach in a riot of\nflame, if dawn break on thee yet dallying in this land. Up ho! linger no\nmore! Woman is ever a fickle and changing thing.' So spoke he, and\nmelted in the black night.\n\n[571-603]Then indeed Aeneas, startled by the sudden phantom, leaps out\nof slumber and bestirs his crew. 'Haste and awake, O men, and sit down\nto the thwarts; shake out sail speedily. A god sent from high heaven,\nlo! again spurs us to speed our flight and cut the twisted cables. We\nfollow thee, holy one of heaven, whoso thou art, and again joyfully obey\nthy command. O be favourable; give gracious aid and bring fair sky and\nweather.' He spoke, and snatching his sword like lightning from the\nsheath, strikes at the hawser with the drawn steel. The same zeal\ncatches all at once; rushing and tearing they quit the shore; the sea is\nhidden under their fleets; strongly they toss up the foam and sweep the\nblue water.\n\nAnd now Dawn broke, and, leaving the saffron bed of Tithonus, shed her\nradiance anew over the world; when the Queen saw from her watch-tower\nthe first light whitening, and the fleet standing out under squared\nsail, and discerned shore and haven empty of all their oarsmen. Thrice\nand four times she struck her hand on her lovely breast and rent her\nyellow hair: 'God!' she cries, 'shall he go? shall an alien make mock of\nour realm? Will they not issue in armed pursuit from all the city, and\nsome launch ships from the dockyards? Go; bring fire in haste, serve\nweapons, swing out the oars! What do I talk? or where am I? what mad\nchange is on my purpose? Alas, Dido! now thou dost feel thy wickedness;\nthat had graced thee once, when thou gavest away thy crown. Behold the\nfaith and hand of him! who, they say, carries his household's ancestral\ngods about with him! who stooped his shoulders to a father outworn with\nage! Could I not have riven his body in sunder and strewn it on the\nwaves? and slain with the sword his comrades and his dear Ascanius, and\nserved him for the banquet at his father's table? But the chance of\nbattle had been dubious. If it had! whom did I fear [604-635]with my\ndeath upon me? I should have borne firebrands into his camp and filled\nhis decks with flame, blotted out father and son and race together, and\nflung myself atop of all. Sun, whose fires lighten all the works of the\nworld, and thou, Juno, mediatress and witness of these my distresses,\nand Hecate, cried on by night in crossways of cities, and you, fatal\navenging sisters and gods of dying Elissa, hear me now; bend your just\ndeity to my woes, and listen to our prayers. If it must needs be that\nthe accursed one touch his haven and float up to land, if thus Jove's\ndecrees demand, and this is the appointed term,--yet, distressed in war\nby an armed and gallant nation, driven homeless from his borders, rent\nfrom I\u00fclus' embrace, let him sue for succour and see death on death\nuntimely on his people; nor when he hath yielded him to the terms of a\nharsh peace, may he have joy of his kingdom or the pleasant light; but\nlet him fall before his day and without burial on a waste of sand. This\nI pray; this and my blood with it I pour for the last utterance. And\nyou, O Tyrians, hunt his seed with your hatred for all ages to come;\nsend this guerdon to our ashes. Let no kindness nor truce be between the\nnations. Arise out of our dust, O unnamed avenger, to pursue the\nDardanian settlement with firebrand and steel. Now, then, whensoever\nstrength shall be given, I invoke the enmity of shore to shore, wave to\nwater, sword to sword; let their battles go down to their children's\nchildren.'\n\nSo speaks she as she kept turning her mind round about, seeking how\nsoonest to break away from the hateful light. Thereon she speaks briefly\nto Barce, nurse of Sychaeus; for a heap of dusky ashes held her own, in\nher country of long ago:\n\n'Sweet nurse, bring Anna my sister hither to me. Bid her haste and\nsprinkle river water over her body, and bring [636-667]with her the\nbeasts ordained for expiation: so let her come: and thou likewise veil\nthy brows with a pure chaplet. I would fulfil the rites of Stygian Jove\nthat I have fitly ordered and begun, so to set the limit to my\ndistresses and give over to the flames the funeral pyre of the\nDardanian.'\n\nSo speaks she; the old woman went eagerly with quickened pace. But Dido,\nfluttered and fierce in her awful purpose, with bloodshot restless gaze,\nand spots on her quivering cheeks burning through the pallor of imminent\ndeath, bursts into the inner courts of the house, and mounts in madness\nthe high funeral pyre, and unsheathes the sword of Dardania, a gift\nasked for no use like this. Then after her eyes fell on the Ilian\nraiment and the bed she knew, dallying a little with her purpose through\nher tears, she sank on the pillow and spoke the last words of all:\n\n'Dress he wore, sweet while doom and deity allowed! receive my spirit\nnow, and release me from my distresses. I have lived and fulfilled\nFortune's allotted course; and now shall I go a queenly phantom under\nthe earth. I have built a renowned city; I have seen my ramparts rise;\nby my brother's punishment I have avenged my husband of his enemy;\nhappy, ah me! and over happy, had but the keels of Dardania never\ntouched our shores!' She spoke; and burying her face in the pillow,\n'Death it will be,' she cries, 'and unavenged; but death be it. Thus,\nthus is it good to pass into the dark. Let the pitiless Dardanian's gaze\ndrink in this fire out at sea, and my death be the omen he carries on\nhis way.'\n\nShe ceased; and even as she spoke her people see her sunk on the steel,\nand blood reeking on the sword and spattered on her hands. A cry rises\nin the high halls; Rumour riots down the quaking city. The house\nresounds with lamentation and sobbing and bitter crying of women;\n[668-700]heaven echoes their loud wails; even as though all Carthage or\nancient Tyre went down as the foe poured in, and the flames rolled\nfurious over the roofs of house and temple. Swooning at the sound, her\nsister runs in a flutter of dismay, with torn face and smitten bosom,\nand darts through them all, and calls the dying woman by her name. 'Was\nit this, mine own? Was my summons a snare? Was it this thy pyre, ah me,\nthis thine altar fires meant? How shall I begin my desolate moan? Didst\nthou disdain a sister's company in death? Thou shouldst have called me\nto share thy doom; in the self-same hour, the self-same pang of steel\nhad been our portion. Did these very hands build it, did my voice call\non our father's gods, that with thee lying thus I should be away as one\nwithout pity? Thou hast destroyed thyself and me together, O my sister,\nand the Sidonian lords and people, and this thy city. Give her wounds\nwater: I will bathe them and catch on my lips the last breath that haply\nyet lingers.' So speaking she had climbed the high steps, and, wailing,\nclasped and caressed her half-lifeless sister in her bosom, and stanched\nthe dark streams of blood with her gown. She, essaying to lift her heavy\neyes, swoons back; the deep-driven wound gurgles in her breast. Thrice\nshe rose, and strained to lift herself on her elbow; thrice she rolled\nback on the pillow, and with wandering eyes sought the light of high\nheaven, and moaned as she found it.\n\nThen Juno omnipotent, pitying her long pain and difficult decease, sent\nIris down from heaven to unloose the struggling life from the body where\nit clung. For since neither by fate did she perish, nor as one who had\nearned her death, but woefully before her day, and fired by sudden\nmadness, not yet had Proserpine taken her lock from the golden head, nor\nsentenced her to the Stygian under world. So Iris on dewy saffron\npinions flits down through the sky [701-705]athwart the sun in a trail\nof a thousand changing dyes, and stopping over her head: 'This hair,\nsacred to Dis, I take as bidden, and release thee from that body of\nthine.' So speaks she, and cuts it with her hand. And therewith all the\nwarmth ebbed forth from her, and the life passed away upon the winds.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK FIFTH\n\nTHE GAMES OF THE FLEET\n\n\nMeanwhile Aeneas and his fleet in unwavering track now held mid passage,\nand cleft the waves that blackened under the North, looking back on the\ncity that even now gleams with hapless Elissa's funeral flame. Why the\nbroad blaze is lit lies unknown; but the bitter pain of a great love\ntrampled, and the knowledge of what woman can do in madness, draw the\nTeucrians' hearts to gloomy guesses.\n\nWhen their ships held the deep, nor any land farther appears, the seas\nall round, and all round the sky, a dusky shower drew up overhead,\ncarrying night and storm, and the wave shuddered and gloomed. Palinurus,\nmaster of the fleet, cries from the high stern: 'Alas, why have these\nheavy storm-clouds girt the sky? lord Neptune, what wilt thou?' Then he\nbids clear the rigging and bend strongly to the oars, and brings the\nsails across the wind, saying thus:\n\n'Noble Aeneas, not did Jupiter give word and warrant would I hope to\nreach Italy under such a sky. The shifting winds roar athwart our\ncourse, and blow stronger out of the black west, and the air thickens\ninto mist: nor are we fit to force our way on and across. Fortune is the\nstronger; let us follow her, and turn our course whither she calls.\n[23-55]Not far away, I think, are the faithful shores of thy brother\nEryx, and the Sicilian haven, if only my memory retraces rightly the\nstars I watched before.'\n\nThen good Aeneas: 'Even I ere now discern the winds will have it so, and\nthou urgest against them in vain. Turn thou the course of our sailing.\nCould any land be welcomer to me, or where I would sooner choose to put\nin my weary ships, than this that hath Dardanian Acestes to greet me,\nand laps in its embrace lord Anchises' dust?' This said, they steer for\nharbour, while the following west wind stretches their sails; the fleet\nruns fast down the flood, and at last they land joyfully on the familiar\nbeach. But Acestes high on a hill-top, amazed at the friendly squadron\napproaching from afar, hastens towards them, weaponed and clad in the\nshaggy skin of a Libyan she-bear. Him a Trojan mother conceived and bore\nto Crimisus river; not forgetful of his parentage, he wishes them joy of\ntheir return, and gladly entertains them on his rustic treasure and\ncomforts their weariness with his friendly store. So soon as the\nmorrow's clear daylight had chased the stars out of the east, Aeneas\ncalls his comrades along the beach together, and from a mounded hillock\nspeaks:\n\n'Great people of Dardanus, born of the high blood of gods, the yearly\ncircle of the months is measured out to fulfilment since we laid the\ndust in earth, all that was left of my divine father, and sadly\nconsecrated our altars. And now the day is at hand (this, O gods, was\nyour will), which I will ever keep in grief, ever in honour. Did I spend\nit an exile on Gaetulian quicksands, did it surprise me on the Argolic\nsea or in Mycenae town, yet would I fulfil the yearly vows and annual\nordinance of festival, and pile the altars with their due gifts. Now we\nare led hither, to the very dust and ashes of our father, not as I deem\nwithout [56-90]divine purpose and influence, and borne home into the\nfriendly haven. Up then and let us all gather joyfully to the sacrifice:\npray we for winds, and may he deign that I pay these rites to him year\nby year in an established city and consecrated temple. Two head of oxen\nAcestes, the seed of Troy, gives to each of your ships by tale: invite\nto the feast your own ancestral gods of the household, and those whom\nour host Acestes worships. Further, so the ninth Dawn uplift the\ngracious day upon men, and her shafts unveil the world, I will ordain\ncontests for my Trojans; first for swift ships; then whoso excels in the\nfoot-race, and whoso, confident in strength and skill, comes to shoot\nlight arrows, or adventures to join battle with gloves of raw hide; let\nall be here, and let merit look for the prize and palm. Now all be\nhushed, and twine your temples with boughs.'\n\nSo speaks he, and shrouds his brows with his mother's myrtle. So Helymus\ndoes, so Aletes ripe of years, so the boy Ascanius, and the rest of the\npeople follow. He advances from the assembly to the tomb among a throng\nof many thousands that crowd about him; here he pours on the ground in\nfit libation two goblets of pure wine, two of new milk, two of\nconsecrated blood, and flings bright blossoms, saying thus: 'Hail, holy\nfather, once again; hail, ashes of him I saved in vain, and soul and\nshade of my sire! Thou wert not to share the search for Italian borders\nand destined fields, nor the dim Ausonian Tiber.' Thus had he spoken;\nwhen from beneath the sanctuary a snake slid out in seven vast coils and\nsevenfold slippery spires, quietly circling the grave and gliding from\naltar to altar, his green chequered body and the spotted lustre of his\nscales ablaze with gold, as the bow in the cloud darts a thousand\nchanging dyes athwart the sun: Aeneas stood amazed at the sight. At last\nhe wound [91-126]his long train among the vessels and polished cups,\nand tasted the feast, and again leaving the altars where he had fed,\ncrept harmlessly back beneath the tomb. Doubtful if he shall think it\nthe Genius of the ground or his father's ministrant, he slays, as is\nfit, two sheep of two years old, as many swine and dark-backed steers,\npouring the while cups of wine, and calling on the soul of great\nAnchises and the ghost rearisen from Acheron. Therewithal his comrades,\nas each hath store, bring gifts to heap joyfully on the altars, and slay\nsteers in sacrifice: others set cauldrons arow, and, lying along the\ngrass, heap live embers under spits and roast the flesh.\n\nThe desired day came, and now the ninth Dawn rode up clear and bright\nbehind Pha\u00ebthon's coursers; and the name and renown of illustrious\nAcestes had stirred up all the bordering people; their holiday throng\nfilled the shore, to see Aeneas' men, and some ready to join in contest.\nFirst of all the prizes are laid out to view in the middle of the\nracecourse; tripods of sacrifice, green garlands and palms, the reward\nof the conquerors, armour and garments dipped in purple, talents of\nsilver and gold: and from a hillock in the midst the trumpet sounds the\ngames begun. First is the contest of rowing, and four ships matched in\nweight enter, the choice of all the fleet. Mnestheus' keen oarsmen drive\nthe swift Dragon, Mnestheus the Italian to be, from whose name is the\nMemmian family; Gyas the huge bulk of the huge Chimaera, a floating\ntown, whom her triple-tiered Dardanian crew urge on with oars rising in\nthreefold rank; Sergestus, from whom the Sergian house holds her name,\nsails in the tall Centaur; and in the sea-coloured Scylla Cloanthus,\nwhence is thy family, Cluentius of Rome.\n\nApart in the sea and over against the foaming beach, lies a rock that\nthe swoln waves beat and drown what time the [127-159]north-western\ngales of winter blot out the stars; in calm it rises silent out of the\nplacid water, flat-topped, and a haunt where cormorants love best to\ntake the sun. Here lord Aeneas set up a goal of leafy ilex, a mark for\nthe sailors to know whence to return, where to wheel their long course\nround. Then they choose stations by lot, and on the sterns their\ncaptains glitter afar, beautiful in gold and purple; the rest of the\ncrews are crowned with poplar sprays, and their naked shoulders glisten\nwet with oil. They sit down at the thwarts, and their arms are tense on\nthe oars; at full strain they wait the signal, while throbbing fear and\nheightened ambition drain their riotous blood. Then, when the clear\ntrumpet-note rang, all in a moment leap forward from their line; the\nshouts of the sailors strike up to heaven, and the channels are swept\ninto foam by the arms as they swing backward. They cleave their furrows\ntogether, and all the sea is torn asunder by oars and triple-pointed\nprows. Not with speed so headlong do racing pairs whirl the chariots\nover the plain, as they rush streaming from the barriers; not so do\ntheir charioteers shake the wavy reins loose over their team, and hang\nforward on the whip. All the woodland rings with clapping and shouts of\nmen that cheer their favourites, and the sheltered beach eddies back\ntheir cries; the noise buffets and re-echoes from the hills. Gyas shoots\nout in front of the noisy crowd, and glides foremost along the water;\nwhom Cloanthus follows next, rowing better, but held back by his\ndragging weight of pine. After them, at equal distance, the Dragon and\nthe Centaur strive to win the foremost room; and now the Dragon has it,\nnow the vast Centaur outstrips and passes her; now they dart on both\ntogether, their stems in a line, and their keels driving long furrows\nthrough the salt water-ways. And now they drew nigh the rock, and were\nhard [160-193]on the goal; when Gyas as he led, winner over half the\nflood, cries aloud to Menoetes, the ship's steersman: 'Whither away so\nfar to the right? This way direct her path; kiss the shore, and let the\noarblade graze the leftward reefs. Others may keep to deep water.' He\nspoke; but Menoetes, fearing blind rocks, turns the bow away towards the\nopen sea. 'Whither wanderest thou away? to the rocks, Menoetes!' again\nshouts Gyas to bring him back; and lo! glancing round he sees Cloanthus\npassing up behind and keeping nearer. Between Gyas' ship and the echoing\ncrags he scrapes through inside on his left, flashes past his leader,\nand leaving the goal behind is in safe water. Then indeed grief burned\nfierce through his strong frame, and tears sprung out on his cheeks;\nheedless of his own dignity and his crew's safety, he flings the too\ncautious Menoetes sheer into the sea from the high stern, himself\nsucceeds as guide and master of the helm, and cheers on his men, and\nturns his tiller in to shore. But Menoetes, when at last he rose\nstruggling from the bottom, heavy with advancing years and wet in his\ndripping clothes, makes for the top of the crag, and sits down on a dry\nrock. The Teucrians laughed out as he fell and as he swam, and laugh to\nsee him spitting the salt water from his chest. At this a joyful hope\nkindled in the two behind, Sergestus and Mnestheus, of catching up Gyas'\nwavering course. Sergestus slips forward as he nears the rock, yet not\nall in front, nor leading with his length of keel; part is in front,\npart pressed by the Dragon's jealous prow. But striding amidships\nbetween his comrades, Mnestheus cheers them on: 'Now, now swing back,\noarsmen who were Hector's comrades, whom I chose to follow me in Troy's\nextremity; now put forth the might and courage you showed in Gaetulian\nquicksands, amid Ionian seas and Malea's chasing waves. Not the first\n[194-227]place do I now seek for Mnestheus, nor strive for victory;\nthough ah!--yet let them win, O Neptune, to whom thou givest it. But the\nshame of coming in last! Win but this, fellow-citizens, and avert that\ndisaster!' His men bend forward, straining every muscle; the brasswork\nof the ship quivers to their mighty strokes, and the ground runs from\nunder her; limbs and parched lips shake with their rapid panting, and\nsweat flows in streams all over them. Mere chance brought the crew the\nglory they desired. For while Sergestus drives his prow furiously in\ntowards the rocks and comes up with too scanty room, alas! he caught on\na rock that ran out; the reef ground, the oars struck and shivered on\nthe jagged teeth, and the bows crashed and hung. The sailors leap up and\nhold her with loud cries, and get out iron-shod poles and sharp-pointed\nboathooks, and pick up their broken oars out of the eddies. But\nMnestheus, rejoicing and flushed by his triumph, with oars fast-dipping\nand winds at his call, issues into the shelving water and runs down the\nopen sea. As a pigeon whose house and sweet nestlings are in the rock's\nrecesses, if suddenly startled from her cavern, wings her flight over\nthe fields and rushes frightened from her house with loud clapping\npinions; then gliding noiselessly through the air, slides on her liquid\nway and moves not her rapid wings; so Mnestheus, so the Dragon under him\nswiftly cleaves the last space of sea, so her own speed carries her\nflying on. And first Sergestus is left behind, struggling on the steep\nrock and shoal water, and shouting in vain for help and learning to race\nwith broken oars. Next he catches up Gyas and the vast bulk of the\nChimaera; she gives way, without her steersman. And now on the very goal\nCloanthus alone is left; him he pursues and presses hard, straining all\nhis strength. Then indeed the shouts redouble, as all together eagerly\ncheer on the pursuer, and [228-264]the sky echoes their din. These\nscorn to lose the honour that is their own, the glory in their grasp,\nand would sell life for renown; to these success lends life; power comes\nwith belief in it. And haply they had carried the prize with prows\nabreast, had not Cloanthus, stretching both his open hands over the sea,\npoured forth prayers and called the gods to hear his vows: 'Gods who are\nsovereign on the sea, over whose waters I run, to your altars on this\nbeach will I bring a snow-white bull, my vow's glad penalty, and will\ncast his entrails into the salt flood and pour liquid wine.' He spoke,\nand far beneath the flood maiden Panopea heard him, with all Phorcus'\nchoir of Nereids, and lord Portunus with his own mighty hand pushed him\non his way. The ship flies to land swifter than the wind or an arrow's\nflight, and shoots into the deep harbour. Then the seed of Anchises,\nsummoning all in order, declares Cloanthus conqueror by herald's outcry,\nand dresses his brows in green bay, and gives gifts to each crew, three\nbullocks of their choice, and wine, and a large talent of silver to take\naway. For their captains he adds special honours; to the winner a scarf\nwrought with gold, encircled by a double border of deep Meliboean\npurple; woven in it is the kingly boy on leafy Ida, chasing swift stags\nwith javelin and racing feet, keen and as one panting; him Jove's\nswooping armour-bearer hath caught up from Ida in his talons; his aged\nguardians stretch their hands vainly upwards, and the barking of hounds\nrings fierce into the air. But to him who, next in merit, held the\nsecond place, he gives to wear a corslet triple-woven with hooks of\npolished gold, stripped by his own conquering hand from Demoleos under\ntall Troy by the swift Simo\u00efs, an ornament and safeguard among arms.\nScarce could the straining shoulders of his servants Phegeus and Sagaris\ncarry its heavy folds; yet with it on, Demoleos at [265-302]full speed\nwould chase the scattered Trojans. The third prize he makes twin\ncauldrons of brass, and bowls wrought in silver and rough with tracery.\nAnd now all moved away in the pride and wealth of their prizes, their\nbrows bound with scarlet ribbons; when, hardly torn loose by all his art\nfrom the cruel rock, his oars lost, rowing feebly with a single tier,\nSergestus brought in his ship jeered at and unhonoured. Even as often a\nserpent caught on a highway, if a brazen wheel hath gone aslant over him\nor a wayfarer left him half dead and mangled with the blow of a heavy\nstone, wreathes himself slowly in vain effort to escape, in part\nundaunted, his eyes ablaze and his hissing throat lifted high; in part\nthe disabling wound keeps him coiling in knots and twisting back on his\nown body; so the ship kept rowing slowly on, yet hoists sail and under\nfull sail glides into the harbour mouth. Glad that the ship is saved and\nthe crew brought back, Aeneas presents Sergestus with his promised\nreward. A slave woman is given him not unskilled in Minerva's labours,\nPholo\u00eb the Cretan, with twin boys at her breast.\n\nThis contest sped, good Aeneas moved to a grassy plain girt all about\nwith winding wooded hills, and amid the valley an amphitheatre, whither,\nwith a concourse of many thousands, the hero advanced and took his seat\non a mound. Here he allures with rewards and offer of prizes those who\nwill try their hap in the fleet foot-race. Trojans and Sicilians gather\nmingling from all sides, Nisus and Euryalus foremost . . . Euryalus in\nthe flower of youth and famed for beauty, Nisus for pure love of the\nboy. Next follows renowned Diores, of Priam's royal line; after him\nSalius and Patron together, the one Acarnanian, the other Tegean by\nfamily and of Arcadian blood; next two men of Sicily, Helymus and\nPanopes, foresters and attendants on old Acestes; many besides whose\nfame is hid in [303-338]obscurity. Then among them all Aeneas spoke\nthus: 'Hearken to this, and attend in good cheer. None out of this\nnumber will I let go without a gift. To each will I give two glittering\nGnosian spearheads of polished steel, and an axe chased with silver to\nbear away; one and all shall be honoured thus. The three foremost shall\nreceive prizes, and have pale olive bound about their head. The first\nshall have a caparisoned horse as conqueror; the second an Amazonian\nquiver filled with arrows of Thrace, girt about by a broad belt of gold,\nand on the link of the clasp a polished gem; let the third depart with\nthis Argolic helmet for recompense.' This said, they take their place,\nand the signal once heard, dart over the course and leave the line,\npouring forth like a storm-cloud while they mark the goal. Nisus gets\naway first, and shoots out far in front of the throng, fleeter than the\nwinds or the winged thunderbolt. Next to him, but next by a long gap,\nSalius follows; then, left a space behind him, Euryalus third . . . and\nHelymus comes after Euryalus; and close behind him, lo! Diores goes\nflying, just grazing foot with foot, hard on his shoulder; and if a\nlonger space were left, he would creep out past him and win the tie. And\nnow almost in the last space, they began to come up breathless to the\ngoal, when unfortunate Nisus trips on the slippery blood of the slain\nsteers, where haply it had spilled over the ground and wetted the green\ngrass. Here, just in the flush of victory, he lost his feet; they slid\naway on the ground they pressed, and he fell forward right among the\nordure and blood of the sacrifice. Yet forgot he not his darling\nEuryalus; for rising, he flung himself over the slippery ground in front\nof Salius, and he rolled over and lay all along on the hard sand.\nEuryalus shoots by, wins and holds the first place his friend gave, and\nflies on amid prosperous clapping and cheers. Behind Helymus comes\n[339-373]up, and Diores, now third for the palm. At this Salius fills\nwith loud clamour the whole concourse of the vast theatre, and the lords\nwho looked on in front, demanding restoration of his defrauded prize.\nEuryalus is strong in favour, and beauty in tears, and the merit that\ngains grace from so fair a form. Diores supports him, who succeeded to\nthe palm, so he loudly cries, and bore off the last prize in vain, if\nthe highest honours be restored to Salius. Then lord Aeneas speaks: 'For\nyou, O boys, your rewards remain assured, and none alters the prizes'\norder: let me be allowed to pity a friend's innocent mischance.' So\nspeaking, he gives to Salius a vast Gaetulian lion-skin, with shaggy\nmasses of hair and claws of gold. 'If this,' cries Nisus, 'is the reward\nof defeat, and thy pity is stirred for the fallen, what fit recompense\nwilt thou give to Nisus? to my excellence the first crown was due, had\nnot I, like Salius, met Fortune's hostility.' And with the words he\ndisplayed his face and limbs foul with the wet dung. His lord laughed\nkindly on him, and bade a shield be brought forth, the workmanship of\nDidymaon, torn by him from the hallowed gates of Neptune's Grecian\ntemple; with this special prize he rewards his excellence.\n\nThereafter, when the races are finished and the gifts fulfilled: 'Now,'\nhe cries, 'come, whoso hath in him valour and ready heart, and lift up\nhis arms with gauntleted hands.' So speaks he, and sets forth a double\nprize of battle; for the conqueror a bullock gilt and garlanded; a sword\nand beautiful helmet to console the conquered. Straightway without pause\nDares issues to view in his vast strength, rising amid loud murmurs of\nthe people; he who alone was wont to meet Paris in combat; he who, at\nthe mound where princely Hector lies, struck down as he came the vast\nbulk upborne by conquering Butes, of Amycus' Bebrycian line, and\nstretched him in [374-410]death on the yellow sand. Such was Dares; at\nonce he raises his head high for battle, displays his broad shoulders,\nand stretches and swings his arms right and left, lashing the air with\nblows. For him another is required; but none out of all the train durst\napproach or put the gloves on his hands. So he takes his stand exultant\nbefore Aeneas' feet, deeming he excelled all in victories; and thereon\nwithout more delay grasps the bull's horn with his left hand, and speaks\nthus: 'Goddess-born, if no man dare trust himself to battle, to what\nconclusion shall I stand? how long is it seemly to keep me? bid me carry\noff thy gifts.' Therewith all the Dardanians murmured assent, and bade\nyield him the promised prize. At this aged Acestes spoke sharply to\nEntellus, as he sate next him on the green cushion of grass: 'Entellus,\nbravest of heroes once of old in vain, wilt thou thus idly let a gift so\ngreat be borne away uncontested? Where now prithee is divine Eryx, thy\nmaster of fruitless fame? where thy renown over all Sicily, and those\nspoils hanging in thine house?' Thereat he: 'Desire of glory is not\ngone, nor ambition checked by fear; but torpid age dulls my chilly\nblood, and my strength of limb is numb and outworn. If I had what once\nwas mine, if I had now that prime of years, yonder braggart's boast and\nconfidence, it had taken no prize of goodly bullock to allure me; nor\nheed I these gifts.' So he spoke, and on that flung down a pair of\ngloves of giant weight, with whose hard hide bound about his wrists\nvaliant Eryx was wont to come to battle. They stood amazed; so stiff and\ngrim lay the vast sevenfold oxhide sewed in with lead and iron. Dares\nmost of all shrinks far back in horror, and the noble son of Anchises\nturns round this way and that their vast weight and voluminous folds.\nThen the old man spoke thus in deep accents: 'How, had they seen the\ngloves [411-444]that were Hercules' own armour, and the fatal fight on\nthis very beach? These arms thy brother Eryx once wore; thou seest them\nyet stained with blood and spattered brains. In them he stood to face\ngreat Alcides; to them was I used while fuller blood supplied me\nstrength, and envious old age had not yet strewn her snows on either\ntemple. But if Dares of Troy will have none of these our arms, and good\nAeneas is resolved on it, and my patron Acestes approves, let us make\nthe battle even. See, I give up the gauntlets of Eryx; dismiss thy\nfears; and do thou put off thy Trojan gloves.' So spoke he, and throwing\nback the fold of his raiment from his shoulders, he bares the massive\njoints and limbs, the great bones and muscles, and stands up huge in the\nmiddle of the ground. Then Anchises' lordly seed brought out equal\ngloves and bound the hands of both in matched arms. Straightway each\ntook his stand on tiptoe, and undauntedly raised his arms high in air.\nThey lift their heads right back and away out of reach of blows, and\nmake hand play through hand, inviting attack; the one nimbler of foot\nand confident in his youth, the other mighty in mass of limb, but his\nknees totter tremulous and slow, and sick panting shakes his vast frame.\nMany a mutual blow they deliver in vain, many an one they redouble on\nchest and side, sounding hollow and loud: hands play fast about ear and\ntemple, and jawbones clash under the hard strokes. Old Entellus stands\nimmoveable and astrain, only parrying hits with body and watchful eye.\nThe other, as one who casts mounts against some high city or blockades a\nhill-fort in arms, tries this and that entrance, and ranges cunningly\nover all the ground, and presses many an attack in vain. Entellus rose\nand struck clean out with his right downwards; his quick opponent saw\nthe descending blow before it came, [445-481]and slid his body rapidly\nout of its way. Entellus hurled his strength into the air, and all his\nheavy mass, overreaching, fell heavily to the earth; as sometime on\nErymanthus or mighty Ida a hollow pine falls torn out by the roots.\nTeucrians and men of Sicily rise eagerly; a cry goes up, and Acestes\nhimself runs forward, and pityingly lifts his friend and birthmate from\nthe ground. But the hero, not dulled nor dismayed by his mishap, returns\nthe keener to battle, and grows violent in wrath, while shame and\nresolved valour kindle his strength. All afire, he hunts Dares headlong\nover the lists, and redoubles his blows now with right hand, now with\nleft; no breath nor pause; heavy as hailstones rattle on the roof from a\nstorm-cloud, so thickly shower the blows from both his hands as he\nbuffets Dares to and fro. Then lord Aeneas allowed not wrath to swell\nhigher or Entellus to rage out his bitterness, but stopped the fight and\nrescued the exhausted Dares, saying thus in soothing words: 'Unhappy!\nwhat height of madness hath seized thy mind? Knowest thou not the\nstrength is another's and the gods are changed? Yield thou to Heaven.'\nAnd with the words he proclaimed the battle over. But him his faithful\nmates lead to the ships dragging his knees feebly, swaying his head from\nside to side, and spitting from his mouth clotted blood mingled with\nteeth. At summons they bear away the helmet and shield, and leave palm\nand bull to Entellus. At this the conqueror, swelling in pride over the\nbull, cries: 'Goddess-born, and you, O Trojans! learn thus what my\nstrength of body was in its prime, and from what a death Dares is saved\nby your recall.' He spoke, and stood right opposite in face of the\nbullock as it stood by, the prize of battle; then drew back his hand,\nand swinging the hard gauntlet sheer down between the horns, smashed the\nbones in upon the shattered brain. The ox rolls over, and quivering and\n[482-516]lifeless lies along the ground. Above it he utters these deep\naccents: 'This life, Eryx, I give to thee, a better payment than Dares'\ndeath; here I lay down my gloves and unconquered skill.'\n\nForthwith Aeneas invites all that will to the contest of the swift\narrow, and proclaims the prizes. With his strong hand he uprears the\nmast of Serestus' ship, and on a cord crossing it hangs from the\nmasthead a fluttering pigeon as mark for their steel. They gather, and a\nhelmet of brass takes the lots as they throw them in. First in rank, and\nbefore them all, amid prosperous cheers, comes out Hippoco\u00f6n son of\nHyrtacus; and Mnestheus follows on him, but now conqueror in the ship\nrace, Mnestheus with his chaplet of green olive. Third is Eurytion, thy\nbrother, O Pandarus, great in renown, thou who of old, when prompted to\nshatter the truce, didst hurl the first shaft amid the Achaeans. Last of\nall, and at the bottom of the helmet, sank Acestes, he too venturing to\nset hand to the task of youth. Then each and all they strongly bend\ntheir bows into a curve and pull shafts from their quivers. And first\nthe arrow of the son of Hyrtacus, flying through heaven from the\nsounding string, whistles through the fleet breezes, and reaches and\nsticks fast full in the mast's wood: the mast quivered, and the bird\nfluttered her feathers in affright, and the whole ground rang with loud\nclapping. Next valiant Mnestheus took his stand with bow bent, aiming\nhigh with levelled eye and arrow; yet could not, unfortunate! hit the\nbird herself with his steel, but cut the knotted hempen bands that tied\nher foot as she hung from the masthead; she winged her flight into the\ndark windy clouds. Then Eurytion, who ere now held the arrow ready on\nhis bended bow, swiftly called in prayer to his brother, marked the\npigeon as she now went down the empty sky exultant on clapping wings;\nand as she passed under a dark cloud, [517-553]struck her: she fell\nbreathless, and, leaving her life in the aery firmament, slid down\ncarrying the arrow that pierced her. Acestes alone was over, and the\nprize lost; yet he sped his arrow up into the air, to display his lordly\nskill and resounding bow. At this a sudden sign meets their eyes, mighty\nin augural presage, as the high event taught thereafter, and in late\ndays boding seers prophesied of the omen. For the flying reed blazed out\namid the swimming clouds, traced its path in flame, and burned away on\nthe light winds; even as often stars shooting from their sphere draw a\ntrain athwart the sky. Trinacrians and Trojans hung in astonishment,\npraying to the heavenly powers; neither did great Aeneas reject the\nomen, but embraces glad Acestes and loads him with lavish gifts,\nspeaking thus: 'Take, my lord: for the high King of heaven by these\nsigns hath willed thee to draw the lot of peculiar honour. This gift\nshalt thou have as from aged Anchises' own hand, a bowl embossed with\nfigures, that once Cisseus of Thrace gave my father Anchises to bear, in\nhigh token and guerdon of affection.' So speaking, he twines green bay\nabout his brows, and proclaims Acestes conqueror first before them all.\nNor did gentle Eurytion, though he alone struck the bird down from the\nlofty sky, grudge him to be preferred in honour. Next comes for his\nprize he who cut the cord; he last, who pierced the mast with his winged\nreed.\n\nBut lord Aeneas, ere yet the contest is sped, calls to him Epytides,\nguardian and attendant of ungrown I\u00fclus, and thus speaks into his\nfaithful ear: 'Up and away, and tell Ascanius, if he now holds his band\nof boys ready, and their horses arrayed for the charge, to defile his\nsquadrons to his grandsire's honour in bravery of arms.' So says he, and\nhimself bids all the crowding throng withdraw from the long racecourse\nand leave the lists free. The boys move in before their parents' faces,\nglittering in rank on their [554-590]bitted horses; as they go all the\npeople of Troy and Trinacria murmur and admire. On the hair of them all\nrests a garland fitly trimmed; each carries two cornel spear-shafts\ntipped with steel; some have polished quivers on their shoulders; above\ntheir breast and round their neck goes a flexible circlet of twisted\ngold. Three in number are the troops of riders, and three captains\ngallop up and down; following each in equal command rides a glittering\ndivision of twelve boys. One youthful line goes rejoicingly behind\nlittle Priam, renewer of his grandsire's name, thy renowned seed, O\nPolites, and destined to people Italy; he rides a Thracian horse dappled\nwith spots of white, showing white on his pacing pasterns and white on\nhis high forehead. Second is Atys, from whom the Latin Atii draw their\nline, little Atys, boy beloved of the boy I\u00fclus. Last and excellent in\nbeauty before them all, I\u00fclus rode in on a Sidonian horse that Dido the\nbright had given him for token and pledge of love. The rest of them are\nmounted on old Acestes' Sicilian horses. . . . The Dardanians greet\ntheir shy entrance with applause, and rejoice at the view, and recognise\nthe features of their parents of old. When they have ridden merrily\nround all the concourse of their gazing friends, Epytides shouts from\nafar the signal they await, and sounds his whip. They gallop apart in\nequal numbers, and open their files three and three in deploying bands,\nand again at the call wheel about and bear down with levelled arms. Next\nthey start on other charges and other retreats in corresponsive spaces,\nand interlink circle with circle, and wage the armed phantom of battle.\nAnd now they bare their backs in flight, now turn their lances to the\ncharge, now plight peace and ride on side by side. As once of old, they\nsay, the labyrinth in high Crete had a tangled path between blind walls,\nand a thousand ways of doubling treachery, where tokens to follow failed\nin the [591-625]maze unmastered and irrecoverable: even in such a track\ndo the children of Troy entangle their footsteps and weave the game of\nflight and battle; like dolphins who, swimming through the wet seas, cut\nCarpathian or Libyan. . . .\n\nThis fashion of riding, these games Ascanius first revived, when he girt\nAlba the Long about with walls, and taught their celebration to the Old\nLatins in the way of his own boyhood, with the youth of Troy about him.\nThe Albans taught it their children; on from them mighty Rome received\nit and kept the ancestral observance; and now it is called Troy, and the\nboys the Trojan troop.\n\nThus far sped the sacred contests to their holy lord. Just at this\nFortune broke faith and grew estranged. While they pay the due rites to\nthe tomb with diverse games, Juno, daughter of Saturn, sends Iris down\nthe sky to the Ilian fleet, and breathes a gale to speed her on,\nrevolving many a thought, and not yet satiate of the ancient pain. She,\nspeeding her way along the thousand-coloured bow, runs swiftly, seen of\nnone, down her maiden path. She discerns the vast concourse, and\ntraverses the shore, and sees the haven abandoned and the fleet left\nalone. But far withdrawn by the solitary verge of the sea the Trojan\nwomen wept their lost Anchises, and as they wept gazed all together on\nthe fathomless flood. 'Alas! after all those weary waterways, that so\nwide a sea is yet to come!' such is the single cry of all. They pray for\na city, sick of the burden of their sea-sorrow. So she darts among them,\nnot witless to harm, and lays by face and raiment of a goddess: she\nbecomes Bero\u00eb, the aged wife of Tmarian Doryclus, who had once had birth\nand name and children, and in this guise goes among the Dardanian\nmatrons. 'Ah, wretched we,' she cries, 'whom hostile Achaean hands did\nnot drag to death beneath our native city! ah hapless race, for what\ndestruction does Fortune hold thee back? The [626-660]seventh summer\nnow declines since Troy's overthrow, while we pass measuring out by so\nmany stars the harbourless rocks over every water and land, pursuing all\nthe while over the vast sea an Italy that flies us, and tossing on the\nwaves. Here are our brother Eryx' borders, and Acestes' welcome: who\ndenies us to cast up walls and give our citizens a city? O country, O\nhousehold gods vainly rescued from the foe! shall there never be a\nTrojan town to tell of? shall I nowhere see a Xanthus and a Simo\u00efs, the\nrivers of Hector? Nay, up and join me in burning with fire these\nill-ominous ships. For in sleep the phantom of Cassandra the soothsayer\nseemed to give me blazing brands: _Here seek your Troy_, she said; _here\nis your home_. Now is the time to do it; nor do these high portents\nallow delay. Behold four altars to Neptune; the god himself lends the\nfirebrand and the nerve.' Speaking thus, at once she strongly seizes the\nfiery weapon, and with straining hand whirls it far upreared, and\nflings: the souls of the Ilian women are startled and their wits amazed.\nAt this one of their multitude, and she the eldest, Pyrgo, nurse in the\npalace to all Priam's many children: 'This is not Bero\u00eb, I tell you, O\nmothers; this is not the wife of Doryclus of Rhoeteum. Mark the\nlineaments of divine grace and the gleaming eyes, what a breath is hers,\nwhat a countenance, and the sound of her voice and the steps of her\ngoing. I, I time agone left Bero\u00eb apart, sick and fretting that she\nalone must have no part in this our service, nor pay Anchises his due\nsacrifice.' So spoke she. . . . But the matrons at first, dubious and\nwavering, gazed on the ships with malignant eyes, between the wretched\nlonging for the land they trod and the fated realm that summoned them:\nwhen the goddess rose through the sky on poised wings, and in her flight\ndrew a vast bow beneath the clouds. Then indeed, amazed at the tokens\nand driven by madness, they raise a cry and snatch fire from the\n[661-694]hearths within; others plunder the altars, and cast on\nbrushwood boughs and brands. The Fire-god rages with loose rein over\nthwarts and oars and hulls of painted fir. Eumelus carries the news of\nthe burning ships to the grave of Anchises and the ranges of the\ntheatre; and looking back, their own eyes see the floating cloud of dark\nashes. And in a moment Ascanius, as he rode gaily before his cavalry,\nspurred his horse to the disordered camp; nor can his breathless\nguardians hold him back. 'What strange madness is this?' he cries;\n'whither now hasten you, whither, alas and woe! O citizens? not on the\nfoe nor on some hostile Argive camp; it is your own hopes you burn.\nBehold me, your Ascanius!' and he flung before his feet the empty\nhelmet, put on when he roused the mimicry of war. Aeneas and the Trojan\ntrain together hurry to the spot. But the women scatter apart in fear\nall over the beach, and stealthily seek the woods and the hollow rocks\nthey find: they loathe their deed and the daylight, and with changed\neyes know their people, and Juno is startled out of their breast. But\nnot thereby do the flames of the burning lay down their unconquered\nstrength; under the wet oak the seams are alive, spouting slow coils of\nsmoke; the creeping heat devours the hulls, and the destroyer takes deep\nhold of all: nor does the heroes' strength avail nor the floods they\npour in. Then good Aeneas rent away the raiment from his shoulders and\ncalled the gods to aid, stretching forth his hands: 'Jupiter omnipotent,\nif thou hatest not Troy yet wholly to her last man, if thine ancient\npity looks at all on human woes, now, O Lord, grant our fleet to escape\nthe flame, and rescue from doom the slender Teucrian estate. Or do thou\nplunge to death this remnant, if I deserve it, with levelled\nthunderbolt, and here with thine own hand smite us down.' Scarce had he\nuttered this, when a black tempest rages in streaming showers; earth\ntrembles [695-726]to the thunder on plain and steep; the water-flood\nrushes in torrents from the whole heaven amid black darkness and\nvolleying blasts of the South. The ships are filled from overhead, the\nhalf-burnt timbers are soaking; till all the heat is quenched, and all\nthe hulls, but four that are lost, are rescued from destruction.\n\nBut lord Aeneas, dismayed by the bitter mischance, revolved at heart\nthis way and that his shifting weight of care, whether, forgetting fate,\nhe should rest in Sicilian fields, or reach forth to the borders of\nItaly. Then old Nautes, whom Tritonian Pallas taught like none other,\nand made famous in eminence of art--she granted him to reply what the\ngods' heavy anger menaced or what the order of fate claimed--he then in\naccents of comfort thus speaks to Aeneas:\n\n'Goddess-born, follow we fate's ebb and flow, whatsoever it shall be;\nfortune must be borne to be overcome. Acestes is of thine own divine\nDardanian race; take him, for he is willing, to join thee in common\ncounsel; deliver to him those who are over, now these ships are lost,\nand those who are quite weary of thy fortunes and the great quest.\nChoose out the old men stricken in years, and the matrons sick of the\nsea, and all that is weak and fearful of peril in thy company. Let this\nland give a city to the weary; they shall be allowed to call their town\nAcesta by name.'\n\nThen, indeed, kindled by these words of his aged friend, his spirit is\ndistracted among all his cares. And now black Night rose chariot-borne,\nand held the sky; when the likeness of his father Anchises seemed to\ndescend from heaven and suddenly utter thus:\n\n'O son, more dear to me than life once of old while life was yet mine; O\nson, hard wrought by the destinies of Ilium! I come hither by Jove's\ncommand, who drove the [727-760]fire from thy fleets, and at last had\npity out of high heaven. Obey thou the fair counsel aged Nautes now\ngives. Carry through to Italy thy chosen men and bravest souls; in\nLatium must thou war down a people hard and rough in living. Yet ere\nthen draw thou nigh the nether chambers of Dis, and in the deep tract of\nhell come, O son, to meet me. For I am not held in cruel Tartarus among\nwailing ghosts, but inhabit Elysium and the sweet societies of the good.\nHither with much blood of dark cattle shall the holy Sibyl lead thee.\nThen shalt thou learn of all thy line, and what city is given thee. And\nnow farewell; dank Night wheels her mid-career, and even now I feel the\nstern breath of the panting horses of the East.' He ended, and retreated\nlike a vapour into thin air. 'Ah, whither hurriest thou?' cries Aeneas;\n'whither so fast away? From whom fliest thou? or who withholds thee from\nour embrace?' So speaking, he kindles the sleeping embers of the fire,\nand with holy meal and laden censer does sacrifice to the tutelar of\nPergama and hoar Vesta's secret shrine.\n\nStraightway he summons his crews and Acestes first of all, and instructs\nthem of Jove's command and his beloved father's precepts, and what is\nnow his fixed mind and purpose. They linger not in counsel, nor does\nAcestes decline his bidden duty: they enrol the matrons in their town,\nand plant a people there, souls that will have none of glory. The rest\nrepair the thwarts and replace the ships' timbers that the flames had\ngnawed upon, and fit up oars and rigging, little in number, but alive\nand valiant for war. Meanwhile Aeneas traces the town with the plough\nand allots the homesteads; this he bids be Ilium, and these lands Troy.\nTrojan Acestes, rejoicing in his kingdom, appoints a court and gathers\nhis senators to give them statutes. Next, where the crest of Eryx is\nneighbour to the stars, a dwelling is founded to Venus the Idalian;\n[761-793]and a priest and breadth of holy wood is attached to Anchises'\ngrave.\n\nAnd now for nine days all the people hath feasted, and offering been\npaid at the altars; quiet breezes have smoothed the ocean floor, and the\ngathering south wind blows, calling them again to sea. A mighty weeping\narises along the winding shore; a night and a day they linger in mutual\nembraces. The very mothers now, the very men to whom once the sight of\nthe sea seemed cruel and the name intolerable, would go on and endure\nthe journey's travail to the end. These Aeneas comforts with kindly\nwords, and commends with tears to his kinsman Acestes' care. Then he\nbids slay three steers to Eryx and a she-lamb to the Tempests, and loose\nthe hawser as is due. Himself, his head bound with stripped leaves of\nolive, he stands apart on the prow holding the cup, and casts the\nentrails into the salt flood and pours liquid wine. A wind rising astern\nfollows them forth on their way. Emulously the crews strike the water,\nand sweep through the seas.\n\nBut Venus meanwhile, wrought upon with distress, accosts Neptune, and\nthus pours forth her heart's complaint: 'Juno's bitter wrath and heart\ninsatiable compel me, O Neptune, to sink to the uttermost of entreaty:\nneither length of days nor any goodness softens her, nor doth Jove's\ncommand and fate itself break her to desistence. It is not enough that\nher accursed hatred hath devoured the Phrygian city from among the\npeople, and exhausted on it the stores of vengeance; still she pursues\nthis remnant, the bones and ashes of murdered Troy. I pray she know why\nher passion is so fierce. Thyself art my witness what a sudden stir she\nraised of late on the Libyan waters, flinging all the seas to heaven in\nvain reliance on Aeolus' blasts; this she dared in thy realm. . . .\nLo too, driving the Trojan matrons into guilt, she hath foully\n[794-826]burned their ships, and forced them, their fleet lost, to\nleave the crews to an unknown land. Let the remnant, I beseech thee,\ngive their sails to thy safe keeping across the seas; let them reach\nLaurentine Tiber; if I ask what is permitted, if fate grants them a city\nthere.'\n\nThen the son of Saturn, compeller of the ocean deep, uttered thus: 'It\nis wholly right, O Cytherean, that thy trust should be in my realm,\nwhence thou drawest birth; and I have deserved it: often have I allayed\nthe rage and full fury of sky and sea. Nor less on land, I call Xanthus\nand Simo\u00efs to witness, hath been my care of thine Aeneas. When Achilles\npursued the Trojan armies and hurled them breathless on their walls, and\nsent many thousands to death,--when the choked rivers groaned and\nXanthus could not find passage or roll out to sea,--then I snatched\nAeneas away in sheltering mist as he met the brave son of Peleus\noutmatched in strength and gods, eager as I was to overthrow the walls\nof perjured Troy that mine own hands had built. Now too my mind rests\nthe same; dismiss thy fear. In safety, as thou desirest, shall he reach\nthe haven of Avernus. One will there be alone whom on the flood thou\nshalt lose and require; one life shall be given for many. . . .'\n\nWith these words the goddess' bosom is soothed to joy. Then their lord\nyokes his wild horses with gold and fastens the foaming bits, and\nletting all the reins run slack in his hand, flies lightly in his\nsea-coloured chariot over the ocean surface. The waves sink to rest, and\nthe swoln water-ways smooth out under the thundering axle; the\nstorm-clouds scatter from the vast sky. Diverse shapes attend him,\nmonstrous whales, and Glaucus' aged choir, and Palaemon, son of Ino, the\nswift Tritons, and Phorcus with all his army. Thetis and Melite keep the\nleft, and maiden Panopea, Nesaea and Spio, Thalia and Cymodoce.\n\n[827-860]At this lord Aeneas' soul is thrilled with soft counterchange\nof delight. He bids all the masts be upreared with speed, and the sails\nstretched on the yards. Together all set their sheets, and all at once\nslacken their canvas to left and again to right; together they brace and\nunbrace the yard-arms aloft; prosperous gales waft the fleet along.\nFirst, in front of all, Palinurus steered the close column; the rest\nunder orders ply their course by his. And now dewy Night had just\nreached heaven's mid-cone; the sailors, stretched on their hard benches\nunder the oars, relaxed their limbs in quiet rest: when Sleep, sliding\nlightly down from the starry sky, parted the shadowy air and cleft the\ndark, seeking thee, O Palinurus, carrying dreams of bale to thee who\ndreamt not of harm, and lit on the high stern, a god in Phorbas'\nlikeness, dropping this speech from his lips: 'Palinurus son of Iasus,\nthe very seas bear our fleet along; the breezes breathe steadily; for an\nhour rest is given. Lay down thine head, and steal thy worn eyes from\ntheir toil. I myself for a little will take thy duty in thy stead.' To\nwhom Palinurus, scarcely lifting his eyes, returns: 'Wouldst thou have\nme ignorant what the calm face of the brine means, and the waves at\nrest? Shall I have faith in this perilous thing? How shall I trust\nAeneas to deceitful breezes, and the placid treachery of sky that hath\nso often deceived me?' Such words he uttered, and, clinging fast to the\ntiller, slackened hold no whit, and looked up steadily on the stars. Lo!\nthe god shakes over either temple a bough dripping with Lethean dew and\nmade slumberous with the might of Styx, and makes his swimming eyes\nrelax their struggles. Scarcely had sleep begun to slacken his limbs\nunaware, when bending down, he flung him sheer into the clear water,\ntearing rudder and half the stern away with him, and many a time crying\nvainly on his comrades: himself [861-871]he rose on flying wings into\nthe thin air. None the less does the fleet run safe on its sea path, and\nglides on unalarmed in lord Neptune's assurance. Yes, and now they were\nsailing in to the cliffs of the Sirens, dangerous once of old and white\nwith the bones of many a man; and the hoarse rocks echoed afar in the\nceaseless surf; when her lord felt the ship rocking astray for loss of\nher helmsman, and himself steered her on over the darkling water,\nsighing often the while, and heavy at heart for his friend's mischance.\n'Ah too trustful in sky's and sea's serenity, thou shalt lie, O\nPalinurus, naked on an alien sand!'\n\n\n\n\nBOOK SIXTH\n\nTHE VISION OF THE UNDER WORLD\n\n\nSo speaks he weeping, and gives his fleet the rein, and at last glides\nin to Eubo\u00efc Cumae's coast. They turn the prows seaward; the ships\ngrounded fast on their anchors' teeth, and the curving ships line the\nbeach. The warrior band leaps forth eagerly on the Hesperian shore; some\nseek the seeds of flame hidden in veins of flint, some scour the woods,\nthe thick coverts of wild beasts, and find and shew the streams. But\ngood Aeneas seeks the fortress where Apollo sits high enthroned, and the\nlone mystery of the awful Sibyl's cavern depth, over whose mind and soul\nthe prophetic Delian breathes high inspiration and reveals futurity.\n\nNow they draw nigh the groves of Trivia and the roof of gold. Daedalus,\nas the story runs, when in flight from Minos' realm he dared to spread\nhis fleet wings to the sky, glided on his unwonted way towards the icy\nnorthern star, and at length lit gently on the Chalcidian fastness.\nHere, on the first land he retrod, he dedicated his winged oarage to\nthee, O Phoebus, in the vast temple he built. On the doors is Androgeus'\ndeath; thereby the children of Cecrops, bidden, ah me! to pay for yearly\nransom seven souls of their sons; the urn stands there, and the lots are\ndrawn. Right [23-55]opposite the land of Gnosus rises from the sea; on\nit is the cruel love of the bull, the disguised stealth of Pasipha\u00eb, and\nthe mingled breed and double issue of the Minotaur, record of a shameful\npassion; on it the famous dwelling's laborious inextricable maze; but\nDaedalus, pitying the great love of the princess, himself unlocked the\ntangled treachery of the palace, guiding with the clue her lover's blind\nfootsteps. Thou too hadst no slight part in the work he wrought, O\nIcarus, did grief allow. Twice had he essayed to portray thy fate in\ngold; twice the father's hands dropped down. Nay, their eyes would scan\nall the story in order, were not Achates already returned from his\nerrand, and with him the priestess of Phoebus and Trivia, De\u00efphobe\ndaughter of Glaucus, who thus accosts the king: 'Other than this are the\nsights the time demands: now were it well to sacrifice seven unbroken\nbullocks of the herd, as many fitly chosen sheep of two years old.' Thus\nspeaks she to Aeneas; nor do they delay to do her sacred bidding; and\nthe priestess calls the Teucrians into the lofty shrine.\n\nA vast cavern is scooped in the side of the Eubo\u00efc cliff, whither lead\nan hundred wide passages by an hundred gates, whence peal forth as\nmanifold the responses of the Sibyl. They had reached the threshold,\nwhen the maiden cries: _It is time to enquire thy fate: the god, lo! the\ngod!_ And even as she spoke thus in the gateway, suddenly countenance\nnor colour nor ranged tresses stayed the same; her wild heart heaves\nmadly in her panting bosom; and she expands to sight, and her voice is\nmore than mortal, now the god breathes on her in nearer deity.\n'Lingerest thou to vow and pray,' she cries, 'Aeneas of Troy? lingerest\nthou? for not till then will the vast portals of the spellbound house\nswing open.' So spoke she, and sank to silence. A cold shiver ran\nthrough the Teucrians' iron frames, and the king pours heart-deep\nsupplication:\n\n[56-89]'Phoebus, who hast ever pitied the sore travail of Troy, who\ndidst guide the Dardanian shaft from Paris' hand full on the son of\nAeacus, in thy leading have I pierced all these seas that skirt mighty\nlands, the Massylian nations far withdrawn, and the fields the Syrtes\nfringe; thus far let the fortune of Troy follow us. You too may now\nunforbidden spare the nation of Pergama, gods and goddesses to\nwhomsoever Ilium and the great glory of Dardania did wrong. And thou, O\nprophetess most holy, foreknower of the future, grant (for no unearned\nrealm does my destiny claim) a resting-place in Latium to the Teucrians,\nto their wandering gods and the storm-tossed deities of Troy. Then will\nI ordain to Phoebus and Trivia a temple of solid marble, and festal days\nin Phoebus' name. Thee likewise a mighty sanctuary awaits in our realm.\nFor here will I place thine oracles and the secrets of destiny uttered\nto my people, and consecrate chosen men, O gracious one. Only commit not\nthou thy verses to leaves, lest they fly disordered, the sport of\nrushing winds; thyself utter them, I beseech thee.' His lips made an end\nof utterance.\n\nBut the prophetess, not yet tame to Phoebus' hand, rages fiercely in the\ncavern, so she may shake the mighty godhead from her breast; so much the\nmore does he tire her maddened mouth and subdue her wild breast and\nshape her to his pressure. And now the hundred mighty portals of the\nhouse open of their own accord, and bring through the air the answer of\nthe soothsayer:\n\n'O past at length with the great perils of the sea! though heavier yet\nby land await thee, the Dardanians shall come to the realm of Lavinium;\nrelieve thy heart of this care; but not so shall they have joy of their\ncoming. Wars, grim wars I discern, and Tiber afoam with streams of\nblood. A Simo\u00efs shall not fail thee, a Xanthus, a Dorian camp; another\nAchilles is already found for Latium, he too [90-123]goddess-born; nor\nshall Juno's presence ever leave the Teucrians; while thou in thy need,\nto what nations or what towns of Italy shalt thou not sue! Again is an\nalien bride the source of all that Teucrian woe, again a foreign\nmarriage-chamber. . . . Yield not thou to distresses, but all the bolder\ngo forth to meet them, as thy fortune shall allow thee way. The path of\nrescue, little as thou deemest it, shall first open from a Grecian\ntown.'\n\nIn such words the Sibyl of Cumae chants from the shrine her perplexing\nterrors, echoing through the cavern truth wrapped in obscurity: so does\nApollo clash the reins and ply the goad in her maddened breast. So soon\nas the spasm ceased and the raving lips sank to silence, Aeneas the hero\nbegins: 'No shape of toil, O maiden, rises strange or sudden on my\nsight; all this ere now have I guessed and inly rehearsed in spirit. One\nthing I pray; since here is the gate named of the infernal king, and the\ndarkling marsh of Acheron's overflow, be it given me to go to my beloved\nfather, to see him face to face; teach thou the way, and open the\nconsecrated portals. Him on these shoulders I rescued from encircling\nflames and a thousand pursuing weapons, and brought him safe from amid\nthe enemy; he accompanied my way over all the seas, and bore with me all\nthe threats of ocean and sky, in weakness, beyond his age's strength and\ndue. Nay, he it was who besought and enjoined me to seek thy grace and\ndraw nigh thy courts. Have pity, I beseech thee, on son and father, O\ngracious one! for thou art all-powerful, nor in vain hath Hecate given\nthee rule in the groves of Avernus. If Orpheus could call up his wife's\nghost in the strength of his Thracian lyre and the music of the\nstrings,--if Pollux redeemed his brother by exchange of death, and\npasses and repasses so often,--why make mention of great Theseus, why of\nAlcides? I too am of Jove's sovereign race.'\n\n[124-157]In such words he pleaded and clasped the altars; when the\nsoothsayer thus began to speak:\n\n'O sprung of gods' blood, child of Anchises of Troy, easy is the descent\ninto hell; all night and day the gate of dark Dis stands open; but to\nrecall thy steps and issue to upper air, this is the task and burden.\nSome few of gods' lineage have availed, such as Jupiter's gracious\nfavour or virtue's ardour hath upborne to heaven. Midway all is muffled\nin forest, and the black coils of Cocytus circle it round. Yet if thy\nsoul is so passionate and so desirous twice to float across the Stygian\nlake, twice to see dark Tartarus, and thy pleasure is to plunge into the\nmad task, learn what must first be accomplished. Hidden in a shady tree\nis a bough with leafage and pliant shoot all of gold, consecrate to\nnether Juno, wrapped in the depth of woodland and shut in by dim dusky\nvales. But to him only who first hath plucked the golden-tressed\nfruitage from the tree is it given to enter the hidden places of the\nearth. This hath beautiful Proserpine ordained to be borne to her for\nher proper gift. The first torn away, a second fills the place in gold,\nand the spray burgeons with even such ore again. So let thine eyes trace\nit home, and thine hand pluck it duly when found; for lightly and\nunreluctant will it follow if thine is fate's summons; else will no\nstrength of thine avail to conquer it nor hard steel to cut it away. Yet\nagain, a friend of thine lies a lifeless corpse, alas! thou knowest it\nnot, and defiles all the fleet with death, while thou seekest our\ncounsel and lingerest in our courts. First lay him in his resting-place\nand hide him in the tomb; lead thither black cattle; be this first thine\nexpiation; so at last shalt thou behold the Stygian groves and the realm\nuntrodden of the living.' She spoke, and her lips shut to silence.\n\nAeneas goes forth, and leaves the cavern with fixed eyes and sad\ncountenance, his soul revolving inly the unseen [158-194]issues. By his\nside goes faithful Achates, and plants his footsteps in equal\nperplexity. Long they ran on in mutual change of talk; of what lifeless\ncomrade spoke the soothsayer, of what body for burial? And even as they\ncame, they see on the dry beach Misenus cut off by untimely death,\nMisenus the Aeolid, excelled of none other in stirring men with brazen\nbreath and kindling battle with his trumpet-note. He had been attendant\non mighty Hector; in Hector's train he waged battle, renowned alike for\nbugle and spear: after victorious Achilles robbed him of life the\nvaliant hero had joined Dardanian Aeneas' company, and followed no\nmeaner leader. But now, while he makes his hollow shell echo over the\nseas, ah fool! and calls the gods to rival his blast, jealous Triton, if\nbelief is due, had caught him among the rocks and sunk him in the\nfoaming waves. So all surrounded him with loud murmur and cries, good\nAeneas the foremost. Then weeping they quickly hasten on the Sibyl's\norders, and work hard to pile trees for the altar of burial, and heap it\nup into the sky. They move into the ancient forest, the deep coverts of\ngame; pitch-pines fall flat, ilex rings to the stroke of axes, and ashen\nbeams and oak are split in clefts with wedges; they roll in huge\nmountain-ashes from the hills. Aeneas likewise is first in the work, and\ncheers on his crew and arms himself with their weapons. And alone with\nhis sad heart he ponders it all, gazing on the endless forest, and\nutters this prayer: 'If but now that bough of gold would shew itself to\nus on the tree in this depth of woodland! since all the soothsayer's\ntale of thee, Misenus, was, alas! too truly spoken.' Scarcely had he\nsaid thus, when twin doves haply came flying down the sky, and lit on\nthe green sod right under his eyes. Then the kingly hero knows them for\nhis mother's birds, and joyfully prays: 'Ah, be my guides, if way there\nbe, and direct your a\u00ebry passage into the groves [195-230]where the\nrich bough overshadows the fertile ground! and thou, O goddess mother,\nfail not our wavering fortune.' So spoke he and stayed his steps,\nmarking what they signify, whither they urge their way. Feeding and\nflying they advance at such distance as following eyes could keep them\nin view; then, when they came to Avernus' pestilent gorge, they tower\nswiftly, and sliding down through the liquid air, choose their seat and\nlight side by side on a tree, through whose boughs shone out the\ncontrasting flicker of gold. As in chill mid-winter the woodland is wont\nto blossom with the strange leafage of the mistletoe, sown on an alien\ntree and wreathing the smooth stems with burgeoning saffron; so on the\nshadowy ilex seemed that leafy gold, so the foil tinkled in the light\nbreeze. Immediately Aeneas seizes it and eagerly breaks off its\nresistance, and carries it beneath the Sibyl's roof.\n\nAnd therewithal the Teucrians on the beach wept Misenus, and bore the\nlast rites to the thankless ashes. First they build up a vast pyre of\nresinous billets and sawn oak, whose sides they entwine with dark leaves\nand plant funereal cypresses in front, and adorn it above with his\nshining armour. Some prepare warm water in cauldrons bubbling over the\nflames, and wash and anoint the chill body, and make their moan; then,\ntheir weeping done, lay his limbs on the pillow, and spread over it\ncrimson raiment, the accustomed pall. Some uplift the heavy bier, a\nmelancholy service, and with averted faces in their ancestral fashion\nhold and thrust in the torch. Gifts of frankincense, food, and bowls of\nolive oil, are poured and piled upon the fire. After the embers sank in\nand the flame died away, they soaked with wine the remnant of thirsty\nashes, and Corynaeus gathered the bones and shut them in an urn of\nbrass; and he too thrice encircled his comrades with fresh water, and\ncleansed them with light spray sprinkled from a [231-267]bough of\nfruitful olive, and spoke the last words of all. But good Aeneas heaps a\nmighty mounded tomb over him, with his own armour and his oar and\ntrumpet, beneath a skyey mountain that now is called Misenus after him,\nand keeps his name immortal from age to age.\n\nThis done, he hastens to fulfil the Sibyl's ordinance. A deep cave\nyawned dreary and vast, shingle-strewn, sheltered by the black lake and\nthe gloom of the forests; over it no flying things could wing their way\nunharmed, such a vapour streamed from the dark gorge and rose into the\noverarching sky. Here the priestess first arrays four black-bodied\nbullocks and pours wine upon their forehead; and plucking the topmost\nhairs from between the horns, lays them on the sacred fire for\nfirst-offering, calling aloud on Hecate, mistress of heaven and hell.\nOthers lay knives beneath, and catch the warm blood in cups. Aeneas\nhimself smites with the sword a black-fleeced she-lamb to the mother of\nthe Eumenides and her mighty sister, and a barren heifer, Proserpine, to\nthee. Then he uprears darkling altars to the Stygian king, and lays\nwhole carcases of bulls upon the flames, pouring fat oil over the\nblazing entrails. And lo! about the first rays of sunrise the ground\nmoaned underfoot, and the woodland ridges began to stir, and dogs seemed\nto howl through the dusk as the goddess came. 'Apart, ah keep apart, O\nye unsanctified!' cries the soothsayer; 'retire from all the grove; and\nthou, stride on and unsheath thy steel; now is need of courage, O\nAeneas, now of strong resolve.' So much she spoke, and plunged madly\ninto the cavern's opening; he with unflinching steps keeps pace with his\nadvancing guide.\n\nGods who are sovereign over souls! silent ghosts, and Chaos and\nPhlegethon, the wide dumb realm of night! as I have heard, so let me\ntell, and according to your will unfold things sunken deep under earth\nin gloom.\n\n[268-303]They went darkling through the dusk beneath the solitary\nnight, through the empty dwellings and bodiless realm of Dis; even as\none walks in the forest beneath the jealous light of a doubtful moon,\nwhen Jupiter shrouds the sky in shadow and black night blots out the\nworld. Right in front of the doorway and in the entry of the jaws of\nhell Grief and avenging Cares have made their bed; there dwell wan\nSicknesses and gloomy Eld, and Fear, and ill-counselling Hunger, and\nloathly Want, shapes terrible to see; and Death and Travail, and thereby\nSleep, Death's kinsman, and the Soul's guilty Joys, and death-dealing\nWar full in the gateway, and the Furies in their iron cells, and mad\nDiscord with bloodstained fillets enwreathing her serpent locks.\n\nMidway an elm, shadowy and high, spreads her boughs and secular arms,\nwhere, one saith, idle Dreams dwell clustering, and cling under every\nleaf. And monstrous creatures besides, many and diverse, keep covert at\nthe gates, Centaurs and twy-shaped Scyllas, and the hundredfold\nBriareus, and the beast of Lerna hissing horribly, and the Chimaera\narmed with flame, Gorgons and Harpies, and the body of the triform\nshade. Here Aeneas snatches at his sword in a sudden flutter of terror,\nand turns the naked edge on them as they come; and did not his wise\nfellow-passenger remind him that these lives flit thin and unessential\nin the hollow mask of body, he would rush on and vainly lash through\nphantoms with his steel.\n\nHence a road leads to Tartarus and Acheron's wave. Here the dreary pool\nswirls thick in muddy eddies and disgorges into Cocytus with its load of\nsand. Charon, the dread ferryman, guards these flowing streams, ragged\nand awful, his chin covered with untrimmed masses of hoary hair, and his\nglassy eyes aflame; his soiled raiment hangs knotted from his shoulders.\nHimself he plies the pole and trims the sails of his vessel, the\nsteel-blue galley with freight [304-336]of dead; stricken now in years,\nbut a god's old age is lusty and green. Hither all crowded, and rushed\nstreaming to the bank, matrons and men and high-hearted heroes dead and\ndone with life, boys and unwedded girls, and children laid young on the\nbier before their parents' eyes, multitudinous as leaves fall dropping\nin the forests at autumn's earliest frost, or birds swarm landward from\nthe deep gulf, when the chill of the year routs them overseas and drives\nthem to sunny lands. They stood pleading for the first passage across,\nand stretched forth passionate hands to the farther shore. But the grim\nsailor admits now one and now another, while some he pushes back far\napart on the strand. Moved with marvel at the confused throng: 'Say, O\nmaiden,' cries Aeneas, 'what means this flocking to the river? of what\nare the souls so fain? or what difference makes these retire from the\nbanks, those go with sweeping oars over the leaden waterways?'\n\nTo him the long-lived priestess thus briefly returned: 'Seed of\nAnchises, most sure progeny of gods, thou seest the deep pools of\nCocytus and the Stygian marsh, by whose divinity the gods fear to swear\nfalsely. All this crowd thou discernest is helpless and unsepultured;\nCharon is the ferryman; they who ride on the wave found a tomb. Nor is\nit given to cross the awful banks and hoarse streams ere the dust hath\nfound a resting-place. An hundred years they wander here flitting about\nthe shore; then at last they gain entrance, and revisit the pools so\nsorely desired.'\n\nAnchises' son stood still, and ponderingly stayed his footsteps, pitying\nat heart their cruel lot. There he discerns, mournful and unhonoured\ndead, Leucaspis and Orontes, captains of the Lycian squadron, whom, as\nthey sailed together from Troy over gusty seas, the south wind\noverwhelmed and wrapped the waters round ship and men.\n\n[337-369]Lo, there went by Palinurus the steersman, who of late, while\nhe watched the stars on their Libyan passage, had slipped from the stern\nand fallen amid the waves. To him, when he first knew the melancholy\nform in that depth of shade, he thus opens speech: 'What god, O\nPalinurus, reft thee from us and sank thee amid the seas? forth and\ntell. For in this single answer Apollo deceived me, never found false\nbefore, when he prophesied thee safety on ocean and arrival on the\nAusonian coasts. See, is this his promise-keeping?'\n\nAnd he: 'Neither did Phoebus on his oracular seat delude thee, O prince,\nAnchises' son, nor did any god drown me in the sea. For while I clung to\nmy appointed charge and governed our course, I pulled the tiller with me\nin my fall, and the shock as I slipped wrenched it away. By the rough\nseas I swear, fear for myself never wrung me so sore as for thy ship,\nlest, the rudder lost and the pilot struck away, those gathering waves\nmight master it. Three wintry nights in the water the blustering south\ndrove me over the endless sea; scarcely on the fourth dawn I descried\nItaly as I rose on the climbing wave. Little by little I swam shoreward;\nalready I clung safe; but while, encumbered with my dripping raiment, I\ncaught with crooked fingers at the jagged needles of mountain rock, the\nbarbarous people attacked me in arms and ignorantly deemed me a prize.\nNow the wave holds me, and the winds toss me on the shore. By heaven's\npleasant light and breezes I beseech thee, by thy father, by I\u00fclus thy\nrising hope, rescue me from these distresses, O unconquered one! Either\ndo thou, for thou canst, cast earth over me and again seek the haven of\nVelia; or do thou, if in any wise that may be, if in any wise the\ngoddess who bore thee shews a way,--for not without divine will do I\ndeem thou wilt float across these vast rivers and the Stygian\npool,--lend me a pitying [370-403]hand, and bear me over the waves in\nthy company, that at least in death I may find a quiet resting-place.'\n\nThus he ended, and the soothsayer thus began: 'Whence, O Palinurus, this\nfierce longing of thine? Shalt thou without burial behold the Stygian\nwaters and the awful river of the Furies? Cease to hope prayers may bend\nthe decrees of heaven. But take my words to thy memory, for comfort in\nthy woeful case: far and wide shall the bordering cities be driven by\ncelestial portents to appease thy dust; they shall rear a tomb, and pay\nthe tomb a yearly offering, and for evermore shall the place keep\nPalinurus' name.' The words soothed away his distress, and for a while\ndrove grief away from his sorrowing heart; he is glad in the land of his\nname.\n\nSo they complete their journey's beginning, and draw nigh the river.\nJust then the waterman descried them from the Stygian wave advancing\nthrough the silent woodland and turning their feet towards the bank, and\nopens on them in these words of challenge: 'Whoso thou art who marchest\nin arms towards our river, forth and say, there as thou art, why thou\ncomest, and stay thine advance. This is the land of Shadows, of Sleep,\nand slumberous Night; no living body may the Stygian hull convey. Nor\ntruly had I joy of taking Alcides on the lake for passenger, nor Theseus\nand Piritho\u00fcs, born of gods though they were and unconquered in might.\nHe laid fettering hand on the warder of Tartarus, and dragged him\ncowering from the throne of my lord the King; they essayed to ravish our\nmistress from the bridal chamber of Dis.' Thereto the Amphrysian\nsoothsayer made brief reply: 'No such plot is here; be not moved; nor do\nour weapons offer violence; the huge gatekeeper may bark on for ever in\nhis cavern and affright the bloodless ghosts; Proserpine may keep her\nhonour within her uncle's gates. Aeneas of Troy, renowned [404-437]in\ngoodness as in arms, goes down to meet his father in the deep shades of\nErebus. If the sight of such affection stirs thee in nowise, yet this\nbough' (she discovers the bough hidden in her raiment) 'thou must know.'\nThen his heaving breast allays its anger, and he says no more; but\nmarvelling at the awful gift, the fated rod so long unseen, he steers in\nhis dusky vessel and draws to shore. Next he routs out the souls that\nsate on the long benches, and clears the thwarts, while he takes mighty\nAeneas on board. The galley groaned under the weight in all her seams,\nand the marsh-water leaked fast in. At length prophetess and prince are\nlanded unscathed on the ugly ooze and livid sedge.\n\nThis realm rings with the triple-throated baying of vast Cerberus,\ncouched huge in the cavern opposite; to whom the prophetess, seeing the\nserpents already bristling up on his neck, throws a cake made slumberous\nwith honey and drugged grain. He, with threefold jaws gaping in ravenous\nhunger, catches it when thrown, and sinks to earth with monstrous body\noutstretched, and sprawling huge over all his den. The warder\noverwhelmed, Aeneas makes entrance, and quickly issues from the bank of\nthe irremeable wave.\n\nImmediately wailing voices are loud in their ears, the souls of babies\ncrying on the doorway sill, whom, torn from the breast and portionless\nin life's sweetness, a dark day cut off and drowned in bitter death.\nHard by them are those condemned to death on false accusation. Neither\nindeed are these dwellings assigned without lot and judgment; Minos\npresides and shakes the urn; he summons a council of the silent people,\nand inquires of their lives and charges. Next in order have these\nmourners their place whose own innocent hands dealt them death, who\nflung away their souls in hatred of the day. How fain were they now in\nupper air to endure their poverty and [438-472]sore travail! It may not\nbe; the unlovely pool locks them in her gloomy wave, and Styx pours her\nninefold barrier between. And not far from here are shewn stretching on\nevery side the Wailing Fields; so they call them by name. Here they whom\npitiless love hath wasted in cruel decay hide among untrodden ways,\nshrouded in embosoming myrtle thickets; not death itself ends their\ndistresses. In this region he discerns Phaedra and Procris and woeful\nEriphyle, shewing on her the wounds of her merciless son, and Evadne and\nPasipha\u00eb; Laodamia goes in their company, and she who was once Caeneus\nand a man, now woman, and again returned by fate into her shape of old.\nAmong whom Dido the Phoenician, fresh from her death-wound, wandered in\nthe vast forest; by her the Trojan hero stood, and knew the dim form\nthrough the darkness, even as the moon at the month's beginning to him\nwho sees or thinks he sees her rising through the vapours; he let tears\nfall, and spoke to her lovingly and sweet:\n\n'Alas, Dido! so the news was true that reached me; thou didst perish,\nand the sword sealed thy doom! Ah me, was I cause of thy death? By the\nstars I swear, by the heavenly powers and all that is sacred beneath the\nearth, unwillingly, O queen, I left thy shore. But the gods, at whose\norders now I pass through this shadowy place, this land of mouldering\novergrowth and deep night, the gods' commands drove me forth; nor could\nI deem my departure would bring thee pain so great as this. Stay thy\nfootstep, and withdraw not from our gaze. From whom fliest thou? the\nlast speech of thee fate ordains me is this.'\n\nIn such words and with starting tears Aeneas soothed the burning and\nfierce-eyed soul. She turned away with looks fixed fast on the ground,\nstirred no more in countenance by the speech he essays than if she stood\nin iron flint or Marpesian stone. At length she started, and fled\nwrathfully [473-508]into the shadowy woodland, where Sychaeus, her\nancient husband, responds to her distresses and equals her affection.\nYet Aeneas, dismayed by her cruel doom, follows her far on her way with\npitying tears.\n\nThence he pursues his appointed path. And now they trod those utmost\nfields where the renowned in war have their haunt apart. Here Tydeus\nmeets him; here Parthenopaeus, glorious in arms, and the pallid phantom\nof Adrastus; here the Dardanians long wept on earth and fallen in the\nwar; sighing he discerns all their long array, Glaucus and Medon and\nThersilochus, the three children of Antenor, and Polyphoetes, Ceres'\npriest, and Idaeus yet charioted, yet grasping his arms. The souls\nthrong round him to right and left; nor is one look enough; lingering\ndelighted, they pace by his side and enquire wherefore he is come. But\nthe princes of the Grecians and Agamemnon's armies, when they see him\nglittering in arms through the gloom, hurry terror-stricken away; some\nturn backward, as when of old they fled to the ships; some raise their\nvoice faintly, and gasp out a broken ineffectual cry.\n\nAnd here he saw De\u00efphobus son of Priam, with face cruelly torn, face and\nboth hands, and ears lopped from his mangled temples, and nostrils\nmaimed by a shameful wound. Barely he knew the cowering form that hid\nits dreadful punishment; then he springs to accost it in familiar\nspeech:\n\n'De\u00efphobus mighty in arms, seed of Teucer's royal blood, whose\nwantonness of vengeance was so cruel? who was allowed to use thee thus?\nRumour reached me that on that last night, outwearied with endless\nslaughter, thou hadst sunk on the heap of mingled carnage. Then mine own\nhand reared an empty tomb on the Rhoetean shore, mine own voice thrice\ncalled aloud upon thy ghost. Thy name and armour keep the spot; thee, O\nmy friend, I could not see nor lay in the native earth I left.'\n\n[509-541]Whereto the son of Priam: 'In nothing, O my friend, wert thou\nwanting; thou hast paid the full to De\u00efphobus and the dead man's shade.\nBut me my fate and the Laconian woman's murderous guilt thus dragged\ndown to doom; these are the records of her leaving. For how we spent\nthat last night in delusive gladness thou knowest, and must needs\nremember too well. When the fated horse leapt down on the steep towers\nof Troy, bearing armed infantry for the burden of its womb, she, in\nfeigned procession, led round our Phrygian women with Bacchic cries;\nherself she upreared a mighty flame amid them, and called the Grecians\nout of the fortress height. Then was I fast in mine ill-fated bridal\nchamber, deep asleep and outworn with my charge, and lay overwhelmed in\nslumber sweet and profound and most like to easeful death. Meanwhile\nthat crown of wives removes all the arms from my dwelling, and slips out\nthe faithful sword from beneath my head: she calls Menelaus into the\nhouse and flings wide the gateway: be sure she hoped her lover would\nmagnify the gift, and so she might quench the fame of her ill deeds of\nold. Why do I linger? They burst into the chamber, they and the Aeolid,\ncounsellor of crime, in their company. Gods, recompense the Greeks even\nthus, if with righteous lips I call for vengeance! But come, tell in\nturn what hap hath brought thee hither yet alive. Comest thou driven on\nocean wanderings, or by promptings from heaven? or what fortune keeps\nthee from rest, that thou shouldst draw nigh these sad sunless\ndwellings, this disordered land?'\n\nIn this change of talk Dawn had already crossed heaven's mid axle on her\nrose-charioted way; and haply had they thus drawn out all the allotted\ntime; but the Sibyl made brief warning speech to her companion: 'Night\nfalls, Aeneas; we waste the hours in weeping. Here is the place where\nthe road disparts; by this that runs to the right [542-574]under great\nDis' city is our path to Elysium; but the leftward wreaks vengeance on\nthe wicked and sends them to unrelenting hell.' But De\u00efphobus: 'Be not\nangered, mighty priestess; I will depart, I will refill my place and\nreturn into darkness. Go, glory of our people, go, enjoy a fairer fate\nthan mine.' Thus much he spoke, and on the word turned away his\nfootsteps.\n\nAeneas looks swiftly back, and sees beneath the cliff on the left hand a\nwide city, girt with a triple wall and encircled by a racing river of\nboiling flame, Tartarean Phlegethon, that echoes over its rolling rocks.\nIn front is the gate, huge and pillared with solid adamant, that no\nwarring force of men nor the very habitants of heaven may avail to\noverthrow; it stands up a tower of iron, and Tisiphone sitting girt in\nbloodstained pall keeps sleepless watch at the entry by night and day.\nHence moans are heard and fierce lashes resound, with the clank of iron\nand dragging chains. Aeneas stopped and hung dismayed at the tumult.\n'What shapes of crime are here? declare, O maiden; or what the\npunishment that pursues them, and all this upsurging wail?' Then the\nsoothsayer thus began to speak: 'Illustrious chief of Troy, no pure foot\nmay tread these guilty courts; but to me Hecate herself, when she gave\nme rule over the groves of Avernus, taught how the gods punish, and\nguided me through all her realm. Gnosian Rhadamanthus here holds\nunrelaxing sway, chastises secret crime revealed, and exacts confession,\nwheresoever in the upper world one vainly exultant in stolen guilt hath\ntill the dusk of death kept clear from the evil he wrought. Straightway\navenging Tisiphone, girt with her scourge, tramples down the shivering\nsinners, menaces them with the grim snakes in her left hand, and summons\nforth her sisters in merciless train. Then at last the sacred gates are\nflung open and grate on the jarring hinge. Markest thou what sentry is\nseated in [575-609]the doorway? what shape guards the threshold? More\ngrim within sits the monstrous Hydra with her fifty black yawning\nthroats: and Tartarus' self gapes sheer and strikes into the gloom\nthrough twice the space that one looks upward to Olympus and the skyey\nheaven. Here Earth's ancient children, the Titans' brood, hurled down by\nthe thunderbolt, lie wallowing in the abyss. Here likewise I saw the\ntwin Alo\u00efds, enormous of frame, who essayed with violent hands to pluck\ndown high heaven and thrust Jove from his upper realm. Likewise I saw\nSalmoneus in the cruel payment he gives for mocking Jove's flame and\nOlympus' thunders. Borne by four horses and brandishing a torch, he rode\nin triumph midway through the populous city of Grecian Elis, and claimed\nfor himself the worship of deity; madman! who would mimic the\nstorm-cloud and the inimitable bolt with brass that rang under his\ntrampling horse-hoofs. But the Lord omnipotent hurled his shaft through\nthickening clouds (no firebrand his nor smoky glare of torches) and\ndashed him headlong in the fury of the whirlwind. Therewithal Tityos\nmight be seen, fosterling of Earth the mother of all, whose body\nstretches over nine full acres, and a monstrous vulture with crooked\nbeak eats away the imperishable liver and the entrails that breed in\nsuffering, and plunges deep into the breast that gives it food and\ndwelling; nor is any rest given to the fibres that ever grow anew. Why\ntell of the Lapithae, of Ixion and Piritho\u00fcs? over whom a stone hangs\njust slipping and just as though it fell; or the high banqueting couches\ngleam golden-pillared, and the feast is spread in royal luxury before\ntheir faces; couched hard by, the eldest of the Furies wards the tables\nfrom their touch and rises with torch upreared and thunderous lips. Here\nare they who hated their brethren while life endured, or struck a parent\nor entangled a client in wrong, or who brooded [610-643]alone over\nfound treasure and shared it not with their fellows, this the greatest\nmultitude of all; and they who were slain for adultery, and who followed\nunrighteous arms, and feared not to betray their masters' plighted hand.\nImprisoned they await their doom. Seek not to be told that doom, that\nfashion of fortune wherein they are sunk. Some roll a vast stone, or\nhang outstretched on the spokes of wheels; hapless Theseus sits and\nshall sit for ever, and Phlegyas in his misery gives counsel to all and\nwitnesses aloud through the gloom, _Learn by this warning to do justly\nand not to slight the gods._ This man sold his country for gold, and\nlaid her under a tyrant's sway; he set up and pulled down laws at a\nprice; this other forced his daughter's bridal chamber and a forbidden\nmarriage; all dared some monstrous wickedness, and had success in what\nthey dared. Not had I an hundred tongues, an hundred mouths, and a voice\nof iron, could I sum up all the shapes of crime or name over all their\npunishments.'\n\nThus spoke Phoebus' long-lived priestess; then 'But come now,' she\ncries; 'haste on the way and perfect the service begun; let us go\nfaster; I descry the ramparts cast in Cyclopean furnaces, and in front\nthe arched gateway where they bid us lay the gifts foreordained.' She\nended, and advancing side by side along the shadowy ways, they pass over\nand draw nigh the gates. Aeneas makes entrance, and sprinkling his body\nwith fresh water, plants the bough full in the gateway.\n\nNow at length, this fully done, and the service of the goddess\nperfected, they came to the happy place, the green pleasances and\nblissful seats of the Fortunate Woodlands. Here an ampler air clothes\nthe meadows in lustrous sheen, and they know their own sun and a\nstarlight of their own. Some exercise their limbs in tournament on the\ngreensward, contend in games, and wrestle on the yellow sand. Some\n[644-676]dance with beating footfall and lips that sing; with them is\nthe Thracian priest in sweeping robe, and makes music to their measures\nwith the notes' sevenfold interval, the notes struck now with his\nfingers, now with his ivory rod. Here is Teucer's ancient brood, a\ngeneration excellent in beauty, high-hearted heroes born in happier\nyears, Ilus and Assaracus, and Dardanus, founder of Troy. Afar he\nmarvels at the armour and chariots empty of their lords: their spears\nstand fixed in the ground, and their unyoked horses pasture at large\nover the plain: their life's delight in chariot and armour, their care\nin pasturing their sleek horses, follows them in like wise low under\nearth. Others, lo! he beholds feasting on the sward to right and left,\nand singing in chorus the glad Paean-cry, within a scented laurel-grove\nwhence Eridanus river surges upward full-volumed through the wood. Here\nis the band of them who bore wounds in fighting for their country, and\nthey who were pure in priesthood while life endured, and the good poets\nwhose speech abased not Apollo; and they who made life beautiful by the\narts of their invention, and who won by service a memory among men, the\nbrows of all girt with the snow-white fillet. To their encircling throng\nthe Sibyl spoke thus, and to Musaeus before them all; for he is midmost\nof all the multitude, and stands out head and shoulders among their\nupward gaze:\n\n'Tell, O blissful souls, and thou, poet most gracious, what region, what\nplace hath Anchises for his own? For his sake are we come, and have\nsailed across the wide rivers of Erebus.'\n\nAnd to her the hero thus made brief reply: 'None hath a fixed dwelling;\nwe live in the shady woodlands; soft-swelling banks and meadows fresh\nwith streams are our habitation. But you, if this be your heart's\ndesire, scale this ridge, and I will even now set you on an easy\n[677-708]pathway.' He spoke, and paced on before them, and from above\nshews the shining plains; thereafter they leave the mountain heights.\n\nBut lord Anchises, deep in the green valley, was musing in earnest\nsurvey over the imprisoned souls destined to the daylight above, and\nhaply reviewing his beloved children and all the tale of his people,\nthem and their fates and fortunes, their works and ways. And he, when he\nsaw Aeneas advancing to meet him over the greensward, stretched forth\nboth hands eagerly, while tears rolled over his cheeks, and his lips\nparted in a cry: 'Art thou come at last, and hath thy love, O child of\nmy desire, conquered the difficult road? Is it granted, O my son, to\ngaze on thy face and hear and answer in familiar tones? Thus indeed I\nforecast in spirit, counting the days between; nor hath my care misled\nme. What lands, what space of seas hast thou traversed to reach me,\nthrough what surge of perils, O my son! How I dreaded the realm of Libya\nmight work thee harm!'\n\nAnd he: 'Thy melancholy phantom, thine, O my father, came before me\noften and often, and drove me to steer to these portals. My fleet is\nanchored on the Tyrrhenian brine. Give thine hand to clasp, O my father,\ngive it, and withdraw not from our embrace.'\n\nSo spoke he, his face wet with abundant weeping. Thrice there did he\nessay to fling his arms about his neck; thrice the phantom vainly\ngrasped fled out of his hands even as light wind, and most like to\nfluttering sleep.\n\nMeanwhile Aeneas sees deep withdrawn in the covert of the vale a\nwoodland and rustling forest thickets, and the river of Lethe that\nfloats past their peaceful dwellings. Around it flitted nations and\npeoples innumerable; even as in the meadows when in clear summer weather\nbees settle on the variegated flowers and stream round the snow-white\n[709-742]lilies, all the plain is murmurous with their humming. Aeneas\nstarts at the sudden view, and asks the reason he knows not; what are\nthose spreading streams, or who are they whose vast train fills the\nbanks? Then lord Anchises: 'Souls, for whom second bodies are destined\nand due, drink at the wave of the Lethean stream the heedless water of\nlong forgetfulness. These of a truth have I long desired to tell and\nshew thee face to face, and number all the generation of thy children,\nthat so thou mayest the more rejoice with me in finding Italy.'--'O\nfather, must we think that any souls travel hence into upper air, and\nreturn again to bodily fetters? why this their strange sad longing for\nthe light?' 'I will tell,' rejoins Anchises, 'nor will I hold thee in\nsuspense, my son.' And he unfolds all things in order one by one.\n\n'First of all, heaven and earth and the liquid fields, the shining orb\nof the moon and the Titanian star, doth a spirit sustain inly, and a\nsoul shed abroad in them sways all their members and mingles in the\nmighty frame. Thence is the generation of man and beast, the life of\nwinged things, and the monstrous forms that ocean breeds under his\nglittering floor. Those seeds have fiery force and divine birth, so far\nas they are not clogged by taint of the body and dulled by earthy frames\nand limbs ready to die. Hence is it they fear and desire, sorrow and\nrejoice; nor can they pierce the air while barred in the blind darkness\nof their prison-house. Nay, and when the last ray of life is gone, not\nyet, alas! does all their woe, nor do all the plagues of the body wholly\nleave them free; and needs must be that many a long ingrained evil\nshould take root marvellously deep. Therefore they are schooled in\npunishment, and pay all the forfeit of a lifelong ill; some are hung\nstretched to the viewless winds; some have the taint of guilt washed out\nbeneath the dreary deep, or burned away in fire. We [743-777]suffer,\neach a several ghost; thereafter we are sent to the broad spaces of\nElysium, some few of us to possess the happy fields; till length of days\ncompleting time's circle takes out the ingrained soilure and leaves\nuntainted the ethereal sense and pure spiritual flame. All these before\nthee, when the wheel of a thousand years hath come fully round, a God\nsummons in vast train to the river of Lethe, that so they may regain in\nforgetfulness the slopes of upper earth, and begin to desire to return\nagain into the body.'\n\nAnchises ceased, and leads his son and the Sibyl likewise amid the\nassembled murmurous throng, and mounts a hillock whence he might scan\nall the long ranks and learn their countenances as they came.\n\n'Now come, the glory hereafter to follow our Dardanian progeny, the\nposterity to abide in our Italian people, illustrious souls and\ninheritors of our name to be, these will I rehearse, and instruct thee\nof thy destinies. He yonder, seest thou? the warrior leaning on his\npointless spear, holds the nearest place allotted in our groves, and\nshall rise first into the air of heaven from the mingling blood of\nItaly, Silvius of Alban name, the child of thine age, whom late in thy\nlength of days thy wife Lavinia shall nurture in the woodland, king and\nfather of kings; from him in Alba the Long shall our house have\ndominion. He next him is Procas, glory of the Trojan race; and Capys and\nNumitor; and he who shall renew thy name, Silvius Aeneas, eminent alike\nin goodness or in arms, if ever he shall receive his kingdom in Alba.\nMen of men! see what strength they display, and wear the civic oak\nshading their brows. They shall establish Nomentum and Gabii and Fidena\ncity, they the Collatine hill-fortress, Pometii and the Fort of Inuus,\nBola and Cora: these shall be names that are now nameless lands. Nay,\nRomulus likewise, seed of Mavors, shall join [778-810]his grandsire's\ncompany, from his mother Ilia's nurture and Assaracus' blood. Seest thou\nhow the twin plumes straighten on his crest, and his father's own\nemblazonment already marks him for upper air? Behold, O son! by his\naugury shall Rome the renowned fill earth with her empire and heaven\nwith her pride, and gird about seven fortresses with her single wall,\nprosperous mother of men; even as our lady of Berecyntus rides in her\nchariot turret-crowned through the Phrygian cities, glad in the gods she\nhath borne, clasping an hundred of her children's children, all\nhabitants of heaven, all dwellers on the upper heights. Hither now bend\nthy twin-eyed gaze; behold this people, the Romans that are thine. Here\nis Caesar and all I\u00fclus' posterity that shall arise under the mighty\ncope of heaven. Here is he, he of whose promise once and again thou\nhearest, Caesar Augustus, a god's son, who shall again establish the\nages of gold in Latium over the fields that once were Saturn's realm,\nand carry his empire afar to Garamant and Indian, to the land that lies\nbeyond our stars, beyond the sun's yearlong ways, where Atlas the\nsky-bearer wheels on his shoulder the glittering star-spangled pole.\nBefore his coming even now the kingdoms of the Caspian shudder at\noracular answers, and the Maeotic land and the mouths of sevenfold Nile\nflutter in alarm. Nor indeed did Alcides traverse such spaces of earth,\nthough he pierced the brazen-footed deer, or though he stilled the\nErymanthian woodlands and made Lerna tremble at his bow: nor he who\nsways his team with reins of vine, Liber the conqueror, when he drives\nhis tigers from Nysa's lofty crest. And do we yet hesitate to give\nvalour scope in deeds, or shrink in fear from setting foot on Ausonian\nland? Ah, and who is he apart, marked out with sprays of olive, offering\nsacrifice? I know the locks and hoary chin of the king of Rome who shall\nestablish the infant city in his [811-843]laws, sent from little Cures'\nsterile land to the majesty of empire. To him Tullus shall next succeed,\nwho shall break the peace of his country and stir to arms men rusted\nfrom war and armies now disused to triumphs; and hard on him\nover-vaunting Ancus follows, even now too elate in popular breath. Wilt\nthou see also the Tarquin kings, and the haughty soul of Brutus the\nAvenger, and the fasces regained? He shall first receive a consul's\npower and the merciless axes, and when his children would stir fresh\nwar, the father, for fair freedom's sake, shall summon them to doom.\nUnhappy! yet howsoever posterity shall take the deed, love of country\nand limitless passion for honour shall prevail. Nay, behold apart the\nDecii and the Drusi, Torquatus with his cruel axe, and Camillus\nreturning with the standards. Yonder souls likewise, whom thou\ndiscernest gleaming in equal arms, at one now, while shut in Night, ah\nme! what mutual war, what battle-lines and bloodshed shall they arouse,\nso they attain the light of the living! father-in-law descending from\nthe Alpine barriers and the fortress of the Dweller Alone, son-in-law\nfacing him with the embattled East. Nay, O my children, harden not your\nhearts to such warfare, neither turn upon her own heart the mastering\nmight of your country; and thou, be thou first to forgive, who drawest\nthy descent from heaven; cast down the weapons from thy hand, O blood of\nmine. . . . He shall drive his conquering chariot to the Capitoline\nheight triumphant over Corinth, glorious in Achaean slaughter. He shall\nuproot Argos and Agamemnonian Mycenae, and the Aeacid's own heir, the\nseed of Achilles mighty in arms, avenging his ancestors in Troy and\nMinerva's polluted temple. Who might leave thee, lordly Cato, or thee,\nCossus, to silence? who the Gracchan family, or these two sons of the\nScipios, a double thunderbolt of war, Libya's bale? and Fabricius potent\nin poverty, or [844-875]thee, Serranus, sowing in the furrow? Whither\nwhirl you me all breathless, O Fabii? thou art he, the most mighty, the\none man whose lingering retrieves our State. Others shall beat out the\nbreathing bronze to softer lines, I believe it well; shall draw living\nlineaments from the marble; the cause shall be more eloquent on their\nlips; their pencil shall portray the pathways of heaven, and tell the\nstars in their arising: be thy charge, O Roman, to rule the nations in\nthine empire; this shall be thine art, to lay down the law of peace, to\nbe merciful to the conquered and beat the haughty down.'\n\nThus lord Anchises, and as they marvel, he so pursues: 'Look how\nMarcellus the conqueror marches glorious in the splendid spoils,\ntowering high above them all! He shall stay the Roman State, reeling\nbeneath the invading shock, shall ride down Carthaginian and insurgent\nGaul, and a third time hang up the captured armour before lord\nQuirinus.'\n\nAnd at this Aeneas, for he saw going by his side one excellent in beauty\nand glittering in arms, but his brow had little cheer, and his eyes\nlooked down:\n\n'Who, O my father, is he who thus attends him on his way? son, or other\nof his children's princely race? How his comrades murmur around him! how\ngoodly of presence he is! but dark Night flutters round his head with\nmelancholy shade.'\n\nThen lord Anchises with welling tears began: 'O my son, ask not of the\ngreat sorrow of thy people. Him shall fate but shew to earth, and suffer\nnot to stay further. Too mighty, lords of heaven, did you deem the brood\nof Rome, had this your gift been abiding. What moaning of men shall\narise from the Field of Mavors by the imperial city! what a funeral\ntrain shalt thou see, O Tiber, as thou flowest by the new-made grave!\nNeither shall the boyhood of any [876-901]of Ilian race raise his Latin\nforefathers' hope so high; nor shall the land of Romulus ever boast of\nany fosterling like this. Alas his goodness, alas his antique honour,\nand right hand invincible in war! none had faced him unscathed in armed\nshock, whether he met the foe on foot, or ran his spurs into the flanks\nof his foaming horse. Ah me, the pity of thee, O boy! if in any wise\nthou breakest the grim bar of fate, thou shalt be Marcellus. Give me\nlilies in full hands; let me strew bright blossoms, and these gifts at\nleast let me lavish on my descendant's soul, and do the unavailing\nservice.'\n\nThus they wander up and down over the whole region of broad vaporous\nplains, and scan all the scene. And when Anchises had led his son over\nit, each point by each, and kindled his spirit with passion for the\nglories on their way, he tells him thereafter of the war he next must\nwage, and instructs him of the Laurentine peoples and the city of\nLatinus, and in what wise each task may be turned aside or borne.\n\nThere are twin portals of Sleep, whereof the one is fabled of horn, and\nby it real shadows are given easy outlet; the other shining white of\npolished ivory, but false visions issue upward from the ghostly world.\nWith these words then Anchises follows forth his son and the Sibyl\ntogether there, and dismisses them by the ivory gate. He pursues his way\nto the ships and revisits his comrades; then bears on to Caieta's haven\nstraight along the shore. The anchor is cast from the prow; the sterns\nare grounded on the beach.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK SEVENTH\n\nTHE LANDING IN LATIUM, AND THE ROLL OF THE ARMIES OF ITALY\n\n\nThou also, Caieta, nurse of Aeneas, gavest our shores an everlasting\nrenown in death; and still thine honour haunts thy resting-place, and a\nname in broad Hesperia, if that be glory, marks thy dust. But when the\nlast rites are duly paid, and the mound smoothed over the grave, good\nAeneas, now the high seas are hushed, bears on under sail and leaves his\nhaven. Breezes blow into the night, and the white moonshine speeds them\non; the sea glitters in her quivering radiance. Soon they skirt the\nshores of Circe's land, where the rich daughter of the Sun makes her\nuntrodden groves echo with ceaseless song; and her stately house glows\nnightlong with burning odorous cedarwood, as she runs over her delicate\nweb with the ringing comb. Hence are heard afar angry cries of lions\nchafing at their fetters and roaring in the deep night; bears and\nbristly swine rage in their pens, and vast shapes of wolves howl; whom\nwith her potent herbs the deadly divine Circe had disfashioned, face and\nbody, into wild beasts from the likeness of men. But lest the good\nTrojans might suffer so dread a change, might enter her haven or draw\nnigh the ominous shores, Neptune filled [23-55]their sails with\nfavourable winds, and gave them escape, and bore them past the seething\nshallows.\n\nAnd now the sea reddened with shafts of light, and high in heaven the\nyellow dawn shone rose-charioted; when the winds fell, and every breath\nsank suddenly, and the oar-blades toil through the heavy ocean-floor.\nAnd on this Aeneas descries from sea a mighty forest. Midway in it the\npleasant Tiber stream breaks to sea in swirling eddies, laden with\nyellow sand. Around and above fowl many in sort, that haunt his banks\nand river-channel, solaced heaven with song and flew about the forest.\nHe orders his crew to bend their course and turn their prows to land,\nand glides joyfully into the shady river.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nForth now, Erato! and I will unfold who were the kings, what the tides\nof circumstance, how it was with ancient Latium when first that foreign\narmy drew their fleet ashore on Ausonia's coast; I will recall the\npreluding of battle. Thou, divine one, inspire thou thy poet. I will\ntell of grim wars, tell of embattled lines, of kings whom honour drove\non death, of the Tyrrhenian forces, and all Hesperia enrolled in arms. A\ngreater history opens before me, a greater work I essay.\n\nLatinus the King, now growing old, ruled in a long peace over quiet\ntilth and town. He, men say, was sprung of Faunus and the nymph Marica\nof Laurentum. Faunus' father was Picus; and he boasts himself, Saturn,\nthy son; thou art the first source of their blood. Son of his, by divine\nordinance, and male descent was none, cut off in the early spring of\nyouth. One alone kept the household and its august home, a daughter now\nripe for a husband and of full years for marriage. Many wooed her from\nwide Latium and all Ausonia. Fairest and foremost of all [56-93]is\nTurnus, of long and lordly ancestry; but boding signs from heaven, many\nand terrible, bar the way. Within the palace, in the lofty inner courts,\nwas a laurel of sacred foliage, guarded in awe through many years, which\nlord Latinus, it was said, himself found and dedicated to Phoebus when\nfirst he would build his citadel; and from it gave his settlers their\nname, Laurentines. High atop of it, wonderful to tell, bees borne with\nloud humming across the liquid air girt it thickly about, and with\ninterlinked feet hung in a sudden swarm from the leafy bough.\nStraightway the prophet cries: 'I see a foreigner draw nigh, an army\nfrom the same quarter seek the same quarter, and reign high in our\nfortress.' Furthermore, while maiden Lavinia stands beside her father\nfeeding the altars with holy fuel, she was seen, oh, horror! to catch\nfire in her long tresses, and burn with flickering flame in all her\narray, her queenly hair lit up, lit up her jewelled circlet; till,\nenwreathed in smoke and lurid light, she scattered fire over all the\npalace. That sight was rumoured wonderful and terrible. Herself, they\nprophesied, she should be glorious in fame and fortune; but a great war\nwas foreshadowed for her people. But the King, troubled by the omen,\nvisits the oracle of his father Faunus the soothsayer, and the groves\ndeep under Albunea, where, queen of the woods, she echoes from her holy\nwell, and breathes forth a dim and deadly vapour. Hence do the tribes of\nItaly and all the Oenotrian land seek answers in perplexity; hither the\npriest bears his gifts, and when he hath lain down and sought slumber\nunder the silent night on the spread fleeces of slaughtered sheep, sees\nmany flitting phantoms of wonderful wise, hears manifold voices, and\nattains converse of the gods, and hath speech with Acheron and the deep\ntract of hell. Here then, likewise seeking an answer, lord Latinus paid\nfit sacrifice of an hundred woolly ewes, and [94-127]lay couched on the\nstrewn fleeces they had worn. Out of the lofty grove a sudden voice was\nuttered: 'Seek not, O my child, to unite thy daughter in Latin\nespousals, nor trust her to the bridal chambers ready to thine hand;\nforeigners shall come to be thy sons, whose blood shall raise our name\nto heaven, and the children of whose race shall see, where the circling\nsun looks on either ocean, all the rolling world swayed beneath their\nfeet.' This his father Faunus' answer and counsel given in the silent\nnight Latinus restrains not in his lips; but wide-flitting Rumour had\nalready borne it round among the Ausonian cities, when the children of\nLaomedon moored their fleet to the grassy slope of the river bank.\n\nAeneas, with the foremost of his captains and fair I\u00fclus, lay them down\nunder the boughs of a high tree and array the feast. They spread wheaten\ncakes along the sward under their meats--so Jove on high prompted--and\ncrown the platter of corn with wilding fruits. Here haply when the rest\nwas spent, and scantness of food set them to eat their thin bread, and\nwith hand and venturous teeth do violence to the round cakes fraught\nwith fate and spare not the flattened squares: _Ha! Are we eating our\ntables too?_ cries I\u00fclus jesting, and stops. At once that accent heard\nset their toils a limit; and at once as he spoke his father caught it\nfrom his lips and hushed him, in amazement at the omen. Straightway\n'Hail, O land!' he cries, 'my destined inheritance! and hail, O\nhousehold gods, faithful to your Troy! here is home; this is our native\ncountry. For my father Anchises, now I remember it, bequeathed me this\nsecret of fate: \"When hunger shall drive thee, O son, to consume thy\ntables where the feast fails, on the unknown shores whither thou shalt\nsail; then, though outwearied, hope for home, and there at last let\nthine hand remember to set thy house's foundations and bulwarks.\" This\nwas [128-162]the hunger, this the last that awaited us, to set the\npromised end to our desolations . . . Up then, and, glad with the first\nsunbeam, let us explore and search all abroad from our harbour, what is\nthe country, who its habitants, where is the town of the nation. Now\npour your cups to Jove, and call in prayer on Anchises our father,\nsetting the wine again upon the board.' So speaks he, and binding his\nbrows with a leafy bough, he makes supplication to the Genius of the\nground, and Earth first of deities, and the Nymphs, and the Rivers yet\nunknown; then calls on Night and Night's rising signs, and next on Jove\nof Ida, and our lady of Phrygia, and on his twain parents, in heaven and\nin the under world. At this the Lord omnipotent thrice thundered sharp\nfrom high heaven, and with his own hand shook out for a sign in the sky\na cloud ablaze with luminous shafts of gold. A sudden rumour spreads\namong the Trojan array, that the day is come to found their destined\ncity. Emulously they renew the feast, and, glad at the high omen, array\nthe flagons and engarland the wine.\n\nSoon as the morrow bathed the lands in its dawning light, they part to\nsearch out the town, and the borders and shores of the nation: these are\nthe pools and spring of Numicus; this is the Tiber river; here dwell the\nbrave Latins. Then the seed of Anchises commands an hundred envoys\nchosen of every degree to go to the stately royal city, all with the\nwreathed boughs of Pallas, to bear him gifts and desire grace for the\nTeucrians. Without delay they hasten on their message, and advance with\nswift step. Himself he traces the city walls with a shallow trench, and\nbuilds on it; and in fashion of a camp girdles this first settlement on\nthe shore with mound and battlements. And now his men had traversed\ntheir way; they espied the towers and steep roofs of the Latins, and\ndrew near the wall. Before the city boys and men in their early\n[163-196]bloom exercise on horseback, and break in their teams on the\ndusty ground, or draw ringing bows, or hurl tough javelins from the\nshoulder, and contend in running and boxing: when a messenger riding\nforward brings news to the ears of the aged King that mighty men are\ncome thither in unknown raiment. He gives orders to call them within his\nhouse, and takes his seat in the midst on his ancestral throne. His\nhouse, stately and vast, crowned the city, upreared on an hundred\ncolumns, once the palace of Laurentian Picus, amid awful groves of\nancestral sanctity. Here their kings receive the inaugural sceptre, and\nhave the fasces first raised before them; this temple was their\nsenate-house; this their sacred banqueting-hall; here, after sacrifice\nof rams, the elders were wont to sit down at long tables. Further, there\nstood arow in the entry images of the forefathers of old in ancient\ncedar, Italus, and lord Sabinus, planter of the vine, still holding in\nshow the curved pruning-hook, and gray Saturn, and the likeness of Janus\nthe double-facing, and the rest of their primal kings, and they who had\nborne wounds of war in fighting for their country. Armour besides hangs\nthickly on the sacred doors, captured chariots and curved axes,\nhelmet-crests and massy gateway-bars, lances and shields, and beaks torn\nfrom warships. He too sat there, with the divining-rod of Quirinus, girt\nin the short augural gown, and carrying on his left arm the sacred\nshield, Picus the tamer of horses; he whom Circe, desperate with amorous\ndesire, smote with her golden rod and turned by her poisons into a bird\nwith patches of colour on his wings. Of such wise was the temple of the\ngods wherein Latinus, sitting on his father's seat, summoned the\nTeucrians to his house and presence; and when they entered in, he thus\nopened with placid mien:\n\n'Tell, O Dardanians, for we are not ignorant of your city and race, nor\nunheard of do you bend your course [197-228]overseas, what seek you?\nwhat the cause or whereof the need that hath borne you over all these\nblue waterways to the Ausonian shore? Whether wandering in your course,\nor tempest-driven (such perils manifold on the high seas do sailors\nsuffer), you have entered the river banks and lie in harbour; shun not\nour welcome, and be not ignorant that the Latins are Saturn's people,\nwhom no laws fetter to justice, upright of their own free will and the\ncustom of the god of old. And now I remember, though the story is dimmed\nwith years, thus Auruncan elders told, how Dardanus, born in this our\ncountry, made his way to the towns of Phrygian Ida and to the Thracian\nSamos that is now called Samothrace. Here was the home he left,\nTyrrhenian Corythus; now the palace of heaven, glittering with golden\nstars, enthrones and adds him to the ranged altars of the gods.'\n\nHe ended; and Ilioneus pursued his speech with these words:\n\n'King, Faunus' illustrious progeny, neither hath black tempest driven us\nwith stress of waves to shelter in your lands, nor hath star or shore\nmisled us on the way we went. Of set purpose and willing mind do we draw\nnigh this thy city, outcasts from a realm once the greatest that the sun\nlooked on as he came from Olympus' utmost border. From Jove hath our\nrace beginning; in Jove the men of Dardania rejoice as ancestor; our\nKing himself of Jove's supreme race, Aeneas of Troy, hath sent us to thy\ncourts. How terrible the tempest that burst from fierce Mycenae over the\nplains of Ida, driven by what fate Europe and Asia met in the shock of\ntwo worlds, even he hath heard who is sundered in the utmost land where\nthe ocean surge recoils, and he whom stretching midmost of the four\nzones the zone of the intolerable sun holds in severance. Borne by that\nflood over many desolate seas, we crave a scant dwelling [229-261]for\nour country's gods, an unmolested landing-place, and the air and water\nthat are free to all. We shall not disgrace the kingdom; nor will the\nrumour of your renown be lightly gone or the grace of all you have done\nfade away; nor will Ausonia be sorry to have taken Troy to her breast.\nBy the fortunes of Aeneas I swear, by that right hand mighty, whether\ntried in friendship or in warlike arms, many and many a people and\nnation--scorn us not because we advance with hands proffering chaplets\nand words of supplication--hath sought us for itself and desired our\nalliance; but yours is the land that heaven's high ordinance drove us\nforth to find. Hence sprung Dardanus: hither Apollo recalls us, and\npushes us on with imperious orders to Tyrrhenian Tiber and the holy\npools of Numicus' spring. Further, he presents to thee these small\nguerdons of our past estate, relics saved from burning Troy. From this\ngold did lord Anchises pour libation at the altars; this was Priam's\narray when he delivered statutes to the nations assembled in order; the\nsceptre, the sacred mitre, the raiment wrought by the women of\nIlium. . . .'\n\nAt these words of Ilioneus Latinus holds his countenance in a steady\ngaze, and stays motionless on the floor, casting his intent eyes around.\nNor does the embroidered purple so move the King, nor the sceptre of\nPriam, as his daughter's marriage and the bridal chamber absorb him, and\nthe oracle of ancient Faunus stirs deep in his heart. This is he, the\nwanderer from a foreign home, foreshewn of fate for his son, and called\nto a realm of equal dominion, whose race should be excellent in valour\nand their might overbear all the world. At last he speaks with good\ncheer:\n\n'The gods prosper our undertaking and their own augury! What thou\ndesirest, Trojan, shall be given; nor do I spurn your gifts. While\nLatinus reigns you shall not [262-294]lack foison of rich land nor\nTroy's own riches. Only let Aeneas himself come hither, if desire of us\nbe so strong, if he be in haste to join our friendship and be called our\nally. Let him not shrink in terror from a friendly face. A term of the\npeace for me shall be to touch your monarch's hand. Do you now convey in\nanswer my message to your King. I have a daughter whom the oracles of my\nfather's shrine and many a celestial token alike forbid me to unite to\none of our own nation; sons shall come, they prophesy, from foreign\ncoasts, such is the destiny of Latium, whose blood shall exalt our name\nto heaven. He it is on whom fate calls; this I think, this I choose, if\nthere be any truth in my soul's foreshadowing.'\n\nThus he speaks, and chooses horses for all the company. Three hundred\nstood sleek in their high stalls; for all the Teucrians in order he\nstraightway commands them to be led forth, fleet-footed, covered with\nembroidered purple: golden chains hang drooping over their chests,\ngolden their housings, and they champ on bits of ruddy gold: for the\nabsent Aeneas a chariot and pair of chariot horses of celestial breed,\nwith nostrils breathing flame; of the race of those which subtle Circe\nbred by sleight on her father, the bastard issue of a stolen union. With\nthese gifts and words the Aeneadae ride back from Latinus carrying\npeace.\n\nAnd lo! the fierce wife of Jove was returning from Inachian Argos, and\nheld her way along the air, when out of the distant sky, far as from\nSicilian Pachynus, she espied the rejoicing of Aeneas and the Dardanian\nfleet. She sees them already house-building, already trusting in the\nland, their ships left empty. She stops, shot with sharp pain; then\nshaking her head, she pours forth these words:\n\n'Ah, hated brood, and doom of the Phrygians that thwarts our doom! Could\nthey perish on the Sigean [295-326]plains? Could they be ensnared when\ntaken? Did the fires of Troy consume her people? Through the midst of\narmies and through the midst of flames they have found their way. But, I\nthink, my deity lies at last outwearied, or my hatred sleeps and is\nsatisfied? Nay, it is I who have been fierce to follow them over the\nwaves when hurled from their country, and on all the seas have crossed\ntheir flight. Against the Teucrians the forces of sky and sea are spent.\nWhat hath availed me Syrtes or Scylla, what desolate Charybdis? they\nfind shelter in their desired Tiber-bed, careless of ocean and of me.\nMars availed to destroy the giant race of the Lapithae; the very father\nof the gods gave over ancient Calydon to Diana's wrath: for forfeit of\nwhat crime in the Lapithae, what in Calydon? But I, Jove's imperial\nconsort, who have borne, ah me! to leave naught undared, who have\nshifted to every device, I am vanquished by Aeneas. If my deity is not\ngreat enough, I will not assuredly falter to seek succour where it may\nbe; if the powers of heaven are inflexible, I will stir up Acheron. It\nmay not be to debar him of a Latin realm; well; and Lavinia is destined\nhis bride unalterably. But it may be yet to defer, to make all this\naction linger; but it may be yet to waste away the nation of either\nking; at such forfeit of their people may son-in-law and father-in-law\nenter into union. Blood of Troy and Rutulia shall be thy dower, O\nmaiden, and Bellona is the bridesmaid who awaits thee. Nor did Cisseus'\ndaughter alone conceive a firebrand and travail of bridal flames. Nay,\neven such a birth hath Venus of her own, a second Paris, another\nbalefire for Troy towers reborn.'\n\nThese words uttered, she descends to earth in all her terrors, and calls\ndolorous Allecto from the home of the Fatal Sisters in nether gloom,\nwhose delight is in woeful wars, in wrath and treachery and evil feuds:\nhateful to [327-360]lord Pluto himself, hateful and horrible to her\nhell-born sisters; into so many faces does she turn, so savage the guise\nof each, so thick and black bristles she with vipers. And her Juno spurs\non with words, saying thus:\n\n'Grant me, virgin born of Night, this thy proper task and service, that\nthe rumour of our renown may not crumble away, nor the Aeneadae have\npower to win Latinus by marriage or beset the borders of Italy. Thou\ncanst set brothers once united in armed conflict, and overturn families\nwith hatreds; thou canst launch into houses thy whips and deadly brands;\nthine are a thousand names, a thousand devices of injury. Stir up thy\nteeming breast, sunder the peace they have joined, and sow seeds of\nquarrel; let all at once desire and demand and seize on arms.'\n\nThereon Allecto, steeped in Gorgonian venom, first seeks Latium and the\nhigh house of the Laurentine monarch, and silently sits down before\nAmata's doors, whom a woman's distress and anger heated to frenzy over\nthe Teucrians' coming and the marriage of Turnus. At her the goddess\nflings a snake out of her dusky tresses, and slips it into her bosom to\nher very inmost heart, that she may embroil all her house under its\nmaddening magic. Sliding between her raiment and smooth breasts, it\ncoils without touch, and instils its viperous breath unseen; the great\nserpent turns into the twisted gold about her neck, turns into the long\nribbon of her chaplet, inweaves her hair, and winds slippery over her\nbody. And while the gliding infection of the clammy poison begins to\npenetrate her sense and run in fire through her frame, nor as yet hath\nall her breast caught fire, softly she spoke and in mothers' wonted\nwise, with many a tear over her daughter and the Phrygian bridal:\n\n'Is it to exiles, to Teucrians, that Lavinia is proffered in marriage, O\nfather? and hast thou no compassion on [361-392]thy daughter and on\nthyself? no compassion on her mother, whom with the first northern wind\nthe treacherous rover will abandon, steering to sea with his maiden\nprize? Is it not thus the Phrygian herdsman wound his way to Lacedaemon,\nand carried Leda's Helen to the Trojan towns? Where is thy plighted\nfaith? Where thine ancient care for thy people, and the hand Turnus thy\nkinsman hath so often clasped? If one of alien race from the Latins is\nsought for our son, if this stands fixed, and thy father Faunus'\ncommands are heavy upon thee, all the land whose freedom severs it from\nour sway is to my mind alien, and of this is the divine word. And\nTurnus, if one retrace the earliest source of his line, is born of\nInachus and Acrisius, and of the midmost of Mycenae.'\n\nWhen in this vain essay of words she sees Latinus fixed against her, and\nthe serpent's maddening poison is sunk deep in her vitals and runs\nthrough and through her, then indeed, stung by infinite horrors, hapless\nand frenzied, she rages wildly through the endless city. As whilome a\ntop flying under the twisted whipcord, which boys busy at their play\ndrive circling wide round an empty hall, runs before the lash and spins\nin wide gyrations; the witless ungrown band hang wondering over it and\nadmire the whirling boxwood; the strokes lend it life: with pace no\nslacker is she borne midway through towns and valiant nations. Nay, she\nflies into the woodland under feigned Bacchic influence, assumes a\ngreater guilt, arouses a greater frenzy, and hides her daughter in the\nmountain coverts to rob the Teucrians of their bridal and stay the\nmarriage torches. 'Hail, Bacchus!' she shrieks and clamours; 'thou only\nart worthy of the maiden; for to thee she takes up the lissom wands,\nthee she circles in the dance, to thee she trains and consecrates her\ntresses.' Rumour flies abroad; and the matrons, their breasts kindled by\nthe furies, run all at once [393-426]with a single ardour to seek out\nstrange dwellings. They have left their homes empty, they throw neck and\nhair free to the winds; while others fill the air with ringing cries,\ngirt about with fawnskins, and carrying spears of vine. Amid them the\ninfuriate queen holds her blazing pine-torch on high, and chants the\nwedding of Turnus and her daughter; and rolling her bloodshot gaze,\ncries sudden and harsh: 'Hear, O mothers of Latium, wheresoever you be;\nif unhappy Amata hath yet any favour in your affection, if care for a\nmother's right pierces you, untie the chaplets from your hair, begin the\norgies with me.' Thus, amid woods and wild beasts' solitary places, does\nAllecto goad the queen with the encircling Bacchic madness.\n\nWhen their frenzy seemed heightened and her first task complete, the\npurpose and all the house of Latinus turned upside down, the dolorous\ngoddess flies on thence, soaring on dusky wing, to the walls of the\ngallant Rutulian, the city which Dana\u00eb, they say, borne down on the\nboisterous south wind, built and planted with Acrision's people. The\nplace was called Ardea once of old; and still Ardea remains a mighty\nname; but its fortune is no more. Here in his high house Turnus now took\nrest in the black midnight. Allecto puts off her grim feature and the\nbody of a Fury; she transforms her face to an aged woman's, and furrows\nher brow with ugly wrinkles; she puts on white tresses chaplet-bound,\nand entwines them with an olive spray; she becomes aged Calybe,\npriestess of Juno's temple, and presents herself before his eyes,\nuttering thus:\n\n'Turnus, wilt thou brook all these toils poured out in vain, and the\nconveyance of thy crown to Dardanian settlers? The King denies thee thy\nbride and the dower thy blood had earned; and a foreigner is sought for\nheir to the kingdom. Forth now, dupe, and face thankless perils; forth,\ncut down the Tyrrhenian lines; give the [427-458]Latins peace in thy\nprotection. This Saturn's omnipotent daughter in very presence commanded\nme to pronounce to thee, as thou wert lying in the still night.\nWherefore arise, and make ready with good cheer to arm thy people and\nmarch through thy gates to battle; consume those Phrygian captains that\nlie with their painted hulls in the beautiful river. All the force of\nheaven orders thee on. Let King Latinus himself know of it, unless he\nconsents to give thee thy bridal, and abide by his words, when he shall\nat last make proof of Turnus' arms.'\n\nBut he, deriding her inspiration, with the words of his mouth thus\nanswers her again:\n\n'The fleets ride on the Tiber wave; that news hath not, as thou deemest,\nescaped mine ears. Frame not such terrors before me. Neither is Queen\nJuno forgetful of us. . . . But thee, O mother, overworn old age,\nexhausted and untrue, frets with vain distress, and amid embattled kings\nmocks thy presage with false dismay. Thy charge it is to keep the divine\nimage and temple; war and peace shall be in the hands of men and\nwarriors.'\n\nAt such words Allecto's wrath blazed out. But amid his utterance a quick\nshudder overruns his limbs; his eyes are fixed in horror; so thickly\nhiss the snakes of the Fury, so vast her form expands. Then rolling her\nfiery eyes, she thrust him back as he would stammer out more, raised two\nserpents in her hair, and, sounding her whip, resumed with furious tone:\n\n'Behold me the overworn! me whom old age, exhausted and untrue, mocks\nwith false dismay amid embattled kings! Look on this! I am come from the\nhome of the Dread Sisters: war and death are in my hand. . . .'\n\nSo speaking, she hurled her torch at him, and pierced his breast with\nthe lurid smoking brand. He breaks from sleep in overpowering fear, his\nlimbs and body bathed in [459-494]sweat that breaks out all over him;\nhe shrieks madly for arms, searches for arms on his bed and in his\npalace. The passion of the sword rages high, the accursed fury of war,\nand wrath over all: even as when flaming sticks are heaped roaring loud\nunder the sides of a seething cauldron, and the boiling water leaps up;\nthe river of water within smokes furiously and swells high in\noverflowing foam, and now the wave contains itself no longer; the dark\nsteam flies aloft. So, for the stain of the broken peace, he orders his\nchief warriors to march on King Latinus, and bids prepare for battle, to\ndefend Italy and drive the foe from their borders; himself will suffice\nfor Trojans and Latins together. When he uttered these words and called\nthe gods to hear his vows, the Rutulians stir one another up to arms.\nOne is moved by the splendour of his youthful beauty, one by his royal\nancestry, another by the noble deeds of his hand.\n\nWhile Turnus fills the Rutulian minds with valour, Allecto on Stygian\nwing hastens towards the Trojans. With fresh wiles she marked the spot\nwhere beautiful I\u00fclus was trapping and coursing game on the bank; here\nthe infernal maiden suddenly crosses his hounds with the maddening touch\nof a familiar scent, and drives them hotly on the stag-hunt. This was\nthe source and spring of ill, and kindled the country-folk to war. The\nstag, beautiful and high-antlered, was stolen from his mother's udder\nand bred by Tyrrheus' boys and their father Tyrrheus, master of the\nroyal herds, and ranger of the plain. Their sister Silvia tamed him to\nher rule, and lavished her care on his adornment, twining his antlers\nwith delicate garlands, and combed his wild coat and washed him in the\nclear spring. Tame to her hand, and familiar to his master's table, he\nwould wander the woods, and, however late the night, return home to the\ndoor he knew. Far astray, he floated idly down the stream, and allayed\nhis heat on the green bank, when I\u00fclus' [495-528]mad hounds started him\nin their hunting; and Ascanius himself, kindled with desire of the chief\nhonour, aimed a shaft from his bended bow. A present deity suffered not\nhis hand to stray, and the loud whistling reed came driven through his\nbelly and flanks. But the wounded beast fled within the familiar roof\nand crept moaning to the courtyard, dabbled with blood, and filling all\nthe house with moans as of one beseeching. Sister Silvia, smiting her\narms with open hands, begins to call for aid, and gathers the hardy\nrustics with her cries. They, for a fell destroyer is hidden in the\nsilent woodland, are there before her expectation, one armed with a\nstake hardened in the fire, one with a heavy knotted trunk; what each\none searches and finds, wrath turns into a weapon. Tyrrheus cheers on\nhis array, panting hard, with his axe caught up in his hand, as he was\nhaply splitting an oaken log in four clefts with cross-driven wedges.\n\nBut the grim goddess, seizing from her watch-tower the moment of\nmischief, seeks the steep farm-roof and sounds the pastoral war-note\nfrom the ridge, straining the infernal cry on her twisted horn; it\nspread shuddering over all the woodland, and echoed through the deep\nforests: the lake of Trivia heard it afar; Nar river heard it with white\nsulphurous water, and the springs of Velinus; and fluttered mothers\nclasped their children to their breast. Then, hurrying to the voice of\nthe terrible trumpet-note, on all sides the wild rustics snatch their\narms and stream in: therewithal the men of Troy pour out from their\ncamp's open gates to succour Ascanius. The lines are ranged; not now in\nrustic strife do they fight with hard trunks or burned stakes; the\ntwo-edged steel sways the fight, the broad cornfields bristle dark with\ndrawn swords, and brass flashes smitten by the sunlight, and casts a\ngleam high into the cloudy air: as when the wind begins to blow and the\nflood [529-560]to whiten, gradually the sea lifts his waves higher and\nyet higher, then rises from the bottom right into the air. Here in the\nfront rank young Almo, once Tyrrheus' eldest son, is struck down by a\nwhistling arrow; for the wound, staying in his throat, cut off in blood\nthe moist voice's passage and the thin life. Around many a one lies\ndead, aged Galaesus among them, slain as he throws himself between them\nfor a peacemaker, once incomparable in justice and wealth of Ausonian\nfields; for him five flocks bleated, a five-fold herd returned from\npasture, and an hundred ploughs upturned the soil.\n\nBut while thus in even battle they fight on the broad plain, the\ngoddess, her promise fulfilled, when she hath dyed the war in blood, and\nmingled death in the first encounter, quits Hesperia, and, glancing\nthrough the sky, addresses Juno in exultant tone:\n\n'Lo, discord is ripened at thy desire into baleful war: tell them now to\nmix in amity and join alliance. Insomuch as I have imbued the Trojans in\nAusonian blood, this likewise will I add, if I have assurance of thy\nwill. With my rumours I will sweep the bordering towns into war, and\nkindle their spirit with furious desire for battle, that from all\nquarters help may come; I will sow the land with arms.'\n\nThen Juno answering: 'Terror and harm is wrought abundantly. The springs\nof war are aflow: they fight with arms in their grasp, the arms that\nchance first supplied, that fresh blood stains. Let this be the union,\nthis the bridal that Venus' illustrious progeny and Latinus the King\nshall celebrate. Our Lord who reigns on Olympus' summit would not have\nthee stray too freely in heaven's upper air. Withdraw thy presence.\nWhatsoever future remains in the struggle, that I myself will sway.'\n\nSuch accents uttered the daughter of Saturn; and the [561-594]other\nraises her rustling snaky wings and darts away from the high upper air\nto Cocytus her home. There is a place midmost of Italy, deep in the\nhills, notable and famed of rumour in many a country, the Vale of\nAmsanctus; on either hand a wooded ridge, dark with thick foliage, hems\nit in, and midway a torrent in swirling eddies shivers and echoes over\nthe rocks. Here is shewn a ghastly pool, a breathing-hole of the grim\nlord of hell, and a vast chasm breaking into Acheron yawns with\npestilential throat. In it the Fury sank, and relieved earth and heaven\nof her hateful influence.\n\nBut therewithal the queenly daughter of Saturn puts the last touch to\nwar. The shepherds pour in full tale from the battlefield into the town,\nbearing back their slain, the boy Almo and Galaesus' disfigured face,\nand cry on the gods and call on Latinus. Turnus is there, and amid the\nheat and outcry at the slaughter redoubles his terrors, crying that\nTeucrians are bidden to the kingdom, that a Phrygian race is mingling\nits taint with theirs, and he is thrust out of their gates. They too,\nthe matrons of whose kin, struck by Bacchus, trample in choirs down the\npathless woods--nor is Amata's name a little thing--they too gather\ntogether from all sides and weary themselves with the battle-cry. Omens\nand oracles of gods go down before them, and all under malign influence\nclamour for awful war. Emulously they surround Latinus' royal house. He\nwithstands, even as a rock in ocean unremoved, as a rock in ocean when\nthe great crash comes down, firm in its own mass among many waves\nslapping all about: in vain the crags and boulders hiss round it in\nfoam, and the seaweed on its side is flung up and sucked away. But when\nhe may in nowise overbear their blind counsel, and all goes at fierce\nJuno's beck, with many an appeal to gods and void sky, 'Alas!' he cries,\n'we are broken of fate and driven helpless in the [595-626]storm. With\nyour very blood will you pay the price of this, O wretched men! Thee, O\nTurnus, thy crime, thee thine awful punishment shall await; too late\nwilt thou address to heaven thy prayers and supplication. For my rest\nwas won, and my haven full at hand; I am robbed but of a happy death.'\nAnd without further speech he shut himself in the palace, and dropped\nthe reins of state.\n\nThere was a use in Hesperian Latium, which the Alban towns kept in holy\nobservance, now Rome keeps, the mistress of the world, when they stir\nthe War-God to enter battle; whether their hands prepare to carry war\nand weeping among Getae or Hyrcanians or Arabs, or to reach to India and\npursue the Dawn, and reclaim their standards from the Parthian. There\nare twain gates of War, so runs their name, consecrate in grim Mars'\nsanctity and terror. An hundred bolts of brass and masses of everlasting\niron shut them fast, and Janus the guardian never sets foot from their\nthreshold. There, when the sentence of the Fathers stands fixed for\nbattle, the Consul, arrayed in the robe of Quirinus and the Gabine\ncincture, with his own hand unbars the grating doors, with his own lips\ncalls battles forth; then all the rest follow on, and the brazen\ntrumpets blare harsh with consenting breath. With this use then likewise\nthey bade Latinus proclaim war on the Aeneadae, and unclose the baleful\ngates. He withheld his hand, and shrank away averse from the abhorred\nservice, and hid himself blindly in the dark. Then the Saturnian queen\nof heaven glided from the sky, with her own hand thrust open the\nlingering gates, and swung sharply back on their hinges the iron-bound\ndoors of war. Ausonia is ablaze, till then unstirred and immoveable.\nSome make ready to march afoot over the plains; some, mounted on tall\nhorses, ride amain in clouds of dust. All seek out arms; and now they\nrub their shields smooth and make their spearheads glitter with\n[627-659]fat lard, and grind their axes on the whetstone: rejoicingly\nthey advance under their standards and hear the trumpet note. Five great\ncities set up the anvil and sharpen the sword, strong Atina and proud\nTibur, Ardea and Crustumeri, and turreted Antemnae. They hollow out\nhead-gear to guard them, and plait wickerwork round shield-bosses;\nothers forge breastplates of brass or smooth greaves of flexible silver.\nTo this is come the honour of share and pruning-hook, to this all the\nlove of the plough: they re-temper their fathers' swords in the furnace.\nAnd now the trumpets blare; the watchword for war passes along. One\nsnatches a helmet hurriedly from his house, another backs his neighing\nhorses into the yoke; and arrays himself in shield and mail-coat\ntriple-linked with gold, and girds on his trusty sword.\n\nOpen now the gates of Helicon, goddesses, and stir the song of the kings\nthat rose for war, the array that followed each and filled the plains,\nthe men that even then blossomed, the arms that blazed in Italy the\nbountiful land: for you remember, divine ones, and you can recall; to us\nbut a breath of rumour, scant and slight, is wafted down.\n\nFirst from the Tyrrhene coast savage Mezentius, scorner of the gods,\nopens the war and arrays his columns. By him is Lausus, his son,\nunexcelled in bodily beauty by any save Laurentine Turnus, Lausus tamer\nof horses and destroyer of wild beasts; he leads a thousand men who\nfollowed him in vain from Agylla town; worthy to be happier in ancestral\nrule, and to have other than Mezentius for father.\n\nAfter them beautiful Aventinus, born of beautiful Hercules, displays on\nthe sward his palm-crowned chariot and victorious horses, and carries on\nhis shield his father's device, the hundred snakes of the Hydra's\nserpent-wreath. Him, in the wood of the hill Aventine, Rhea the\npriestess [660-693]bore by stealth into the borders of light, a woman\nmingled with a god, after the Tirynthian Conqueror had slain Geryon and\nset foot on the fields of Laurentum, and bathed his Iberian oxen in the\nTuscan river. These carry for war javelins and grim stabbing weapons,\nand fight with the round shaft and sharp point of the Sabellian pike.\nHimself he went on foot swathed in a vast lion skin, shaggy with\nbristling terrors, whose white teeth encircled his head; in such wild\ndress, the garb of Hercules clasped over his shoulders, he entered the\nroyal house.\n\nNext twin brothers leave Tibur town, and the people called by their\nbrother Tiburtus' name, Catillus and valiant Coras, the Argives, and\nadvance in the forefront of battle among the throng of spears: as when\ntwo cloud-born Centaurs descend from a lofty mountain peak, leaving\nHomole or snowy Othrys in rapid race; the mighty forest yields before\nthem as they go, and the crashing thickets give them way.\n\nNor was the founder of Praeneste city absent, the king who, as every age\nhath believed, was born of Vulcan among the pasturing herds, and found\nbeside the hearth, Caeculus. On him a rustic battalion attends in loose\norder, they who dwell in steep Praeneste and the fields of Juno of\nGabii, on the cool Anio and the Hernican rocks dewy with streams; they\nwhom rich Anagnia, and whom thou, lord Amasenus, pasturest. Not all of\nthem have armour, nor shields and clattering chariots. The most part\nshower bullets of dull lead; some wield in their hand two darts, and\nhave for head-covering caps of tawny wolfskin; their left foot is bare\nwherewith to plant their steps; the other is covered with a boot of raw\nhide.\n\nBut Messapus, tamer of horses, the seed of Neptune, whom none might ever\nstrike down with steel or fire, calls quickly to arms his long unstirred\npeoples and bands [694-727]disused to war, and again handles the sword.\nThese are of the Fescennine ranks and of Aequi Falisci, these of\nSoracte's fortresses and the fields of Flavina, and Ciminus' lake and\nhill, and the groves of Capena. They marched in even time, singing their\nKing; as whilome snowy swans among the thin clouds, when they return\nfrom pasturage, and utter resonant notes through their long necks; far\noff echoes the river and the smitten Asian fen. . . . Nor would one\nthink these vast streaming masses were ranks clad in brass; rather that,\nhigh in air, a cloud of hoarse birds from the deep gulf was pressing to\nthe shore.\n\nLo, Clausus of the ancient Sabine blood, leading a great host, a great\nhost himself; from whom now the Claudian tribe and family is spread\nabroad since Rome was shared with the Sabines. Alongside is the broad\nbattalion of Amiternum, and the Old Latins, and all the force of Eretum\nand the Mutuscan oliveyards; they who dwell in Nomentum town, and the\nRosean country by Velinus, who keep the crags of rough Tetrica and Mount\nSeverus, Casperia and Foruli, and the river of Himella; they who drink\nof Tiber and Fabaris, they whom cold Nursia hath sent, and the squadrons\nof Horta and the tribes of Latinium; and they whom Allia, the\nill-ominous name, severs with its current; as many as the waves that\nroll on the Libyan sea-floor when fierce Orion sets in the wintry surge;\nas thick as the ears that ripen in the morning sunlight on the plain of\nthe Hermus or the yellowing Lycian tilth. Their shields clatter, and\nearth is amazed under the trampling of their feet.\n\nHere Agamemnonian Halaesus, foe of the Trojan name, yokes his chariot\nhorses, and draws a thousand warlike peoples to Turnus; those who turn\nwith spades the Massic soil that is glad with wine; whom the elders of\nAurunca sent from their high hills, and the Sidicine low country\n[728-761]hard by; and those who leave Cales, and the dweller by the\nshallows of Volturnus river, and side by side the rough Saticulan and\nthe Oscan bands. Polished maces are their weapons, and these it is their\nwont to fit with a tough thong; a target covers their left side, and for\nclose fighting they have crooked swords.\n\nNor shalt thou, Oebalus, depart untold of in our verses, who wast borne,\nmen say, by the nymph Sebethis to Telon, when he grew old in rule over\nCapreae the Telebo\u00efc realm: but not so content with his ancestral\nfields, his son even then held down in wide sway the Sarrastian peoples\nand the meadows watered by Sarnus, and the dwellers in Rufrae and\nBatulum, and the fields of Celemnae, and they on whom from her apple\norchards Abella city looks down. Their wont was to hurl lances in\nTeutonic fashion; their head covering was stripped bark of the cork\ntree, their shield-plates glittering brass, glittering brass their\nsword.\n\nThee too, Ufens, mountainous Nersae sent forth to battle, of noble fame\nand prosperous arms, whose race on the stiff Aequiculan clods is rough\nbeyond all other, and bred to continual hunting in the woodland; they\ntill the soil in arms, and it is ever their delight to drive in fresh\nspoils and live on plunder.\n\nFurthermore there came, sent by King Archippus, the priest of the\nMarruvian people, dressed with prosperous olive leaves over his helmet,\nUmbro excellent in valour, who was wont with charm and touch to sprinkle\nslumberous dew on the viper's brood and water-snakes of noisome breath.\nYet he availed not to heal the stroke of the Dardanian spear-point, nor\nwas the wound of him helped by his sleepy charms and herbs culled on the\nMassic hills. Thee the woodland of Angitia, thee Fucinus' glassy wave,\nthee the clear pools wept. . . .\n\nLikewise the seed of Hippolytus marched to war, Virbius [762-796]most\nexcellent in beauty, sent by his mother Aricia. The groves of Egeria\nnursed him round the spongy shore where Diana's altar stands rich and\ngracious. For they say in story that Hippolytus, after he fell by his\nstepmother's treachery, torn asunder by his frightened horses to fulfil\na father's revenge, came again to the daylight and heaven's upper air,\nrecalled by Diana's love and the drugs of the Healer. Then the Lord\nomnipotent, indignant that any mortal should rise from the nether shades\nto the light of life, launched his thunder and hurled down to the\nStygian water the Phoebus-born, the discoverer of such craft and cure.\nBut Trivia the bountiful hides Hippolytus in a secret habitation, and\nsends him away to the nymph Egeria and the woodland's keeping, where,\nsolitary in Italian forests, he should spend an inglorious life, and\nhave Virbius for his altered name. Whence also hoofed horses are kept\naway from Trivia's temple and consecrated groves, because, affrighted at\nthe portents of the sea, they overset the chariot and flung him out upon\nthe shore. Notwithstanding did his son train his ruddy steeds on the\nlevel plain, and sped charioted to war.\n\nHimself too among the foremost, splendid in beauty of body, Turnus moves\narmed and towers a whole head over all. His lofty helmet, triple-tressed\nwith horse-hair, holds high a Chimaera breathing from her throat Aetnean\nfires, raging the more and exasperate with baleful flames, as the battle\nand bloodshed grow fiercer. But on his polished shield was emblazoned in\ngold Io with uplifted horns, already a heifer and overgrown with hair, a\nlofty design, and Argus the maiden's warder, and lord Inachus pouring\nhis stream from his embossed urn. Behind comes a cloud of infantry, and\nshielded columns thicken over all the plains; the Argive men and\nAuruncan forces, the Rutulians and old Sicanians, the Sacranian ranks\nand Labicians with [797-817]painted shields; they who till thy dells, O\nTiber, and Numicus' sacred shore, and whose ploughshare goes up and down\non the Rutulian hills and the Circaean headland, over whose fields\nJupiter of Anxur watches, and Feronia glad in her greenwood: and where\nthe marsh of Satura lies black, and cold Ufens winds his way along the\nvalley-bottoms and sinks into the sea.\n\nTherewithal came Camilla the Volscian, leading a train of cavalry,\nsquadrons splendid with brass: a warrior maiden who had never used her\nwoman's hands to Minerva's distaff or wool-baskets, but hardened to\nendure the battle shock and outstrip the winds with racing feet. She\nmight have flown across the topmost blades of unmown corn and left the\ntender ears unhurt as she ran; or sped her way over mid sea upborne by\nthe swelling flood, nor dipt her swift feet in the water. All the people\npour from house and field, and mothers crowd to wonder and gaze at her\nas she goes, in rapturous astonishment at the royal lustre of purple\nthat drapes her smooth shoulders, at the clasp of gold that intertwines\nher tresses, at the Lycian quiver she carries, and the pastoral myrtle\nshaft topped with steel.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK EIGHTH\n\nTHE EMBASSAGE TO EVANDER\n\n\nWhen Turnus ran up the flag of war on the towers of Laurentum, and the\ntrumpets blared with harsh music, when he spurred his fiery steeds and\nclashed his armour, straightway men's hearts are in tumult; all Latium\nat once flutters in banded uprisal, and her warriors rage furiously.\nTheir chiefs, Messapus, and Ufens, and Mezentius, scorner of the gods,\nbegin to enrol forces on all sides, and dispeople the wide fields of\nhusbandmen. Venulus too is sent to the town of mighty Diomede to seek\nsuccour, to instruct him that Teucrians set foot in Latium; that Aeneas\nin his fleet invades them with the vanquished gods of his home, and\nproclaims himself the King summoned of fate; that many tribes join the\nDardanian, and his name swells high in Latium. What he will rear on\nthese foundations, what issue of battle he desires, if Fortune attend\nhim, lies clearer to his own sight than to King Turnus or King Latinus.\n\nThus was it in Latium. And the hero of Laomedon's blood, seeing it all,\ntosses on a heavy surge of care, and throws his mind rapidly this way\nand that, and turns it on all hands in swift change of thought: even as\nwhen the quivering light of water brimming in brass, struck back\n[23-56]from the sunlight or the moon's glittering reflection, flickers\nabroad over all the room, and now mounts aloft and strikes the high\npanelled roof. Night fell, and over all lands weary creatures were fast\nin deep slumber, the race of fowl and of cattle; when lord Aeneas, sick\nat heart of the dismal warfare, stretched him on the river bank under\nthe cope of the cold sky, and let sleep, though late, overspread his\nlimbs. To him the very god of the ground, the pleasant Tiber stream,\nseemed to raise his aged form among the poplar boughs; thin lawn veiled\nhim with its gray covering, and shadowy reeds hid his hair. Thereon he\naddressed him thus, and with these words allayed his distresses:\n\n'O born of the family of the gods, thou who bearest back our Trojan city\nfrom hostile hands, and keepest Troy towers in eternal life; O long\nlooked for on Laurentine ground and Latin fields! here is thine assured\nhome, thine home's assured gods. Draw not thou back, nor be alarmed by\nmenace of war. All the anger and wrath of the gods is passed away . . .\nAnd even now for thine assurance, that thou think not this the idle\nfashioning of sleep, a great sow shall be found lying under the oaks on\nthe shore, with her new-born litter of thirty head: white she couches on\nthe ground, and the brood about her teats is white. By this token in\nthirty revolving years shall Ascanius found a city, Alba of bright name.\nMy prophecy is sure. Now hearken, and I will briefly instruct thee how\nthou mayest unravel and overcome thy present task. An Arcadian people\nsprung of Pallas, following in their king Evander's company beneath his\nbanners, have chosen a place in these coasts, and set a city on the\nhills, called Pallanteum after Pallas their forefather. These wage\nperpetual war with the Latin race; these do thou take to thy camp's\nalliance, and join with them in league. Myself I [57-89]will lead thee\nby my banks and straight along my stream, that thou mayest oar thy way\nupward against the river. Up and arise, goddess-born, and even with the\nsetting stars address thy prayers to Juno as is meet, and vanquish her\nwrath and menaces with humble vows. To me thou shalt pay a conqueror's\nsacrifice. I am he whom thou seest washing the banks with full flood and\nsevering the rich tilth, glassy Tiber, best beloved by heaven of rivers.\nHere is my stately home; my fountain-head is among high cities.'\n\nThus spoke the River, and sank in the depth of the pool: night and sleep\nleft Aeneas. He arises, and, looking towards the radiant sky of the\nsunrising, holds up water from the river in fitly-hollowed palms, and\npours to heaven these accents:\n\n'Nymphs, Laurentine Nymphs, from whom is the generation of rivers, and\nthou, O father Tiber, with thine holy flood, receive Aeneas and deign to\nsave him out of danger. What pool soever holds thy source, who pitiest\nour discomforts, from whatsoever soil thou dost spring excellent in\nbeauty, ever shall my worship, ever my gifts frequent thee, the horn\u00e8d\nriver lord of Hesperian waters. Ah, be thou only by me, and graciously\nconfirm thy will.' So speaks he, and chooses two galleys from his fleet,\nand mans them with rowers, and withal equips a crew with arms.\n\nAnd lo! suddenly, ominous and wonderful to tell, the milk-white sow, of\none colour with her white brood, is espied through the forest couched on\nthe green brink; whom to thee, yes to thee, queenly Juno, good Aeneas\noffers in sacrifice, and sets with her offspring before thine altar. All\nthat night long Tiber assuaged his swelling stream, and silently stayed\nhis refluent wave, smoothing the surface of his waters to the fashion of\nstill pool and quiet mere, to spare [90-121]labour to the oar. So they\nset out and speed on their way with prosperous cries; the painted fir\nslides along the waterway; the waves and unwonted woods marvel at their\nfar-gleaming shields, and the gay hulls afloat on the river. They\noutwear a night and a day in rowing, ascend the long reaches, and pass\nunder the chequered shadows of the trees, and cut through the green\nwoodland in the calm water. The fiery sun had climbed midway in the\ncircle of the sky when they see afar fortress walls and scattered house\nroofs, where now the might of Rome hath risen high as heaven; then\nEvander held a slender state. Quickly they turn their prows to land and\ndraw near the town.\n\nIt chanced on that day the Arcadian king paid his accustomed sacrifice\nto the great son of Amphitryon and all the gods in a grove before the\ncity. With him his son Pallas, with him all the chief of his people and\nhis poor senate were offering incense, and the blood steamed warm at\ntheir altars. When they saw the high ships, saw them glide up between\nthe shady woodlands and rest on their silent oars, the sudden sight\nappals them, and all at once they rise and stop the banquet. Pallas\ncourageously forbids them to break off the rites; snatching up a spear,\nhe flies forward, and from a hillock cries afar: 'O men, what cause hath\ndriven you to explore these unknown ways? or whither do you steer? What\nis your kin, whence your habitation? Is it peace or arms you carry\nhither?' Then from the lofty stern lord Aeneas thus speaks, stretching\nforth in his hand an olive bough of peace-bearing:\n\n'Thou seest men born of Troy and arms hostile to the Latins, who have\ndriven us to flight in insolent warfare. We seek Evander; carry this\nmessage, and tell him that chosen men of the Dardanian captains are come\npleading for an armed alliance.'\n\nPallas stood amazed at the august name. 'Descend,' [122-154]he cries,\n'whoso thou art, and speak with my father face to face, and enter our\nhome and hospitality.' And giving him the grasp of welcome, he caught\nand clung to his hand. Advancing, they enter the grove and leave the\nriver. Then Aeneas in courteous words addresses the King:\n\n'Best of the Grecian race, thou whom fortune hath willed that I\nsupplicate, holding before me boughs dressed in fillets, no fear stayed\nme because thou wert a Grecian chief and an Arcadian, or allied by\ndescent to the twin sons of Atreus. Nay, mine own prowess and the\nsanctity of divine oracles, our ancestral kinship, and the fame of thee\nthat is spread abroad over the earth, have allied me to thee and led me\nwillingly on the path of fate. Dardanus, who sailed to the Teucrian\nland, the first father and founder of the Ilian city, was born, as\nGreeks relate, of Electra the Atlantid; Electra's sire is ancient Atlas,\nwhose shoulder sustains the heavenly spheres. Your father is Mercury,\nwhom white Maia conceived and bore on the cold summit of Cyllene; but\nMaia, if we give any credence to report, is daughter of Atlas, that same\nAtlas who bears up the starry heavens; so both our families branch from\na single blood. In this confidence I sent no embassy, I framed no crafty\novertures; myself I have presented mine own person, and come a suppliant\nto thy courts. The same Daunian race pursues us and thee in merciless\nwarfare; we once expelled, they trust nothing will withhold them from\nlaying all Hesperia wholly beneath their yoke, and holding the seas that\nwash it above and below. Accept and return our friendship. We can give\nbrave hearts in war, high souls and men approved in deeds.'\n\nAeneas ended. The other ere now scanned in a long gaze the face and eyes\nand all the form of the speaker; then thus briefly returns:\n\n'How gladly, bravest of the Teucrians, do I hail and [155-188]own thee!\nhow I recall thy father's words and the very tone and glance of great\nAnchises! For I remember how Priam son of Laomedon, when he sought\nSalamis on his way to the realm of his sister Hesione, went on to visit\nthe cold borders of Arcadia. Then early youth clad my cheeks with bloom.\nI admired the Teucrian captains, admired their lord, the son of\nLaomedon; but Anchises moved high above them all. My heart burned with\nyouthful passion to accost him and clasp hand in hand; I made my way to\nhim, and led him eagerly to Pheneus' high town. Departing he gave me an\nadorned quiver and Lycian arrows, a scarf inwoven with gold, and a pair\nof golden bits that now my Pallas possesses. Therefore my hand is\nalready joined in the alliance you seek, and soon as to-morrow's dawn\nrises again over earth, I will send you away rejoicing in mine aid, and\nsupply you from my store. Meanwhile, since you are come hither in\nfriendship, solemnise with us these yearly rites which we may not defer,\nand even now learn to be familiar at your comrades' board.'\n\nThis said, he commands the feast and the wine-cups to be replaced whence\nthey were taken, and with his own hand ranges them on the grassy seat,\nand welcomes Aeneas to the place of honour, with a lion's shaggy fell\nfor cushion and a hospitable chair of maple. Then chosen men with the\npriest of the altar in emulous haste bring roasted flesh of bulls, and\npile baskets with the gift of ground corn, and serve the wine. Aeneas\nand the men of Troy with him feed on the long chines of oxen and the\nentrails of the sacrifice.\n\nAfter hunger is driven away and the desire of food stayed, King Evander\nspeaks: 'No idle superstition that knows not the gods of old hath\nordered these our solemn rites, this customary feast, this altar of\naugust sanctity; saved from bitter perils, O Trojan guest, do we\nworship, and [189-225]most due are the rites we inaugurate. Look now\nfirst on this overhanging cliff of stone, where shattered masses lie\nstrewn, and the mountain dwelling stands desolate, and rocks are rent\naway in vast ruin. Here was a cavern, awful and deep-withdrawn,\nimpenetrable to the sunbeams, where the monstrous half-human shape of\nCacus had his hold: the ground was ever wet with fresh slaughter, and\npallid faces of men, ghastly with gore, hung nailed on the haughty\ndoors. This monster was the son of Vulcan, and spouted his black fires\nfrom his mouth as he moved in giant bulk. To us also in our desire time\nbore a god's aid and arrival. For princely Alcides the avenger came\nglorious in the spoils of triple Geryon slain; this way the Conqueror\ndrove the huge bulls, and his oxen filled the river valley. But savage\nCacus, infatuate to leave nothing undared or unhandled in craft or\ncrime, drives four bulls of choice shape away from their pasturage, and\nas many heifers of excellent beauty. And these, that there should be no\nstraightforward footprints, he dragged by the tail into his cavern, the\ntrack of their compelled path reversed, and hid them behind the screen\nof rock. No marks were there to lead a seeker to the cavern. Meanwhile\nthe son of Amphitryon, his herds filled with food, was now breaking up\nhis pasturage and making ready to go. The oxen low as they depart; all\nthe woodland is filled with their complaint as they clamorously quit the\nhills. One heifer returned the cry, and, lowing from the depth of the\ndreary cave, baffled the hope of Cacus from her imprisonment. At this\nthe grief and choler of Alcides blazed forth dark and infuriate. Seizing\nin his hand his club of heavy knotted oak, he seeks with swift pace the\naery mountain steep. Then, as never before, did we see Cacus afraid and\nhis countenance troubled; he goes flying swifter than the wind and seeks\nhis cavern; fear wings his feet. As he shut himself in, and, bursting\nthe [226-260]chains, dropped the vast rock slung in iron by his\nfather's craft, and blocked the doorway with its pressure, lo! the\nTirynthian came in furious wrath, and, scanning all the entry, turned\nhis face this way and that and ground his teeth. Thrice, hot with rage,\nhe circles all Mount Aventine; thrice he assails the rocky portals in\nvain; thrice he sinks down outwearied in the valley. There stood a sharp\nrock of flint with sides cut sheer away, rising over the cavern's ridge\na vast height to see, fit haunt for foul birds to build on. This--for,\nsloping from the ridge, it leaned on the left towards the river--he\nloosened, urging it from the right till he tore it loose from its deep\nfoundations; then suddenly shook it free; with the shock the vast sky\nthunders, the banks leap apart, and the amazed river recoils. But the\nden, Cacus' huge palace, lay open and revealed, and the depths of gloomy\ncavern were made manifest; even as though some force tearing earth apart\nshould unlock the infernal house, and disclose the pallid realms\nabhorred of heaven, and deep down the monstrous gulf be descried where\nthe ghosts flutter in the streaming daylight. On him then, surprised in\nunexpected light, shut in the rock's recesses and howling in strange\nfashion, Alcides from above hurls missiles and calls all his arms to\naid, and presses hard on him with boughs and enormous millstones. And\nhe, for none other escape from peril is left, vomits from his throat\nvast jets of smoke, wonderful to tell, and enwreathes his dwelling in\nblind gloom, blotting view from the eyes, while in the cave's depth\nnight thickens with smoke-bursts in a darkness shot with fire. Alcides\nbroke forth in anger, and with a bound hurled himself sheer amid the\nflames, where the smoke rolls billowing and voluminous, and the cloud\nsurges black through the enormous den. Here, as Cacus in the darkness\nspouts forth his idle fires, he grasps and twines tight round him, till\nhis eyes start out and his throat [261-295]is drained of blood under\nthe strangling pressure. Straightway the doors are torn open and the\ndark house laid plain; the stolen oxen and forsworn plunder are shewn\nforth to heaven, and the misshapen carcase dragged forward by the feet.\nMen cannot satisfy their soul with gazing on the terrible eyes, the\nmonstrous face and shaggy bristling chest, and the throat with its\nquenched fires. Thenceforth this sacrifice is solemnised, and a younger\nrace have gladly kept the day; Potitius the inaugurator, and the\nPinarian family, guardians of the rites of Hercules, have set in the\ngrove this altar, which shall ever be called of us Most Mighty, and\nshall be our mightiest evermore. Wherefore arise, O men, and enwreathe\nyour hair with leafy sprays, and stretch forth the cups in your hands;\ncall on our common god and pour the glad wine.' He ended; when the\ntwy-coloured poplar of Hercules hid his shaded hair with pendulous\nplaited leaf, and the sacred goblet filled his hand. Speedily all pour\nglad libation on the board, and supplicate the gods.\n\nMeanwhile the evening star draws nigher down the slope of heaven, and\nnow the priests went forth, Potitius at their head, girt with skins\nafter their fashion, and bore torches aflame. They renew the banquet,\nand bring the grateful gift of a second repast, and heap the altars with\nloaded platters. Then the Salii stand round the lit altar-fires to sing,\ntheir brows bound with poplar boughs, one chorus of young men, one of\nelders, and extol in song the praises and deeds of Hercules; how first\nhe strangled in his gripe the twin terrors, the snakes of his\nstepmother; how he likewise shattered in war famous cities, Troy and\nOechalia; how under Eurystheus the King he bore the toil of a thousand\nlabours by Juno's malign decrees. Thine hand, unconquered, slays the\ncloud-born double-bodied race, Hylaeus and Pholus, the Cretan monster,\nand the huge lion in the hollow Nemean rock. Before thee the Stygian\npools [296-329]shook for fear, before thee the warder of hell, couched\non half-gnawn bones in his blood-stained cavern; to thee not any form\nwas terrible, not Typhoeus' self towering in arms; thou wast not bereft\nof counsel when the snake of Lerna encompassed thee with thronging\nheads. Hail, true seed of Jove, deified glory! graciously visit us and\nthese thy rites with favourable feet. Such are their songs of praise;\nthey crown all with the cavern of Cacus and its fire-breathing lord. All\nthe woodland echoes with their clamour, and the hills resound.\n\nThence all at once, the sacred rites accomplished, retrace their way to\nthe city. The age-worn King walked holding Aeneas and his son by his\nside for companions on his way, and lightened the road with changing\ntalk. Aeneas admires and turns his eyes lightly round about, pleased\nwith the country; and gladly on spot after spot inquires and hears of\nthe memorials of earlier men. Then King Evander, founder of the fortress\nof Rome:\n\n'In these woodlands dwelt Fauns and Nymphs sprung of the soil, and a\ntribe of men born of stocks and hard oak; who had neither law nor grace\nof life, nor did they know to yoke bulls or lay up stores or save their\ngains, but were nurtured by the forest boughs and the hard living of the\nhuntsman. Long ago Saturn came from heaven on high in flight before\nJove's arms, an exile from his lost realm. He gathered together the\nunruly race scattered on the mountain heights, and gave them statutes,\nand chose Latium to be their name, since in these borders he had found a\nsafe hiding-place. Beneath his reign were the ages named of gold; thus,\nin peace and quietness, did he rule the nations; till gradually there\ncrept in a sunken and stained time, the rage of war, and the lust of\npossession. Then came the Ausonian clan and the tribes of Sicania, and\nmany a time the land of Saturn put away her name. Then were kings,\n[330-364]and fierce Thybris with his giant bulk, from whose name we of\nItaly afterwards called the Tiber river, when it lost the true name of\nold, Albula. Me, cast out from my country and following the utmost\nlimits of the sea, Fortune the omnipotent and irreversible doom settled\nin this region; and my mother the Nymph Carmentis' awful warnings and\nApollo's divine counsel drove me hither.'\n\nScarce was this said; next advancing he points out the altar and the\nCarmental Gate, which the Romans call anciently by that name in honour\nof the Nymph Carmentis, seer and soothsayer, who sang of old the coming\ngreatness of the Aeneadae and the glory of Pallanteum. Next he points\nout the wide grove where valiant Romulus set his sanctuary, and the\nLupercal in the cool hollow of the rock, dedicate to Lycean Pan after\nthe manner of Parrhasia. Therewithal he shows the holy wood of\nArgiletum, and calls the spot to witness as he tells the slaying of his\nguest Argus. Hence he leads him to the Tarpeian house, and the Capitol\ngolden now, of old rough with forest thickets. Even then men trembled\nbefore the wood and rock. 'This grove,' he cries, 'this hill with its\nleafy crown, is a god's dwelling, though whose we know not; the\nArcadians believe Jove himself hath been visible, when often he shook\nthe darkening aegis in his hand and gathered the storm-clouds. Thou\nseest these two towns likewise with walls overthrown, relics and\nmemorials of men of old. This fortress lord Janus built, this Saturn;\nthe name of this was once Janiculum, of that Saturnia.'\n\nWith such mutual words they drew nigh the house of poor Evander, and saw\nscattered herds lowing on the Roman Forum and down the gay Carinae. When\nthey reached his dwelling, 'This threshold,' he cries, 'Alcides the\nConqueror stooped to cross; in this palace he rested. Dare thou, my\nguest, to despise riches; mould thyself to [365-396]like dignity of\ngodhead, and come not exacting to our poverty.' He spoke, and led tall\nAeneas under the low roof of his narrow dwelling, and laid him on a\ncouch of stuffed leaves and the skin of a Libyan she-bear. Night falls\nand clasps the earth in her dusky wings.\n\nBut Venus, stirred in spirit by no vain mother's alarms, and moved by\nthe threats and stern uprisal of the Laurentines, addresses herself to\nVulcan, and in her golden bridal chamber begins thus, breathing divine\npassion in her speech:\n\n'While Argolic kings wasted in war the doomed towers of Troy, the\nfortress fated to fall in hostile fires, no succour did I require for\nher wretched people, no weapons of thine art and aid: nor would I task,\ndear my lord, thee or thy toils for naught, though I owed many and many\na debt to the children of Priam, and had often wept the sore labour of\nAeneas. Now by Jove's commands he hath set foot in the Rutulian borders;\nI now therefore come with entreaty, and ask armour of the god I worship.\nFor the son she bore, the tears of Nereus' daughter, of Tithonus'\nconsort, could melt thine heart. Look what nations are gathering, what\ncities bar their gates and sharpen the sword against me for the\ndesolation of my children.'\n\nThe goddess ended, and, as he hesitates, clasps him round in the soft\nembrace of her snowy arms. He suddenly caught the wonted flame, and the\nheat known of old pierced him to the heart and overran his melting\nframe: even as when, bursting from the thunder peal, a sparkling cleft\nof fire shoots through the storm-clouds with dazzling light. His consort\nknew, rejoiced in her wiles, and felt her beauty. Then her lord speaks,\nenchained by Love the immortal:\n\n'Why these far-fetched pleas? Whither, O goddess, is thy trust in me\ngone? Had like distress been thine, [397-431]even then we might\nunblamed have armed thy Trojans, nor did doom nor the Lord omnipotent\nforbid Troy to stand, and Priam to survive yet ten other years. And now,\nif thou purposest war, and this is thy counsel, whatever charge I can\nundertake in my craft, in aught that may be made of iron or molten\nelectrum, whatever fire and air can do, cease thou to entreat as\ndoubtful of thy strength.' These words spoken, he clasped his wife in\nthe desired embrace, and, sinking in her lap, wooed quiet slumber to\noverspread his limbs.\n\nThereon, so soon as sleep, now in mid-career of waning night, had given\nrest and gone; soon as a woman, whose task is to sustain life with her\ndistaff and the slender labours of the loom, kindles the ashes of her\nslumbering fire, her toil encroaching on the night, and sets a long task\nof fire-lit spinning to her maidens, that so she may keep her husband's\nbed unsullied and nourish her little children,--even so the Lord of\nFire, nor slacker in his hours than she, rises from his soft couch to\nthe work of his smithy. An island rises by the side of Sicily and\nAeolian Lipare, steep with smoking cliffs, whereunder the vaulted and\nthunderous Aetnean caverns are hollowed out for Cyclopean forges, the\nstrong strokes on the anvils echo in groans, ore of steel hisses in the\nvaults, and the fire pants in the furnaces: the house of Vulcan, and\nVulcania the land's name. Hither now the Lord of Fire descends from\nheaven's height. In the vast cavern the Cyclopes were forging iron,\nBrontes and Steropes and Pyracmon with bared limbs. Shaped in their\nhands was a thunderbolt, in part already polished, such as the Father of\nHeaven hurls down on earth in multitudes, part yet unfinished. Three\ncoils of frozen rain, three of watery mist they had enwrought in it,\nthree of ruddy fire and winged south wind; now they were mingling in\ntheir work the awful splendours, the sound and terror, and the\n[432-469]angry pursuing flames. Elsewhere they hurried on a chariot for\nMars with flying wheels, wherewith he stirs up men and cities; and\nburnished the golden serpent-scales of the awful aegis, the armour of\nwrathful Pallas, and the entwined snakes on the breast of the goddess,\nthe Gorgon head with severed neck and rolling eyes. 'Away with all!' he\ncries: 'stop your tasks unfinished, Cyclopes of Aetna, and attend to\nthis; a warrior's armour must be made. Now must strength, now quickness\nof hand be tried, now all our art lend her guidance. Fling off delay.'\nHe spoke no more; but they all bent rapidly to the work, allotting their\nlabours equally. Brass and ore of gold flow in streams, and wounding\nsteel is molten in the vast furnace. They shape a mighty shield, to\nreceive singly all the weapons of the Latins, and weld it sevenfold,\ncircle on circle. Some fill and empty the windy bellows of their blast,\nsome dip the hissing brass in the trough. They raise their arms mightily\nin responsive time, and turn the mass of metal about in the grasp of\ntheir tongs.\n\nWhile the lord of Lemnos is busied thus in the borders of Aeolia,\nEvander is roused from his low dwelling by the gracious daylight and the\nmatin songs of birds from the eaves. The old man arises, and draws on\nhis body raiment, and ties the Tyrrhene shoe latchets about his feet;\nthen buckles to his side and shoulder his Tegeaean sword, and swathes\nhimself in a panther skin that droops upon his left. Therewithal two\nwatch-dogs go before him from the high threshold, and accompany their\nmaster's steps. The hero sought his guest Aeneas in the privacy of his\ndwelling, mindful of their talk and his promised bounty. Nor did Aeneas\nfail to be astir with the dawn. With the one went his son Pallas,\nwith the other Achates. They meet and clasp hands, and, sitting down\nwithin the house, at length enjoy unchecked converse. The King begins\nthus: . . .\n\n[470-505]'Princely chief of the Teucrians, in whose lifetime I will\nnever allow the state or realm of Troy vanquished, our strength is scant\nto succour in war for so great a name. On this side the Tuscan river\nshuts us in; on that the Rutulian drives us hard, and thunders in arms\nabout our walls. But I purpose to unite to thee mighty peoples and the\ncamp of a wealthy realm; an unforeseen chance offers this for thy\nsalvation. Fate summons thy approach. Not far from here stands fast\nAgylla city, an ancient pile of stone, where of old the Lydian race,\neminent in war, settled on the Etruscan ridges. For many years it\nflourished, till King Mezentius ruled it with insolent sway and armed\nterror. Why should I relate the horrible murders, the savage deeds of\nthe monarch? May the gods keep them in store for himself and his line!\nNay, he would even link dead bodies to living, fitting hand to hand and\nface to face (the torture!), and in the oozy foulness and corruption of\nthe dreadful embrace so slay them by a lingering death. But at last his\ncitizens, outwearied by his mad excesses, surround him and his house in\narms, cut down his comrades, and hurl fire on his roof. Amid the\nmassacre he escaped to the refuge of Rutulian land and the armed defence\nof Turnus' friendship. So all Etruria hath risen in righteous fury, and\nin immediate battle claim their king for punishment. Over these\nthousands will I make thee chief, O Aeneas; for their noisy ships crowd\nall the shore, and they bid the standards advance, while the aged\ndiviner stays them with prophecies: \"O chosen men of Maeonia, flower and\nstrength of them, of old time, whom righteous anger urges on the enemy,\nand Mezentius inflames with deserved wrath, to no Italian is it\npermitted to hold this great nation in control: choose foreigners to\nlead you.\" At that, terrified by the divine warning, the Etruscan lines\nhave encamped on the plain; Tarchon himself hath sent ambassadors to me\nwith the crown [506-539]and sceptre of the kingdom, and offers the\nroyal attire will I but enter their camp and take the Tyrrhene realm.\nBut old age, frozen to dulness, and exhausted with length of life,\ndenies me the load of empire, and my prowess is past its day. I would\nurge it on my son, did not the mixture of blood by his Sabellian mother\nmake this half his native land. Thou, to whose years and race alike the\nfates extend their favour, on whom fortune calls, enter thou in, a\nleader supreme in bravery over Teucrians and Italians. Mine own Pallas\nlikewise, our hope and comfort, I will send with thee; let him grow used\nto endure warfare and the stern work of battle under thy teaching, to\nregard thine actions, and from his earliest years look up to thee. To\nhim will I give two hundred Arcadian cavalry, the choice of our warlike\nstrength, and Pallas as many more to thee in his own name.'\n\nScarce had he ended; Aeneas, son of Anchises, and trusty Achates gazed\nwith steadfast face, and, sad at heart, were revolving inly many a\nlabour, had not the Cytherean sent a sign from the clear sky. For\nsuddenly a flash and peal comes quivering from heaven, and all seemed in\na moment to totter, and the Tyrrhene trumpet-blast to roar along the\nsky. They look up; again and yet again the heavy crash re-echoes. They\nsee in the serene space of sky armour gleam red through a cloud in the\nclear air, and ring clashing out. The others stood in amaze; but the\nTrojan hero knew the sound for the promise of his goddess mother; then\nhe speaks: 'Ask not, O friend, ask not in any wise what fortune this\npresage announces; it is I who am summoned of heaven. This sign the\ngoddess who bore me foretold she would send if war assailed, and would\nbring through the air to my succour armour from Vulcan's hands. . . .\nAh, what slaughter awaits the wretched Laurentines! what a price, O\nTurnus, wilt thou pay me! how many shields and helmets and brave bodies\nof men shalt thou, [540-573]Lord Tiber, roll under thy waves! Let them\ncall for armed array and break the league!'\n\nThese words uttered, he rises from the high seat, and first wakes with\nfresh fire the slumbering altars of Hercules, and gladly draws nigh his\ntutelar god of yesternight and the small deities of the household. Alike\nEvander, and alike the men of Troy, offer up, as is right, choice sheep\nof two years old. Thereafter he goes to the ships and revisits his crew,\nof whose company he chooses the foremost in valour to attend him to war;\nthe rest glide down the water and float idly with the descending stream,\nto come with news to Ascanius of his father's state. They give horses to\nthe Teucrians who seek the fields of Tyrrhenia; a chosen one is brought\nfor Aeneas, housed in a tawny lion skin that glitters with claws of\ngold. Rumour flies suddenly, spreading over the little town, that they\nride in haste to the courts of the Tyrrhene king. Mothers redouble their\nprayers in terror, as fear treads closer on peril and the likeness of\nthe War God looms larger in sight. Then Evander, clasping the hand of\nhis departing son, clings to him weeping inconsolably, and speaks thus:\n\n'Oh, if Jupiter would restore me the years that are past, as I was when,\nclose under Praeneste, I cut down their foremost ranks and burned the\npiled shields of the conquered! Then this right hand sent King Erulus\ndown to hell, though to him at his birth his mother Feronia (awful to\ntell) had given three lives and triple arms to wield; thrice must he be\nlaid low in death; yet then this hand took all his lives and as often\nstripped him of his arms. Never should I now, O son, be severed from thy\ndear embrace; never had the insolent sword of Mezentius on my borders\ndealt so many cruel deaths, widowed the city of so many citizens. But\nyou, O heavenly powers, and thou, Jupiter, Lord and Governor of Heaven,\nhave compassion, I pray, on [574-609]the Arcadian king, and hear a\nfather's prayers. If your deity and decrees keep my Pallas safe for me,\nif I live that I may see him and meet him yet, I pray for life; any toil\nsoever I have patience to endure. But if, O Fortune, thou threatenest\nsome dread calamity, now, ah now, may I break off a cruel life, while\nanxiety still wavers and expectation is in doubt, while thou, dear boy,\nmy one last delight, art yet clasped in my embrace; let no bitterer\nmessage wound mine ear.' These words the father poured forth at the\nfinal parting; his servants bore him swooning within.\n\nAnd now the cavalry had issued from the open gates, Aeneas and trusty\nAchates among the foremost, then other of the Trojan princes, Pallas\nconspicuous amid the column in scarf and inlaid armour; like the Morning\nStar, when, newly washed in the ocean wave, he shews his holy face in\nheaven, and melts the darkness away. Fearful mothers stand on the walls\nand follow with their eyes the cloud of dust and the squadrons gleaming\nin brass. They, where the goal of their way lies nearest, bear through\nthe brushwood in armed array. Forming in column, they advance noisily,\nand the horse hoof shakes the crumbling plain with four-footed\ntrampling. There is a high grove by the cold river of Caere, widely\nrevered in ancestral awe; sheltering hills shut it in all about and\ngirdle the woodland with their dark firs. Rumour is that the old\nPelasgians, who once long ago held the Latin borders, consecrated the\ngrove and its festal day to Silvanus, god of the tilth and flock. Not\nfar from it Tarchon and his Tyrrhenians were encamped in a protected\nplace; and now from the hill-top the tents of all their army might be\nseen outspread on the fields. Lord Aeneas and his chosen warriors draw\nhither and refresh their weary horses and limbs.\n\nBut Venus the white goddess drew nigh, bearing her gifts through the\nclouds of heaven; and when she saw her [610-646]son withdrawn far apart\nin the valley's recess by the cold river, cast herself in his way, and\naddressed him thus: 'Behold perfected the presents of my husband's\npromised craftsmanship: so shalt thou not shun, O my child, soon to\nchallenge the haughty Laurentines or fiery Turnus to battle.' The\nCytherean spoke, and sought her son's embrace, and laid the armour\nglittering under an oak over against him. He, rejoicing in the\nmagnificence of the goddess' gift, cannot have his fill of turning his\neyes over it piece by piece, and admires and handles between his arms\nthe helmet, dread with plumes and spouting flame, as when a blue cloud\ntakes fire in the sunbeams and gleams afar; then the smooth greaves of\nelectrum and refined gold, the spear, and the shield's ineffable design.\nThere the Lord of Fire had fashioned the story of Italy and the triumphs\nof the Romans, not witless of prophecy or ignorant of the age to be;\nthere all the race of Ascanius' future seed, and their wars fought one\nby one. Likewise had he fashioned the she-wolf couched after the birth\nin the green cave of Mars; round her teats the twin boys hung playing,\nand fearlessly mouthed their foster-mother; she, with round neck bent\nback, stroked them by turns and shaped their bodies with her tongue.\nThereto not far from this he had set Rome and the lawless rape of the\nSabines in the concourse of the theatre when the great Circensian games\nwere celebrated, and a fresh war suddenly arising between the people of\nRomulus and aged Tatius and austere Cures. Next these same kings laid\ndown their mutual strife and stood armed before Jove's altar with cup in\nhand, and joined treaty over a slain sow. Not far from there four-horse\nchariots driven apart had torn Mettus asunder (but thou, O Alban,\nshouldst have kept by thy words!), and Tullus tore the flesh of the liar\nthrough the forest, his splashed blood dripping from the briars.\nTherewithal Porsena commanded [647-681]to admit the exiled Tarquin, and\nheld the city in the grasp of a strong blockade; the Aeneadae rushed on\nthe sword for liberty. Him thou couldst espy like one who chafes and\nlike one who threatens, because Cocles dared to tear down the bridge,\nand Cloelia broke her bonds and swam the river. Highest of all Manlius,\nwarder of the Tarpeian fortress, stood with the temple behind him and\nheld the high Capitoline; and the thatch of Romulus' palace stood rough\nand fresh. And here the silver goose, fluttering in the gilded\ncolonnades, cried that the Gauls were there on the threshold. The Gauls\nwere there among the brushwood, hard on the fortress, secure in the\ndarkness and the dower of shadowy night. Their clustering locks are of\ngold, and of gold their attire; their striped cloaks glitter, and their\nmilk-white necks are entwined with gold. Two Alpine pikes sparkle in the\nhand of each, and long shields guard their bodies. Here he had embossed\nthe dancing Salii and the naked Luperci, the crests wreathed in wool,\nand the sacred shields that fell from heaven; in cushioned cars the\nvirtuous matrons led on their rites through the city. Far hence he adds\nthe habitations of hell also, the high gates of Dis and the dooms of\nguilt; and thee, O Catiline, clinging on the beetling rock, and\nshuddering at the faces of the Furies; and far apart the good, and Cato\ndelivering them statutes. Amidst it all flows wide the likeness of the\nswelling sea, wrought in gold, though the foam surged gray upon blue\nwater; and round about dolphins, in shining silver, swept the seas with\ntheir tails in circle as they cleft the tide. In the centre were visible\nthe brazen war-fleets of Actium; thou mightest see all Leucate swarm in\nembattled array, and the waves gleam with gold. Here Caesar Augustus,\nleading Italy to battle with Fathers and People, with gods of household\nand of state, stands on the lofty stern; prosperous flames jet round his\nbrow, and his [682-715]ancestral star dawns overhead. Elsewhere\nAgrippa, with favouring winds and gods, proudly leads on his column; on\nhis brows glitters the prow-girt naval crown, the haughty emblazonment\nof the war. Here Antonius with barbarian aid and motley arms, from the\nconquered nations of the Dawn and the shore of the southern sea, carries\nwith him Egypt and the Eastern forces of utmost Bactra, and the shameful\nEgyptian woman goes as his consort. All at once rush on, and the whole\nocean is torn into foam by straining oars and triple-pointed prows. They\nsteer to sea; one might think that the Cyclades were uptorn and floated\non the main, or that lofty mountains clashed with mountains, so mightily\ndo their crews urge on the turreted ships. Flaming tow and the winged\nsteel of darts shower thickly from their hands; the fields of ocean\nredden with fresh slaughter. Midmost the Queen calls on her squadron\nwith the timbrel of her country, nor yet casts back a glance on the twin\nsnakes behind her. Howling Anubis, and gods monstrous and multitudinous,\nlevel their arms against Neptune and Venus and against Minerva; Mars\nrages amid the havoc, graven in iron, and the Fatal Sisters hang aloft,\nand Discord strides rejoicing with garment rent, and Bellona attends her\nwith blood-stained scourge. Looking thereon, Actian Apollo above drew\nhis bow; with the terror of it all Egypt and India, every Arab and\nSabaean, turned back in flight. The Queen herself seemed to call the\nwinds and spread her sails, and even now let her sheets run slack. Her\nthe Lord of Fire had fashioned amid the carnage, wan with the shadow of\ndeath, borne along by the waves and the north-west wind; and over\nagainst her the vast bulk of mourning Nile, opening out his folds and\ncalling with all his raiment the conquered people into his blue lap and\nthe coverture of his streams. But Caesar rode into the city of Rome in\ntriple triumph, and dedicated his vowed [716-731]offering to the gods\nto stand for ever, three hundred stately shrines all about the city. The\nstreets were loud with gladness and games and shouting. In all the\ntemples was a band of matrons, in all were altars, and before the altars\nslain steers strewed the ground. Himself he sits on the snowy threshold\nof Phoebus the bright, reviews the gifts of the nations and ranges them\non the haughty doors. The conquered tribes move in long line, diverse as\nin tongue, so in fashion of dress and armour. Here Mulciber had designed\nthe Nomad race and the ungirt Africans, here the Leleges and Carians and\narcher Gelonians. Euphrates went by now with smoother waves, and the\nMorini utmost of men, and the horn\u00e8d Rhine, the untamed Dahae, and\nAraxes chafing under his bridge.\n\nThese things he admires on the shield of Vulcan, his mother's gift, and\nrejoicing in the portraiture of unknown history, lifts on his shoulder\nthe destined glories of his children.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK NINTH\n\nTHE SIEGE OF THE TROJAN CAMP\n\n\nAnd while thus things pass far in the distance, Juno daughter of Saturn\nsent Iris down the sky to gallant Turnus, then haply seated in his\nforefather Pilumnus' holy forest dell. To him the child of Thaumas spoke\nthus with roseate lips:\n\n'Turnus, what no god had dared promise to thy prayer, behold, is brought\nunasked by the circling day. Aeneas hath quitted town and comrades and\nfleet to seek Evander's throne and Palatine dwelling-place. Nor is it\nenough; he hath pierced to Corythus' utmost cities, and is mustering in\narms a troop of Lydian rustics. Why hesitate? now, now is the time to\ncall for chariot and horses. Break through all hindrance and seize the\nbewildered camp.'\n\nShe spoke, and rose into the sky on poised wings, and flashed under the\nclouds in a long flying bow. He knew her, and lifting either hand to\nheaven, with this cry pursued her flight: 'Iris, grace of the sky, who\nhath driven thee down the clouds to me and borne thee to earth? Whence\nis this sudden sheen of weather? I see the sky parting asunder, and the\nwandering stars in the firmament. I follow the high omen, whoso thou art\nthat callest me to arms.' And with these words he drew nigh the wave,\nand [23-58]caught up water from its brimming eddy, making many prayers\nto the gods and burdening the air with vows.\n\nAnd now all the army was advancing on the open plain, rich in horses,\nrich in raiment of broidered gold. Messapus rules the foremost ranks,\nthe sons of Tyrrheus the rear. Turnus commands the centre: even as\nGanges rising high in silence when his seven streams are still, or the\nrich flood of Nile when he ebbs from the plains, and is now sunk into\nhis channel. On this the Teucrians descry a sudden cloud of dark dust\ngathering, and the blackness rising on the plain. Ca\u00efcus raises a cry\nfrom the mound in front: 'What mass of misty gloom, O citizens, is\nrolling hitherward? to arms in haste! serve out weapons, climb the\nwalls. The enemy approaches, ho!' With mighty clamour the Teucrians pour\nin through all the gates and fill the works. For so at his departure\nAeneas the great captain had enjoined; were aught to chance meanwhile,\nthey should not venture to range their line or trust the plain, but keep\ntheir camp and the safety of the entrenched walls. So, though shame and\nwrath beckon them on to battle, they yet bar the gates and do his\nbidding, and await the foe armed and in shelter of the towers. Turnus,\nwho had flown forward in advance of his tardy column, comes up suddenly\nto the town with a train of twenty chosen cavalry, borne on a Thracian\nhorse dappled with white, and covered by a golden helmet with scarlet\nplume. 'Who will be with me, my men, to be first on the foe? See!' he\ncries; and sends a javelin spinning into the air to open battle, and\nadvances towering on the plain. His comrades take up the cry, and follow\nwith dreadful din, wondering at the Teucrians' coward hearts, that they\nissue not on even field nor face them in arms, but keep in shelter of\nthe camp. Hither and thither he rides furiously, tracing the walls, and\nseeking entrance where way is none. And as a wolf prowling [59-92]about\nsome crowded sheepfold, when, beaten sore of winds and rains, he howls\nat the pens by midnight; safe beneath their mothers the lambs keep\nbleating on; he, savage and insatiate, rages in anger against the flock\nhe cannot reach, tired by the long-gathering madness for food, and the\nthroat unslaked with blood: even so the Rutulian, as he gazes on the\nwalled camp, kindles in anger, and indignation is hot in his iron frame.\nBy what means may he essay entrance? by what passage hurl the imprisoned\nTrojans from the rampart and fling them on the plain? Close under the\nflanking camp lay the fleet, fenced about with mounds and the waters of\nthe river; it he attacks, and calls for fire to his exultant comrades,\nand eagerly catches a blazing pine-torch in his hand. Then indeed they\npress on, quickened by Turnus' presence, and all the band arm them with\nblack faggots. The hearth-fires are plundered; the smoky brand trails a\nresinous glare, and the Fire-god sends clouds of glowing ashes upward.\n\nWhat god, O Muses, guarded the Trojans from the rage of the fire? who\nrepelled the fierce flame from their ships? Tell it; ancient is the\nassurance thereof, but the fame everlasting. What time Aeneas began to\nshape his fleet on Phrygian Ida, and prepared to seek the high seas, the\nBerecyntian, they say, the very Mother of gods, spoke to high Jove in\nthese words: 'Grant, O son, to my prayer, what her dearness claims who\nbore thee and laid Olympus under thy feet. My pine forest beloved of me\nthese many years, my grove was on the mountain's crown, whither men bore\nmy holy things, dim with dusky pine and pillared maples. These, when he\nrequired a fleet, I gave gladly to the Dardanian; now fear wrings me\nwith sharp distress. Relieve my terrors, and grant a mother's prayers\nsuch power that they may yield to no stress of voyaging or of stormy\ngust: be birth on our hills their avail.'\n\n[93-126]Thus her son in answer, who wheels the starry worlds: 'O\nmother, whither callest thou fate? or what dost thou seek for these of\nthine? May hulls have the right of immortality that were fashioned by\nmortal hand? and may Aeneas traverse perils secure in insecurity? To\nwhat god is power so great given? Nay, but when, their duty done, they\nshall lie at last in their Ausonian haven, from all that have outgone\nthe waves and borne their Dardanian captain to the fields of Laurentum,\nwill I take their mortal body, and bid them be goddesses of the mighty\ndeep, even as Doto the Nere\u00efd and Galatea, when they cut the sea that\nfalls away from their breasts in foam.' He ended; and by his brother's\nStygian streams, by the banks of the pitchy black-boiling chasm he\nnodded confirmation, and shook all Olympus with his nod.\n\nSo the promised day was come, and the destinies had fulfilled their due\ntime, when Turnus' injury stirred the Mother to ward the brands from her\nholy ships. First then a strange light flashed on all eyes, and a great\nglory from the Dawn seemed to dart over the sky, with the choirs of Ida;\nthen an awful voice fell through air, filling the Trojan and Rutulian\nranks: 'Disquiet not yourselves, O Teucrians, to guard ships of mine,\nneither arm your hands: sooner shall Turnus burn the seas than these\nholy pines. You, go free; go, goddesses of the sea; the Mother bids it.'\nAnd immediately each ship breaks the bond that held it, as with dipping\nprows they plunge like dolphins deep into the water: from it again (O\nwonderful and strange!) they rise with maidens' faces in like number,\nand bear out to sea.\n\nThe Rutulians stood dumb: Messapus himself is terror-stricken among his\ndisordered cavalry; even the stream of Tiber pauses with hoarse murmur,\nand recoils from sea. But bold Turnus fails not a whit in confidence;\nnay, he [127-158]raises their courage with words, nay, he chides them:\n'On the Trojans are these portents aimed; Jupiter himself hath bereft\nthem of their wonted succour; nor do they abide Rutulian sword and fire.\nSo are the seas pathless for the Teucrians, nor is there any hope in\nflight; they have lost half their world. And we hold the land: in all\ntheir thousands the nations of Italy are under arms. In no wise am I\ndismayed by those divine oracles of doom the Phrygians insolently\nadvance. Fate and Venus are satisfied, in that the Trojans have touched\nour fruitful Ausonian fields. I too have my fate in reply to theirs, to\nput utterly to the sword the guilty nation who have robbed me of my\nbride; not the sons of Atreus alone are touched by that pain, nor may\nMycenae only rise in arms. But to have perished once is enough! To have\nsinned once should have been enough, in all but utter hatred of the\nwhole of womankind. Trust in the sundering rampart, and the hindrance of\ntheir trenches, so little between them and death, gives these their\ncourage: yet have they not seen Troy town, the work of Neptune's hand,\nsink into fire? But you, my chosen, who of you makes ready to breach\ntheir palisade at the sword's point, and join my attack on their\nfluttered camp? I have no need of Vulcanian arms, of a thousand ships,\nto meet the Teucrians. All Etruria may join on with them in alliance:\nnor let them fear the darkness, and the cowardly theft of their\nPalladium, and the guards cut down on the fortress height. Nor will we\nhide ourselves unseen in a horse's belly; in daylight and unconcealed\nare we resolved to girdle their walls with flame. Not with Grecians will\nI make them think they have to do, nor a Pelasgic force kept off till\nthe tenth year by Hector. Now, since the better part of day is spent,\nfor what remains refresh your bodies, glad that we have done so well,\nand expect the order of battle.'\n\n[159-192]Meanwhile charge is given to Messapus to blockade the gates\nwith pickets of sentries, and encircle the works with watchfires. Twice\nseven are chosen to guard the walls with Rutulian soldiery; but each\nleads an hundred men, crimson-plumed and sparkling in gold. They spread\nthemselves about and keep alternate watch, and, lying along the grass,\ndrink deep and set brazen bowls atilt. The fires glow, and the sentinels\nspend the night awake in games. . . .\n\nDown on this the Trojans look forth from the rampart, as they hold the\nheight in arms; withal in fearful haste they try the gates and lay\ngangways from bastion to bastion, and bring up missiles. Mnestheus and\nvaliant Serestus speed the work, whom lord Aeneas appointed, should\nmisfortune call, to be rulers of the people and governors of the state.\nAll their battalions, sharing the lot of peril, keep watch along the\nwalls, and take alternate charge of all that requires defence.\n\nOn guard at the gate was Nisus son of Hyrtacus, most valiant in arms,\nwhom Ida the huntress had sent in Aeneas' company with fleet javelin and\nlight arrows; and by his side Euryalus, fairest of all the Aeneadae and\nthe wearers of Trojan arms, showing on his unshaven boy's face the first\nbloom of youth. These two were one in affection, and charged in battle\ntogether; now likewise their common guard kept the gate. Nisus cries:\n'Lend the gods this fervour to the soul, Euryalus? or does fatal passion\nbecome a proper god to each? Long ere now my soul is restless to begin\nsome great deed of arms, and quiet peace delights it not. Thou seest how\nconfident in fortune the Rutulians stand. Their lights glimmer far\napart; buried in drunken sleep they have sunk to rest; silence stretches\nall about. Learn then what doubt, what purpose, now rises in my spirit.\nPeople and senate, they all cry that Aeneas [193-226]be summoned, and\nmen be sent to carry him tidings. If they promise what I ask in thy\nname--for to me the glory of the deed is enough--methinks I can find\nbeneath yonder hillock a path to the walls of Pallanteum town.'\n\nEuryalus stood fixed, struck through with high ambition, and therewith\nspeaks thus to his fervid friend: 'Dost thou shun me then, Nisus, to\nshare thy company in highest deeds? shall I send thee alone into so\ngreat perils? Not thus did my warrior father Opheltes rear and nurture\nme amid the Argive terror and the agony of Troy, nor thus have I borne\nmyself by thy side while following noble Aeneas to his utmost fate. Here\nis a spirit, yes here, that scorns the light of day, that deems lightly\nbought at a life's price that honour to which thou dost aspire.'\n\nTo this Nisus: 'Assuredly I had no such fear of thee; no, nor could I;\nso may great Jupiter, or whoso looks on earth with equal eyes, restore\nme to thee triumphant. But if haply--as thou seest often and often in so\nforlorn a hope--if haply chance or deity sweep me to adverse doom, I\nwould have thee survive; thine age is worthier to live. Be there one to\ncommit me duly to earth, rescued or ransomed from the battlefield: or,\nif fortune deny that, to pay me far away the rites of funeral and the\ngrace of a tomb. Neither would I bring such pain on thy poor mother, she\nwho singly of many matrons hath dared to follow her boy to the end, and\nslights great Acestes' city.'\n\nAnd he: 'In vain dost thou string idle reasons; nor does my purpose\nyield or change its place so soon. Let us make haste.' He speaks, and\nrouses the watch; they come up, and relieve the guard; quitting their\npost, he and Nisus stride on to seek the prince.\n\nThe rest of living things over all lands were soothing their cares in\nsleep, and their hearts forgot their pain; the foremost Trojan captains,\na chosen band, held council [227-261]of state upon the kingdom; what\nshould they do, or who would now be their messenger to Aeneas? They\nstand, leaning on their long spears and grasping their shields, in mid\nlevel of the camp. Then Nisus and Euryalus together pray with quick\nurgency to be given audience; their matter is weighty and will be worth\nthe delay. I\u00fclus at once heard their hurried plea, and bade Nisus speak.\nThereon the son of Hyrtacus: 'Hear, O people of Aeneas, with favourable\nmind, nor regard our years in what we offer. Sunk in sleep and wine, the\nRutulians are silent; we have stealthily spied the open ground that lies\nin the path through the gate next the sea. The line of fires is broken,\nand their smoke rises darkly upwards. If you allow us to use the chance\ntowards seeking Aeneas in Pallanteum town, you will soon descry us here\nat hand with the spoils of the great slaughter we have dealt. Nor shall\nwe miss the way we go; up the dim valleys we have seen the skirts of the\ntown, and learned all the river in continual hunting.'\n\nThereon aged Aletes, sage in counsel: 'Gods of our fathers, under whose\ndeity Troy ever stands, not wholly yet do you purpose to blot out the\nTrojan race, when you have brought us young honour and hearts so sure as\nthis.' So speaking, he caught both by shoulder and hand, with tears\nshowering down over face and feature. 'What guerdon shall I deem may be\ngiven you, O men, what recompense for these noble deeds? First and\nfairest shall be your reward from the gods and your own conduct; and\nAeneas the good shall speedily repay the rest, and Ascanius' fresh youth\nnever forget so great a service.'--'Nay,' breaks in Ascanius, 'I whose\nsole safety is in my father's return, I adjure thee and him, O Nisus, by\nour great household gods, by the tutelar spirit of Assaracus and hoar\nVesta's sanctuary--on your knees I lay all my fortune and trust--recall\nmy father; [262-296]give him back to sight; all sorrow disappears in\nhis recovery. I will give a pair of cups my father took in vanquished\nArisba, wrought in silver and rough with tracery, twin tripods, and two\nlarge talents of gold, and an ancient bowl of Sidonian Dido's giving. If\nit be indeed our lot to possess Italy and grasp a conquering sceptre,\nand to assign the spoil; thou sawest the horse and armour of Turnus as\nhe went all in gold; that same horse, the shield and the ruddy plume,\nwill I reserve from partition, thy reward, O Nisus, even from now. My\nfather will give besides twelve mothers of the choicest beauty, and men\ncaptives, all in their due array; above these, the space of meadow-land\nthat is now King Latinus' own domain. Thee, O noble boy, whom mine age\nfollows at a nearer interval, even now I welcome to all my heart, and\nembrace as my companion in every fortune. No glory shall be sought for\nmy state without thee; whether peace or war be in conduct, my chiefest\ntrust for deed and word shall be in thee.'\n\nAnswering whom Euryalus speaks thus: 'Let but the day never come to\nprove me degenerate from this daring valour; fortune may fall prosperous\nor adverse. But above all thy gifts, one thing I ask of thee. My poor\nmother of Priam's ancient race, whom neither the Ilian land nor King\nAcestes' city kept from following me forth, her I now leave in ignorance\nof this danger, such as it is, and without a farewell, because--night\nand thine hand be witness!--I cannot bear a parent's tears. But thou, I\npray, support her want and relieve her loneliness. Let me take with me\nthis hope in thee, I shall go more daringly to every fortune.' Deeply\nstirred at heart, the Dardanians shed tears, fair I\u00fclus before them all,\nas the likeness of his own father's love wrung his soul. Then he speaks\nthus: . . . 'Assure thyself all that is due to thy mighty enterprise;\n[297-330]for she shall be a mother to me, and only in name fail to be\nCre\u00fcsa; nor slight is the honour reserved for the mother of such a son.\nWhat chance soever follow this deed, I swear by this head whereby my\nfather was wont to swear, what I promise to thee on thy prosperous\nreturn shall abide the same for thy mother and kindred.' So speaks he\nweeping, and ungirds from his shoulder the sword inlaid with gold,\nfashioned with marvellous skill by Lycaon of Gnosus and fitly set in a\nsheath of ivory. Mnestheus gives Nisus the shaggy spoils of a lion's\nhide; faithful Aletes exchanges his helmet. They advance onward in arms,\nand as they go all the company of captains, young and old, speed them to\nthe gates with vows. Likewise fair I\u00fclus, with a man's thought and a\nspirit beyond his years, gave many messages to be carried to his father.\nBut the breezes shred all asunder and give them unaccomplished to the\nclouds.\n\nThey issue and cross the trenches, and through the shadow of night seek\nthe fatal camp, themselves first to be the death of many a man. All\nabout they see bodies strewn along the grass in drunken sleep, chariots\natilt on the shore, the men lying among their traces and wheels, with\ntheir armour by them, and their wine. The son of Hyrtacus began thus:\n'Euryalus, now for daring hands; all invites them; here lies our way;\nsee thou that none raise a hand from behind against us, and keep\nfar-sighted watch. Here will I deal desolation, and make a broad path\nfor thee to follow.' So speaks he and checks his voice; therewith he\ndrives his sword at lordly Rhamnes, who haply on carpets heaped high was\ndrawing the full breath of sleep; a king himself, and King Turnus'\nbest-beloved augur, but not all his augury could avert his doom. Three\nof his household beside him, lying carelessly among their arms, and the\narmour-bearer and charioteer of Remus go [331-364]down before him,\ncaught at the horses' feet. Their drooping necks he severs with the\nsword, then beheads their lord likewise and leaves the trunk spouting\nblood; the dark warm gore soaks ground and cushions. Therewithal Lamyrus\nand Lamus, and beautiful young Serranus, who that night had played long\nand late, and lay with the conquering god heavy on every limb; happy,\nhad he played out the night, and carried his game to day! Even thus an\nunfed lion riots through full sheepfolds, for the madness of hunger\nurges him, and champs and rends the fleecy flock that are dumb with\nfear, and roars with blood-stained mouth. Nor less is the slaughter of\nEuryalus; he too rages all aflame; an unnamed multitude go down before\nhis path, and Fadus and Herbesus and Rhoetus and Abaris, unaware;\nRhoetus awake and seeing all, but he hid in fear behind a great bowl;\nright in whose breast, as he rose close by, he plunged the sword all its\nlength, and drew it back heavy with death. He vomits forth the crimson\nlife-blood, and throws up wine mixed with blood in the death agony. The\nother presses hotly on his stealthy errand, and now bent his way towards\nMessapus' comrades, where he saw the last flicker of the fires go down,\nand the horses tethered in order cropping the grass; when Nisus briefly\nspeaks thus, for he saw him carried away by excess of murderous desire;\n'Let us stop; for unfriendly daylight draws nigh. Vengeance is sated to\nthe full; a path is cut through the enemy.' Much they leave behind,\nmen's armour wrought in solid silver, and bowls therewith, and beautiful\ncarpets. Euryalus tears away the decorations of Rhamnes and his\nsword-belt embossed with gold, a gift which Caedicus, wealthiest of men\nof old, sends to Remulus of Tibur when plighting friendship far away; he\non his death-bed gives them to his grandson for his own; after his death\nthe Rutulians captured them as spoil of war; these he fits on the\nshoulders valiant [365-396]in vain, then puts on Messapus' light helmet\nwith its graceful plumes. They issue from the camp and make for safety.\n\nMeanwhile an advanced guard of cavalry were on their way from the Latin\ncity, while the rest of their marshalled battalions linger on the\nplains, and bore a reply to King Turnus; three hundred men all under\nshield, in Volscens' leading. And now they approached the camp and drew\nnear the wall, when they descry the two turning away by the pathway to\nthe left; and in the glimmering darkness of night the forgotten helmet\nbetrayed Euryalus, glittering as it met the light. It seemed no thing of\nchance. Volscens cries aloud from his column: 'Stand, men! why on the\nmarch, or how are you in arms? or whither hold you your way?' They offer\nnothing in reply, but quicken their flight into the forest, and throw\nthemselves on the night. On this side and that the horsemen bar the\nfamiliar crossways, and encircle every outlet with sentinels. The forest\nspread wide in tangled thickets and dark ilex; thick growth of briars\nchoked it all about, and the muffled pathway glimmered in a broken\ntrack. Hampered by the shadowy boughs and his cumbrous spoil, Euryalus\nin his fright misses the line of way. Nisus gets clear; and now\nunthinkingly he had passed the enemy, and the place afterwards called\nAlbani from Alba's name; then the deep coverts were of King Latinus'\ndomain; when he stopped, and looked back in vain for his lost friend.\n'Euryalus, unhappy! on what ground have I left thee? or where shall I\nfollow, again unwinding all the entanglement of the treacherous woodland\nway?' Therewith he marks and retraces his footsteps, and wanders down\nthe silent thickets. He hears the horses, hears the clatter and\nsignal-notes of the pursuers. Nor had he long to wait, when shouts reach\nhis ears, and he sees Euryalus, whom even now, in the perplexity of\nground and [397-431]darkness, the whole squadron have borne down in a\nsudden rush, and seize in spite of all his vain struggles. What shall he\ndo? with what force, what arms dare his rescue? or shall he rush on his\ndoom amid their swords, and find in their wounds a speedy and glorious\ndeath? Quickly he draws back his arm with poised spear, and looking up\nto the moon on high, utters this prayer: 'Do thou give present aid to\nour enterprise, O Latonian goddess, glory of the stars and guardian of\nthe woodlands: by all the gifts my father Hyrtacus ever bore for my sake\nto thine altars, by all mine own hand hath added from my hunting, or\nhung in thy dome, or fixed on thy holy roof, grant me to confound these\nmasses, and guide my javelin through the air.' He ended, and with all\nthe force of his body hurls the steel. The flying spear whistles through\nthe darkness of the night, and comes full on the shield of Sulmo, and\nthere snaps, and the broken shaft passes on through his heart. Spouting\na warm tide from his breast he rolls over chill in death, and his sides\nthrob with long-drawn gasps. Hither and thither they gaze round. Lo, he\nall the fiercer was poising another weapon high by his ear; while they\nhesitate, the spear went whizzing through both Tagus' temples, and\npierced and stuck fast in the warm brain. Volscens is mad with rage, and\nnowhere espies the sender of the weapon, nor where to direct his fury.\n'Yet meanwhile thy warm blood shalt pay me vengeance for both,' he\ncries; and unsheathing his sword, he made at Euryalus. Then indeed\nfrantic with terror Nisus shrieks out; no longer could he shroud himself\nin darkness or endure such agony. 'On me, on me, I am here, I did it, on\nme turn your steel, O Rutulians! Mine is all the guilt; he dared not,\nno, nor could not; to this heaven I appeal and the stars that know; he\nonly loved his hapless friend too well.' Such words he was uttering; but\nthe sword driven hard home is gone [432-464]clean through his ribs and\npierces the white breast. Euryalus rolls over in death, and the blood\nruns over his lovely limbs, and his neck sinks and settles on his\nshoulder; even as when a lustrous flower cut away by the plough droops\nin death, or weary-necked poppies bow down their head if overweighted\nwith a random shower. But Nisus rushes amidst them, and alone among them\nall makes at Volscens, keeps to Volscens alone: round him the foe\ncluster, and on this side and that hurl him back: none the less he\npresses on, and whirls his sword like lightning, till he plunges it full\nin the face of the shrieking Rutulian, and slays his enemy as he dies.\nThen, stabbed through and through, he flung himself above his lifeless\nfriend, and there at last found the quiet sleep of death.\n\nHappy pair! if my verse is aught of avail, no length of days shall ever\nblot you from the memory of time, while the house of Aeneas shall dwell\nby the Capitoline's stedfast stone, and the lord of Rome hold\nsovereignty.\n\nThe victorious Rutulians, with their spoils and the plunder regained,\nbore dead Volscens weeping to the camp. Nor in the camp was the wailing\nless, when Rhamnes was found a bloodless corpse, and Serranus and Numa\nand all their princes destroyed in a single slaughter. Crowds throng\ntowards the corpses and the men wounded to death, the ground fresh with\nwarm slaughter and the swoln runlets of frothing blood. They mutually\nrecognise the spoils, Messapus' shining helmet and the decorations that\ncost such sweat to win back.\n\nAnd now Dawn, leaving the saffron bed of Tithonus, scattered over earth\nher fresh shafts of early light; now the sunlight streams in, now\ndaylight unveils the world. Turnus, himself fully armed, awakes his men\nto arms, and each leader marshals to battle his brazen lines and whets\ntheir ardour with varying rumours. Nay, pitiable sight! they\n[465-499]fix on spear-points and uprear and follow with loud shouts the\nheads of Euryalus and Nisus. . . . The Aeneadae stubbornly face them,\nlining the left hand wall (for their right is girdled by the river),\nhold the deep trenches and stand gloomily on the high towers, stirred\nwithal by the faces they know, alas, too well, in their dark dripping\ngore. Meanwhile Rumour on fluttering wings rushes with the news through\nthe alarmed town and glides to the ears of Euryalus' mother. But\ninstantly the warmth leaves her woeful body, the shuttle starts from her\nhand and the threads unroll. She darts forth in agony, and with woman's\nwailing and torn hair runs distractedly towards the walls and the\nforemost columns, recking naught of men, naught of peril or weapons;\nthereon she fills the air with her complaint: 'Is it thus I behold thee,\nO Euryalus? Couldst thou, the latest solace of mine age, leave me alone\nso cruelly? nor when sent into such danger was one last word of thee\nallowed thine unhappy mother? Alas, thou liest in a strange land, given\nfor a prey to the dogs and fowls of Latium! nor was I, thy mother, there\nfor chief mourner, to lay thee out or close thine eyes or wash thy\nwounds, and cover thee with the garment I hastened on for thee whole\nnights and days, an anxious old woman taking comfort from the loom.\nWhither shall I follow? or what land now holds thy mangled corpse, thy\nbody torn limb from limb? Is this all of what thou wert that returns to\nme, O my son? is it this I have followed by land and sea? Strike me\nthrough of your pity, on me cast all your weapons, Rutulians; make me\nthe first sacrifice of your steel. Or do thou, mighty lord of heaven, be\nmerciful, and with thine own weapon hurl this hateful life to the nether\ndeep, since in no wise else may I break away from life's cruelty.' At\nthis weeping cry their courage falters, and a sigh of sorrow passes all\nalong; their strength is benumbed and broken for battle. Her, while\n[500-535]her grief kindled, at Ilioneus' and weeping I\u00fclus' bidding\nIdaeus and Actor catch up and carry home in their arms.\n\nBut the terrible trumpet-note afar rang on the shrill brass; a shout\nfollows, and is echoed from the sky. The Volscians hasten up in even\nline under their advancing roof of shields, and set to fill up the\ntrenches and tear down the palisades. Some seek entrance by scaling the\nwalls with ladders, where the defenders' battle-line is thin, and light\nshows through gaps in the ring of men. The Teucrians in return shower\nweapons of every sort, and push them down with stiff poles, practised by\nlong warfare in their ramparts' defence: and fiercely hurl heavy stones,\nso be they may break the shielded line; while they, crowded under their\nshell, lightly bear all the downpour. But now they fail; for where the\nvast mass presses close, the Teucrians roll a huge block tumbling down\nthat makes a wide gap in the Rutulians and crashes through their\narmour-plating. Nor do the bold Rutulians care longer to continue the\nblind fight, but strive to clear the rampart with missiles. . . .\nElsewhere in dreadful guise Mezentius brandishes his Etruscan pine and\nhurls smoking brands; but Messapus, tamer of horses, seed of Neptune,\ntears away the palisading and calls for ladders to the ramparts.\n\nThy sisterhood, O Calliope, I pray inspire me while I sing the\ndestruction spread then and there by Turnus' sword, the deaths dealt\nfrom his hand, and whom each warrior sent down to the under world; and\nunroll with me the broad borders of war.\n\nA tower loomed vast with lofty gangways at a point of vantage; this all\nthe Italians strove with main strength to storm, and set all their might\nand device to overthrow it; the Trojans in return defended it with\nstones and hurled showers of darts through the loopholes. Turnus,\nleading the attack, threw a blazing torch that caught flaming on the\n[536-570]side wall; swoln by the wind, the flame seized the planking\nand clung devouring to the standards. Those within, in hurry and\nconfusion, desire retreat from their distress; in vain; while they\ncluster together and fall back to the side free from the destroyer, the\ntower sinks prone under the sudden weight with a crash that thunders\nthrough all the sky. Pierced by their own weapons, and impaled on hard\nsplinters of wood, they come half slain to the ground with the vast mass\nbehind them. Scarcely do Helenor alone and Lycus struggle out; Helenor\nin his early prime, whom a slave woman of Licymnos bore in secret to the\nMaeonian king, and sent to Troy in forbidden weapons, lightly armed with\nsheathless sword and white unemblazoned shield. And he, when he saw\nhimself among Turnus' encircling thousands, ranks on this side and ranks\non this of Latins, as a wild beast which, girt with a crowded ring of\nhunters, dashes at their weapons, hurls herself unblinded on death, and\ncomes with a bound upon the spears; even so he rushes to his death amid\nthe enemy, and presses on where he sees their weapons thickest. But\nLycus, far fleeter of foot, holds by the walls in flight midway among\nfoes and arms, and strives to catch the coping in his grasp and reach\nthe hands of his comrades. And Turnus pursuing and aiming as he ran,\nthus upbraids him in triumph: 'Didst thou hope, madman, thou mightest\nescape our hands?' and catches him as he clings, and tears him and a\ngreat piece of the wall away: as when, with a hare or snowy-bodied swan\nin his crooked talons, Jove's armour-bearer soars aloft, or the wolf of\nMars snatches from the folds some lamb sought of his mother with\nincessant bleating. On all sides a shout goes up. They advance and fill\nthe trenches with heaps of earth; some toss glowing brands on the roofs.\nIlioneus strikes down Lucetius with a great fragment of mountain rock\nas, carrying fire, he draws [571-606]nigh the gate. Liger slays\nEmathion, Asylas Corinaeus, the one skilled with the javelin, the other\nwith the stealthy arrow from afar. Caeneus slays Ortygius; Turnus\nvictorious Caeneus; Turnus Itys and Clonius, Dioxippus, and Promolus,\nand Sagaris, and Idas where he stood in front of the turret top; Capys\nPrivernus: him Themillas' spear had first grazed lightly; the madman\nthrew down his shield to carry his hand to the wound; so the arrow\nwinged her way, and pinning his hand to his left side, broke into the\nlungs with deadly wound. The son of Arcens stood splendid in arms, and\nscarf embroidered with needlework and bright with Iberian blue, the\nbeautiful boy sent by his father Arcens from nurture in the grove of our\nLady about the streams of Symaethus, where Palicus' altar is rich and\ngracious. Laying down his spear, Mezentius whirled thrice round his head\nthe tightened cord of his whistling sling, pierced him full between the\ntemples with the molten bullet, and stretched him all his length upon\nthe sand.\n\nThen, it is said, Ascanius first aimed his flying shaft in war, wont\nbefore to frighten beasts of the chase, and struck down a brave\nNumanian, Remulus by name, but lately allied in bridal to Turnus'\nyounger sister. He advancing before his ranks clamoured things fit and\nunfit to tell, and strode along lofty and voluble, his heart lifted up\nwith his fresh royalty.\n\n'Take you not shame to be again held leaguered in your ramparts, O\nPhrygians twice taken, and to make walls your fence from death? Behold\nthem who demand in war our wives for theirs! What god, what madness,\nhath driven you to Italy? Here are no sons of Atreus nor glozing\nUlysses. A race of hardy breed, we carry our newborn children to the\nstreams and harden them in the bitter icy water; as boys they spend\nwakeful nights over the chase, and tire out the woodland; but in\nmanhood, [607-639]unwearied by toil and trained to poverty, they subdue\nthe soil with their mattocks, or shake towns in war. Every age wears\niron, and we goad the flanks of our oxen with reversed spear; nor does\ncreeping old age weaken our strength of spirit or abate our force. White\nhairs bear the weight of the helmet; and it is ever our delight to drive\nin fresh spoil and live on our plunder. Yours is embroidered raiment of\nsaffron and shining sea-purple. Indolence is your pleasure, your delight\nthe luxurious dance; you wear sleeved tunics and ribboned turbans. O\nright Phrygian women, not even Phrygian men! traverse the heights of\nDindymus, where the double-mouthed flute breathes familiar music. The\ndrums call you, and the Berecyntian boxwood of the mother of Ida; leave\narms to men, and lay down the sword.'\n\nAs he flung forth such words of ill-ominous strain, Ascanius brooked it\nnot, and aimed an arrow on him from the stretched horse sinew; and as he\ndrew his arms asunder, first stayed to supplicate Jove in lowly vows:\n'Jupiter omnipotent, deign to favour this daring deed. My hands shall\nbear yearly gifts to thee in thy temple, and bring to stand before thine\naltars a steer with gilded forehead, snow-white, carrying his head high\nas his mother's, already pushing with his horn and making the sand fly\nup under his feet.' The Father heard and from a clear space of sky\nthundered on the left; at once the fated bow rings, the grim-whistling\narrow flies from the tense string, and goes through the head of Remulus,\nthe steel piercing through from temple to temple. 'Go, mock valour with\ninsolence of speech! Phrygians twice taken return this answer to\nRutulians.' Thus and no further Ascanius; the Teucrians respond in\ncheers, and shout for joy in rising height of courage. Then haply in the\ntract of heaven tressed Apollo sate looking down from his cloud on the\n[640-673]Ausonian ranks and town, and thus addresses triumphant I\u00fclus:\n'Good speed to thy young valour, O boy! this is the way to heaven, child\nof gods and parent of gods to be! Rightly shall all wars fated to come\nsink to peace beneath the line of Assaracus; nor art thou bounded in a\nTroy.' So speaking, he darts from heaven's height, and cleaving the\nbreezy air, seeks Ascanius. Then he changes the fashion of his\ncountenance, and becomes aged Butes, armour-bearer of old to Dardanian\nAnchises, and the faithful porter of his threshold; thereafter his lord\ngave him for Ascanius' attendant. In all points like the old man Apollo\ncame, voice and colour, white hair, and grimly clashing arms, and speaks\nthese words to eager I\u00fclus:\n\n'Be it enough, son of Aeneas, that the Numanian hath fallen unavenged\nbeneath thine arrows; this first honour great Apollo allows thee, nor\nenvies the arms that match his own. Further, O boy, let war alone.' Thus\nApollo began, and yet speaking retreated from mortal view, vanishing\ninto thin air away out of their eyes. The Dardanian princes knew the god\nand the arms of deity, and heard the clash of his quiver as he went. So\nthey restrain Ascanius' keenness for battle by the words of Phoebus'\nwill; themselves they again close in conflict, and cast their lives into\nthe perilous breach. Shouts run all along the battlemented walls;\nringing bows are drawn and javelin thongs twisted: all the ground is\nstrewn with missiles. Shields and hollow helmets ring to blows; the\nbattle swells fierce; heavy as the shower lashes the ground that sets in\nwhen the Kids are rainy in the West; thick as hail pours down from\nstorm-clouds on the shallows, when the rough lord of the winds congeals\nhis watery deluge and breaks up the hollow vapours in the sky.\n\nPandarus and Bitias, sprung of Alcanor of Ida, whom woodland Iaera bore\nin the grove of Jupiter, grown now [674-709]tall as their ancestral\npines and hills, fling open the gates barred by their captain's order,\nand confident in arms, wilfully invite the enemy within the walls.\nThemselves within they stand to right and left in front of the towers,\nsheathed in iron, the plumes flickering over their stately heads: even\nas high in air around the gliding streams, whether on Padus' banks or by\npleasant Athesis, twin oaks rise lifting their unshorn heads into the\nsky with high tops asway. The Rutulians pour in when they see the\nentrance open. Straightway Quercens and Aquicolus beautiful in arms, and\ndesperate Tmarus, and Haemon, seed of Mars, either gave back in rout\nwith all their columns, or in the very gateway laid down their life.\nThen the spirits of the combatants swell in rising wrath, and now the\nTrojans gather swarming to the spot, and dare to close hand to hand and\nto sally farther out.\n\nNews is brought to Turnus the captain, as he rages afar among the routed\nfoe, that the enemy surges forth into fresh slaughter and flings wide\nhis gates. He breaks off unfinished, and, fired with immense anger,\nrushes towards the haughty brethren at the Dardanian gate. And on\nAntiphates first, for first he came, the bastard son of mighty Sarpedon\nby a Theban mother, he hurls his javelin and strikes him down; the\nItalian cornel flies through the yielding air, and, piercing the gullet,\nruns deep into his breast; a frothing tide pours from the dark yawning\nwound, and the steel grows warm where it pierces the lung. Then Meropes\nand Erymas, then Aphidnus goes down before his hand; then Bitias,\nfiery-eyed and exultant, not with a javelin; for not to a javelin had he\ngiven his life; but the loud-whistling pike came hurled with a\nthunderbolt's force; neither twofold bull's hide kept it back, nor the\ntrusty corslet's double scales of gold: his vast limbs sink in a heap;\nearth utters a groan, and the great shield clashes [710-745]over him:\neven as once and again on the Eubo\u00efc shore of Baiae falls a mass of\nstone, built up of great blocks and so cast into the sea; thus does it\ntumble prone, crashes into the shoal water and sinks deep to rest; the\nseas are stirred, and the dark sand eddies up; therewith the depth of\nProchyta quivers at the sound, and the couchant rocks of Inarime, piled\nabove Typhoeus by Jove's commands.\n\nOn this Mars armipotent raised the spirit and strength of the Latins,\nand goaded their hearts to rage, and sent Flight and dark Fear among the\nTeucrians. From all quarters they gather, since battle is freely\noffered; and the warrior god inspires. . . . Pandarus, at his brother's\nfall, sees how fortune stands, what hap rules the day; and swinging the\ngate round on its hinge with all his force, pushes it to with his broad\nshoulders, leaving many of his own people shut outside the walls in the\ndesperate conflict, but shutting others in with him as they pour back in\nretreat. Madman! who saw not the Rutulian prince burst in amid their\ncolumns, and fairly shut him into the town, like a monstrous tiger among\nthe silly flocks. At once strange light flashed from his eyes, and his\narmour rang terribly; the blood-red plumes flicker on his head, and\nlightnings shoot sparkling from his shield. In sudden dismay the\nAeneadae know the hated form and giant limbs. Then tall Pandarus leaps\nforward, in burning rage at his brother's death: 'This is not the palace\nof Amata's dower,' he cries, 'nor does Ardea enclose Turnus in her\nnative walls. Thou seest a hostile camp; escape hence is hopeless.' To\nhim Turnus, smiling and cool: 'Begin with all thy valiance, and close\nhand to hand; here too shalt thou tell that a Priam found his Achilles.'\nHe ended; the other, putting out all his strength, hurls his rough\nspear, knotty and unpeeled. The breezes caught it; Juno, daughter of\nSaturn, [746-780]made the wound glance off as it came, and the spear\nsticks fast in the gate. 'But this weapon that my strong hand whirls,\nthis thou shalt not escape; for not such is he who sends weapon and\nwound.' So speaks he, and rises high on his uplifted sword; the steel\nsevers the forehead midway right between the temples, and divides the\nbeardless cheeks with ghastly wound. He crashes down; earth shakes under\nthe vast weight; dying limbs and brain-spattered armour tumble in a heap\nto the ground, and the head, evenly severed, dangles this way and that\nfrom either shoulder. The Trojans scatter and turn in hasty terror; and\nhad the conqueror forthwith taken thought to burst the bars and let in\nhis comrades at the gate, that had been the last day of the war and of\nthe nation. But rage and mad thirst of slaughter drive him like fire on\nthe foe. . . . First he catches up Phalaris; then Gyges, and hamstrings\nhim; he plucks away their spears, and hurls them on the backs of the\nflying crowd; Juno lends strength and courage. Halys he sends to join\nthem, and Phegeus, pierced right through the shield; then, as they\nignorantly raised their war-cry on the walls, Alcander and Halius,\nNo\u00ebmon and Prytanis. Lynceus advanced to meet him, calling up his\ncomrades; from the rampart the glittering sword sweeps to the left and\ncatches him; struck off by the one downright blow, head and helmet lay\nfar away. Next Amycus fell, the deadly huntsman, incomparable in skill\nof hand to anoint his arrows and arm their steel with venom; and Clytius\nthe Aeolid, and Cretheus beloved of the Muses, Cretheus of the Muses'\ncompany, whose delight was ever in songs and harps and stringing of\nverses; ever he sang of steeds and armed men and battles.\n\nAt last, hearing of the slaughter of their men, the Teucrian captains,\nMnestheus and gallant Serestus, come up, and see their comrades in\ndisordered flight and the foe [781-814]let in. And Mnestheus: 'Whither\nnext, whither press you in flight? what other walls, what farther city\nhave you yet? Shall one man, and he girt in on all sides,\nfellow-citizens, by your entrenchments, thus unchecked deal devastation\nthroughout our city, and send all our best warriors to the under world?\nHave you no pity, no shame, cowards, for your unhappy country, for your\nancient gods, for great Aeneas?'\n\nKindled by such words, they take heart and rally in dense array. Little\nby little Turnus drew away from the fight towards the river, and the\nside encircled by the stream: the more bravely the Teucrians press on\nhim with loud shouts and thickening masses, even as a band that fall on\na wrathful lion with levelled weapons, but he, frightened back, retires\nsurly and grim-glaring; and neither does wrath nor courage let him turn\nhis back, nor can he make head, for all that he desires it, against the\nsurrounding arms and men. Even thus Turnus draws lingeringly backward,\nwith unhastened steps, and soul boiling in anger. Nay, twice even then\ndid he charge amid the enemy, twice drove them in flying rout along the\nwalls. But all the force of the camp gathers hastily up; nor does Juno,\ndaughter of Saturn, dare to supply him strength to countervail; for\nJupiter sent Iris down through the aery sky, bearing stern orders to his\nsister that Turnus shall withdraw from the high Trojan town. Therefore\nneither with shield nor hand can he keep his ground, so overpoweringly\nfrom all sides comes upon him the storm of weapons. About the hollows of\nhis temples the helmet rings with incessant clash, and the solid brass\nis riven beneath the stones; the horsehair crest is rent away; the\nshield-boss avails not under the blows; Mnestheus thunders on with his\nTrojans, and pours in a storm of spears. All over him the sweat trickles\nand pours in swart stream, and no breathing space is given; sick gasps\nshake [815-818]his exhausted limbs. Then at last, with a headlong\nbound, he leapt fully armed into the river; the river's yellow eddies\nopened for him as he came, and the buoyant water brought him up, and,\nwashing away the slaughter, returned him triumphant to his comrades.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK TENTH\n\nTHE BATTLE ON THE BEACH\n\n\nMeanwhile the heavenly house omnipotent unfolds her doors, and the\nfather of gods and king of men calls a council in the starry dwelling;\nwhence he looks sheer down on the whole earth, the Dardanian camp, and\nthe peoples of Latium. They sit down within from doorway to doorway:\ntheir lord begins:\n\n'Lords of heaven, wherefore is your decree turned back, and your minds\nthus jealously at strife? I forbade Italy to join battle with the\nTeucrians; why this quarrel in face of my injunction? What terror hath\nbidden one or another run after arms and tempt the sword? The due time\nof battle will arrive, call it not forth, when furious Carthage shall\none day sunder the Alps to hurl ruin full on the towers of Rome. Then\nhatred may grapple with hatred, then hostilities be opened; now let them\nbe, and cheerfully join in the treaty we ordain.'\n\nThus Jupiter in brief; but not briefly golden Venus returns in\nanswer: . . .\n\n'O Lord, O everlasting Governor of men and things--for what else may we\nyet supplicate?--beholdest thou how the Rutulians brave it, and Turnus,\nborne charioted through the ranks, proudly sweeps down the tide of\nbattle? Bar [22-58]and bulwark no longer shelter the Trojans; nay,\nwithin the gates and even on the mounded walls they clash in battle and\nmake the trenches swim with blood. Aeneas is away and ignorant. Wilt\nthou never then let our leaguer be raised? Again a foe overhangs the\nwalls of infant Troy; and another army, and a second son of Tydeus rises\nfrom Aetolian Arpi against the Trojans. Truly I think my wounds are yet\nto come, and I thy child am keeping some mortal weapons idle. If the\nTrojans steered for Italy without thy leave and defiant of thy deity,\nlet them expiate their sin; aid not such with thy succour. But if so\nmany oracles guided them, given by god and ghost, why may aught now\nreverse thine ordinance or write destiny anew? Why should I recall the\nfleets burned on the coast of Eryx? why the king of storms, and the\nraging winds roused from Aeolia, or Iris driven down the clouds? Now\nhell too is stirred (this share of the world was yet untried) and\nAllecto suddenly let loose above to riot through the Italian towns. In\nno wise am I moved for empire; that was our hope while Fortune stood;\nlet those conquer whom thou wilt. If thy cruel wife leave no region free\nto Teucrians, by the smoking ruins of desolated Troy, O father, I\nbeseech thee, grant Ascanius unhurt retreat from arms, grant me my\nchild's life. Aeneas may well be tossed over unknown seas and follow\nwhat path soever fortune open to him; him let me avail to shelter and\nwithdraw from the turmoil of battle. Amathus is mine, high Paphos and\nCythera, and my house of Idalia; here, far from arms, let him spend an\ninglorious life. Bid Carthage in high lordship rule Ausonia; there will\nbe nothing there to check the Tyrian cities. What help was it for the\nTrojans to escape war's doom and thread their flight through Argive\nfires, to have exhausted all those perils of sea and desolate lands,\nwhile they seek Latium and the towers of a Troy rebuilt? Were it not\nbetter to have [59-91]clung to the last ashes of their country, and the\nground where once was Troy? Give back, I pray, Xanthus and Simo\u00efs to a\nwretched people, and let the Teucrians again, O Lord, circle through the\nfates of Ilium.'\n\nThen Queen Juno, swift and passionate:\n\n'Why forcest thou me to break long silence and proclaim my hidden pain?\nHath any man or god constrained Aeneas to court war or make armed attack\non King Latinus? In oracular guidance he steered for Italy: be it so: he\nwhom raving Cassandra sent on his way! Did we urge him to quit the camp\nor entrust his life to the winds? to give the issue of war and the\ncharge of his ramparts to a child? to stir the loyalty of Tyrrhenia or\nthrow peaceful nations into tumult? What god, what potent cruelty of\nours, hath driven him on his hurt? Where is Juno in this, or Iris sped\ndown the clouds? It shocks thee that Italians should enring an infant\nTroy with flame, and Turnus set foot on his own ancestral soil--he,\ngrandchild of Pilumnus, son of Venilia the goddess: how, that the dark\nbrands of Troy assail the Latins? that Trojans subjugate and plunder\nfields not their own? how, that they choose their brides and tear\nplighted bosom from bosom? that their gestures plead for peace, and\ntheir ships are lined with arms? Thou canst steal thine Aeneas from\nGrecian hands, and spread before them a human semblance of mist and\nempty air; thou canst turn his fleet into nymphs of like number: is it\ndreadful if we retaliate with any aid to the Rutulians? Aeneas is away\nand ignorant; away and ignorant let him be. Paphos is thine and Idalium,\nthine high Cythera; why meddlest thou with fierce spirits and a city big\nwith war? Is it we who would overthrow the tottering state of Phrygia?\nwe? or he who brought the Achaeans down on the hapless Trojans? who made\nEurope and Asia bristle up in arms, and whose theft shattered the\nalliance? Was it in my guidance the [92-125]adulterous Dardanian broke\ninto Sparta? or did I send the shafts of passion that kindled war? Then\nterror for thy children had graced thee; too late now dost thou rise\nwith unjust complaints, and reproaches leave thy lips in vain.'\n\nThus Juno pleaded; and all the heavenly people murmured in diverse\nconsent; even as rising gusts murmur when caught in the forests, and\neddy in blind moanings, betraying to sailors the gale's approach. Then\nthe Lord omnipotent and primal power of the world begins; as he speaks\nthe high house of the gods and trembling floor of earth sink to silence;\nsilent is the deep sky, and the breezes are stilled; ocean hushes his\nwaters into calm.\n\n'Take then to heart and lay deep these words of mine. Since it may not\nbe that Ausonians and Teucrians join alliance, and your quarrel finds no\nterm, to-day, what fortune each wins, what hope each follows, be he\nTrojan or Rutulian, I will hold in even poise; whether it be Italy's\nfate or Trojan blundering and ill advice that holds the camp in leaguer.\nNor do I acquit the Rutulians. Each as he hath begun shall work out his\ndestiny. Jupiter is one and king over all; the fates will find their\nway.' By his brother's infernal streams, by the banks of the pitchy\nblack-boiling chasm he signed assent, and made all Olympus quiver at his\nnod. Here speaking ended: thereon Jupiter rises from his golden throne,\nand the heavenly people surround and escort him to the doorway.\n\nMeanwhile the Rutulians press round all the gates, dealing grim\nslaughter and girdling the walls with flame. But the army of the\nAeneadae are held leaguered within their trenches, with no hope of\nretreat. They stand helpless and disconsolate on their high towers, and\ntheir thin ring girdles the walls,--Asius, son of Imbrasus, and\nThymoetes, son of Hicetaon, and the two Assaraci, and Castor, and old\nThymbris together in the front rank: by them Clarus and\n[126-160]Themon, both full brothers to Sarpedon, out of high Lycia.\nAcmon of Lyrnesus, great as his father Clytius, or his brother\nMnestheus, carries a stone, straining all his vast frame to the huge\nmountain fragment. Emulously they keep their guard, these with javelins,\nthose with stones, and wield fire and fit arrows on the string. Amid\nthem he, Venus' fittest care, lo! the Dardanian boy, his graceful head\nuncovered, shines even as a gem set in red gold on ornament of throat or\nhead, or even as gleaming ivory cunningly inlaid in boxwood or Orician\nterebinth; his tresses lie spread over his milk-white neck, bound by a\nflexible circlet of gold. Thee, too, Ismarus, proud nations saw aiming\nwounds and arming thy shafts with poison,--thee, of house illustrious in\nMaeonia, where the rich tilth is wrought by men's hands, and Pactolus\nwaters it with gold. There too was Mnestheus, exalted in fame as he who\nerewhile had driven Turnus from the ramparts; and Capys, from whom is\ndrawn the name of the Campanian city.\n\nThey had closed in grim war's mutual conflict; Aeneas, while night was\nyet deep, clove the seas. For when, leaving Evander for the Etruscan\ncamp, he hath audience of the king, and tells the king of his name and\nrace, and what he asks or offers, instructs him of the arms Mezentius is\nwinning to his side, and of Turnus' overbearing spirit, reminds him what\nis all the certainty of human things, and mingles all with entreaties;\ndelaying not, Tarchon joins forces and strikes alliance. Then, freed\nfrom the oracle, the Lydian people man their fleet, laid by divine\nordinance in the foreign captain's hand. Aeneas' galley keeps in front,\nwith the lions of Phrygia fastened on her prow, above them overhanging\nIda, sight most welcome to the Trojan exiles. Here great Aeneas sits\nrevolving the changing issues of war; and Pallas, clinging on his left\nside, asks now [161-195]of the stars and their pathway through the dark\nnight, now of his fortunes by land and sea.\n\nOpen now the gates of Helicon, goddesses, and stir the song of the band\nthat come the while with Aeneas from the Tuscan borders, and sail in\narmed ships overseas.\n\nFirst in the brazen-plated Tiger Massicus cuts the flood; beneath him\nare ranked a thousand men who have left Clusium town and the city of\nCosae; their weapons are arrows, and light quivers on the shoulder, and\ntheir deadly bow. With him goes grim Abas, all his train in shining\narmour, and a gilded Apollo glittering astern. To him Populonia had\ngiven six hundred of her children, tried in war, but Ilva three hundred,\nthe island rich in unexhausted mines of steel. Third Asilas, interpreter\nbetween men and gods, master of the entrails of beasts and the stars in\nheaven, of speech of birds and ominous lightning flashes, draws a\nthousand men after him in serried lines bristling with spears, bidden to\nhis command from Pisa city, of Alphaean birth on Etruscan soil. Astyr\nfollows, excellent in beauty, Astyr, confident in his horse and glancing\narms. Three hundred more--all have one heart to follow--come from the\nhouseholders of Caere and the fields of Minio, and ancient Pyrgi, and\nfever-stricken Graviscae.\n\nLet me not pass thee by, O Cinyras, bravest in war of Ligurian captains,\nand thee, Cupavo, with thy scant company, from whose crest rise the swan\nplumes, fault, O Love, of thee and thine, and blazonment of his father's\nform. For they tell that Cycnus, in grief for his beloved Pha\u00ebthon,\nwhile he sings and soothes his woeful love with music amid the shady\nsisterhood of poplar boughs, drew over him the soft plumage of white old\nage, and left earth and passed crying through the sky. His son, followed\non shipboard with a band of like age, sweeps the huge Centaur forward\nwith his oars; he leans over the water, and [196-227]threatens the\nwaves with a vast rock he holds on high, and furrows the deep seas with\nhis length of keel.\n\nHe too calls a train from his native coasts, Ocnus, son of prophetic\nManto and the river of Tuscany, who gave thee, O Mantua, ramparts and\nhis mother's name; Mantua, rich in ancestry, yet not all of one blood, a\nthreefold race, and under each race four cantons; herself she is the\ncantons' head, and her strength is of Tuscan blood. From her likewise\nhath Mezentius five hundred in arms against him, whom Mincius, child of\nBenacus, draped in gray reeds, led to battle in his advancing pine.\nAulestes moves on heavily, smiting the waves with the swinging forest of\nan hundred oars; the channels foam as they sweep the sea-floor. He sails\nin the vast Triton, who amazes the blue waterways with his shell, and\nswims on with shaggy front, in human show from the flank upward; his\nbelly ends in a dragon; beneath the monster's breast the wave gurgles\ninto foam. So many were the chosen princes who went in thirty ships to\naid Troy, and cut the salt plains with brazen prow.\n\nAnd now day had faded from the sky, and gracious Phoebe trod mid-heaven\nin the chariot of her nightly wandering: Aeneas, for his charge allows\nnot rest to his limbs, himself sits guiding the tiller and managing the\nsails. And lo, in middle course a band of his own fellow-voyagers meets\nhim, the nymphs whom bountiful Cybele had bidden be gods of the sea, and\nturn to nymphs from ships; they swam on in even order, and cleft the\nflood, as many as erewhile, brazen-plated prows, had anchored on the\nbeach. From far they know their king, and wheel their bands about him,\nand Cymodocea, their readiest in speech, comes up behind, catching the\nstern with her right hand: her back rises out, and her left hand oars\nher passage through the silent water. Then she thus [228-261]accosts\nher amazed lord: 'Wakest thou, seed of gods, Aeneas? wake, and loosen\nthe sheets of thy sails. We are thy fleet, Idaean pines from the holy\nhill, now nymphs of the sea. When the treacherous Rutulian urged us\nheadlong with sword and fire, unwillingly we broke thy bonds, and we\nsearch for thee over ocean. This new guise our Lady made for us in pity,\nand granted us to be goddesses and spend our life under the waves. But\nthy boy Ascanius is held within wall and trench among the Latin weapons\nand the rough edge of war. Already the Arcadian cavalry and the brave\nEtruscan together hold the appointed ground. Turnus' plan is fixed to\nbar their way with his squadrons, that they may not reach the camp. Up\nand arise, and ere the coming of the Dawn bid thy crews be called to\narms; and take thou the shield which the Lord of Fire forged for victory\nand rimmed about with gold. To-morrow's daylight, if thou deem not my\nwords vain, shall see Rutulians heaped high in slaughter.' She ended,\nand, as she went, pushed the tall ship on with her hand wisely and well;\nthe ship shoots through the water fleeter than javelin or windswift\narrow. Thereat the rest quicken their speed. The son of Anchises of Troy\nis himself deep in bewilderment; yet the omen cheers his courage. Then\nlooking on the heavenly vault, he briefly prays: 'O gracious upon Ida,\nmother of gods, whose delight is in Dindymus and turreted cities and\nlions coupled to thy rein, do thou lead me in battle, do thou meetly\nprosper thine augury, and draw nigh thy Phrygians, goddess, with\nfavourable feet.' Thus much he spoke; and meanwhile the broad light of\nreturning day now began to pour in, and chased away the night. First he\ncommands his comrades to follow his signals, brace their courage to arms\nand prepare for battle. And now his Trojans and his camp are in his\nsight as he stands high astern, when next he lifts the [262-296]blazing\nshield on his left arm. The Dardanians on the walls raise a shout to the\nsky. Hope comes to kindle wrath; they hurl their missiles strongly; even\nas under black clouds cranes from the Strymon utter their signal notes\nand sail clamouring across the sky, and noisily stream down the gale.\nBut this seemed marvellous to the Rutulian king and the captains of\nAusonia, till looking back they see the ships steering for the beach,\nand all the sea as a single fleet sailing in. His helmet-spike blazes,\nflame pours from the cresting plumes, and the golden shield-boss spouts\nfloods of fire; even as when in transparent night comets glow blood-red\nand drear, or the splendour of Sirius, that brings drought and\nsicknesses on wretched men, rises and saddens the sky with malignant\nbeams.\n\nYet gallant Turnus in unfailing confidence will prevent them on the\nshore and repel their approach to land. 'What your prayers have sought\nis given, the sweep of the sword-arm. The god of battles is in the hands\nof men. Now remember each his wife and home: now recall the high deeds\nof our fathers' honour. Let us challenge meeting at the water's edge,\nwhile they waver and their feet yet slip as they disembark. Fortune aids\ndaring. . . .' So speaks he, and counsels inly whom he shall lead to\nmeet them, whom leave in charge of the leaguered walls.\n\nMeanwhile Aeneas lands his allies by gangways from the high ships. Many\nwatch the retreat and slack of the sea, and leap boldly into the shoal\nwater; others slide down the oars. Tarchon, marking the shore where the\nshallows do not seethe and plash with broken water, but the sea glides\nup and spreads its tide unbroken, suddenly turns his bows to land and\nimplores his comrades: 'Now, O chosen crew, bend strongly to your oars;\nlift your ships, make them go; let the prows cleave this hostile land\nand the keel plough [297-330]herself a furrow. I will let my vessel\nbreak up on such harbourage if once she takes the land.' When Tarchon\nhad spoken in such wise, his comrades rise on their oar-blades and carry\ntheir ships in foam towards the Latin fields, till the prows are fast on\ndry land and all the keels are aground unhurt. But not thy galley,\nTarchon; for she dashes on a shoal, and swings long swaying on the cruel\nbank, pitching and slapping the flood, then breaks up, and lands her\ncrew among the waves. Broken oars and floating thwarts entangle them,\nand the ebbing wave sucks their feet away.\n\nNor does Turnus keep idly dallying, but swiftly hurries his whole array\nagainst the Trojans and ranges it to face the beach. The trumpets blow.\nAt once Aeneas charges and confounds the rustic squadrons of the Latins,\nand slays Theron for omen of battle. The giant advances to challenge\nAeneas; but through sewed plates of brass and tunic rough with gold the\nsword plunges in his open side. Next he strikes Lichas, cut from his\nmother already dead, and consecrated, Phoebus, to thee, since his\ninfancy was granted escape from the perilous steel. Near thereby he\nstruck dead brawny Cisseus and vast Gyas, whose clubs were mowing down\nwhole files: naught availed them the arms of Hercules and their strength\nof hand, nor Melampus their father, ever of Alcides' company while earth\nyielded him sore travail. Lo! while Pharus utters weak vaunts the hurled\njavelin strikes on his shouting mouth. Thou too, while thou followest\nthy new delight, Clytius, whose cheeks are golden with youthful\ndown--thou, luckless Cydon, struck down by the Dardanian hand, wert\nlying past thought, ah pitiable! of the young loves that were ever\nthine, did not the close array of thy brethren interpose, the children\nof Phorcus, seven in number, and send a sevenfold shower of darts. Some\nglance ineffectual from helmet and shield; [331-365]some Venus the\nbountiful turned aside as they grazed his body. Aeneas calls to trusty\nAchates: 'Give me store of weapons; none that hath been planted in\nGrecian body on the plains of Ilium shall my hand hurl at Rutulian in\nvain.' Then he catches and throws his great spear; the spear flies\ngrinding through the brass of Maeon's shield, and breaks through corslet\nand through breast. His brother Alcanor runs up and sustains with his\nright arm his sinking brother; through his arm the spear passes speeding\nstraight on its message, and holds its bloody way, and the hand dangles\nby the sinews lifeless from the shoulder. Then Numitor, seizing his dead\nbrother's javelin, aims at Aeneas, but might not fairly pierce him, and\ngrazed tall Achates on the thigh. Here Clausus of Cures comes confident\nin his pride of strength, and with a long reach strikes Dryops under the\nchin, and, urging the stiff spear-shaft home, stops the accents of his\nspeech and his life together, piercing the throat; but he strikes the\nearth with his forehead, and vomits clots of blood. Three Thracians\nlikewise of Boreas' sovereign race, and three sent by their father Idas\nfrom their native Ismarus, fall in divers wise before him. Halesus and\nhis Auruncan troops hasten thither; Messapus too, seed of Neptune, comes\nup charioted. This side and that strive to hurl back the enemy, and\nfight hard on the very edge of Ausonia. As when in the depth of air\nadverse winds rise in battle with equal spirit and strength; not they,\nnot clouds nor sea, yield one to another; long the battle is doubtful;\nall stands locked in counterpoise: even thus clash the ranks of Troy and\nranks of Latium, foot fast on foot, and man crowded up on man.\n\nBut in another quarter, where a torrent had driven a wide path of\nrolling stones and bushes torn away from the banks, Pallas saw his\nArcadians, unaccustomed to move as infantry, giving back before the\nLatin pursuit, when the [366-400]roughness of the ground bade them\ndismount. This only was left in his strait, to kindle them to valour,\nnow by entreaties, now by taunts: 'Whither flee you, comrades? by your\ndeeds of bravery, by your leader Evander's name, by your triumphant\ncampaigns, and my hope that now rises to rival my father's honour, trust\nnot to flight. Our swords must hew a way through the enemy. Where yonder\nmass of men presses thickest, there your proud country calls you with\nPallas at your head. No gods are they who bear us down; mortals, we feel\nthe pressure of a mortal foe; we have as many lives and hands as he. Lo,\nthe deep shuts us in with vast sea barrier; even now land fails our\nflight; shall we make ocean or Troy our goal?'\n\nSo speaks he, and bursts amid the serried foe. First Lagus meets him,\ndrawn thither by malign destiny; him, as he tugs at a ponderous stone,\nhurling his spear where the spine ran dissevering the ribs, he pierces\nand wrenches out the spear where it stuck fast in the bone. Nor does\nHisbo catch him stooping, for all that he hoped it; for Pallas, as he\nrushes unguarded on, furious at his comrade's cruel death, receives him\non his sword and buries it in his distended lungs. Next he attacks\nSthenius, and Anchemolus of Rhoetus' ancient family, who dared to\nviolate the bridal chamber of his stepmother. You, too, the twins\nLarides and Thymber, fell on the Rutulian fields, children of Daucus,\nindistinguishable for likeness and a sweet perplexity to your parents.\nBut now Pallas made cruel difference between you; for thy head, Thymber,\nis swept off by Evander's sword; thy right hand, Larides, severed, seeks\nits master, and the dying fingers jerk and clutch at the sword. Fired by\nhis encouragement, and beholding his noble deeds, the Arcadians advance\nin wrath and shame to meet the enemy in arms. Then Pallas pierces\nRhoeteus as he flies past in his chariot. This space, this\n[401-435]much of respite was given to Ilus; for at Ilus he had aimed\nthe strong spear from afar, and Rhoeteus intercepts its passage, in\nflight from thee, noble Teuthras and Tyres thy brother; he rolls from\nthe chariot in death, and his heels strike the Rutulian fields. And as\nthe shepherd, when summer winds have risen to his desire, kindles the\nwoods dispersedly; on a sudden the mid spaces catch, and a single\nflickering line of fire spreads wide over the plain; he sits looking\ndown on his conquest and the revel of the flames; even so, Pallas, do\nthy brave comrades gather close to sustain thee. But warrior Halesus\nadvances full on them, gathering himself behind his armour; he slays\nLadon, Pheres, Demodocus; his gleaming sword shears off Strymonius' hand\nas it rises to his throat; he strikes Thoas on the face with a stone,\nand drives the bones asunder in a shattered mass of blood and brains.\nHalesus had his father the soothsayer kept hidden in the woodland: when\nthe old man's glazing eyes sank to death, the Fates laid hand on him and\ndevoted him to the arms of Evander. Pallas aims at him, first praying\nthus: 'Grant now, lord Tiber, to the steel I poise and hurl, a\nprosperous way through brawny Halesus' breast; thine oak shall bear\nthese arms and the dress he wore.' The god heard it; while Halesus\ncovers Imaon, he leaves, alas! his breast unarmed to the Arcadian's\nweapon. Yet at his grievous death Lausus, himself a great arm of the\nwar, lets not his columns be dismayed; at once he meets and cuts down\nAbas, the check and stay of their battle. The men of Arcadia go down\nbefore him; down go the Etruscans, and you, O Teucrians, invincible by\nGreece. The armies close, matched in strength and in captains; the rear\nranks crowd in; weapons and hands are locked in the press. Here Pallas\nstrains and pushes on, here Lausus opposite, nearly matched in age,\nexcellent in beauty; but fortune [436-467]had denied both return to\ntheir own land. Yet that they should meet face to face the sovereign of\nhigh Olympus allowed not; an early fate awaits them beneath a mightier\nfoe.\n\nMeanwhile Turnus' gracious sister bids him take Lausus' room, and his\nfleet chariot parts the ranks. When he saw his comrades, 'It is time,'\nhe cried, 'to stay from battle. I alone must assail Pallas; to me and\nnone other Pallas is due; I would his father himself were here to see.'\nSo speaks he, and his Rutulians draw back from a level space at his\nbidding. But then as they withdrew, he, wondering at the haughty\ncommand, stands in amaze at Turnus, his eyes scanning the vast frame,\nand his fierce glance perusing him from afar. And with these words he\nreturns the words of the monarch: 'For me, my praise shall even now be\nin the lordly spoils I win, or in illustrious death: my father will bear\ncalmly either lot: away with menaces.' He speaks, and advances into the\nlevel ring. The Arcadians' blood gathers chill about their hearts.\nTurnus leaps from his chariot and prepares to close with him. And as a\nlion sees from some lofty outlook a bull stand far off on the plain\nrevolving battle, and flies at him, even such to see is Turnus' coming.\nWhen Pallas deemed him within reach of a spear-throw, he advances, if so\nchance may assist the daring of his overmatched strength, and thus cries\ninto the depth of sky: 'By my father's hospitality and the board whereto\nthou camest a wanderer, on thee I call, Alcides; be favourable to my\nhigh emprise; let Turnus even in death discern me stripping his\nblood-stained armour, and his swooning eyes endure the sight of his\nconqueror.' Alcides heard him, and deep in his heart he stifled a heavy\nsigh, and let idle tears fall. Then with kindly words the father accosts\nhis son: 'Each hath his own appointed day; short and irrecoverable\n[468-502]is the span of life for all: but to spread renown by deeds is\nthe task of valour. Under high Troy town many and many a god's son fell;\nnay, mine own child Sarpedon likewise perished. Turnus too his own fate\nsummons, and his allotted period hath reached the goal.' So speaks he,\nand turns his eyes away from the Rutulian fields. But Pallas hurls his\nspear with all his strength, and pulls his sword flashing out of the\nhollow scabbard. The flying spear lights where the armour rises high\nabove the shoulder, and, forcing a way through the shield's rim, ceased\nnot till it drew blood from mighty Turnus. At this Turnus long poises\nthe spear-shaft with its sharp steel head, and hurls it on Pallas with\nthese words: _See thou if our weapon have not a keener point._ He ended;\nbut for all the shield's plating of iron and brass, for all the\nbull-hide that covers it round about, the quivering spear-head smashes\nit fair through and through, passes the guard of the corslet, and\npierces the breast with a gaping hole. He tears the warm weapon from the\nwound; in vain; together and at once life-blood and sense follow it. He\nfalls heavily on the ground, his armour clashes over him, and his\nbloodstained face sinks in death on the hostile soil. And Turnus\nstanding over him . . .: 'Arcadians,' he cries, 'remember these my\nwords, and bear them to Evander. I send him back his Pallas as was due.\nAll the meed of the tomb, all the solace of sepulture, I give freely.\nDearly must he pay his welcome to Aeneas.' And with these words,\nplanting his left foot on the dead, he tore away the broad heavy\nsword-belt engraven with a tale of crime, the array of grooms foully\nslain together on their bridal night, and the nuptial chambers dabbled\nwith blood, which Clonus, son of Eurytus, had wrought richly in gold.\nNow Turnus exults in spoiling him of it, and rejoices at his prize. Ah\nspirit of man, ignorant of fate and the allotted future, or to keep\nbounds when elate with prosperity!--the day will [503-535]come when\nTurnus shall desire to have bought Pallas' safety at a great ransom, and\ncurse the spoils of this fatal day. But with many moans and tears\nPallas' comrades lay him on his shield and bear him away amid their\nranks. O grief and glory and grace of the father to whom thou shalt\nreturn! This one day sent thee first to war, this one day takes thee\naway, while yet thou leavest heaped high thy Rutulian dead.\n\nAnd now no rumour of the dreadful loss, but a surer messenger flies to\nAeneas, telling him his troops are on the thin edge of doom; it is time\nto succour the routed Teucrians. He mows down all that meets him, and\nhews a broad path through their columns with furious sword, as he seeks\nthee, O Turnus, in thy fresh pride of slaughter. Pallas, Evander, all\nflash before his eyes; the board whereto but then he had first come a\nwanderer, and the clasped hands. Here four of Sulmo's children, as many\nmore of Ufens' nurture, are taken by him alive to slaughter in sacrifice\nto the shade below, and slake the flames of the pyre with captive blood.\nNext he levelled his spear full on Magus from far. He stoops cunningly;\nthe spear flies quivering over him; and, clasping his knees, he speaks\nthus beseechingly: 'By thy father's ghost, by I\u00fclus thy growing hope, I\nentreat thee, save this life for a child and a parent. My house is\nstately; deep in it lies buried wealth of engraven silver; I have masses\nof wrought and unwrought gold. The victory of Troy does not turn on\nthis, nor will a single life make so great a difference.' He ended; to\nhim Aeneas thus returns answer: 'All the wealth of silver and gold thou\ntellest of, spare thou for thy children. Turnus hath broken off this thy\ntrafficking in war, even then when Pallas fell. Thus judges the ghost of\nmy father Anchises, thus I\u00fclus.' So speaking, he grasps his helmet with\nhis left hand, and, bending back his neck, drives his [536-572]sword up\nto the hilt in the suppliant. Hard by is Haemonides, priest of Phoebus\nand Trivia, his temples wound with the holy ribboned chaplet, all\nglittering in white-robed array. Him he meets and chases down the plain,\nand, standing over his fallen foe, slaughters him and wraps him in great\ndarkness; Serestus gathers the armour and carries it away on his\nshoulders, a trophy, King Gradivus, to thee. Caeculus, born of Vulcan's\nrace, and Umbro, who comes from the Marsian hills, fill up the line. The\nDardanian rushes full on them. His sword had hewn off Anxur's left arm,\nwith all the circle of the shield--he had uttered brave words and deemed\nhis prowess would second his vaunts, and perchance with spirit lifted up\nhad promised himself hoar age and length of years--when Tarquitus in the\npride of his glittering arms met his fiery course, whom the nymph Dryope\nhad borne to Faunus, haunter of the woodland. Drawing back his spear, he\npins the ponderous shield to the corslet; then, as he vainly pleaded and\nwould say many a thing, strikes his head to the ground, and, rolling\naway the warm body, cries thus over his enemy: 'Lie there now, terrible\none! no mother's love shall lay thee in the sod, or place thy limbs\nbeneath thine heavy ancestral tomb. To birds of prey shalt thou be left,\nor borne down sunk in the eddying water, where hungry fish shall suck\nthy wounds.' Next he sweeps on Antaeus and Lucas, the first of Turnus'\ntrain, and brave Numa and tawny-haired Camers, born of noble Volscens,\nwho was wealthiest in land of the Ausonians, and reigned in silent\nAmyclae. Even as Aegaeon, who, men say, had an hundred arms, an hundred\nhands, fifty mouths and breasts ablaze with fire, and arrayed against\nJove's thunders as many clashing shields and drawn swords: so Aeneas,\nwhen once his sword's point grew warm, rages victorious over all the\nfield. Nay, lo! he darts full in face on Niphaeus' four-horse chariot;\nbefore his long strides [573-608]and dreadful cry they turned in terror\nand dashed back, throwing out their driver and tearing the chariot down\nthe beach. Meanwhile the brothers Lucagus and Liger drive up with their\npair of white horses. Lucagus valiantly waves his drawn sword, while his\nbrother wheels his horses with the rein. Aeneas, wrathful at their mad\nonslaught, rushes on them, towering high with levelled spear. To him\nLiger . . . 'Not Diomede's horses dost thou discern, nor Achilles'\nchariot, nor the plains of Phrygia: now on this soil of ours the war and\nthy life shall end together.' Thus fly mad Liger's random words. But not\nin words does the Trojan hero frame his reply: for he hurls his javelin\nat the foe. As Lucagus spurred on his horses, bending forward over the\nwhip, with left foot advanced ready for battle, the spear passes through\nthe lower rim of his shining shield and pierces his left groin, knocks\nhim out of the chariot, and stretches him in death on the fields. To him\ngood Aeneas speaks in bitter words: 'Lucagus, no slackness in thy\ncoursers' flight hath betrayed thee, or vain shadow of the foe turned\nthem back; thyself thou leapest off the harnessed wheels.' In such wise\nhe spoke, and caught the horses. His brother, slipping down from the\nchariot, pitiably outstretched helpless hands: 'Ah, by the parents who\ngave thee birth, great Trojan, spare this life and pity my prayer.' More\nhe was pleading; but Aeneas: 'Not such were the words thou wert\nuttering. Die, and be brother undivided from brother.' With that his\nsword's point pierces the breast where the life lies hid. Thus the\nDardanian captain dealt death over the plain, like some raging torrent\nstream or black whirlwind. At last the boy Ascanius and his troops burst\nthrough the ineffectual leaguer and issue from the camp.\n\nMeanwhile Jupiter breaks silence to accost Juno: 'O sister and wife best\nbeloved, it is Venus, as thou deemedst, [609-639]nor is thy judgment\nastray, who sustains the forces of Troy; not their own valour of hand in\nwar, and untamable spirit and endurance in peril.' To whom Juno\nbeseechingly:\n\n'Why, fair my lord, vexest thou one sick at heart and trembling at thy\nbitter words? If that force were in my love that once was, and that was\nwell, never had thine omnipotence denied me leave to withdraw Turnus\nfrom battle and preserve him for his father Daunus in safety. Now let\nhim perish, and pay forfeit to the Trojans of his innocent blood. Yet he\ntraces his birth from our name, and Pilumnus was his father in the\nfourth generation, and oft and again his bountiful hand hath heaped thy\ncourts with gifts.'\n\nTo her the king of high heaven thus briefly spoke: 'If thy prayer for\nhim is delay of present death and respite from his fall, and thou dost\nunderstand that I ordain it thus, remove thy Turnus in flight, and\nsnatch him from the fate that is upon him. For so much indulgence there\nis room. But if any ampler grace mask itself in these thy prayers, and\nthou dreamest of change in the whole movement of the war, idle is the\nhope thou nursest.'\n\nAnd Juno, weeping: 'Ah yet, if thy mind were gracious where thy lips are\nstern, and this gift of life might remain confirmed to Turnus! Now his\nportion is bitter and guiltless death, or I wander idly from the truth.\nYet, oh that I rather deluded myself with false alarms, and thou who\ncanst wouldst bend thy course to better counsels.'\n\nThese words uttered, she darted through the air straight from high\nheaven, cloud-girt in driving tempest, and sought the Ilian ranks and\ncamp of Laurentum. Then the goddess, strange and ominous to see,\nfashions into the likeness of Aeneas a thin and pithless shade of hollow\nmist, decks it with Dardanian weapons, and gives it the mimicry of\nshield and divine helmet plume, gives unsubstantial [640-673]words and\nsenseless utterance, and the mould and motion of his tread: like shapes\nrumoured to flit when death is past, or dreams that delude the\nslumbering senses. But in front of the battle-ranks the phantom dances\nrejoicingly, and with arms and mocking accents provokes the foe. Turnus\nhastens up and sends his spear whistling from far on it; it gives back\nand turns its footsteps. Then indeed Turnus, when he believed Aeneas\nturned and fled from him, and his spirit madly drank in the illusive\nhope: 'Whither fliest thou, Aeneas? forsake not thy plighted bridal\nchamber. This hand shall give thee the land thou hast sought overseas.'\nSo clamouring he pursues, and brandishes his drawn sword, and sees not\nthat his rejoicing is drifting with the winds. The ship lay haply moored\nto a high ledge of rock, with ladders run out and gangway ready, wherein\nking Osinius sailed from the coasts of Clusium. Here the fluttering\nphantom of flying Aeneas darts and hides itself. Nor is Turnus slack to\nfollow; he overleaps the barriers and springs across the high gangways.\nScarcely had he lighted on the prow; the daughter of Saturn snaps the\nhawser, and the ship, parted from her cable, runs out on the ebbing\ntide. And him Aeneas seeks for battle and finds not, and sends many a\nman that meets him to death. Then the light phantom seeks not yet any\nfurther hiding-place, but, flitting aloft, melts in a dark cloud; and a\nblast comes down meanwhile and sweeps Turnus through the seas. He looks\nback, witless of his case and thankless for his salvation, and, wailing,\nstretches both hands to heaven: 'Father omnipotent, was I so guilty in\nthine eyes, and is this the punishment thou hast ordained? Whither am I\nborne? whence came I? what flight is this, or in what guise do I return?\nShall I look again on the camp or walls of Laurentum? What of that array\nof men who followed me to arms? whom--oh horrible!--I have abandoned all\namid [674-707]a dreadful death; and now I see the stragglers and catch\nthe groans of those who fall. What do I? or how may earth ever yawn for\nme deep enough? Do you rather, O winds, be pitiful, carry my bark on\nrock or reef; it is I, Turnus, who desire and implore you; or drive me\non the cruel shoals of the Syrtis, where no Rutulian may follow nor\nrumour know my name.' Thus speaking, he wavers in mind this way and\nthat: maddened by the shame, shall he plunge on his sword's harsh point\nand drive it through his side, or fling himself among the waves, and\nseek by swimming to gain the winding shore, again to return on the\nTrojan arms? Thrice he essayed either way; thrice queenly Juno checked\nand restrained him in pity of heart. Cleaving the deep, he floats with\nthe tide down the flood, and is borne on to his father Daunus' ancient\ncity.\n\nBut meanwhile at Jove's prompting fiery Mezentius takes his place in the\nbattle and assails the triumphant Teucrians. The Tyrrhene ranks gather\nround him, and all at once in unison shower their darts down on the\nhated foe. As a cliff that juts into the waste of waves, meeting the\nraging winds and breasting the deep, endures all the threatening force\nof sky and sea, itself fixed immovable, so he dashes to earth Hebrus son\nof Dolichaon, and with him Latagus, and Palmus as he fled; catching\nLatagus full front in the face with a vast fragment of mountain rock,\nwhile Palmus he hamstrings, and leaves him rolling helpless; his armour\nhe gives Lausus to wear on his shoulders, and the plumes to fix on his\ncrest. With them fall Evanthes the Phrygian, and Mimas, fellow and\nbirthmate of Paris; for on one night Theano bore him to his father\nAmycus, and the queen, Cisseus' daughter, was delivered of Paris the\nfirebrand; he sleeps in his fathers' city; Mimas lies a stranger on the\nLaurentian coast. And as the boar driven by snapping hounds from the\nmountain heights, [708-744]many a year hidden by Vesulus in his pines,\nmany an one fed in the Laurentian marsh among the reedy forest, once\ncome among the nets, halts and snorts savagely, with shoulders bristling\nup, and none of them dare be wrathful or draw closer, but they shower\nfrom a safe distance their darts and cries; even thus none of those\nwhose anger is righteous against Mezentius have courage to meet him with\ndrawn weapon: far off they provoke him with missiles and huge clamour,\nand he turns slow and fearless round about, grinding his teeth as he\nshakes the spears off his shield. From the bounds of ancient Corythus\nAcron the Greek had come, leaving for exile a bride half won. Seeing him\nafar dealing confusion amid the ranks, in crimson plumes and his\nplighted wife's purple,--as an unpastured lion often ranging the deep\ncoverts, for madness of hunger urges him, if he haply catches sight of a\ntimorous roe or high-antlered stag, he gapes hugely for joy, and, with\nmane on end, clings crouching over its flesh, his cruel mouth bathed in\nreeking gore. . . . so Mezentius darts lightly among the thick of the\nenemy. Hapless Acron goes down, and, spurning the dark ground, gasps out\nhis life, and covers the broken javelin with his blood. But the victor\ndeigned not to bring down Orodes with the blind wound of his flying\nlance as he fled; full face to face he meets him, and engages man with\nman, conqueror not by stealth but armed valour. Then, as with planted\nfoot, he thrust him off the spear: 'O men,' he cries, 'Orodes lies low,\nno slight arm of the war.' His comrades shout after him the glad battle\nchant. And the dying man: 'Not unavenged nor long, whoso thou art, shalt\nthou be glad in victory: thee too an equal fate marks down, and in these\nfields thou shalt soon lie.' And smiling on him half wrathfully,\nMezentius: 'Now die thou. But of me let the father of gods and king of\nmen take counsel.' So saying, he drew the weapon out of his body.\n[745-780]Grim rest and iron slumber seal his eyes; his lids close on\neverlasting night. Caedicus slays Alcatho\u00fcs, Sacrator Hydaspes, Rapo\nParthenius and the grim strength of Orses, Messapus Clonius and\nErichaetes son of Lycaon, the one when his reinless horse stumbling had\nflung him to the ground, the other as they met on foot. And Agis the\nLycian advanced only to be struck from horseback by Valerus, brave as\nhis ancestry; and Thronius by Salius, and Salius by Nealces with\ntreacherous arrow-shot that stole from far.\n\nNow the heavy hand of war dealt equal woe and counterchange of death; in\neven balance conquerors and conquered slew and fell; nor one nor other\nknows of retreat. The gods in Jove's house pity the vain rage of either\nand all the agonising of mortals. From one side Venus, from one opposite\nJuno, daughter of Saturn, looks on; pale Tisiphone rages among the many\nthousand men. But now, brandishing his huge spear, Mezentius strides\nglooming over the plain, vast as Orion when, with planted foot, he\ncleaves his way through the vast pools of mid-ocean and his shoulder\novertops the waves, or carrying an ancient mountain-ash from the\nhilltops, paces the ground and hides his head among the clouds: so moves\nMezentius, huge in arms. Aeneas, espying him in the deep columns, makes\non to meet him. He remains, unterrified, awaiting his noble foe, steady\nin his own bulk, and measures with his eye the fair range for a spear.\n'This right hand's divinity, and the weapon I poise and hurl, now be\nfavourable! thee, Lausus, I vow for the live trophy of Aeneas, dressed\nin the spoils stripped from the pirate's body.' He ends, and throws the\nspear whistling from far; it flies on, glancing from the shield, and\npierces illustrious Antores hard by him sidelong in the flank; Antores,\ncompanion of Hercules, who, sent thither from Argos, had stayed by\nEvander, and [781-814]settled in an Italian town. Hapless he goes down\nwith a wound not his own, and in death gazes on the sky, and Argos is\nsweet in his remembrance. Then good Aeneas throws his spear; through the\nsheltering circle of threefold brass, through the canvas lining and\nfabric of triple-sewn bull-hide it went, and sank deep in his groin; yet\ncarried not its strength home. Quickly Aeneas, joyful at the sight of\nthe Tyrrhenian's blood, snatches his sword from his thigh and presses\nhotly on his struggling enemy. Lausus saw, and groaned deeply for love\nof his dear father, and tears rolled over his face. Here will I not keep\nsilence of thy hard death-doom and thine excellent deeds (if in any wise\nthings wrought in the old time may win belief), nor of thyself, O fitly\nremembered! He, helpless and trammelled, withdrew backward, the deadly\nspear-shaft trailing from his shield. The youth broke forward and\nplunged into the fight; and even as Aeneas' hand rose to bring down the\nblow, he caught up his point and held him in delay. His comrades follow\nup with loud cries, so the father may withdraw in shelter of his son's\nshield, while they shower their darts and bear back the enemy with\nmissiles from a distance. Aeneas wrathfully keeps covered. And as when\nstorm-clouds pour down in streaming hail, all the ploughmen and\ncountry-folk scatter off the fields, and the wayfarer cowers safe in his\nfortress, a stream's bank or deep arch of rock, while the rain falls,\nthat they may do their day's labour when sunlight reappears; thus under\nthe circling storm of weapons Aeneas sustains the cloud of war till it\nthunders itself all away, and calls on Lausus, on Lausus, with chiding\nand menace: 'Whither runnest thou on thy death, with daring beyond thy\nstrength? thine affection betrays thee into rashness.' But none the less\nhe leaps madly on; and now wrath rises higher and fiercer in the\nDardanian captain, and the Fates pass Lausus' last [815-849]threads\nthrough their hand; for Aeneas drives the sword strongly right through\nhim up all its length: the point pierced the light shield that armed his\nassailant, and the tunic sewn by his mother with flexible gold: blood\nfilled his breast, and the life left the body and passed mourning\nthrough the air to the under world. But when Anchises' son saw the look\non the dying face, the face pale in wonderful wise, he sighed deeply in\npity, and reached forth his hand, as the likeness of his own filial\naffection flashed across his soul. 'What now shall good Aeneas give\nthee, what, O poor boy, for this thy praise, for guerdon of a nature so\nnoble? Keep for thine own the armour thou didst delight in; and I\nrestore thee, if that matters aught at all, to the ghosts and ashes of\nthy parents. Yet thou shalt have this sad comfort in thy piteous death,\nthou fallest by great Aeneas' hand.' Then, chiding his hesitating\ncomrades, he lifts him from the ground, dabbling the comely-ranged\ntresses with blood.\n\nMeanwhile his father, by the wave of the Tiber river, stanched his wound\nwith water, and rested his body against a tree-trunk. Hard by his brazen\nhelmet hangs from the boughs, and the heavy armour lies quietly on the\nmeadow. Chosen men stand round; he, sick and panting, leans his neck and\nlets his beard spread down over his chest. Many a time he asks for\nLausus, and sends many an one to call him back and carry a parent's sad\ncommands. But Lausus his weeping comrades were bearing lifeless on his\narmour, mighty and mightily wounded to death. Afar the soul prophetic of\nill knew their lamentation: he soils his gray hairs plenteously with\ndust, and stretches both hands on high, and clings on the dead. 'Was\nlife's hold on me so sweet, O my son, that I let him I bore receive the\nhostile stroke in my room? Am I, thy father, saved by these wounds of\nthine, and living by thy death? Alas and woe! [850-885]now at last\nexile is bitter! now the wound is driven deep! And I, even I, O my son,\nstained thy name with crime, driven in hatred from the throne and\nsceptre of my fathers. I owed vengeance to my country and my people's\nresentment; might mine own guilty life but have paid it by every form of\ndeath! Now I live, and leave not yet man and day; but I will.' As he\nspeaks thus he raises himself painfully on his thigh, and though the\nviolence of the deep wound cripples him, yet unbroken he bids his horse\nbe brought, his beauty, his comfort, that ever had carried him\nvictorious out of war, and says these words to the grieving beast:\n'Rhoebus, we have lived long, if aught at all lasts long with mortals.\nThis day wilt thou either bring back in triumph the gory head and spoils\nof Aeneas, and we will avenge Lausus' agonies; or if no force opens a\nway, thou wilt die with me: for I deem not, bravest, thou wilt deign to\nbear an alien rule and a Teucrian lord.' He spoke, and took his welcome\nseat on the back he knew, loading both hands with keen javelins, his\nhead sheathed in glittering brass and shaggy horse-hair plumes. Thus he\ngalloped in. Through his heart sweep together the vast tides of shame\nand mingling madness and grief. And with that he thrice loudly calls\nAeneas. Aeneas knew the call, and makes glad invocation: 'So the father\nof gods speed me, so Apollo on high: do thou essay to close hand to\nhand. . . .' Thus much he utters, and moves up to meet him with levelled\nspear. And he: 'Why seek to frighten me, fierce man, now my son is gone?\nthis was thy one road to my ruin. We shrink not from death, nor relent\nbefore any of thy gods. Cease; for I come to my death, first carrying\nthese gifts for thee.' He spoke, and hurled a weapon at his enemy; then\nplants another and yet another as he darts round in a wide circle; but\nthey are stayed on the boss of gold. Thrice he rode wheeling close round\nhim by the [886-908]left, and sent his weapons strongly in; thrice the\nTrojan hero turns round, taking the grim forest on his brazen guard.\nThen, weary of lingering in delay on delay, and plucking out spear-head\nafter spear-head, and hard pressed in the uneven match of battle, with\nmuch counselling of spirit now at last he bursts forth, and sends his\nspear at the war-horse between the hollows of the temples. The creature\nraises itself erect, beating the air with its feet, throws its rider,\nand coming down after him in an entangled mass, slips its shoulder as it\ntumbles forward. The cries of Trojans and Latins kindle the sky. Aeneas\nrushes up, drawing his sword from the scabbard, and thus above him:\n'Where now is gallant Mezentius and all his fierce spirit?' Thereto the\nTyrrhenian, as he came to himself and gazing up drank the air of heaven:\n'Bitter foe, why these taunts and menaces of death? Naught forbids my\nslaughter; neither on such terms came I to battle, nor did my Lausus\nmake treaty for this between me and thee. This one thing I beseech thee,\nby whatsoever grace a vanquished enemy may claim: allow my body\nsepulture. I know I am girt by the bitter hatred of my people. Stay, I\nimplore, their fury, and grant me and my son union in the tomb.' So\nspeaks he, and takes the sword in his throat unfalteringly, and the\nlifeblood spreads in a wave over his armour.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK ELEVENTH\n\nTHE COUNCIL OF THE LATINS, AND THE LIFE AND DEATH OF CAMILLA\n\n\nMeanwhile Dawn arose forth of Ocean. Aeneas, though the charge presses\nto give a space for burial of his comrades, and his mind is in the\ntumult of death, began to pay the gods his vows of victory with the\nbreaking of the East. He plants on a mound a mighty oak with boughs\nlopped away on every hand, and arrays it in the gleaming arms stripped\nfrom Mezentius the captain, a trophy to thee, mighty Lord of War; he\nfixes on it the plumes dripping with blood, the broken spears, and the\ncorslet struck and pierced in twelve places; he ties the shield of brass\non his left hand, and hangs from his neck the ivory sword. Then among\nhis joyous comrades (for all the throng of his captains girt him close\nabout) he begins in these words of cheer:\n\n'The greatest deed is done, O men; be all fear gone for what remains.\nThese are the spoils of a haughty king, the first-fruits won from him;\nmy hands have set Mezentius here. Now our way lies to the walls of the\nLatin king. Prepare your arms in courage, and let your hopes anticipate\nthe war; let no ignorant delay hinder or tardy thoughts of fear keep us\nback, so soon as heaven grant us to pluck up the standards and lead our\narmy from the camp. [22-58]Meanwhile let us commit to earth the\nunburied bodies of our comrades, since deep in Acheron this honour is\nleft alone. Go,' says he, 'grace with the last gifts those noble souls\nwhose blood won us this land for ours; and first let Pallas be sent to\nEvander's mourning city, he whose valour failed not when the day of\ndarkness took him, and the bitter wave of death.'\n\nSo speaks he weeping, and retraces his steps to the door, where aged\nAcoetes watched Pallas' lifeless body laid out for burial; once\narmour-bearer to Evander in Parrhasia, but now gone forth with darker\nomens, appointed attendant to his darling foster-child. Around is the\nwhole train of servants, with a crowd of Trojans, and the Ilian women\nwith hair unbound in mourning after their fashion. When Aeneas entered\nat the high doorway they beat their breasts and raise a loud wail aloft,\nand the palace moans to their grievous lamentation. Himself, when he saw\nthe pillowed head and fair face of Pallas, and on his smooth breast the\ngaping wound of the Ausonian spear-head, speaks thus with welling tears:\n\n'Did Fortune in her joyous coming,' he cries, 'O luckless boy, grudge\nthee the sight of our realm, and a triumphal entry to thy father's\ndwelling? Not this promise of thee had I given to Evander thy sire at my\ndeparture, when he embraced me as I went and bade me speed to a wide\nempire, and yet warned me in fear that the men were valiant, the people\nobstinate in battle. And now he, fast ensnared by empty hope, perchance\noffers vows and heaps gifts on his altars; we, a mourning train, go in\nhollow honour by his corpse, who now owes no more to aught in heaven.\nUnhappy! thou wilt see thy son cruelly slain; is this our triumphal\nreturn awaited? is this my strong assurance? Ah me, what a shield is\nlost, mine I\u00fclus, to Ausonia and to thee!'\n\n[59-96]This lament done, he bids raise the piteous body, and sends a\nthousand men chosen from all his army for the last honour of escort, to\nmingle in the father's tears; a small comfort in a great sorrow, yet the\nunhappy parent's due. Others quickly plait a soft wicker bier of arbutus\nrods and oak shoots, and shadow the heaped pillows with a leafy\ncovering. Here they lay him, high on their rustic strewing; even as some\ntender violet or drooping hyacinth-blossom plucked by a maiden's finger,\nwhose sheen and whose grace is not yet departed, but no more does Earth\nthe mother feed it or lend it strength. Then Aeneas bore forth two\npurple garments stiff with gold, that Sidonian Dido's own hands, happy\nover their work, had once wrought for him, and shot the warp with\ndelicate gold. One of these he sadly folds round him, a last honour, and\nveils in its covering the tresses destined to the fire; and heaps up\nbesides many a Laurentine battle-prize, and bids his spoils pass forth\nin long train; with them the horses and arms whereof he had stripped the\nenemy, and those, with hands tied behind their back, whom he would send\nas nether offering to his ghost, and sprinkle the blood of their slaying\non the flame. Also he bids his captains carry stems dressed in the\narmour of the foe, and fix on them the hostile names. Unhappy Acoetes is\nled along, outworn with age, he smites his breast and rends his face,\nand flings himself forward all along the ground. Likewise they lead\nforth the chariot bathed in Rutulian blood; behind goes weeping Aethon\nthe war-horse, his trappings laid away, and big drops wet his face.\nOthers bear his spear and helmet, for all else is Turnus' prize. Then\nfollow in mourning array the Teucrians and all the Tyrrhenians, and the\nArcadians with arms reversed. When the whole long escorting file had\ntaken its way, Aeneas stopped, and sighing deep, pursued thus: 'Once\nagain war's dreadful destiny calls us hence to other tears:\n[97-129]hail thou for evermore, O princely Pallas, and for evermore\nfarewell.' And without more words he bent his way to the high walls and\nadvanced towards his camp.\n\nAnd now envoys were there from the Latin city with wreathed boughs of\nolive, praying him of his grace to restore the dead that lay strewn by\nthe sword over the plain, and let them go to their earthy grave: no war\nlasts with men conquered and bereft of breath; let this indulgence be\ngiven to men once called friends and fathers of their brides. To them\nAeneas grants leave in kind and courteous wise, spurning not their\nprayer, and goes on in these words: 'What spite of fortune, O Latins,\nhath entangled you in the toils of war, and made you fly our friendship?\nPlead you for peace to the lifeless bodies that the battle-lot hath\nslain? I would fain grant it even to the living. Neither have I come but\nbecause destiny had given me this place to dwell in; nor wage I war with\nyour people; your king it is who hath broken our covenant and preferred\nto trust himself to Turnus' arms. Fitter it were Turnus had faced death\nto-day. If he will fight out the war and expel the Teucrians, it had\nbeen well to meet me here in arms; so had he lived to whom life were\ngranted of heaven or his own right hand. Now go, and kindle the fire\nbeneath your hapless countrymen.' Aeneas ended: they stood dumb in\nsilence, with faces bent steadfastly in mutual gaze. Then aged Drances,\never young Turnus' assailant in hatred and accusation, with the words of\nhis mouth thus answers him again:\n\n'O Trojan, great in renown, yet greater in arms, with what praises may I\nextol thy divine goodness? Shall thy righteousness first wake my wonder,\nor thy toils in war? We indeed will gratefully carry these words to our\nfathers' city, and, if fortune grant a way, will make thee at one with\nKing Latinus. Let Turnus seek his own alliances. Nay, [130-163]it will\nbe our delight to rear the massy walls of destiny and stoop our\nshoulders under the stones of Troy.'\n\nHe ended thus, and all with one voice murmured assent. Twelve days'\ntruce is struck, and in mediation of the peace Teucrians and Latins\nstray mingling unharmed on the forest heights. The tall ash echoes to\nthe axe's strokes; they overturn pines that soar into the sky, and\nbusily cleave oaken logs and scented cedar with wedges, and drag\nmountain-ashes on their groaning waggons.\n\nAnd now flying Rumour, harbinger of the heavy woe, fills Evander and\nEvander's house and city with the same voice that but now told of Pallas\nvictorious over Latium. The Arcadians stream to the gates, snatching\nfuneral torches after their ancient use; the road gleams with the long\nline of flame, and parts the fields with a broad pathway of light; the\narriving crowd of Phrygians meets them and mingles in mourning array.\nWhen the matrons saw all the train approach their dwellings they kindle\nthe town with loud wailing. But no force may withhold Evander; he comes\namid them; the bier is set down; he flings himself on Pallas, and clasps\nhim with tears and sighs, and scarcely at last does grief leave his\nvoice's utterance free. 'Other than this, O Pallas! was thy promise to\nthy father, that thou wouldst not plunge recklessly into the fury of\nbattle. I knew well how strong was the fresh pride of arms and the\nsweetness of honour in a first battle. Ah, unhappy first-fruits of his\nyouth and bitter prelude of the war upon our borders! ah, vows and\nprayers of mine that no god heard! and thou, pure crown of wifehood,\nhappy that thou art dead and not spared for this sorrow! But I have\noutgone my destiny in living, to stay here the survivor of my child.\nWould I had followed the allied arms of Troy, to be overwhelmed by\nRutulian weapons! Would my life had been given, and I and not my Pallas\nwere borne home in this [164-198]procession! I would not blame you, O\nTeucrians, nor our treaty and the friendly hands we clasped: our old age\nhad that appointed debt to pay. Yet if untimely death awaited my son, it\nwill be good to think he fell leading the Teucrians into Latium, and\nslew his Volscian thousands before he fell. Nay, no other funeral than\nthis would I deem thy due, my Pallas, than good Aeneas does, than the\nmighty Phrygians, than the Tyrrhene captains and all the army of\nTyrrhenia. Great are the trophies they bring on whom thine hand deals\ndeath; thou also, Turnus, wert standing now a great trunk dressed in\narms, had his age and his strength of years equalled thine. But why,\nunhappy, do I delay the Trojan arms? Go, and forget not to carry this\nmessage to your king: Thine hand it is that keeps me lingering in a life\nthat is hateful since Pallas fell, and Turnus is the debt thou seest son\nand father claim: for thy virtue and thy fortune this scope alone is\nleft. I ask not joy in life; I may not; but to carry this to my son deep\nin the under world.'\n\nMeanwhile Dawn had raised her gracious light on weary men, bringing back\ntask and toil: now lord Aeneas, now Tarchon, have built the pyres on the\nwinding shore. Hither in ancestral fashion hath each borne the bodies of\nhis kin; the dark fire is lit beneath, and the vapour hides high heaven\nin gloom. Thrice, girt in glittering arms, they have marched about the\nblazing piles, thrice compassed on horseback the sad fire of death, and\nuttered their wail. Tears fall fast upon earth and armour; cries of men\nand blare of trumpets roll skyward. Then some fling on the fire Latin\nspoils stripped from the slain, helmets and shapely swords, bridles and\nglowing chariot wheels; others familiar gifts, the very shields and\nluckless weapons of the dead. Around are slain in sacrifice oxen many in\nnumber, and bristly swine and cattle gathered out of all the country\n[199-234]are slaughtered over the flames. Then, crowding the shore,\nthey gaze on their burning comrades, and guard the embers of the pyres,\nand cannot tear themselves away till dewy Night wheels on the\nstar-spangled glittering sky.\n\nTherewithal the unhappy Latins far apart build countless pyres and bury\nmany bodies of men in the ground; and many more they lift and bear away\nto the neighbouring country, or send them back to the city; the rest, a\nvast heap of undistinguishable slaughter, they burn uncounted and\nunhonoured; on all sides the broad fields gleam with crowded rivalry of\nfires. The third Dawn had rolled away the chill shadow from the sky;\nmournfully they piled high the ashes and mingled bones from the embers,\nand heaped a load of warm earth above them. Now in the dwellings of rich\nLatinus' city the noise is loudest and most the long wail. Here mothers\nand their sons' unhappy brides, here beloved sisters sad-hearted and\norphaned boys curse the disastrous war and Turnus' bridal, and bid him\nhis own self arm and decide the issue with the sword, since he claims\nfor himself the first rank and the lordship of Italy. Drances fiercely\nembitters their cry, and vouches that Turnus alone is called, alone is\nclaimed for battle. Yet therewith many a diverse-worded counsel is for\nTurnus, and the great name of the queen overshadows him, and he rises\nhigh in renown of trophies fitly won.\n\nAmong their stir, and while confusion is fiercest, lo! to crown all, the\nenvoys from great Diomede's city bring their gloomy message: nothing is\ncome of all the toil and labour spent; gifts and gold and strong\nentreaties have been of no avail; Latium must seek other arms, or sue\nfor peace to the Trojan king. For heavy grief King Latinus himself\nswoons away. The wrath of heaven and the fresh graves before his eyes\nwarn him that Aeneas is borne on by fate's evident will. So he sends\nimperial summons to [235-269]his high council, the foremost of his\npeople, and gathers them within his lofty courts. They assemble, and\nstream up the crowded streets to the royal dwelling. Latinus, eldest in\nyears and first in royalty, sits amid them with cheerless brow, and bids\nthe envoys sent back from the Aetolian city tell the news they bring,\nand demands a full and ordered reply. Then tongues are hushed; and\nVenulus, obeying his word, thus begins to speak:\n\n'We have seen, O citizens, Diomede in his Argive camp, and outsped our\nway and passed all its dangers, and touched the hand whereunder the land\nof Ilium fell. He was founding a town, named Argyripa after his\nancestral people, on the conquered fields of Iapygian Garganus. After we\nentered in, and licence of open speech was given, we lay forth our\ngifts, we instruct him of our name and country, who are its invaders,\nand why we are drawn to Arpi. He heard us, and replied thus with face\nunstirred:\n\n'\"O fortunate races, realm of Saturn, Ausonians of old, how doth fortune\nvex your quiet and woo you to tempt wars you know not? We that have\ndrawn sword on the fields of Ilium--I forbear to tell the drains of war\nbeneath her high walls, the men sunken in yonder Simo\u00efs--have all over\nthe world paid to the full our punishment and the reward of guilt, a\ncrew Priam's self might pity; as Minerva's baleful star knows, and the\nEubo\u00efc reefs and Caphereus' revenge. From that warfaring driven to alien\nshores, Menelaus son of Atreus is in exile far as Proteus' Pillars,\nUlysses hath seen the Cyclopes of Aetna. Shall I make mention of the\nrealm of Neoptolemus, and Idomeneus' household gods overthrown? or of\nthe Locrians who dwell on the Libyan beach? Even the lord of Mycenae,\nthe mighty Achaeans' general, sank on his own threshold edge under his\naccursed wife's hand, where the adulterer crouched over conquered Asia.\nAye, or that the gods grudged it me to return to [270-301]my ancestral\naltars, to see the bride of my desire, and lovely Calydon! Now likewise\nsights of appalling presage pursue me; my comrades, lost to me, have\nsoared winging into the sky, and flit birds about the rivers--ah me,\ndread punishment of my people!--and fill the cliffs with their\nmelancholy cries. This it was I had to look for even from the time when\nI madly assailed celestial limbs with steel, and sullied the hand of\nVenus with a wound. Do not, ah, do not urge me to such battles. Neither\nhave I any war with Troy since her towers are overthrown, nor do I\nremember with delight the woes of old. Turn to Aeneas with the gifts you\nbear to me from your ancestral borders. We have stood to face his grim\nweapons, and met him hand to hand; believe one who hath proved it, how\nmightily he rises over his shield, in what a whirlwind he hurls his\nspear. Had the land of Ida borne two more like him, Dardanus had marched\nto attack the towns of Inachus, and Greece were mourning fate's reverse.\nIn all our delay before that obstinate Trojan city, it was Hector and\nAeneas whose hand stayed the Grecian victory and bore back its advance\nto the tenth year. Both were splendid in courage, both eminent in arms;\nAeneas was first in duty. Let your hands join in treaty as they may; but\nbeware that your weapons close not with his.\"\n\n'Thou hast heard, most gracious king, at once what is the king's answer,\nand what his counsel for our great struggle.'\n\nScarcely thus the envoys, when a diverse murmur ran through the troubled\nlips of the Ausonians; even as, when rocks delay some running river, it\nplashes in the barred pool, and the banks murmur nigh to the babbling\nwave. So soon as their minds were quieted, and their hurrying lips\nhushed, the king, first calling on the gods, begins from his lofty\nthrone:\n\n[302-336]'Ere now could I wish, O Latins, we had determined our course\nof state, and it had been better thus; not to meet in council at such a\ntime as now, with the enemy seated before our walls. We wage an\nill-timed war, fellow-citizens, with a divine race, invincible, unbroken\nin battle, who brook not even when conquered to drop the sword. If you\nhad hope in appeal to Aetolian arms, abandon it; though each man's hope\nis his own, you discern how narrow a path it is. Beyond that you see\nwith your eyes and handle with your hands the total ruin of our\nfortunes. I blame no one; what valour's utmost could do is done; we have\nfought with our whole kingdom's strength. Now I will unfold what I\ndoubtfully advise and purpose, and with your attention instruct you of\nit in brief. There is an ancient land of mine bordering the Tuscan\nriver, stretching far westward beyond the Sicanian borders. Auruncans\nand Rutulians sow on it, work the stiff hills with the ploughshare, and\npasture them where they are roughest. Let all this tract, with a\npine-clad belt of mountain height, pass to the Teucrians in friendship;\nlet us name fair terms of treaty, and invite them as allies to our\nrealm; let them settle, if they desire it so, and found a city. But if\nthey have a mind to try other coasts and another people, and can abide\nto leave our soil, let us build twice ten ships of Italian oak, or as\nmany more as they can man; timber lies at the water's edge for all; let\nthem assign the number and fashion of the vessels, and we will supply\nbrass, labour, dockyards. Further, it is our will that an hundred\nambassadors of the highest rank in Latium shall go to bear our words and\nratify the treaty, holding forth in their hands the boughs of peace, and\ncarrying for gifts weight of gold and ivory, and the chair and striped\nrobe, our royal array. Give counsel openly, and succour our exhausted\nstate.'\n\nThen Drances again, he whose jealous ill-will was [337-370]wrought to\nanger and stung with bitterness by Turnus' fame, lavish of wealth and\nquick of tongue though his hand was cold in war, held no empty\ncounsellor and potent in faction--his mother's rank ennobled a lineage\nwhose paternal source was obscure--rises, and with these words heaps and\nheightens their passion:\n\n'Dark to no man and needing no voice of ours, O gracious king, is that\nwhereon thou takest counsel. All confess they know how our nation's\nfortune sways; but their words are choked. Let him grant freedom of\nspeech and abate his breath, he by whose disastrous government and\nperverse way (I will speak out, though he menace me with arms and death)\nwe see so many stars of battle gone down and all our city sunk in\nmourning; while he, confident in flight, assails the Trojan camp and\nmakes heaven quail before his arms. Add yet one to those gifts of thine,\nto all the riches thou bidst us send or promise to the Dardanians, most\ngracious of kings, but one; let no man's passion overbear thee from\ngiving thine own daughter to an illustrious son and a worthy marriage,\nand binding this peace by perpetual treaty. Yet if we are thus\nterror-stricken heart and soul, let us implore him in person, in person\nplead him of his grace to give way, to restore king and country their\nproper right. Why again and again hurlest thou these unhappy citizens on\nperil so evident, O source and spring of Latium's woes? In war is no\nsafety; peace we all implore of thee, O Turnus, and the one pledge that\nmakes peace inviolable. I the first, I whom thou picturest thine enemy,\nas I care not if I am, see, I bow at thy feet. Pity thine allies;\nrelent, and retire before thy conqueror. Enough have we seen of rout and\ndeath, and desolation over our broad lands. Or if glory stir thee, if\nsuch strength kindle in thy breast, and if a palace so delight thee for\nthy dower, be bold, and advance stout-hearted upon the foe. We verily,\nthat Turnus [371-406]may have his royal bride, must lie scattered on\nthe plains, worthless lives, a crowd unburied and unwept. Do thou also,\nif thou hast aught of might, if the War-god be in thee as in thy\nfathers, look him in the face who challenges. . . .'\n\nAt these words Turnus' passion blazed out. He utters a groan, and breaks\nforth thus in deep accents:\n\n'Copious indeed, Drances, and fluent is ever thy speech at the moment\nwar calls for action; and when the fathers are summoned thou art there\nthe first. But we need no words to fill our senate-house, safely as thou\nwingest them while the mounded walls keep off the enemy, and the\ntrenches swim not yet with blood. Thunder on in rhetoric, thy wonted\nway: accuse thou me of fear, Drances, since thine hand hath heaped so\nmany Teucrians in slaughter, and thy glorious trophies dot the fields.\nTrial is open of what live valour can do; nor indeed is our foe far to\nseek; on all sides they surround our walls. Are we going to meet them?\nWhy linger? Will thy bravery ever be in that windy tongue and those\ntimorous feet of thine? . . . _My conqueror?_ Shall any justly flout me\nas conquered, who sees Tiber swoln fuller with Ilian blood, and all the\nhouse and people of Evander laid low, and the Arcadians stripped of\ntheir armour? Not such did Bitias and huge Pandarus prove me, and the\nthousand men whom on one day my conquering hand sent down to hell, shut\nas I was in their walls and closed in the enemy's ramparts. _In war is\nno safety._ Fool! be thy boding on the Dardanian's head and thine own\nfortunes. Go on; cease not to throw all into confusion with thy terrors,\nto exalt the strength of a twice vanquished race, and abase the arms of\nLatinus before it. Now the princes of the Myrmidons tremble before\nPhrygian arms, now Tydeus' son and Achilles of Larissa, and Aufidus\nriver recoils from the Adriatic wave. Or when the scheming villain\n[407-443]pretends to shrink at my abuse, and sharpens calumny by\nterror! never shall this hand--keep quiet!--rob thee of such a soul;\nwith thee let it abide, and dwell in that breast of thine. Now I return\nto thee, my lord, and thy weighty resolves. If thou dost repose no\nfurther hope in our arms, if all hath indeed left us, and one repulse\nbeen our utter ruin, and our fortune is beyond recovery, let us plead\nfor peace and stretch forth unarmed hands. Yet ah! had we aught of our\nwonted manhood, his toil beyond all other is blessed and his spirit\neminent, who rather than see it thus, hath fallen prone in death and\nonce bitten the ground. But if we have yet resources and an army still\nunbroken, and cities and peoples of Italy remain for our aid; but if\neven the Trojans have won their glory at great cost of blood (they too\nhave their deaths, and the storm fell equally on all), why do we\nshamefully faint even on the threshold? Why does a shudder seize our\nlimbs before the trumpet sound? Often do the Days and the varying change\nof toiling Time restore prosperity; often Fortune in broken visits makes\nman her sport and again establishes him. The Aetolian of Arpi will not\nhelp us; but Messapus will, and Tolumnius the fortunate, and the\ncaptains sent by many a nation; nor will fame be scant to follow the\nflower of Latium and the Laurentine land. Camilla the Volscian too is\nwith us, leading her train of cavalry, squadrons splendid in brass. But\nif I only am claimed by the Teucrians for combat, if that is your\npleasure, and I am the barrier to the public good, Victory does not so\nhate and shun my hands that I should renounce any enterprise for so\ngreat a hope. I shall meet him in courage, did he outmatch great\nAchilles and wear arms like his forged by Vulcan's hands. To you and to\nmy father Latinus I Turnus, unexcelled in bravery by any of old,\nconsecrate my life. _Aeneas calls on him alone_: let him, I implore: let\nnot Drances rather appease with his [444-480]life this wrath of heaven,\nif such it be, or win the renown of valour.'\n\nThus they one with another strove together in uncertainty; Aeneas moved\nfrom his camp to battle. Lo, a messenger rushes spreading confusion\nthrough the royal house, and fills the town with great alarms: the\nTeucrians, ranged in battle-line with the Tyrrhene forces, are marching\ndown by the Tiber river and filling the plain. Immediately spirits are\nstirred and hearts shaken and wrath roused in fierce excitement among\nthe crowd. Hurrying hands grasp at arms; for arms their young men\nclamour; the fathers shed tears and mutter gloomily. With that a great\nnoise rises aloft in diverse contention, even as when flocks of birds\nhaply settle on a lofty grove, or swans utter their hoarse cry among the\nvocal pools on the fish-filled river of Padusa. 'Yes, citizens!' cries\nTurnus, seizing his time: 'gather in council and sit praising peace,\nwhile they rush on dominion in arms!' Without more words he sprung up\nand issued swiftly from the high halls. 'Thou, Volusus,' he cries, 'bid\nthe Volscian battalions arm, and lead out the Rutulians. Messapus, and\nCoras with thy brother, spread your armed cavalry widely over the plain.\nLet a division entrench the city gates and man the towers: the rest of\nour array attack with me where I command.' The whole town goes rushing\nto the walls; lord Latinus himself, dismayed by the woeful emergency,\nquits the council and puts off his high designs, and chides himself\nsorely for not having given Aeneas unasked welcome, and made him son and\nbulwark of the city. Some entrench the gates, or bring up supply of\nstones and poles. The hoarse clarion utters the ensanguined note of war.\nA motley ring of boys and matrons girdle the walls. Therewithal the\nqueen with a crowd of mothers ascends bearing gifts to Pallas' towered\ntemple, and by her side goes maiden Lavinia, source of all that woe,\n[481-514]her beautiful eyes cast down. The mothers enter in, and while\nthe temple steams with their incense, pour from the high doorway their\nmournful cry: 'Maiden armipotent, Tritonian, sovereign of war, break\nwith thine hand the spear of the Phrygian plunderer, hurl him prone to\nearth and dash him down beneath our lofty gates.' Turnus arrays himself\nin hot haste for battle, and even now hath done on his sparkling\nbreastplate with its flickering scales of brass, and clasped his golden\ngreaves, his brows yet bare and his sword buckled to his side; he runs\ndown from the fortress height glittering in gold, and exultantly\nanticipates the foe. Thus when a horse snaps his tether, and, free at\nlast, rushes from the stalls and gains the open plain, he either darts\ntowards the pastures of the herded mares, or bathing, as is his wont, in\nthe familiar river waters, dashes out and neighs with neck stretched\nhigh, glorying, and his mane tosses over collar and shoulder. Camilla\nwith her Volscian array meets him face to face in the gateway; the\nprincess leaps from her horse, and all her squadron at her example slide\nfrom horseback to the ground. Then she speaks thus:\n\n'Turnus, if bravery hath any just self-confidence, I dare and promise to\nengage Aeneas' cavalry, and advance to meet the Tyrrhene horse. Permit\nmy hand to try war's first perils: do thou on foot keep by the walls and\nguard the city.'\n\nTo this Turnus, with eyes fixed on the terrible maiden: 'O maiden flower\nof Italy, how may I essay to express, how to prove my gratitude? But\nnow, since that spirit of thine excels all praise, share thou the toil\nwith me. Aeneas, as the report of the scouts I sent assures, hath sent\non his light-armed horse to annoy us and scour the plains; himself he\nmarches on the city across the lonely ridge of the mountain steep. I am\narranging a stratagem of [515-550]war in his pathway on the wooded\nslope, to block a gorge on the highroad with armed troops. Do thou\nreceive and join battle with the Tyrrhene cavalry; with thee shall be\ngallant Messapus, the Latin squadrons, and Tiburtus' division: do thou\nlikewise assume a captain's charge.'\n\nSo speaks he, and with like words heartens Messapus and the allied\ncaptains to battle, and advances towards the enemy. There is a sweeping\ncurve of glen, made for ambushes and devices of arms. Dark thick foliage\nhems it in on either hand, and into it a bare footpath leads by a narrow\ngorge and difficult entrance. Right above it on the watch-towers of the\nhill-top lies an unexpected level, hidden away in shelter, whether one\nwould charge from right and left or stand on the ridge and roll down\nheavy stones. Hither he passes by a line of way he knew, and, seizing\nhis ground, occupies the treacherous woods.\n\nMeanwhile in the heavenly dwellings Latona's daughter addressed fleet\nOpis, one of her maiden fellowship and sacred band, and sadly uttered\nthese accents: 'Camilla moves to fierce war, O maiden, and vainly girds\non our arms, dear as she is beyond others to me. For her love of Diana\nis not newly born, nor her spirit stirred by sudden affection. Driven\nfrom his kingdom through jealousy of his haughty power, Metabus left\nancient Privernum town, and bore his infant with him in his flight\nthrough war and battle, the companion of his exile, and called her by\nher mother Casmilla's name, with a little change, Camilla. Carrying her\nbefore him on his breast, he sought a long ridge of lonely woodland; on\nall sides angry weapons pressed on him, and Volscian soldiery spread\nhurrying round about. Lo, in mid flight swoln Amasenus ran foaming with\nbanks abrim, so heavily had the clouds burst in rain. He would swim it;\nbut love of the infant holds him back in alarm for so dear a burden.\nInly revolving [551-586]all, he settled reluctantly on a sudden\nresolve: the great spear that the warrior haply carried in his stout\nhand, of hard-knotted and seasoned oak, to it he ties his daughter\nswathed in cork-tree bark of the woodland, and binds her balanced round\nthe middle of the spear; poising it in his great right hand he thus\ncries aloft: \"Gracious one, haunter of the woodland, maiden daughter of\nLatona, a father devotes this babe to thy service; thine is this weapon\nshe holds, thine infant suppliant, flying through the air from her\nenemies. Accept her, I implore, O goddess, for thine own, whom now I\nentrust to the chance of air.\" He spoke, and drawing back his arm, darts\nthe spinning spear-shaft: the waters roar: over the racing river poor\nCamilla shoots on the whistling weapon. But Metabus, as a strong band\nnow presses nigher, plunges into the river, and triumphantly pulls spear\nand girl, his gift to Trivia, from the grassy turf. No cities ever\nreceived him within house or rampart, nor had his savagery submitted to\nit; he led his life on the lonely pastoral hills. Here he nursed his\ndaughter in the underwood among tangled coverts, on the milk of a wild\nbrood-mare's teats, squeezing the udder into her tender lips. And so\nsoon as the baby stood and went straight on her feet, he armed her hands\nwith a sharp javelin, and hung quiver and bow from her little shoulders.\nInstead of gold to clasp her tresses, instead of the long skirted gown,\na tiger's spoils hang down her back. Even then her tender hand hurled\nchildish darts, and whirled about her head the twisted thong of her\nsling, and struck down the crane from Strymon or the milk-white swan.\nMany a mother among Tyrrhenian towns destined her for their sons in\nvain; content with Diana alone, she keeps unsoiled for ever the love of\nher darts and maidenhood. Would she had not plunged thus into warfare\nand provoked the Trojans by attack! so were she now dear to me and one\nof my [587-620]company. But since bitter doom is upon her, up, glide\nfrom heaven, O Nymph, and seek the Latin borders, where under evil omen\nthey join in baleful battle. Take these, and draw from the quiver an\navenging shaft; by it shall he pay me forfeit of his blood, whoso,\nTrojan or Italian alike, shall sully her sacred body with a wound.\nThereafter will I in a sheltering cloud bear body and armour of the\nhapless girl unspoiled to the tomb, and lay them in her native land.'\nShe spoke; but the other sped lightly down the aery sky, girt about with\ndark whirlwind on her echoing way.\n\nBut meanwhile the Trojan force nears the walls, with the Etruscan\ncaptains and their whole cavalry arrayed in ordered squadrons. Their\nhorses' trampling hoofs thunder on all the field, as, swerving this way\nand that, they chafe at the reins' pressure; the iron field bristles\nwide with spears, and the plain is aflame with uplifted arms. Likewise\nMessapus and the Latin horse, and Coras and his brother, and maiden\nCamilla's squadron, come forth against them on the plain, and draw back\ntheir hands and level the flickering points of their long lances, in a\nfire of neighing horses and advancing men. And now each had drawn within\njavelin-cast of each, and drew up; with a sudden shout they dart forth,\nand urge on their furious horses; from all sides at once weapons shower\nthick like snow, and veil the sky with their shadow. In a moment\nTyrrhenus and fiery Aconteus charge violently with crossing spears, and\nare the first to fall; they go down with a heavy crash, and their beasts\nbreak and shatter chest upon chest. Aconteus, hurled off like a\nthunderbolt or some mass slung from an engine, is dashed away, and\nscatters his life in air. Immediately the lines waver, and the Latins\nwheeling about throw their shields behind them and turn their horses\ntowards the town. The Trojans pursue; Asilas heads and leads on\n[621-653]their squadrons. And now they drew nigh the gates, and again\nthe Latins raise a shout and wheel their supple necks about; the\npursuers fly, and gallop right back with loosened rein: as when the sea,\nrunning up in ebb and flow, now rushes shoreward and strikes over the\ncliffs in a wave of foam, drenching the edge of the sand in its curving\nsweep; now runs swirling back, and the surge sucks the rolling stones\naway. Twice the Tuscans turn and drive the Rutulians towards the town;\ntwice they are repelled, and look back behind them from cover of their\nshields. But when now meeting in a third encounter, the lines are locked\ntogether all their length, and man singles out his man; then indeed,\namid groans of the dying, deep in blood roll armour and bodies, and\nhorses half slain mixed up with slaughtered men. The battle swells\nfierce. Orsilochus hurled his spear at the horse of Remulus, whom\nhimself he shrank to meet, and left the steel in it under the ear; at\nthe stroke the charger rears madly, and, mastered by the wound, lifts\nhis chest and flings up his legs: the rider is thrown and rolls over on\nthe ground. Catillus strikes down Iollas, and Herminius mighty in\ncourage, mighty in limbs and arms, bareheaded, tawny-haired,\nbare-shouldered; undismayed by wounds, he leaves his vast body open\nagainst arms. Through his broad shoulders the quivering spear runs\npiercing him through, and doubles him up with pain. Everywhere the dark\nblood flows; they deal death with the sword in battle, and seek a noble\ndeath by wounds.\n\nBut amid the slaughter Camilla rages, a quivered Amazon, with one side\nstripped for battle, and now sends tough javelins showering from her\nhand, now snatches the strong battle-axe in her unwearying grasp; the\ngolden bow, the armour of Diana, clashes on her shoulders; and even when\nforced backward in retreat, she turns in flight and [654-691]aims darts\nfrom her bow. But around her are her chosen comrades, maiden Larina,\nTulla, Tarpeia brandishing an axe inlaid with bronze, girls of Italy,\nwhom Camilla the bright chose for her own escort, good at service in\npeace and war: even as Thracian Amazons when the streams of Thermodon\nclash beneath them as they go to war in painted arms, whether around\nHippolyte, or while martial Penthesilea returns in her chariot, and the\ncrescent-shielded columns of women dance with loud confused cry. Whom\nfirst, whom last, fierce maiden, does thy dart strike down? First\nEuneus, son of Clytius; for as he meets her the long fir shaft crashes\nthrough his open breast. He falls spouting streams of blood, and bites\nthe gory ground, and dying writhes himself upon his wound. Then Liris\nand Pagasus above him; who fall headlong and together, the one thrown as\nhe reins up his horse stabbed under him, the other while he runs forward\nand stretches his unarmed hand to stay his fall. To these she joins\nAmastrus, son of Hippotas, and follows from far with her spear Tereus\nand Harpalycus and Demopho\u00f6n and Chromis: and as many darts as the\nmaiden sends whirling from her hand, so many Phrygians fall. Ornytus the\nhunter rides near in strange arms on his Iapygian horse, his broad\nwarrior's shoulders swathed in the hide stripped from a bullock, his\nhead covered by a wolf's wide-grinning mouth and white-tusked jaws; a\nrustic pike arms his hand; himself he moves amid the squadrons a full\nhead over all. Catching him up (for that was easy amid the rout), she\nruns him through, and thus cries above her enemy: 'Thou wert hunting\nwild beasts in the forest, thoughtest thou, Tyrrhenian? the day is come\nfor a woman's arms to refute thy words. Yet no light fame shalt thou\ncarry to thy fathers' ghosts, to have fallen under the weapon of\nCamilla.' Next Orsilochus and Butes, the two mightiest of mould among\nthe Teucrians; Butes she pierces in the [692-725]back with her\nspear-point between corslet and helmet, where the neck shews as he sits,\nand the shield hangs from his left shoulder; Orsilochus she flies, and\ndarting in a wide circle, slips into the inner ring and pursues her\npursuer; then rising her full height, she drives the strong axe deep\nthrough armour and bone, as he pleads and makes much entreaty; warm\nbrain from the wound splashes his face. One met her thus and hung\nstartled by the sudden sight, the warrior son of Aunus haunter of the\nApennine, not the meanest in Liguria while fate allowed him to deceive.\nAnd he, when he discerns that no fleetness of foot may now save him from\nbattle or turn the princess from pursuit, essays to wind a subtle device\nof treachery, and thus begins: 'How hast thou glory, if a woman trust in\nher horse's strength? Debar retreat; trust thyself to level ground at\nclose quarters with me, and prepare to fight on foot. Soon wilt thou\nknow how windy boasting brings one to harm.' He spoke; but she, furious\nand stung with fiery indignation, hands her horse to an attendant, and\ntakes her stand in equal arms on foot and undismayed, with naked sword\nand shield unemblazoned. But he, thinking his craft had won the day,\nhimself flies off on the instant, and turning his rein, darts off in\nflight, pricking his beast to speed with iron-armed heel. 'False\nLigurian, in vain elated in thy pride! for naught hast thou attempted\nthy slippery native arts, nor will thy craft bring thee home unhurt to\ntreacherous Aunus.' So speaks the maiden, and with running feet swift as\nfire crosses his horse, and catching the bridle, meets him in front and\ntakes her vengeance in her enemy's blood: as lightly as the falcon, bird\nof bale, swoops down from aloft on a pigeon high in a cloud, and pounces\non and holds her, and disembowels her with taloned feet, while blood and\ntorn feathers flutter down the sky.\n\nBut the creator of men and gods sits high on Olympus' [726-759]summit\nwatching this, not with eyes unseeing: he kindles Tyrrhenian Tarchon to\nthe fierce battle, and sharply goads him on to wrath. So Tarchon gallops\namid the slaughter where his squadrons retreat, and urges his troops in\nchanging tones, calling man on man by name, and rallies the fliers to\nfight. 'What terror, what utter cowardice hath fallen on your spirits, O\nnever to be stung to shame, O slack alway? a woman drives you in\ndisorder and routs our ranks! Why wear we steel? for what are these idle\nweapons in our hands? Yet not slack in Venus' service and wars by night,\nor, when the curving flute proclaims Bacchus' revels, to look forward to\nthe feast and the cups on the loaded board (this your passion, this your\ndesire!) till the soothsayer pronounce the offering favourable, and the\nfatted victim invite you to the deep groves.' So speaking, he spurs his\nhorse into the midmost, ready himself to die, and bears violently down\nfull on Venulus; and tearing him from horseback, grasps his enemy and\ncarries him away with him on the saddle-bow by main force. A cry rises\nup, and all the Latins turn their eyes. Tarchon flies like fire over the\nplain, carrying the armed man, and breaks off the steel head from his\nown spear and searches the uncovered places, trying where he may deal\nthe mortal blow; the other struggling against him keeps his hand off his\nthroat, and strongly parries his attack. And, as when a golden eagle\nsnatches and soars with a serpent in his clutch, and his feet are fast\nin it, and his talons cling; but the wounded snake writhes in coiling\nspires, and its scales rise and roughen, and its mouth hisses as it\ntowers upward; the bird none the less attacks his struggling prize with\ncrooked beak, while his vans beat the air: even so Tarchon carries\nTiburtus out of the ranks, triumphant in his prize. Following their\ncaptain's example and issue the men of Maeonia charge in. Then Arruns,\ndue to his [760-796]doom, circles in advance of fleet Camilla with\nartful javelin, and tries how fortune may be easiest. Where the maiden\ndarts furious amid the ranks, there Arruns slips up and silently tracks\nher footsteps; where she returns victorious and retires from amid the\nenemy, there he stealthily bends his rapid reins. Here he approaches,\nand here again he approaches, and strays all round and about, and\nuntiringly shakes his certain spear. Haply Chloreus, sacred to Cybele\nand once her priest, glittered afar, splendid in Phrygian armour; a skin\nfeathered with brazen scales and clasped with gold clothed the horse\nthat foamed under his spur; himself he shone in foreign blue and\nscarlet, with fleet Gortynian shafts and a Lycian horn; a golden bow was\non his shoulder, and the soothsayer's helmet was of gold; red gold\nknotted up his yellow scarf with its rustling lawny folds; his tunics\nand barbarian trousers were wrought in needlework. Him, whether that she\nmight nail armour of Troy on her temples, or herself move in captive\ngold, the maiden pursued in blind chase alone of all the battle\nconflict, and down the whole line, reckless and fired by a woman's\npassion for spoils and plunder: when at last out of his ambush Arruns\nchooses his time and darts his javelin, praying thus aloud to heaven:\n'Apollo, most high of gods, holy Soracte's warder, to whom we beyond all\ndo worship, for whom the blaze of the pinewood heap is fed, where we thy\nworshippers in pious faith print our steps amid the deep embers of the\nfire, grant, O Lord omnipotent, that our arms wipe off this disgrace. I\nseek not the dress the maiden wore, nor trophy or any spoil of victory;\nother deeds shall bring me praise; let but this dread scourge fall\nstricken beneath my wound, I will return inglorious to my native towns.'\nPhoebus heard, and inly granted half his vow to prosper, half he shred\ninto the flying breezes. To surprise and strike down Camilla in sudden\ndeath, this he [797-831]yielded to his prayer; that his high home might\nsee his return he gave not, and a gust swept off his accents on the\ngale. So, when the spear sped from his hand hurtled through the air, all\nthe Volscians marked it well and turned their eyes on the queen; and she\nalone knew not wind or sound of the weapon on its aery path, till the\nspear passed home and sank where her breast met it, and, driven deep,\ndrank her maiden blood. Her companions run hastily up and catch their\nsinking mistress. Arruns takes to flight more alarmed than all, in\nmingled fear and exultation, and no longer dares to trust his spear or\nface the maiden's weapons. And as the wolf, some shepherd or great\nbullock slain, plunges at once among the trackless mountain heights ere\nhostile darts are in pursuit, and knows how reckless he hath been, and\ndrooping his tail lays it quivering under his belly, and seeks the\nwoods; even so does Arruns withdraw from sight in dismay, and, satisfied\nto escape, mingles in the throng of arms. The dying woman pulls at the\nweapon with her hand; but the iron head is fixed deep in the wound up\nbetween the rib-bones. She swoons away with loss of blood; chilling in\ndeath her eyes swoon away; the once lustrous colour leaves her face.\nThen gasping, she thus accosts Acca, one of her birthmates, who alone\nbefore all was true to Camilla, with whom her cares were divided; and\neven so she speaks: 'Thus far, Acca my sister, have I availed; now the\nbitter wound overmasters me, and all about me darkens in haze. Haste\naway, and carry to Turnus my last message; to take my place in battle,\nand repel the Trojans from the town. And now goodbye.' Even with the\nwords she dropped the reins and slid to ground unconscious. Then the\nunnerving chill overspread her, her neck slackened, her head sank\noverpowered by death, and her arms fell, and with a moan the life fled\nindignant into the dark. Then indeed an [832-867]infinite cry rises and\nsmites the golden stars; the battle grows bloodier now Camilla is down;\nat once in serried rants all the Teucrian forces pour in, with the\nTyrrhene captains and Evander's Arcadian squadrons.\n\nBut Opis, Trivia's sentinel, long ere now sits high on the hill-tops,\ngazing on the battle undismayed. And when afar amid the din of angry men\nshe espied Camilla done woefully to death, she sighed and uttered forth\na deep cry: 'Ah too, too cruel, O maiden, the forfeit thou hast paid for\ndaring armed attack on the Teucrians! and nothing hath availed thee thy\nlonely following of Diana in the woodlands, nor wearing our quiver on\nthy shoulder. Yet thy Queen hath not left thee unhonoured now thy latter\nend is come; nor will this thy death be unnamed among the nations, nor\nshalt thou bear the fame of one unavenged; for whosoever hath sullied\nthy body with a wound shall pay death for due.' Under the mountain\nheight was a great earthen mound, tomb of Dercennus, a Laurentine king\nof old, shrouded in shadowy ilex. Hither the goddess most beautiful\nfirst swoops down, and marks Arruns from the mounded height. As she saw\nhim glittering in arms and idly exultant: 'Why,' she cries, 'wanderest\nthou away? hitherward direct thy steps; come hither to thy doom, to\nreceive thy fit reward for Camilla. Shalt thou die, and by Diana's\nweapons?' The Thracian spoke, and slid out a fleet arrow from her gilded\nquiver, and stretched it level on the bow, and drew it far, till the\ncurving tips met one another, and now her hands touched in counterpoise,\nthe left the steel edge, the string in the right her breast. At once and\nin a moment Arruns heard the whistle of the dart and the resounding air,\nas the steel sank in his body. His comrades leave him forgotten on the\nunknown dust of the plain, moaning his last and gasping his life away;\nOpis wings her flight to the skyey heaven.\n\n[868-901]At once the light squadron of Camilla retreat now they have\nlost their mistress; the Rutulians retreat in confusion, brave Atinas\nretreats. Scattered captains and thinned companies make for safety, and\nturn their horses backward to the town. Nor does any avail to make stand\nagainst the swarming death-dealing Teucrians, or bear their shock in\narms; but their unstrung bows droop on their shoulders, and the\nfour-footed galloping horse-hoof shakes the crumbling plain. The eddying\ndust rolls up thick and black towards the walls, and on the watch-towers\nmothers beat their breasts and the cries of women rise up to heaven. On\nsuch as first in the rout broke in at the open gates the mingling\nhostile throng follows hard; nor do they escape death, alas! but in the\nvery gateway, within their native city and amid their sheltering homes,\nthey are pierced through and gasp out their life. Some shut the gates,\nand dare not open to their pleading comrades nor receive them in the\ntown; and a most pitiful slaughter begins between armed men who guard\nthe entry and others who rush upon their arms. Barred out before their\nweeping parents' eyes and faces, some, swept on by the rout, roll\nheadlong into the trenches; some, blindly rushing with loosened rein,\nbatter at the gates and stiffly-bolted doorway. The very mothers from\nthe walls in eager heat (true love of country points the way, when they\nsee Camilla) dart weapons with shaking hand, and eagerly make hard\nstocks of wood and fire-hardened poles serve for steel, and burn to die\namong the foremost for their city's sake.\n\nMeanwhile among the forests the terrible news pours in on Turnus, and\nAcca brings him news of the mighty invasion; the Volscian lines are\ndestroyed; Camilla is fallen; the enemy thicken and press on, and have\nswept all before them down the tide of battle. Raging he leaves the\nhills he had beset--Jove's stern will ordains it [902-915]so--and quits\nthe rough woodland. Scarcely had he marched out of sight and gained the\nplain when lord Aeneas enters the open defiles, surmounts the ridge, and\nissues from the dim forest. So both advance swiftly to the town with all\ntheir columns, no long march apart, and at once Aeneas descried afar the\nplains all smoking with dust, and saw the Laurentine columns, and Turnus\nknew Aeneas terrible in arms, and heard the advancing feet and the\nneighing of the horses. And straightway would they join battle and essay\nthe conflict, but that ruddy Phoebus even now dips his weary coursers in\nthe Iberian flood, and night draws on over the fading day. They encamp\nbefore the city, and draw their trenches round the walls.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK TWELFTH\n\nTHE SLAYING OF TURNUS\n\n\nWhen Turnus sees the Latins broken and fainting in the thwart issue of\nwar, his promise claimed for fulfilment, and men's eyes pointed on him,\nhis own spirit rises in unappeasable flame. As the lion in Phoenician\nfields, his breast heavily wounded by the huntsmen, at last starts into\narms, and shakes out the shaggy masses from his exultant neck, and\nundismayed snaps the brigand's planted weapon, roaring with\nblood-stained mouth; even so Turnus kindles and swells in passion. Then\nhe thus addresses the king, and so furiously begins:\n\n'Turnus stops not the way; there is no excuse for the coward Aeneadae to\ntake back their words or renounce their compact. I join battle; bring\nthe holy things, my lord, and swear the treaty. Either this hand shall\nhurl to hell the Dardanian who skulks from Asia, and the Latins sit and\nsee my single sword wipe out the nation's reproach; or let him rule his\nconquest, and Lavinia pass to his espousal.'\n\nTo him Latinus calmly replied: 'O excellent young man! the more thy hot\nvalour abounds, the more intently must I counsel, and weigh fearfully\nwhat may befall. Thou hast thy father Daunus' realm, hast many towns\ntaken by [23-55]thine hand, nor is Latinus lacking in gold and\ngoodwill. There are other maidens unwedded in Latium and Laurentine\nfields, and of no mean birth. Let me unfold this hard saying in all\nsincerity: and do thou drink it into thy soul. I might not ally my\ndaughter to any of her old wooers; such was the universal oracle of gods\nand men. Overborne by love for thee, overborne by kinship of blood and\nmy weeping wife's complaint, I broke all fetters, I severed the maiden\nfrom her promised husband, I took up unrighteous arms. Since then,\nTurnus, thou seest what calamities, what wars pursue me, what woes\nthyself before all dost suffer. Twice vanquished in pitched battle, we\nscarce guard in our city walls the hopes of Italy: the streams of Tiber\nyet run warm with our blood, and our bones whiten the boundless plain.\nWhy fall I away again and again? what madness bends my purpose? if I am\nready to take them into alliance after Turnus' destruction, why do I not\nrather bar the strife while he lives? What will thy Rutulian kinsmen,\nwill all Italy say, if thy death--Fortune make void the word!--comes by\nmy betrayal, while thou suest for our daughter in marriage? Cast a\nglance on war's changing fortune; pity thine aged father, who now far\naway sits sad in his native Ardea.'\n\nIn nowise do the words bend Turnus' passion: he rages the more fiercely,\nand sickens of the cure. So soon as he found speech he thus made\nutterance:\n\n'The care thou hast for me, most gracious lord, for me lay down, I\nimplore thee, and let me purchase honour with death. Our hand too rains\nweapons, our steel is strong; and our wounds too draw blood. The goddess\nhis mother will be far from him to cover his flight, woman-like, in a\ncloud and an empty phantom's hiding.'\n\nBut the queen, dismayed by the new terms of battle, wept, and clung to\nher fiery son as one ready to die: [56-89]'Turnus, by these tears, by\nAmata's regard, if that touches thee at all--thou art now the one hope,\nthe repose of mine unhappy age; in thine hand is Latinus' honour and\nempire, on thee is the weight of all our sinking house--one thing I\nbeseech thee; forbear to join battle with the Teucrians. What fate\nsoever awaits thee in the strife thou seekest, it awaits me, Turnus,\ntoo: with thee will I leave the hateful light, nor shall my captive eyes\nsee Aeneas my daughter's lord.' Lavinia tearfully heard her mother's\nwords with cheeks all aflame, as deep blushes set her face on fire and\nran hotly over it. Even as Indian ivory, if one stain it with sanguine\ndye, or where white lilies are red with many a rose amid: such colour\ncame on the maiden's face. Love throws him into tumult, and stays his\ncountenance on the girl: he burns fiercer for arms, and briefly answers\nAmata:\n\n'Do not, I pray thee, do not weep for me, neither pursue me thus\nominously as I go to the stern shock of war. Turnus is not free to dally\nwith death. Thou, Idmon, bear my message to the Phrygian monarch in this\nharsh wording: So soon as to-morrow's Dawn rises in the sky blushing on\nher crimson wheels, let him not loose Teucrian or Rutulian: let Teucrian\nand Rutulian arms have rest, and our blood decide the war; on that field\nlet Lavinia be sought in marriage.'\n\nThese words uttered, withdrawing swiftly homeward, he orders out his\nhorses, and rejoicingly beholds them snorting before his face: those\nthat Orithyia's self gave to grace Pilumnus, such as would excel the\nsnows in whiteness and the gales in speed. The eager charioteers stand\nround and pat their chests with clapping hollowed hands, and comb their\ntressed manes. Himself next he girds on his shoulders the corslet stiff\nwith gold and pale mountain-bronze, and buckles on the sword and shield\nand scarlet-plumed [90-124]helmet-spikes: that sword the divine Lord of\nFire had himself forged for his father Daunus and dipped glowing in the\nStygian wave. Next, where it stood amid his dwelling leaning on a massy\npillar, he strongly seizes his stout spear, the spoil of Actor the\nAuruncan, and brandishes it quivering, and cries aloud: 'Now, O spear\nthat never hast failed at my call, now the time is come; thee princely\nActor once, thee Turnus now wields in his grasp. Grant this strong hand\nto strike down the effeminate Phrygian, to rend and shatter the corslet,\nand defile in dust the locks curled with hot iron and wet with myrrh.'\nThus madly he runs on: sparkles leap out from all his blazing face, and\nhis keen eyes flash fire: even as the bull when before his first fight\nhe bellows awfully, and drives against a tree's trunk to make trial of\nhis angry horns, and buffets the air with blows or scatters the sand in\nprelude of battle.\n\nAnd therewithal Aeneas, terrible in his mother's armour, kindles for\nwarfare and awakes into wrath, rejoicing that offer of treaty stays the\nwar. Comforting his comrades and sorrowing I\u00fclus' fear, he instructs\nthem of destiny, and bids bear answer of assurance to King Latinus, and\nname the laws of peace.\n\nScarcely did the morrow shed on the mountain-tops the beams of risen\nday, as the horses of the sun begin to rise from the deep flood and\nbreathe light from their lifted nostrils; Rutulian and Teucrian men\nmeasured out and made ready a field of battle under the great city's\nramparts, and midway in it hearth-fires and grassy altars to the gods of\nboth peoples; while others bore spring water and fire, draped in\npriestly dress and their brows bound with grass of the field. The\nAusonian army issue forth, and crowd through the gates in streaming\nserried columns. On this side all the Trojan and Tyrrhenian host pour in\ndiverse armament, girt with iron even as though the harsh battle-strife\n[125-158]called them forth. Therewith amid their thousands the captains\ndart up and down, splendid in gold and purple, Mnestheus, seed of\nAssaracus, and brave Asilas, and Messapus, tamer of horses, brood of\nNeptune: then each on signal given retired to his own ground; they plant\ntheir spears in the earth and lean their shields against them. Mothers\nin eager abandonment, and the unarmed crowd and feeble elders beset\ntowers and house-roofs, or stand at the lofty gates.\n\nBut Juno, on the summit that is now called the Alban--then the mountain\nhad neither name nor fame or honour--looked forth from the hill and\nsurveyed the plain and double lines of Laurentine and Trojan, and\nLatinus' town. Straightway spoke she thus to Turnus' sister, goddess to\ngoddess, lady of pools and noisy rivers: such worship did Jupiter the\nhigh king of air consecrate to her for her stolen virginity:\n\n'Nymph, grace of rivers, best beloved of our soul, thou knowest how out\nof all the Latin women that ever rose to high-hearted Jove's thankless\nbed, thee only have I preferred and gladly given part and place in\nheaven. Learn thy woe, that thou blame not me for it, Juturna. Where\nfortune seemed to allow and the Destinies granted Latinus' estate to\nprosper, I shielded Turnus and thy city. Now I see him joining battle\nwith unequal fates, and the day of doom and deadly force draws nigh.\nMine eyes cannot look on this battle and treaty: thou, if thou darest\naught of more present help for the brother of thy blood, go on; it\nbefits thee. Haply relief shall follow misery.'\n\nScarcely thus: when Juturna's eyes overbrimmed with tears, and thrice\nand again she smote her hand on her gracious breast. 'This is not time\nfor tears,' cries Juno, daughter of Saturn: 'hasten and snatch thy\nbrother, if it may be, from his death; or do thou waken war, and make\n[159-191]the treaty abortive. I encourage thee to dare.' With such\nurgence she left her, doubting and dismayed, and grievously wounded in\nsoul.\n\nMeanwhile the kings go forth; Latinus in mighty pomp rides in his\nfour-horse chariot; twelve gilded rays go glittering round his brows,\nsymbol of the Sun his ancestor; Turnus moves behind a white pair,\nclenching in his hand two broad-headed spears. On this side lord Aeneas,\nfount of the Roman race, ablaze in starlike shield and celestial arms,\nand close by Ascanius, second hope of mighty Rome, issue from the camp;\nand the priest, in spotless raiment, hath brought the young of a bristly\nsow and an unshorn sheep of two years old, and set his beasts by the\nblazing altars. They, turning their eyes towards the sunrising, scatter\nsalted corn from their hands and clip the beasts with steel over the\ntemples, and pour cups on the altars. Then Aeneas the good, with sword\ndrawn, thus makes invocation:\n\n'Be the Sun now witness, and this Earth to my call, for whose sake I\nhave borne to suffer so sore travail, and the Lord omnipotent, and thou\nhis wife, at last, divine daughter of Saturn, at last I pray more\nfavourable; and thou, mighty Mavors, who wieldest all warfare in\nlordship beneath thy sway; and on the Springs and Rivers I call, and the\nDread of high heaven, and the divinities of the blue seas: if haply\nvictory fall to Turnus the Ausonian, the vanquished make covenant to\nwithdraw to Evander's city; I\u00fclus shall quit the soil; nor ever\nhereafter shall the Aeneadae return in arms to renew warfare, or attack\nthis realm with the sword. But if Victory grant battle to us and ours\n(as I think the rather, and so the rather may the gods seal their will),\nI will not bid Italy obey my Teucrians, nor do I claim the realm for\nmine; let both nations, unconquered, join treaty for ever under equal\nlaw. Gods [192-225]and worship shall be of my giving: my father Latinus\nshall bear the sword, and have a father's prescribed command. For me my\nTeucrians shall establish a city, and Lavinia give the town her name.'\n\nThus Aeneas first: thereon Latinus thus follows:\n\n'By these same I swear, O Aeneas, by Earth, Sea, Sky, and the twin brood\nof Latona and Janus the double-facing, and the might of nether gods and\ngrim Pluto's shrine; this let our Father hear, who seals treaties with\nhis thunderbolt. I touch the altars, I take to witness the fires and the\ngods between us; no time shall break this peace and truce in Italy,\nhowsoever fortune fall; nor shall any force turn my will aside, not if\nit dissolve land into water in turmoil of deluge, or melt heaven in\nhell: so surely as this sceptre' (for haply he bore a sceptre in his\nhand) 'shall never burgeon into thin leafage and shady shoot, since once\nin the forest cut down right to the stem it lost its mother, and the\nsteel lopped away its tressed arms: a tree of old: now the craftsman's\nhand hath bound it in adornment of brass and given it to our Latin\nfathers' bearing.'\n\nWith such words they sealed mutual treaty midway in sight of the\nprinces. Then they duly slay the consecrated beasts over the flames, and\ntear out their live entrails, and pile the altars with laden chargers.\n\nBut long ere this the Rutulians deemed the battle unequal, and their\nhearts are stirred in changeful motion; and now the more, as they\ndiscern nigher that in ill-matched strength . . . . heightened by\nTurnus, as advancing with noiseless pace he humbly worships at the altar\nwith downcast eye, by his wasted cheeks and the pallor on his youthful\nframe. Soon as Juturna his sister saw this talk spread, and the people's\nmind waver in uncertainty, into the mid ranks, in feigned form of\nCamertus--his family was high in long ancestry, and his father's name\n[226-260]for valour renowned, and himself most valiant in arms--into\nthe mid ranks she glides, not ignorant of her task, and scatters diverse\nrumours, saying thus: 'Shame, O Rutulians! shall we set one life in the\nbreach for so many such as these? are we unequal in numbers or bravery?\nSee, Troy and Arcadia is all they bring, and those fate-bound bands that\nEtruria hurls on Turnus. Scarce is there an enemy to meet every other\nman of ours. He indeed will ascend to the gods for whose altars he\ndevotes himself, and move living in the lips of men: we, our country\nlost, shall bow to the haughty rigour of our lords, if we now sit\nslackly on the field.'\n\nBy such words the soldiers' counsel was kindled yet higher and higher,\nand a murmur crept through their columns; the very Laurentines, the very\nLatins are changed; and they who but now hoped for rest from battle and\nrescue of fortune now desire arms and pray the treaty were undone, and\npity Turnus' cruel lot. To this Juturna adds a yet stronger impulse, and\nhigh in heaven shews a sign more potent than any to confuse Italian\nsouls with delusive augury. For on the crimsoned sky Jove's tawny bird\nflew chasing, in a screaming crowd, fowl of the shore that winged their\ncolumn; then suddenly stooping to the water, pounces on a noble swan\nwith merciless crooked talons. The startled Italians watch, while all\nthe birds together clamorously wheel round from flight, wonderful to\nsee, and dim the sky with their pinions, and in thickening cloud urge\ntheir foe through air, till, conquered by their attack and his heavy\nprey, he yielded and dropped it from his talons into the river, and\nwinged his way deep into the clouds. Then indeed the Rutulians\nclamorously greet the omen, and their hands flash out. And Tolumnius the\naugur cries before them all: 'This it was, this, that my vows often have\nsought; I welcome and know a deity; [261-294]follow me, follow, snatch\nup the sword, O hapless people whom the greedy alien frightens with his\narms like silly birds, and with strong hand ravages your shores. He too\nwill take to flight, and spread his sails afar over ocean. Do you with\none heart close up your squadrons, and defend in battle your lost king.'\nHe spoke, and darting forward, hurled a weapon full on the enemy; the\nwhistling cornel-shaft sings, and unerringly cleaves the air. At once\nand with it a vast shout goes up, and all their rows are amazed, and\ntheir hearts hotly stirred. The spear flies on; where haply stood\nopposite in ninefold brotherhood all the beautiful sons of one faithful\nTyrrhene wife, borne of her to Gylippus the Arcadian, one of them,\nmidway where the sewn belt rubs on the flank and the clasp bites the\nfastenings of the side, one of them, excellent in beauty and glittering\nin arms, it pierces clean through the ribs and stretches on the yellow\nsand. But of his banded brethren, their courage fired by grief, some\ngrasp and draw their swords, some snatch weapons to throw, and rush\nblindly forward. The Laurentine columns rush forth against them; again\nfrom the other side Trojans and Agyllines and Arcadians in painted\narmour flood thickly in: so hath one passion seized all to make decision\nby the sword. They pull the altars to pieces; through all the air goes a\nthick storm of weapons, and faster falls the iron rain. Bowls and\nhearth-fires are carried off; Latinus himself retreats, bearing the\noutraged gods of the broken treaty. The others harness their chariots,\nor vault upon their horses and come up with swords drawn. Messapus,\neager to shatter the treaty, rides menacingly down on Aulestes the\nTyrrhenian, a king in a king's array. Retreating hastily, and tripped on\nthe altars that meet him behind, the hapless man goes down on his head\nand shoulders. But Messapus flies up with wrathful spear, and strikes\nhim, as he pleads sore, a deep downward [295-330]blow from horseback\nwith his beam-like spear, saying thus: _That for him: the high gods take\nthis better victim._ The Italians crowd in and strip his warm limbs.\nCorynaeus seizes a charred brand from the altar, and meeting Ebysus as\nhe advances to strike, darts the flame in his face; his heavy beard\nflamed up, and gave out a scorched smell. Following up his enemy's\nconfusion, the other seizes him with his left hand by the hair, and\nbears him to earth with a thrust of his planted knee, and there drives\nthe unyielding sword into his side. Podalirius pursues and overhangs\nwith naked sword the shepherd Alsus as he rushes amid the foremost line\nof weapons; Alsus swings back his axe, and severs brow and chin full in\nfront, wetting his armour all over with spattered blood. Grim rest and\niron slumber seal his eyes; his lids close on everlasting night.\n\nBut good Aeneas, his head bared, kept stretching his unarmed hand and\ncalling loudly to his men: 'Whither run you? What is this strife that so\nspreads and swells? Ah, restrain your wrath! truce is already stricken,\nand all its laws ordained; mine alone is the right of battle. Leave me\nalone, and my hand shall confirm the treaty; these rites already make\nTurnus mine.' Amid these accents, amid words like these, lo! a whistling\narrow winged its way to him, sped from what hand or driven by what god,\nnone knows, or what chance or deity brought such honour to the\nRutulians; the renown of the high deed was buried, nor did any boast to\nhave dealt Aeneas' wound. Turnus, when he saw Aeneas retreating from the\nranks and his captains in dismay, burns hot with sudden hope. At once he\ncalls for his horses and armour, and with a bound leaps proudly into his\nchariot and handles the reins. He darts on, dealing many a brave man's\nbody to death; many an one he rolls half-slain, or crushes whole files\nunder his chariot, or seizes and showers spears on the fugitives. As\n[331-364]when by the streams of icy Hebrus Mavors kindles to bloodshed\nand clashes on his shield, and stirs war and speeds his furious\ncoursers; they outwing south winds and west on the open plain; utmost\nThrace groans under their hoof-beats; and around in the god's train rush\nthe faces of dark Terror, and Wraths and Ambushes; even so amid the\nbattle Turnus briskly lashes on his reeking horses, trampling on the\nfoes that lie piteously slain; the galloping hoof scatters bloody dew,\nand spurns mingled gore and sand. And now hath he dealt Sthenelus to\ndeath, and Thamyrus and Pholus, him and him at close quarters, the other\nfrom afar; from afar both the sons of Imbrasus, Glaucus and Lades, whom\nImbrasus himself had nurtured in Lycia and equipped in equal arms,\nwhether to meet hand to hand or to outstrip the winds on horseback.\nElsewhere Eumedes advances amid the fray, ancient Dolon's brood,\nillustrious in war, renewing his grandfather's name, his father's\ncourage and strength of hand, who of old dared to claim Pelides' chariot\nas his price if he went to spy out the Grecian camp; to him the son of\nTydeus told out another price for his venture, and he dreams no more of\nAchilles' horses. Him Turnus descried far on the open plain, and first\nfollowing him with light javelin through long space of air, stops his\ndouble-harnessed horses and leaps from the chariot, and descends on his\nfallen half-lifeless foe, and, planting his foot on his neck, wrests the\nblade out of his hand and dyes its glitter deep in his throat, adding\nthese words withal: 'Behold, thou liest, Trojan, meting out those\nHesperian fields thou didst seek in war. Such guerdon is theirs who dare\nto tempt my sword; thus do they found their city.' Then with a\nspear-cast he sends Asbutes to follow him, and Chloreus and Sybaris,\nDares and Thersilochus, and Thymoetes fallen flung over his horse's\nneck. And as when [365-398]the Edonian North wind's wrath roars on the\ndeep Aegean, and the wave follows it shoreward; where the blast comes\ndown, the clouds race over the sky; so, wheresoever Turnus cleaves his\nway, columns retreat and lines turn and run; his own speed bears him on,\nand his flying plume tosses as his chariot meets the breeze. Phegeus\nbrooked not his proud approach; he faced the chariot, and caught and\ntwisted away in his right hand the mouths of his horses, spurred into\nspeed and foaming on the bit. Dragged along and hanging by the yoke he\nis left uncovered; the broad lance-head reaches him, pins and pierces\nthe double-woven breastplate, and lightly wounds the surface of his\nbody. Yet turning, he advanced on the enemy behind his shield, and\nsought succour in the naked point; when the wheel running forward on its\nswift axle struck him headlong and flung him to ground, and Turnus'\nsword following it smote off his head between the helmet-rim and the\nupper border of the breastplate, and left the body on the sand.\n\nAnd while Turnus thus victoriously deals death over the plains,\nMnestheus meantime and faithful Achates, and Ascanius by their side, set\ndown Aeneas in the camp, dabbled with blood and leaning every other step\non his long spear. He storms, and tries hard to pull out the dart where\nthe reed had broken, and calls for the nearest way of remedy, to cut\nopen the wound with broad blade, and tear apart the weapon's\nlurking-place, and so send him back to battle. And now Iapix son of\nIasus came, beloved beyond others of Phoebus, to whom once of old,\nsmitten with sharp desire, Apollo gladly offered his own arts and gifts,\naugury and the lyre and swift arrows: he, to lengthen out the destiny of\na parent given over to die, chose rather to know the potency of herbs\nand the practice of healing, and deal in a silent art unrenowned. Aeneas\nstood chafing bitterly, propped on his vast spear, mourning\n[399-435]I\u00fclus and a great crowd of men around, unstirred by their\ntears. The aged man, with garment drawn back and girt about him in\nPaeonian fashion, makes many a hurried effort with healing hand and the\npotent herbs of Phoebus, all in vain; in vain his hand solicits the\narrow-head, and his pincers' grasp pulls at the steel. Fortune leads him\nforward in nowise; Apollo aids not with counsel; and more and more the\nfierce clash swells over the plains, and the havoc draws nigher on.\nAlready they see the sky a mass of dust, the cavalry approaching, and\nshafts falling thickly amid the camp; the dismal cry uprises of warriors\nfighting and falling under the War-god's heavy hand. At this, stirred\ndeep by her son's cruel pain, Venus his mother plucked from Cretan Ida a\nstalk of dittamy with downy leaves and bright-tressed flowers, the plant\nnot unknown to wild goats when winged arrows are fast in their body.\nThis Venus bore down, her shape girt in a dim halo; this she steeps with\nsecret healing in the river-water poured out and sparkling abrim, and\nsprinkles life-giving juice of ambrosia and scented balm. With that\nwater aged Iapix washed the wound, unwitting; and suddenly, lo! all the\npain left his body, all the blood in the deep wound was stanched. And\nnow following his hand the arrow fell out with no force, and strength\nreturned afresh as of old. 'Hasten! arms for him quickly! why stand\nyou?' cries Iapix aloud, and begins to kindle their courage against the\nenemy; 'this comes not by human resource or schooling of art, nor does\nmy hand save thee, Aeneas: a higher god is at work, and sends thee back\nto higher deeds.' He, eager for battle, had already clasped on the\ngreaves of gold right and left, and scorning delay, brandishes his\nspear. When the shield is adjusted by his side and the corslet on his\nback, he clasps Ascanius in his armed embrace, and lightly kissing him\nthrough the helmet, cries: 'Learn of me, O boy, valour [436-470]and\ntoil indeed, fortune of others. Now mine hand shall give thee defence in\nwar, and lead thee to great reward: do thou, when hereafter thine age\nripens to fulness, keep this in remembrance, and as thou recallest the\npattern of thy kindred, let thy spirit rise to thy father Aeneas, thine\nuncle Hector.'\n\nThese words uttered, he issued towering from the gates, brandishing his\nmighty spear: with him in serried column rush Antheus and Mnestheus, and\nall the throng streams forth of the camp. The field drifts with blinding\ndust, and the startled earth trembles under the tramp of feet. From his\nearthworks opposite Turnus saw and the Ausonians saw them come, and an\nicy shudder ran deep through their frame; first and before all the\nLatins Juturna heard and knew the sound, and in terror fled away. He\nflies on, and hurries his dark column over the open plain. As when in\nfierce weather a storm-cloud moves over mid sea to land, with presaging\nheart, ah me, the hapless husbandmen shudder from afar; it will deal\nhavoc to their trees and destruction to their crops, and make a broad\npath of ruin; the winds fly before it, and bear its roar to the beach;\nso the Rhoetean captain drives his army full on the foe; one and all\nthey close up in wedges, and mass their serried ranks. Thymbraeus smites\nmassive Osiris with the sword, Mnestheus slays Arcetius, Achates Epulo,\nGyas Ufens: Tolumnius the augur himself goes down, he who had hurled the\nfirst weapon against the foe. Their cry rises to heaven, and in turn the\nrouted Rutulians give backward in flight over the dusty fields. Himself\nhe deigns not to cut down the fugitives, nor pursue such as meet him\nfair on foot or approach in arms: Turnus alone he tracks and searches in\nthe thick haze, alone calls him to conflict. Then panic-stricken the\nwarrior maiden flings Turnus' charioteer out over his reins, and leaving\nhim far where he slips from the [471-504]chariot-pole, herself succeeds\nand turns the wavy reins, tones and limbs and armour all of Metiscus'\nwearing. As when a black swallow flits through some rich lord's spacious\nhouse, and circles in flight the lofty halls, gathering her tiny food\nfor sustenance to her twittering nestlings, and now swoops down the\nspacious colonnades, now round the wet ponds; in like wise dart\nJuturna's horses amid the enemy, and her fleet chariot passes flying\nover all the field. And now here and now here she displays her\ntriumphant brother, nor yet allows him to close, but flies far and away.\nNone the less does Aeneas thread the circling maze to meet him, and\ntracks his man, and with loud cry cries on him through the scattered\nranks. Often as he cast eyes on his enemy and essayed to outrun the\nspeed of the flying-footed horses, so often Juturna wheeled her team\naway. Alas, what can he do? Vainly he tosses on the ebb and flow, and in\nhis spirit diverse cares make conflicting call; when Messapus, who haply\nbore in his left hand two tough spear-shafts topped with steel, runs\nlightly up and aims and hurls one of them upon him with unerring stroke.\nAeneas stood still, and gathered himself behind his armour, sinking on\nbended knee; yet the rushing spear bore off his helmet-spike, and dashed\nthe helmet-plume from the crest. Then indeed his wrath swells; and\nforced to it by their treachery, while chariot and horses disappear, he\ncalls Jove oft and again to witness, and the altars of the violated\ntreaty, and now at last plunges amid their lines. Sweeping terrible down\nthe tide of battle he wakens fierce indiscriminate carnage, and flings\nloose all the reins of wrath.\n\nWhat god may now unfold for me in verse so many woes, so many diverse\nslaughters and death of captains whom now Turnus, now again the Trojan\nhero, drives over all the field? Was it well, O God, that nations\ndestined to everlasting peace should clash in so vast a shock? Aeneas\n[505-540]meets Sucro the Rutulian; the combat stayed the first rush of\nthe Teucrians, but delayed them not long; he catches him on the side,\nand, when fate comes quickest, drives the harsh sword clean through the\nribs where they fence the breast. Turnus brings down Amycus from\nhorseback with his brother Diores, and meets them on foot; him he\nstrikes with his long spear as he comes, him with his sword-point, and\nhangs both severed heads on his chariot and carries them off dripping\nwith blood. The one sends to death Talos and Tana\u00efs and brave Cethegus,\nthree at one meeting, and gloomy Onites, of Echionian name, and Peridia\nthe mother that bore him; the other those brethren sent from Lycia and\nApollo's fields, and Menoetes the Arcadian, him who loathed warfare in\nvain; who once had his art and humble home about the river-fisheries of\nLerna, and knew not the courts of the great, but his father was tenant\nof the land he tilled. And as fires kindled dispersedly in a dry forest\nand rustling laurel-thickets, or foaming rivers where they leap swift\nand loud from high hills, and speed to sea each in his own path of\nhavoc; as fiercely the two, Aeneas and Turnus, dash amid the battle;\nnow, now wrath surges within them, and unconquerable hearts are torn;\nnow in all their might they rush upon wounds. The one dashes Murranus\ndown and stretches him on the soil with a vast whirling mass of rock, as\nhe cries the names of his fathers and forefathers of old, a whole line\ndrawn through Latin kings; under traces and yoke the wheels spurned him,\nand the fast-beating hoofs of his rushing horses trample down their\nforgotten lord. The other meets Hyllus rushing on in gigantic pride, and\nhurls his weapon at his gold-bound temples; the spear pierced through\nthe helmet and stood fast in the brain. Neither did thy right hand save\nthee from Turnus, O Cretheus, bravest of the Greeks; nor did his gods\nshield Cupencus when Aeneas came; he gave his [541-575]breast full to\nthe steel, nor, alas! was the brazen shield's delay aught of avail. Thee\nlikewise, Aeolus, the Laurentine plains saw sink backward and cover a\nwide space of earth; thou fallest, whom Argive battalions could not lay\nlow, nor Achilles the destroyer of Priam's realm. Here was thy goal of\ndeath; thine high house was under Ida, at Lyrnesus thine high house, on\nLaurentine soil thy tomb. The whole battle-lines gather up, all Latium\nand all Dardania, Mnestheus and valiant Serestus, with Messapus, tamer\nof horses, and brave Asilas, the Tuscan battalion and Evander's Arcadian\nsquadrons; man by man they struggle with all their might; no rest nor\npause in the vast strain of conflict.\n\nAt this Aeneas' mother most beautiful inspired him to advance on the\nwalls, directing his columns on the town and dismaying the Latins with\nsudden and swift disaster. As in search for Turnus he bent his glance\nthis way and that round the separate ranks, he descries the city free\nfrom all this warfare, unpunished and unstirred. Straightway he kindles\nat the view of a greater battle; he summons Mnestheus and Sergestus and\nbrave Serestus his captains, and mounts a hillock; there the rest of the\nTeucrian army gathers thickly, still grasping shield and spear. Standing\non the high mound amid them, he speaks: 'Be there no delay to my words;\nJupiter is with us; neither let any be slower to move that the design is\nsudden. This city to-day, the source of war, the royal seat of Latinus,\nunless they yield them to receive our yoke and obey their conquerors,\nwill I raze to ground, and lay her smoking roofs level with the dust.\nMust I wait forsooth till Turnus please to stoop to combat, and choose\nagain to face his conqueror? This, O citizens, is the fountain-head and\ncrown of the accursed war. Bring brands speedily, and reclaim the treaty\nin fire.' He ended; all with spirit alike emulous form a wedge and\nadvance in serried masses to the walls. Ladders are run [576-611]up,\nand fire leaps sudden to sight. Some rush to the separate gates, and cut\ndown the guards of the entry, others hurl their steel and darken the sky\nwith weapons. Aeneas himself among the foremost, upstretching his hand\nto the city walls, loudly reproaches Latinus, and takes the gods to\nwitness that he is again forced into battle, that twice now do the\nItalians choose warfare and break a second treaty. Discord rises among\nthe alarmed citizens: some bid unbar the town and fling wide their gates\nto the Dardanians, and pull the king himself towards the ramparts;\nothers bring arms and hasten to defend the walls: as when a shepherd\ntracks bees to their retreat in a recessed rock, and fills it with\nstinging smoke, they within run uneasily up and down their waxen\nfortress, and hum louder in rising wrath; the smell rolls in darkness\nalong their dwelling, and a blind murmur echoes within the rock as the\nsmoke issues to the empty air.\n\nThis fortune likewise befell the despairing Latins, this woe shook the\nwhole city to her base. The queen espies from her roof the enemy's\napproach, the walls scaled and firebrands flying on the houses; and\nnowhere Rutulian ranks, none of Turnus' columns to meet them; alas! she\ndeems him destroyed in the shock of battle, and, distracted by sudden\nanguish, shrieks that she is the source of guilt, the spring of ill, and\nwith many a mad utterance of frenzied grief rends her purple attire with\ndying hand, and ties from a lofty beam the ghastly noose of death. And\nwhen the unhappy Latin women knew this calamity, first her daughter\nLavinia tears her flower-like tresses and roseate cheeks, and all the\ntrain around her madden in her suit; the wide palace echoes to their\nwailing, and from it the sorrowful rumour spreads abroad throughout the\ntown. All hearts sink; Latinus goes with torn raiment, in dismay at his\nwife's doom and his city's downfall, defiling his hoary hair with\nsoilure of sprinkled dust.\n\n[614-648]Meanwhile on the skirts of the field Turnus chases scattered\nstragglers, ever slacker to battle, ever less and less exultant in his\ncoursers' victorious speed. The confused cry came to him borne in blind\nterror down the breeze, and his startled ears caught the echoing tumult\nand disastrous murmur of the town. 'Ah me! what agony shakes the city?\nor what is this cry that fleets so loud from the distant town?' So\nspeaks he, and distractedly checks the reins. And to him his sister, as\nchanged into his charioteer Metiscus' likeness she swayed horses and\nchariot-reins, thus rejoined: 'This way, Turnus, let us pursue the brood\nof Troy, where victory opens her nearest way; there are others whose\nhands can protect their dwellings. Aeneas falls fiercer on the Italians,\nand closes in conflict; let our hand too deal pitiless death on his\nTeucrians. Neither in tale of dead nor in glory of battle shalt thou\nretire outdone.' Thereat Turnus: . . .\n\n'Ah my sister, long ere now I knew thee, when first thine arts shattered\nthe treaty, and thou didst mingle in the strife; and now thy godhead\nconceals itself in vain. But who hath bidden thee descend from heaven to\nbear this sore travail? was it that thou mightest see thy hapless\nbrother cruelly slain? for what do I, or what fortune yet gives promise\nof safety? Before my very eyes, calling aloud on me, I saw Murranus,\nthan whom none other is left me more dear, sink huge to earth, borne\ndown by as huge a wound. Hapless Ufens is fallen, not to see our shame;\ncorpse and armour are in Teucrian hands. The destruction of their\nhouseholds, this was the one thing yet lacking; shall I suffer it? Shall\nmy hand not refute Drances' jeers? shall I turn my back, and this land\nsee Turnus a fugitive? Is Death all so bitter? Do you, O Shades, be\ngracious to me, since the powers of heaven are estranged; to you shall I\ngo down, a pure spirit and [649-681]ignorant of your blame, never once\nunworthy of my mighty fathers of old.'\n\nScarce had he spoken thus; lo! Saces, borne flying on his foaming horse\nthrough the thickest of the foe, an arrow-wound right in his face,\ndarts, beseeching Turnus by his name. 'Turnus, in thee is our last\nsafety; pity thy people. Aeneas thunders in arms, and threatens to\noverthrow and hurl to destruction the high Italian fortress; and already\nfirebrands are flying on our roofs. On thee, on thee the Latins turn\ntheir gazing eyes; King Latinus himself mutters in doubt, whom he is to\ncall his sons, to whom he shall incline in union. Moreover the queen,\nthy surest stay, hath fallen by her own hand and in dismay fled the\nlight. Alone in front of the gates Messapus and valiant Atinas sustain\nthe battle-line. Round about them to right and left the armies stand\nlocked and the iron field shivers with naked points; thou wheelest thy\nchariot on the sward alone.' At the distracting picture of his fortune\nTurnus froze in horror and stood in dumb gaze; together in his heart\nsweep the vast mingling tides of shame and maddened grief, and love\nstung to frenzy and resolved valour. So soon as the darkness cleared and\nlight returned to his soul, he fiercely turned his blazing eyeballs\ntowards the ramparts, and gazed back from his wheels on the great city.\nAnd lo! a spire of flame wreathing through the floors wavered up skyward\nand held a turret fast, a turret that he himself had reared of mortised\nplanks and set on rollers and laid with high gangways. 'Now, O my\nsister, now fate prevails: cease to hinder; let us follow where deity\nand stern fortune call. I am resolved to face Aeneas, resolved to bear\nwhat bitterness there is in death; nor shalt thou longer see me shamed,\nsister of mine. Let me be mad, I pray thee, with this madness before the\nend.' He spoke, and leapt swiftly from his chariot to the field, and\ndarting through weapons [682-718]and through enemies, leaves his\nsorrowing sister, and bursts in rapid course amid their columns. And as\nwhen a rock rushes headlong from some mountain peak, torn away by the\nblast, or if the rushing rain washes it away, or the stealing years\nloosen its ancient hold; the reckless mountain mass goes sheer and\nimpetuous, and leaps along the ground, hurling with it forests and herds\nand men; thus through the scattering columns Turnus rushes to the city\nwalls, where the earth is wettest with bloodshed and the air sings with\nspears; and beckons with his hand, and thus begins aloud: 'Forbear now,\nO Rutulians, and you, Latins, stay your weapons. Whatsoever fortune is\nleft is mine: I singly must expiate the treaty for you all, and make\ndecision with the sword.' All drew aside and left him room.\n\nBut lord Aeneas, hearing Turnus' name, abandons the walls, abandons the\nfortress height, and in exultant joy flings aside all hindrance, breaks\noff all work, and clashes his armour terribly, vast as Athos, or as\nEryx, or as the lord of Apennine when he roars with his tossing ilex\nwoods and rears his snowy crest rejoicing into air. Now indeed Rutulians\nand Trojans and all Italy turned in emulous gaze, and they who held the\nhigh city, and they whose ram was battering the foundations of the wall,\nand unarmed their shoulders. Latinus himself stands in amaze at the\nmighty men, born in distant quarters of the world, met and making\ndecision with the sword. And they, in the empty level field that cleared\nfor them, darted swiftly forward, and hurling their spears from far,\nclose in battle shock with clangour of brazen shields. Earth utters a\nmoan; the sword-strokes fall thick and fast, chance and valour joining\nin one. And as in broad Sila or high on Taburnus, when two bulls rush to\ndeadly battle forehead to forehead, the herdsmen retire in terror, all\nthe herd stands dumb in dismay, and the heifers murmur in doubt which\nshall be [719-752]lord in the woodland, which all the cattle must\nfollow; they violently deal many a mutual wound, and gore with their\nstubborn horns, bathing their necks and shoulders in abundant blood; all\nthe woodland moans back their bellowing: even thus Aeneas of Troy and\nthe Daunian hero rush together shield to shield; the mighty crash fills\nthe sky. Jupiter himself holds up the two scales in even balance, and\nlays in them the different fates of both, trying which shall pay forfeit\nof the strife, whose weight shall sink in death. Turnus darts out,\nthinking it secure, and rises with his whole reach of body on his\nuplifted sword; then strikes; Trojans and Latins cry out in excitement,\nand both armies strain their gaze. But the treacherous sword shivers,\nand in mid stroke deserts its eager lord. If flight aid him not now! He\nflies swifter than the wind, when once he descries a strange hilt in his\nweaponless hand. Rumour is that in his headlong hurry, when mounting\nbehind his yoked horses to begin the battle, he left his father's sword\nbehind and caught up his charioteer Metiscus' weapon; and that served\nhim long, while Teucrian stragglers turned their backs; when it met the\ndivine Vulcanian armour, the mortal blade like brittle ice snapped in\nthe stroke; the shards lie glittering upon the yellow sand. So in\ndistracted flight Turnus darts afar over the plain, and now this way and\nnow that crosses in wavering circles; for on all hands the Teucrians\nlocked him in crowded ring, and the dreary marsh on this side, on this\nthe steep city ramparts hem him in.\n\nTherewith Aeneas pursues, though ever and anon his knees, disabled by\nthe arrow, hinder and stay his speed; and foot hard on foot presses\nhotly on his hurrying enemy: as when a hunter courses with a fleet\nbarking hound some stag caught in a river-loop or girt by the\ncrimson-feathered toils, and he, in terror of the snares and the high\nriver-bank, [753-786]darts back and forward in a thousand ways; but the\nkeen Umbrian clings agape, and just catches at him, and as though he\ncaught him snaps his jaws while the baffled teeth close on vacancy. Then\nindeed a cry goes up, and banks and pools answer round about, and all\nthe sky echoes the din. He, even as he flies, chides all his Rutulians,\ncalling each by name, and shrieks for the sword he knew. But Aeneas\ndenounces death and instant doom if one of them draw nigh, and doubles\ntheir terror with threats of their city's destruction, and though\nwounded presses on. Five circles they cover at full speed, and unwind as\nmany this way and that; for not light nor slight is the prize they seek,\nbut Turnus' very lifeblood is at issue. Here there haply had stood a\nbitter-leaved wild olive, sacred to Faunus, a tree worshipped by\nmariners of old; on it, when rescued from the waves, they were wont to\nfix their gifts to the god of Laurentum and hang their votive raiment;\nbut the Teucrians, unregarding, had cleared away the sacred stem, that\nthey might meet on unimpeded lists. Here stood Aeneas' spear; hither\nborne by its own speed it was held fast stuck in the tough root. The\nDardanian stooped over it, and would wrench away the steel, to follow\nwith the weapon him whom he could not catch in running. Then indeed\nTurnus cries in frantic terror: 'Faunus, have pity, I beseech thee! and\nthou, most gracious Earth, keep thy hold on the steel, as I ever have\nkept your worship, and the Aeneadae again have polluted it in war.' He\nspoke, and called the god to aid in vows that fell not fruitless. For\nall Aeneas' strength, his long struggling and delay over the tough stem\navailed not to unclose the hard grip of the wood. While he strains and\npulls hard, the Daunian goddess, changing once more into the charioteer\nMetiscus' likeness, runs forward and passes her brother his sword. But\nVenus, indignant that the [787-818]Nymph might be so bold, drew nigh\nand wrenched away the spear where it stuck deep in the root. Erect in\nfresh courage and arms, he with his faithful sword, he towering fierce\nover his spear, they face one another panting in the battle shock.\n\nMeanwhile the King of Heaven's omnipotence accosts Juno as she gazes on\nthe battle from a sunlit cloud. 'What yet shall be the end, O wife? what\nremains at the last? Heaven claims Aeneas as his country's god, thou\nthyself knowest and avowest to know, and fate lifts him to the stars.\nWith what device or in what hope hangest thou chill in cloudland? Was it\nwell that a deity should be sullied by a mortal's wound? or that the\nlost sword--for what without thee could Juturna avail?--should be\nrestored to Turnus and swell the force of the vanquished? Forbear now, I\npray, and bend to our entreaties; let not the pain thus devour thee in\nsilence, and distress so often flood back on me from thy sweet lips. The\nend is come. Thou hast had power to hunt the Trojans over land or wave,\nto kindle accursed war, to put the house in mourning, and plunge the\nbridal in grief: further attempt I forbid thee.' Thus Jupiter began:\nthus the goddess, daughter of Saturn, returned with looks cast down:\n\n'Even because this thy will, great Jupiter, is known to me for thine,\nhave I left, though loth, Turnus alone on earth; nor else wouldst thou\nsee me now, alone on this skyey seat, enduring good and bad; but girt in\nflame I were standing by their very lines, and dragging the Teucrians\ninto the deadly battle. I counselled Juturna, I confess it, to succour\nher hapless brother, and for his life's sake favoured a greater daring;\nyet not the arrow-shot, not the bending of the bow, I swear by the\nmerciless well-head of the Stygian spring, the single ordained dread of\nthe gods in heaven. And now I retire, and leave the battle in loathing.\n[819-854]This thing I beseech thee, that is bound by no fatal law, for\nLatium and for the majesty of thy kindred. When now they shall plight\npeace with prosperous marriages (be it so!), when now they shall join in\nlaws and treaties, bid thou not the native Latins change their name of\nold, nor become Trojans and take the Teucrian name, or change their\nlanguage, or alter their attire: let Latium be, let Alban kings endure\nthrough ages, let Italian valour be potent in the race of Rome. Troy is\nfallen; let her and her name lie where they fell.'\n\nTo her smilingly the designer of men and things:\n\n'Jove's own sister thou art, and second seed of Saturn, such surge of\nwrath tosses within thy breast! But come, allay this madness so vainly\nstirred. I give thee thy will, and yield thee ungrudged victory. Ausonia\nshall keep her native speech and usage, and as her name is, it shall be.\nThe Trojans shall sink mingling into their blood; I will add their\nsacred law and ritual, and make all Latins and of a single speech. Hence\nshall spring a race of tempered Ausonian blood, whom thou shalt see\noutdo men and gods in duty; nor shall any nation so observe thy\nworship.' To this Juno assented, and in gladness withdrew her purpose;\nmeanwhile she quits her cloud, and retires out of the sky.\n\nThis done, the Father revolves inly another counsel, and prepares to\nseparate Juturna from her brother's arms. Twin monsters there are,\ncalled the Dirae by their name, whom with infernal Megaera the dead of\nnight bore at one single birth, and wreathed them in like serpent coils,\nand clothed them in windy wings. They appear at Jove's throne and in the\ncourts of the grim king, and quicken the terrors of wretched men\nwhensoever the lord of heaven deals sicknesses and dreadful death, or\nsends terror of war upon guilty cities. One of these Jupiter sent\nswiftly down from heaven's height, and bade her meet Juturna for a\n[855-888]sign. She wings her way, and darts in a whirlwind to earth.\nEven as an arrow through a cloud, darting from the string when Parthian\nhath poisoned it with bitter gall, Parthian or Cydonian, and sped the\nimmedicable shaft, leaps through the swift shadow whistling and unknown;\nso sprung and swept to earth the daughter of Night. When she espies the\nIlian ranks and Turnus' columns, suddenly shrinking to the shape of a\nsmall bird that often sits late by night on tombs or ruinous roofs, and\nvexes the darkness with her cry, in such change of likeness the monster\nshrilly passes and repasses before Turnus' face, and her wings beat\nrestlessly on his shield. A strange numbing terror unnerves his limbs,\nhis hair thrills up, and the accents falter on his tongue. But when his\nhapless sister knew afar the whistling wings of the Fury, Juturna\nunbinds and tears her tresses, with rent face and smitten bosom. 'How, O\nTurnus, can thine own sister help thee now? or what more is there if I\nbreak not under this? What art of mine can lengthen out thy day? can I\ncontend with this ominous thing? Now, now I quit the field. Dismay not\nmy terrors, disastrous birds; I know these beating wings, and the sound\nof death, nor do I miss high-hearted Jove's haughty ordinance. Is this\nhis repayment for my maidenhood? what good is his gift of life for ever?\nwhy have I forfeited a mortal's lot? Now assuredly could I make all this\npain cease, and go with my unhappy brother side by side into the dark.\nAlas mine immortality! will aught of mine be sweet to me without thee,\nmy brother? Ah, how may Earth yawn deep enough for me, and plunge my\ngodhead in the under world!'\n\nSo spoke she, and wrapping her head in her gray vesture, the goddess\nmoaning sore sank in the river depth.\n\nBut Aeneas presses on, brandishing his vast tree-like spear, and\nfiercely speaks thus: 'What more delay is there [889-924]now? or why,\nTurnus, dost thou yet shrink away? Not in speed of foot, in grim arms,\nhand to hand, must be the conflict. Transform thyself as thou wilt, and\ncollect what strength of courage or skill is thine; pray that thou\nmayest wing thy flight to the stars on high, or that sheltering earth\nmay shut thee in.' The other, shaking his head: 'Thy fierce words dismay\nme not, insolent! the gods dismay me, and Jupiter's enmity.' And no more\nsaid, his eyes light on a vast stone, a stone ancient and vast that\nhaply lay upon the plain, set for a landmark to divide contested fields:\nscarcely might twelve chosen men lift it on their shoulders, of such\nframe as now earth brings to birth: then the hero caught it up with\ntrembling hand and whirled it at the foe, rising higher and quickening\nhis speed. But he knows not his own self running nor going nor lifting\nhis hands or moving the mighty stone; his knees totter, his blood\nfreezes cold; the very stone he hurls, spinning through the empty void,\nneither wholly reached its distance nor carried its blow home. And as in\nsleep, when nightly rest weighs down our languorous eyes, we seem vainly\nto will to run eagerly on, and sink faint amidst our struggles; the\ntongue is powerless, the familiar strength fails the body, nor will\nwords or utterance follow: so the disastrous goddess brings to naught\nall Turnus' valour as he presses on. His heart wavers in shifting\nemotion; he gazes on his Rutulians and on the city, and falters in\nterror, and shudders at the imminent spear; neither sees he whither he\nmay escape nor how rush violently on the enemy, and nowhere his chariot\nor his sister at the reins. As he wavers Aeneas poises the deadly\nweapon, and, marking his chance, hurls it in from afar with all his\nstrength of body. Never with such a roar are stones hurled from some\nengine on ramparts, nor does the thunder burst in so loud a peal.\nCarrying grim death with it, the spear flies in fashion of some dark\nwhirlwind, and [925-952]opens the rim of the corslet and the utmost\ncircles of the sevenfold shield. Right through the thigh it passes\nhurtling on; under the blow Turnus falls huge to earth with his leg\ndoubled under him. The Rutulians start up with a groan, and all the hill\nechoes round about, and the width of high woodland returns their cry.\nLifting up beseechingly his humbled eyes and suppliant hand: 'I have\ndeserved it,' he says, 'nor do I ask for mercy; use thy fortune. If an\nunhappy parent's distress may at all touch thee, this I pray; even such\na father was Anchises to thee; pity Daunus' old age, and restore to my\nkindred which thou wilt, me or my body bereft of day. Thou art\nconqueror, and Ausonia hath seen me stretch conquered hands. Lavinia is\nthine in marriage; press not thy hatred farther.'\n\nAeneas stood wrathful in arms, with rolling eyes, and lowered his hand;\nand now and now yet more the speech began to bend him to waver: when\nhigh on his shoulder appeared the sword-belt with the shining bosses\nthat he knew, the luckless belt of the boy Pallas, whom Turnus had\nstruck down with mastering wound, and wore on his shoulders the fatal\nornament. The other, as his eyes drank in the plundered record of his\nfierce grief, kindles to fury, and cries terrible in anger: 'Mayest\nthou, thou clad in the spoils of my dearest, escape mine hands? Pallas\nit is, Pallas who now strikes the sacrifice, and exacts vengeance in thy\nguilty blood.' So saying, he fiercely plunges the steel full in his\nbreast. But his limbs grow slack and chill, and the life with a moan\nflies indignantly into the dark.\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\nNOTES\n\n\nBOOK FIRST\n\nl. 123--_Accipiunt inimicum imbrem._ Inimica non tantum hostilia sed\nperniciosa.--Serv. on ix. 315. The word often has this latter sense in\nVirgil.\n\nl. 396--_Aut capere aut captas iam despectare videntur._ Henry seems\nunquestionably right in explaining _captas despectare_ of the swans\nrising and hovering over the place where they had settled, this action\nbeing more fully expressed in the next two lines. The parallelism\nbetween ll. 396 and 400 exists, but it is inverted, _capere_\ncorresponding to _subit_, _captas despectare_ to _tenet_.\n\nl. 427--_lata theatris_ with the balance of MS. authority.\n\nl. 550--_Arvaque_ after Med. and Pal.; _armaque_ Con.\n\nl. 636--_Munera laetitiamque die_ ('ut multi legunt,' says Serv.),\nthough it has little MS. authority, has been adopted because it is\nstrongly probable on internal grounds, as giving a basis for the other\ntwo readings, _dei_ and _dii_.\n\nl. 722--_The long-since-unstirred spirit._\n\n     And weep afresh love's long-since-cancell'd woe.\n                                  SHAKESPEARE, Sonnet XXX.\n\nl. 726--_dependent lychni laquearibus aureis._ Serv. on viii. 25,\n_summique ferit laquearia tecti_, says 'multi lacuaria legunt. nam lacus\ndicuntur: unde est . . . lacunar. non enim a laqueis dicitur.' As Prof.\nNettleship has pointed out, this seems to indicate that there are two\nwords, _laquear_ from _laqueus_, meaning chain or network, and _lacuar_\nor _lacunar_ from _lacus_, meaning sunk work.\n\n\nBOOK SECOND\n\nl. 30--_Classibus hic locus._ Ad equites referre debemus.--Serv. Cf.\nalso vii. 716.\n\nl. 76--Omitted with the best MSS.\n\nl. 234--_moenia pandimus urbis._ Moenia cetera urbis tecta vel aedes\naccipiendum.--Serv. This is the sense which the word generally has in\nVirgil: it is often used in contrast with _muri_, or as a synonym of\n_urbs_; and in most cases _city_ is its nearest English equivalent.\n\nl. 381--_caerula colla tumentem._ Caerulum est viride cum nigro.--Serv.\non vii. 198. Cf. iii. 208, where it is used of the colour of the sea\nafter a storm.\n\nl. 616--_nimbo effulgens._ est fulgidum lumen quo deorum capita\ncinguntur. sic etiam pingi solet.--Serv. Cf. xii. 416.\n\n\nBOOK THIRD\n\nl. 127--_freta concita terris_ with all the best MSS.; _consita_ Con.\n\nl. 152--_qua se Plena per insertas fundebat Luna fenestras._ The usual\nexplanation, which makes _insertas_ an epithet transferred by a sort of\nhypallage from _Luna_ to _fenestras_, is extremely violent, and makes\nthe word little more than a repetition of _se fundebat_. Servius\nmentions two other interpretations; _non seratas, quasi inseratas_, and\n_clatratas_; the last has been adopted in the translation.\n\nIn the passage of Lucretius (ii. 114) which Virgil has imitated here,\n\n     Contemplator enim cum solis lumina . . .\n     Inserti fundunt radii per opaca domorum,\n\nit is possible that _clatris_ may be the lost word.\n\nl. 684--\n\n     _Contra iussa monent Heleni, Scyllam atque Charybdim\n     Inter, utramque viam leti discrimine parvo\n     Ni teneant cursus._\n\nIn this difficult passage it is probably best to take _cursus_ as the\nsubject to teneant (_cursus teneant_, id est agantur.--Serv. Cf. also l.\n454 above, _quamvis vi cursus in altum Vela vocet_), _viam_ being either\nthe direct object of _teneant_, or in loose apposition to _Scyllam atque\nCharybdim_.\n\nl. 708--_tempestatibus actis_ with Rom. and Pal.; _actus_ Con. after\nMed.\n\n\nBOOK FOURTH\n\n     Totus hic liber . . . in consiliis et subtilitatibus est.\n     nam paene comicus stilus est. nec mirum, ubi de amore\n     tractatur.--Serv.\n\nl. 273--Omitted with the best MSS.\n\nl. 528--Omitted with the best MSS.\n\n\nBOOK FIFTH\n\nl. 595--_iuduntque per undas_, omitted with the preponderance of MS.\nauthority.\n\n\nBOOK SIXTH\n\nl. 242--Omitted with the balance of MS. authority.\n\nl. 806--_virtutem extendere factis_ with Med.; _virtute extendere vires_\nCon.\n\n\nBOOK EIGHTH\n\nl. 46--Omitted with the majority of the best MSS.\n\nl. 383--_Arma rogo. Genetrix nato te filia Nerei_.\n\n     _Arma rogo._ hic distinguendum, ut cui petat non dicat, sed\n     relinquat intellegi . . . _Genetrix nato te filia Nerei._ hoc\n     est, soles hoc praestare matribus.--Serv.\n\n\nBOOK NINTH\n\nl. 29--Omitted with all the best MSS.\n\nl. 122--Omitted with all the best MSS.\n\nl. 281--\n\n             _Me nulla dies tam fortibus ausis\n     Dissimilem arguerit tantum, Fortuna secunda\n     Aut adversa cadat._\n\nWith some hesitation I have adopted this reading as the one open to\nleast objection, though the balance of authority is decidedly in favour\nof _haud adversa_. For the position of _tantum_ cf. Ecl. x. 46,\naccording to the 'subtilior explicatio' now generally adopted.\n\nl. 412--\n\n     _Et venit adversi in tergum Sulmonis ibique\n     Frangitur, et fisso transit praecordia ligno._\n\nThe phrase _in tergum_ occurs twice elsewhere: ix. 764--meaning 'on the\nback'; and xi. 653--meaning 'backward'; and in x. 718 the uncertainty\nabout the order of the lines makes it possible that _tergo decutit\nhastas_ was meant to refer to the boar, not to Mezentius. But the\npassages quoted by the editors there shew that the word might be used in\nthe sense of 'shield'; and this being so we are scarcely justified in\nreading _aversi_ against all the good MSS.\n\nl. 529--Omitted with most MSS.\n\n\nBOOK TENTH\n\nl. 278--Omitted with the best MSS.\n\nl. 754--_Insidiis, iaculo et longe fallente sagitta._ The MS. authority\nis decidedly in favour of this, the more difficult reading; and the\nhendiadys is not more violent than those in Georg. ii. 192, Aen. iii.\n223.\n\n\nBOOK TWELFTH\n\nl. 218--_Tum magis, ut propius cernunt non viribus aequis._\n\nWith Ribbeck I believe that there is a gap in the sense here, and have\nmarked one in the translation.\n\nl. 520--_Limina_ with Med. _Munera_ Con.\n\nll. 612, 613--Omitted with the best MSS.\n\nl. 751--_Venator cursu canis et latratibus instat._ I take _cursu canis_\nas equivalent to _currente cane_, as in i. 324, _spumantis apri cursum\nclamore prementem_.\n\n\n_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, _Edinburgh_.\n\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\nTRANSCRIBER'S NOTES\n\n\nThe following words appear with and without a hyphen. Spelling has been\nleft as in the original.\n\n     blood-stained    bloodstained\n     hill-tops        hilltops\n     horse-hair       horsehair\n     life-blood       lifeblood\n     new-born         newborn\n     spear-shaft      spearshaft\n     water-ways       waterways\n\nThe following words are spelled in multiple ways. Spelling has been left\nas in the original.\n\n     aery             a\u00ebry\n     horned           horn\u00e8d\n     Nereids          Nere\u00efd\n     Pergama          Pergamea\n\nThe following corrections have made to the text:\n\n     page 173--'[quotation mark missing in original]Nymphs,\n     Laurentine Nymphs\n\n     page 202--in name fail to be Cre\u00fcsa[original has Cr\u00ebusa]\n\n     page 207--Rumour on fluttering[original has flutttering] wings\n\n     page 285--the Rhoetean[original has Rhoeteian] captain drives\n     his army\n\nThe first occurrence of Phoebus was rendered with an oe ligature in the\noriginal.\n\nEllipses match the original.","title":"The Aeneid of Virgil","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":99323}