{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_73488/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_73488","id":"gutenberg_73488","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/73488","summary":null,"tags":["Aeneas (Legendary character)","Category: Classics of Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","Epic poetry, Latin -- Translations into English","Legends -- Rome"],"text":"VIRGIL\u2019S \u00c6NEID\n\n\n\n\nMacmillan\u2019s Pocket American and English Classics\n\nA SERIES OF ENGLISH TEXTS, EDITED FOR USE IN ELEMENTARY AND SECONDARY\nSCHOOLS, WITH CRITICAL INTRODUCTIONS, NOTES, ETC.\n\n 16mo Cloth 48 cents each\n\n\n Addison\u2019s Sir Roger de Coverley.\n American Democracy from Washington to Wilson.\n American Patriotism in Prose and Verse.\n Andersen\u2019s Fairy Tales.\n Arabian Nights\u2019 Entertainments.\n Arnold\u2019s Sohrab and Rustum.\n Austen\u2019s Pride and Prejudice.\n Austen\u2019s Sense and Sensibility.\n Bacon\u2019s Essays.\n Baker\u2019s Out of the Northland.\n Bible (Memorable Passages).\n Blackmore\u2019s Lorna Doone.\n Boswell\u2019s Life of Johnson. Abridged.\n Browning\u2019s Shorter Poems.\n Mrs. Browning\u2019s Poems (Selected).\n Bryant\u2019s Thanatopsis, etc.\n Bryce on American Democracy.\n Bulwer-Lytton\u2019s Last Days of Pompeii.\n Bunyan\u2019s The Pilgrim\u2019s Progress.\n Burke\u2019s Speech on Conciliation.\n Burns\u2019 Poems (Selections).\n Byron\u2019s Childe Harold\u2019s Pilgrimage.\n Byron\u2019s Shorter Poems.\n Carlyle\u2019s Essay on Burns.\n Carlyle\u2019s Heroes and Hero Worship.\n Carroll\u2019s Alice\u2019s Adventures in Wonderland.\n Chaucer\u2019s Prologue and Knight\u2019s Tale.\n * Church\u2019s The Story of the Iliad.\n * Church\u2019s The Story of the Odyssey.\n Churchill\u2019s The Crisis.\n Coleridge\u2019s The Ancient Mariner.\n Cooper\u2019s The Deerslayer.\n Cooper\u2019s The Last of the Mohicans.\n Cooper\u2019s The Spy.\n Curtis\u2019 Prue and I.\n Dana\u2019s Two Years Before the Mast.\n Defoe\u2019s Robinson Crusoe. Part I.\n Defoe\u2019s Robinson Crusoe. Abridged.\n De Quincey\u2019s Confessions of an English Opium-Eater.\n De Quincey\u2019s Joan of Arc, and The English Mail Coach.\n Dickens\u2019 A Christmas Carol, and The Cricket on the Hearth.\n Dickens\u2019 A Tale of Two Cities.\n Dickens\u2019 David Copperfield. (Two vols.)\n Dickens\u2019 Oliver Twist.\n Dryden\u2019s Palamon and Arcite.\n Early American Orations, 1760-1824.\n Edwards\u2019 Sermons.\n Eliot\u2019s Mill on the Floss.\n Eliot\u2019s Silas Marner.\n Emerson\u2019s Essays and Addresses.\n Emerson\u2019s Earlier Poems.\n Emerson\u2019s Representative Men.\n English Essays.\n * English Narrative Poems.\n Epoch-making Papers in U. S. History.\n Franklin\u2019s Autobiography.\n Mrs. Gaskell\u2019s Cranford.\n Goldsmith\u2019s The Deserted Village and Other Poems.\n Goldsmith\u2019s The Vicar of Wakefield.\n Gray\u2019s Elegy, etc., and Cowper\u2019s John Gilpin, etc.\n Grimm\u2019s Fairy Tales.\n * Hale\u2019s The Man Without a Country.\n Hawthorne\u2019s Grandfather\u2019s Chair.\n Hawthorne\u2019s Mosses from an Old Manse.\n Hawthorne\u2019s Tanglewood Tales.\n Hawthorne\u2019s The House of the Seven Gables.\n Hawthorne\u2019s The Scarlet Letter.\n Hawthorne\u2019s Twice-told Tales (Selections).\n Hawthorne\u2019s Wonder-Book.\n * Holmes\u2019 Poems.\n Holmes\u2019 Autocrat of the Breakfast Table.\n * Homer\u2019s Iliad. (Abridged.)\n * Homer\u2019s Odyssey. (Abridged.)\n Hughes\u2019 Tom Brown\u2019s School Days.\n Hugo\u2019s Les Miserables. Abridged.\n Huxley\u2019s Selected Essays and Addresses.\n Irving\u2019s Life of Goldsmith.\n Irving\u2019s Knickerbocker\u2019s History.\n Irving\u2019s Sketch Book.\n Irving\u2019s The Alhambra.\n Irving\u2019s Tales of a Traveller.\n * Keary\u2019s Heroes of Asgard.\n \u00e0 Kempis\u2019 The Imitation of Christ.\n Kingsley\u2019s The Heroes.\n Kingsley\u2019s Westward Ho!\n Lamb\u2019s The Essays of Elia.\n Lamb\u2019s Tales from Shakespeare.\n Letters from Many Pens.\n Lincoln\u2019s Addresses, Inaugurals, and Letters.\n Lockhart\u2019s Life of Scott. Abridged.\n * London\u2019s Call of the Wild.\n Longfellow\u2019s Evangeline.\n Longfellow\u2019s Hiawatha.\n Longfellow\u2019s Miles Standish.\n Longfellow\u2019s Miles Standish and Minor Poems.\n Longfellow\u2019s Tales of a Wayside Inn.\n Lowell\u2019s The Vision of Sir Launfal.\n Lowell\u2019s Earlier Essays.\n Macaulay\u2019s Essay on Addison.\n Macaulay\u2019s Essay on Hastings.\n Macaulay\u2019s Essay on Lord Clive.\n Macaulay\u2019s Essay on Milton.\n Macaulay\u2019s Lays of Ancient Rome.\n Macaulay\u2019s Life of Samuel Johnson.\n Malory\u2019s Le Morte d\u2019Arthur.\n Milton\u2019s Minor Poems.\n Milton\u2019s Paradise Lost, Books I and II.\n Old English Ballads.\n Old Testament Selections.\n * Palgrave\u2019s Golden Treasury.\n Parkman\u2019s Oregon Trail.\n Plutarch\u2019s Lives of C\u00e6sar, Brutus, and Mark Antony.\n Poe\u2019s Poems.\n * Poems, Narrative and Lyrical.\n Pope\u2019s Homer\u2019s Iliad.\n Pope\u2019s Homer\u2019s Odyssey.\n Pope\u2019s The Rape of the Lock.\n Reade\u2019s The Cloister and the Hearth.\n * Representative Short Stories.\n Roosevelt\u2019s Writings (Selected).\n * Rossetti\u2019s (Christina) Selected Poems.\n Ruskin\u2019s Sesame and Lilies.\n Ruskin\u2019s The Crown of Wild Olive and Queen of the Air.\n Scott\u2019s Guy Mannering.\n Scott\u2019s Ivanhoe.\n Scott\u2019s Kenilworth.\n Scott\u2019s Lady of the Lake.\n Scott\u2019s Lay of the Last Minstrel.\n Scott\u2019s Marmion.\n Scott\u2019s Quentin Durward.\n Scott\u2019s Rob Roy.\n Scott\u2019s The Talisman.\n Select Orations.\n Selected Poems, for Required Reading in Secondary Schools.\n Selections from American Poetry.\n * Selections for Oral Reading.\n Shakespeare\u2019s As You Like It.\n Shakespeare\u2019s Coriolanus.\n Shakespeare\u2019s Hamlet.\n Shakespeare\u2019s Henry V.\n Shakespeare\u2019s Julius C\u00e6sar.\n Shakespeare\u2019s King Lear.\n Shakespeare\u2019s Macbeth.\n Shakespeare\u2019s Merchant of Venice.\n Shakespeare\u2019s Midsummer Night\u2019s Dream.\n Shakespeare\u2019s Richard II.\n Shakespeare\u2019s Richard III.\n Shakespeare\u2019s Romeo and Juliet.\n Shakespeare\u2019s The Tempest.\n Shakespeare\u2019s Twelfth Night.\n Shelley and Keats: Poems.\n Sheridan\u2019s The Rivals and The School for Scandal.\n * Short Stories.\n * Short Stories and Selections.\n Southern Orators: Selections.\n Southern Poets: Selections.\n Southey\u2019s Life of Nelson.\n Spenser\u2019s Faerie Queene, Book I.\n * Stevenson\u2019s Kidnapped.\n * Stevenson\u2019s The Master of Ballantrae.\n * Stevenson\u2019s Travels with a Donkey, and An Inland Voyage.\n * Stevenson\u2019s Treasure Island.\n Swift\u2019s Gulliver\u2019s Travels.\n * Tennyson\u2019s Idylls of the King.\n * Tennyson\u2019s In Memoriam.\n * Tennyson\u2019s The Princess.\n * Tennyson\u2019s Shorter Poems.\n Thackeray\u2019s English Humorists.\n Thackeray\u2019s Henry Esmond.\n Thoreau\u2019s Walden.\n * Trevelyan\u2019s Life of Macaulay. Abridged.\n Virgil\u2019s \u00c6neid.\n Washington\u2019s Farewell Address, and Webster\u2019s First Bunker Hill Oration.\n Whittier\u2019s Snow Bound and Other Early Poems.\n Wister\u2019s The Virginian.\n Woolman\u2019s Journal.\n Wordsworth\u2019s Shorter Poems.\n\n * Cannot be sold in British Dominions.\n\n\n\n\n [Illustration]\n\n THE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n NEW YORK \u00b7 BOSTON \u00b7 CHICAGO \u00b7 DALLAS\n ATLANTA \u00b7 SAN FRANCISCO\n\n MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED\n LONDON \u00b7 BOMBAY \u00b7 CALCUTTA\n MELBOURNE\n\n THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.\n TORONTO\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: WILLIAMS ENGRAVING CO., N.Y.]\n\n\n\n\n THE\n \u00c6NEID OF VIRGIL\n\n TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH PROSE\n\n BY\n JOHN CONINGTON, M.A.\n LATE CORPUS PROFESSOR OF LATIN IN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD\n\n EDITED, WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES\n BY\n EDGAR S. SHUMWAY, PH.D.\n EDITOR \u201cLATINE\u201d\n\n NEW YORK\n THE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n 1917\n\n _All rights reserved_\n\n COPYRIGHT, 1910,\n BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.\n\n Set up and electrotyped. Published February, 1910.\n Reprinted June, 1914; September, 1917.\n\n Norwood Press\n J. S. Cushing Co.\u2014Berwick & Smith Co.\n Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n PAGE\n\n INTRODUCTION\n\n The \u00c6neid ix\n Virgil\u2019s Life x\n Influence of the \u00c6neid xiii\n The Epic Itself xvii\n The Story xix\n Sources xxi\n The Translation xxi\n Chronological Table xxv\n Verse Translations Recommended xxvi\n Books for Reference xxvii\n Subjects for Investigation xxvii\n\n THE \u00c6NEID\n\n Book I. 1\n II. 26\n III. 51\n IV. 74\n V. 96\n VI. 122\n VII. 150\n VIII. 176\n IX. 198\n X. 222\n XI. 250\n XII. 277\n\n NOTES 305\n\n INDEX TO NOTES 345\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nTHE \u00c6NEID\n\nWhen Rome, torn and bleeding from a century of civil wars, turned to that\nwise judge of men, the second C\u00e6sar, and acquiesced as, through carefully\nselected ministers, he gathered the reins of power into velvet-clad\nfingers of steel, she did wisely. Better one-man power than anarchy! It\nbecame the part of true patriotism for the citizen and of statesmanship\nfor the politician to bring to the aid of the First Man of the state\nall the motives that could harmonize the chaotic elements, and start\nRepublican Rome on the path of a new unity\u2014the unity of the Empire.\n\nFor already \u201cfar away on the wide Roman marches might be heard, as\nit were, the endless, ceaseless monotone of beating horses\u2019 hoofs\nand marching feet of men. They were coming, they were nearing, _like\nfootsteps heard on wool_;[A] there was a sound of multitudes and millions\nof barbarians, all the North, mustering and marshalling her peoples.\u201d In\nhis great task Augustus, with the aid of M\u00e6cenas, very cleverly drew to\nhis help writers whose work has since charmed the world. We can almost\npardon fate for destroying the Republic\u2014it gave us Virgil and Horace.\n\nPleasant indeed had it been for Virgil to sing in emulation of his great\nteacher Lucretius! \u201cAs for me,\u201d he says, \u201cfirst of all I would pray that\nthe charming Muses, whose minister I am, for the great love that has\nsmitten me, would receive me graciously, and teach me the courses of the\nstars in heaven, the various eclipses of the sun and the earth, what is\nthe force by which the deep seas swell to the bursting of their barriers\nand settle down again on themselves\u2014why the winter suns make such\nhaste to dip in ocean, or what is the retarding cause which makes the\nnights move slowly.\u201d Pleasant, too, to spend his \u201cchosen coin of fancy\nflashing out from many a golden phrase\u201d in picturing \u201cthe liberty of\nbroad domains, grottos and natural lakes, cool Tempe-like valleys, lawns\nand dens where wild beasts hide, a youth strong to labor and inured to\nscanty fare.\u201d \u201cLet me delight in the country and the streams that freshen\nthe valleys\u2014let me love river and woodland with an unambitious love.\u201d\n\u201cThen, too, there are the husbandman\u2019s sweet children ever hanging on his\nlips\u2014his virtuous household keeps the tradition of purity.\u201d Ah, yes, to\nVirgil most attractive was the simple life of the lover of nature, and\ncharmingly did he portray it in his _Eclogues_ and _Georgics_!\n\nBut Augustus, recognizing the genius of Virgil, and realizing the supreme\nneed of a reinvigorated patriotism, urgently demanded an epic that should\nportray Rome\u2019s beginnings and her significance to the world. Reluctantly\nthen Virgil took up this task. Even at his death he considered it\nunfulfilled. Indeed it was his wish that the manuscript be destroyed.\nAlmost immediately the _\u00c6neid_ became the object of the closest study,\nand ever since it has evoked the deepest admiration. Perhaps no other\nsecular writing has so profoundly affected literature.\n\n\nVIRGIL\u2019S LIFE\n\nVirgil (Publius Vergilius Maro), born in the rural district near Mantua,\na farmer\u2019s son, was given by his loving father a careful education. Of\nhis father Virgil says, \u201cthose whom I have ever loved and above all my\nfather.\u201d The regard of his hero \u00c6neas for his father Anchises not merely\nillustrates the early Roman filial affection\u2014it suggests Virgil\u2019s\nrelation to his own parent. In north Italy Virgil studied at Mantua,\nCremona, and Milan, and at seventeen took up his wider studies at Rome\nitself in the year 53 B.C. Catullus had died the year before, Lucretius\nwas dead two years. At Rome Virgil had the best masters in Greek,\nrhetoric, and in philosophy, a study in which he especially delighted.\nIn forming his own poetic style Virgil was profoundly influenced by\nLucretius, whose great poem _On Nature_ treated of the wondrous physical\nuniverse, and by the subtly sweet young Catullus,\n\n \u201cTenderest of Roman poets.\u201d\n\n \u2014TENNYSON.\n\nIn such studies Virgil spent ten years. But in 41 B.C. he appears again\nin north Italy and this time in storm and stress. In the year of Philippi\nthe triumvirs, settling their victorious legions, confiscated lands about\nCremona, and Virgil, attempting to resist dispossession, came near to\nlosing his life. Through fellow-students of the Roman days he secured an\nintroduction to Octavius and was compensated\u2014either recovering his own\nfarm, or receiving in lieu of it an estate in Campania.\n\nVirgil relates his experience in two of his ten _Eclogues_ which were\npublished in their present form in 38 B.C. These charming poems were\nespecially loved by Milton and Wordsworth. Macaulay indeed considered\nthem the best of Virgil\u2019s works. At Rome they met immediate success with\nthe people and with Octavius and his wise minister M\u00e6cenas, Horace\u2019s\npatron. In them Virgil tenderly sings love of friends, home, and country.\n\nThen Virgil spent seven years on the four books of the _Georgics_,\npublishing them in 29 B.C., two years after Actium. The _Georgics_\nMerivale calls \u201cthe glorification of labor.\u201d In them Virgil hymns the\nfarmer\u2019s life in beautiful Italy.\n\n\u201cHail to thee, land of Saturn, mighty mother of noble fruits and noble\nmen! For thee I essay the theme of the glory and the skill of olden\ndays.\u201d\n\nVirgil was now acknowledged the greatest poet of Italy. In the year 26\nB.C., one year after the title Augustus had been conferred on Octavius,\nwe find the emperor writing Virgil the most urgent letters begging the\npoet to send him, then in Spain, some portion of the projected _\u00c6neid_.\nIt was, however, considerably later when Virgil read to Augustus the\nsecond, fourth, and sixth books, for the young Marcellus, the emperor\u2019s\nnephew, died in 23 B.C., and we are told that Octavia, his mother,\nfainted on hearing the poet read the immortal lines about her son in the\nsixth book:\u2014\n\n\u201cChild of a nation\u2019s sorrow! Were there hope of thy breaking the tyranny\nof fate, thou shalt be Marcellus. Bring me handfuls of lilies, that I\nmay strew the grave with their dazzling hues, and crown, if only with\nthese gifts, my young descendant\u2019s shade, and perform the vain service of\nsorrow.\u201d\n\nVirgil,\n\n \u201cwho would write ten lines, they say,\n At dawn, and lavish all the golden day\n To make them wealthier in his readers\u2019 eyes,\u201d\n\nhad already spent some ten years on the _\u00c6neid_, when in 19 B.C. he\ndecided to devote three years to its revision and improvement amid the\n\u201cfamous cities\u201d and scenes of Greece and Asia. It is in anticipation of\nthis voyage that his friend Horace prays the winds to\n\n \u201cSpeed thee, O ship, as I pray thee to render\n Virgil, a debt duly lent to thy charge,\n Whole and intact on the Attican borders\n Faithfully guarding the half of my soul.\u201d\n\nAugustus, however, met him at Athens and persuaded him to accompany his\nown return. But Virgil was never again to see Rome. He contracted a fever\nin Greece. It grew worse on the homeward trip; and he died, a few days\nafter landing, in Brundisium, having reached the age of fifty-one. His\ntomb looks down upon the bay of Naples,\n\n \u201cThat delicious Bay\n Parthenope\u2019s Domain\u2014Virgilian haunt;\n Illustrated with never dying verse\n And by the Poet\u2019s laurel-shaded tomb,\n Age after age to pilgrims from all lands\n Endeared.\u201d\n\n \u2014WORDSWORTH.\n\n\nINFLUENCE OF THE \u00c6NEID\n\nAs to the success of the _\u00c6neid_, it was immediate with poets and people.\nTwo years after Virgil\u2019s death Horace writes in his _Secular Hymn_:\u2014\n\n \u201cIf Rome be all thy work, if Trojan bands\n Upon the Etruscan shore have won renown,\n That chosen remnant, who at thy command\n Forsook their hearths, and homes, and native town;\n If all unscathed through Ilion\u2019s flames they sped\n By sage \u00c6neas led,\n And o\u2019er the ocean waves in safety fled,\n Destined from him, though of his home bereft,\n A nobler dower to take, than all that they had left.\u201d\n\n \u2014Translated by MARTIN.\n\nSome of the scholars, indeed, criticised it as having an undue\nsimplicity, as coining new words and using old words, with new meanings,\nas borrowing too freely from Homer, as not written in chronological\norder, as containing anachronisms, etc. But within ten years it was as\nfamiliarly quoted by writers as we quote Shakespeare. It became the chief\ntext-book in the Roman schools of grammar and rhetoric. The great writers\nof later days, like Pliny and Tacitus, show the profound influence of his\nstyle, which would seem to have gripped them as Goethe tells us Luther\u2019s\ntranslation of the Scriptures affected his style, and as the King James\nversion has left its indelible traces on English literature.\n\nWhen the race-mind tired of problems of government and law, and turned\nstrongly to the problems of religion,\u2014degenerating easily, to be sure,\nto superstition,\u2014it was evidence of Virgil\u2019s grip on humanity that the\npoet of poets became the wizard of wizards. Even under the Antonines, the\n_Sors Vergiliana_ (Virgilian prophecy) was practised. The _\u00c6neid_ was\nopened at random, and the first verse that struck the eye was considered\na prophecy of good or bad portent. \u201cThe medi\u00e6val world looked upon him\nas a poet of prophetic insight who contained within himself all the\npotentialities of wisdom. He was called the Poet, as if no other existed;\nthe _Roman_, as if the ideal of the commonwealth were embodied in him;\nthe _perfect in style_, with whom no other writer could be compared; the\n_Philosopher_, who grasped the ideas of all things; the _Wise One_, whose\ncomprehension seemed to other mortals unlimited. His writings became the\nBible of a race. The mysteries of Roman priestcraft, the processes of\ndivination, the science of the stars, were all found in his works.\u201d\n\nTrue indeed are the words of Professor MacMechan: \u201cBeginning the _\u00c6neid_\nis like setting out upon a broad and beaten highway along which countless\nfeet have passed in the course of nineteen centuries. It is a spiritual\nhighway, winding through every age and every clime;\u201d and these of\nProfessor Woodberry: \u201cThe _\u00c6neid_ shows that characteristic of greatness\nin literature which lies in its being a watershed of time; it looks\nback to antiquity in all that clothes it with the past of imagination,\ncharacter and event, and forward to Christian times in all that clothes\nit with emotion, sentiment, and finality to the heart.\u201d\n\nAs we approach modern literature, the great Italian Dante consciously\ntakes Virgil as his \u201cmaster and author.\u201d \u201cO glory and light of other\npoets! May the long zeal avail me, and the great love, that made me\nsearch thy volume. Thou art my master and my author.\u201d On English\nliterature the influence of the _\u00c6neid_ has been so potent that our space\nwill hardly suffice to convey the barest hint of its direct and indirect\nlines. Celtic story developed from it a voyage of Brutus who founds a\nnew Troy, or London. Geoffrey of Monmouth in the twelfth century sets\nforth this tale in his history. It was believed down to the seventeenth\ncentury and is reported by Milton. Elizabethan literature has frequent\nreferences to it. Chaucer in his _House of Fame_ outlines the _\u00c6neid_,\nemphasizing the Dido episode, which interested also Nash, Marlowe, and\nShakespeare. Spenser teems with allusions and indeed translations, so\u2014\n\n \u201cAnchyses sonne, begott of Venus fayre,\u201d\n Said he, \u201cout of the flames for safegard fled\n And with a remnant did to sea repayre;\n Where he, through fatall errour, long was led\n Full many yeares, and weetlesse wandered\n From shore to shore emongst the Lybick sandes\n Ere rest he fownd.\u201d\n\n \u2014_F. Q._, III., ix., 41.\n\nand\u2014\n\n \u201cLike a great water-flood, that, tombling low\n From the high mountaines, threates to overflow\n With suddein fury all the fertile playne,\n And the sad husbandmans long hope doth throw\n Adown the streame, and all his vowes make vayne,\n Nor bounds nor banks his headlong ruine may sustayne.\u201d\n\n \u2014_F. Q._, II., xi., 18; cf. _\u00c6n._ II., 304 ff.\n\nBacon calls Virgil \u201cthe chastest poet and royalest that to the memory\nof man is known.\u201d \u201cMilton,\u201d writes Dryden, \u201chas acknowledged to me that\nSpenser was his original.\u201d But beside this indirect influence, and that\nthrough the Italian school, Virgil\u2019s direct influence on Milton is\nattested by many an allusion. Dryden, Cowper, with his \u201csweet Maro\u2019s\nmatchless strain,\u201d Wordsworth, Matthew Arnold, with his \u201csweet, tender\nVirgil,\u201d freely acknowledge the debt they owe our poet. Dryden and Morris\ntranslated the _\u00c6neid_ into verse.\n\nTennyson, \u201cthe most Virgilian of modern poets,\u201d gives the following\ntribute, written at the request of the Mantuans for the nineteenth\ncentenary of Virgil\u2019s death:\u2014\n\n \u201cRoman Virgil, thou that singest Ilion\u2019s lofty temples robed in fire,\n Ilion falling, Rome arising, wars, and filial faith, and Dido\u2019s pyre,\n Landscape lover, lord of language more than he that sang the Works and\n Days,\n All the chosen coin of fancy flashing out from many a golden phrase,\n Thou that singest wheat and woodland, tilth and vineyard, hive and horse\n and herd,\n All the charm of all the Muses often flowering in a lonely word,\n Poet of the happy Tityrus piping underneath his beechen bowers,\n Poet of the poet-satyr whom the laughing shepherds bound with flowers,\n Chanter of the Pollio, glorying in the blissful years again to be,\n Summers of the snakeless meadow, unlaborious earth and oarless sea,\n Thou that seest Universal Nature moved by Universal Mind,\n Thou majestic in thy sadness at the doubtful doom of human kind,\n Light among the vanished ages, star that gildest yet this phantom shore,\n Golden branch amid the shadows, kings and realms that pass to rise no\n more,\n Now thy Forum roars no longer, fallen every purple C\u00e6sar\u2019s dome\u2014\n Tho\u2019 thine ocean-roll of rhythm sound forever of Imperial Rome\u2014\n Now the Rome of slaves hath perished, and the Rome of freemen holds her\n place,\n I, from out the Northern Island, sundered once from all the human race,\n I salute thee, Mantovano, I that loved thee since my day began,\n Wielder of the stateliest measure ever moulded by the lips of man.\u201d\n\nIt is a lover of Horace (and who is not a lover of Horace?), the\nbrilliant Andrew Lang, who points out (in his _Letters to Dead Authors_)\na vital difference that has made Virgil\u2019s the higher influence: \u201cVirgil\nmight wander forth bearing the golden branch \u2018the Sibyl doth to singing\nman allow,\u2019 and might visit, as one not wholly without hope, the dim\ndwellings of the dead and the unborn. To him was it permitted to see and\nsing \u2018mothers and men, and the bodies outworn of mighty heroes, boys and\nunwedded maids, and young men borne to the funeral fire before their\nparents\u2019 eyes.\u2019 The endless caravan swept past him\u2014\u2018many as fluttering\nleaves that drop and fall in autumn woods when the first frost begins;\nmany as birds that flock landward from the great sea when now the chill\nyear drives them o\u2019er the deep and leads them to sunnier lands.\u2019 Such\nthings was it given to the sacred poet to behold, and the happy seats and\nsweet pleasances of fortunate souls, where the larger light clothes all\nthe plains and dips them in a rosier gleam, plains with their own new sun\nand stars before unknown. Ah, not _frustra pius_ was Virgil, as you say,\nHorace, in your melancholy song. In him, we fancy, there was a happier\nmood than your melancholy patience.\u201d\n\n\nTHE EPIC ITSELF\n\nThe purpose of the epic is to indicate the divinely ordained origin and\nhistory of Rome as a conquering, civilizing, and organizing government,\ndestined to replace both anarchy and tyrannical despotism by liberty\nunder law. As the real world-historic reason for Rome\u2019s existence is so\ncommonly overlooked, let us recall Mommsen\u2019s words in the introduction\nto his _Provinces of the Roman Empire_: \u201cIt fostered the peace and\nprosperity of the many nations united under its sway longer and more\ncompletely than any other leading power has ever succeeded in doing....\nIf an angel of the Lord were to strike the balance whether the domain\nruled by Severus Antoninus was governed with the greater intelligence\nand the greater humanity at that time or in the present day, whether\ncivilization and national prosperity generally have since that time\nadvanced or retrograded, it is very doubtful whether the decision would\nprove in favor of the present.\u201d Virgil states the function of Rome\nclearly in the famous passage of the sixth book wherein Greek and Roman\nare compared:\u2014\n\n \u201cForget not, O Roman, thy fate\u2014to rule in thy might o\u2019er the nations:\n This is to be thine art\u2014peace to the world to give.\u201d\n\nSo the hero \u00c6neas, himself of divine birth, is preserved by divine\nintervention when Troy falls, and mid dire perils for seven years\u2019\nvoyagings, and all the bitter warring in Italy, \u201cto bring the gods\nunto Latium,\u201d \u201cto found a city,\u201d to teach Italy religion and a virile\ncivilization. \u201cWhence Rome mighty in her defences,\u201d \u201ca task of so great\nmagnitude it was to build the Roman nation.\u201d Twice,\u2014once in fields\nElysian from the lips of sainted Anchises, and again, portrayed on\nthe shield that Vulcan made for \u00c6neas, is rehearsed the long line of\nlegendary and historical Roman heroes down to Augustus himself. \u201cOn\nthis side is Augustus C\u00e6sar, leading the Italians to conflict, with the\nsenate and the people, the home-gods and their mighty brethren, standing\naloft on the stern.\u201d \u201cBut C\u00e6sar ... was consecrating to the gods of\nItaly a votive tribute to deathless gratitude, three hundred mighty\nfanes the whole city through.\u201d \u201cSuch sights \u00c6neas scans with wonder on\nVulcan\u2019s shield ... as he heaves on his shoulder the fame and the fate of\ngrandsons yet to be\u201d (end of eighth book). Incidentally ground is given,\nin compensating fate, for Rome\u2019s conquest of Greek lands\u2014she is but\nloyal to her Trojan ancestry!\u2014and for the duel to the death with Semitic\nCarthage\u2014whose queen once was the stately Dido, left by King \u00c6neas at\nJove\u2019s command! Incidentally, too, Virgil draws from Trojan origins\ngovernmental forms, religious rites, yes, even games.\n\nWhile this great task of glorifying patriotism and harmonizing it with\nloyalty to C\u00e6sar is ever present to Virgil, he cannot lose two qualities\nthat make him the most modern of ancient poets\u2014his love of nature and\nhis pathos. As examples\u2014of the former, it suffices to cite the charming\nharbor scene succeeding storm and wreck, in the first book; and, of the\nlatter, the death-scene of the immortal twain, Nisus and Euryalus (in\nBook nine).\n\n\u201cDown falls Euryalus in death; over his beauteous limbs gushes the blood,\nand his powerless neck sinks on his shoulders; as when a purple flower,\nsevered by the plough, pines in death, or poppies with faint necks droop\nthe head, when rain has chanced to weigh them down. But Nisus rushes full\non the foe ... and dying robs his foe of life. Then he flung himself on\nhis breathless friend, pierced through and through, and there at length\nslept away in peaceful death.\n\n\u201cHappy pair! if this my song has ought of potency, no lapse of days shall\nefface your names from the memory of time, so long as the house of \u00c6neas\nshall dwell on the Capitol\u2019s moveless rock, and a Roman father shall be\nthe world\u2019s lord.\u201d\n\n\nTHE STORY\n\nThe story on which Virgil builds is, briefly, the fall of Troy, the\nvoyaging of Trojan refugees under \u00c6neas, and the successful wars of \u00c6neas\nwith Italian barbarians.\n\nAccording to the ancient legend the Greeks had warred ten years under\nTroy\u2019s walls, because the Trojan prince, Paris, having awarded the prize\nof beauty to Venus as against Juno and Minerva, and, having been promised\nas reward by Venus Helen the beautiful wife of the Greek Menelaus, had\neloped with that fatal beauty to Troy, and his father King Priam had\nrefused to make restitution.\n\nThe story then, as related by \u00c6neas to Queen Dido in her palace at\nCarthage, takes up (in the second book of the \u00c6neid) the downfall and\ndestruction of Troy, with the escape of \u00c6neas, his father and son,\ntogether with a band of Trojans. Then (in the third book) are depicted\ntheir voyagings, unsuccessful attempts to found cities, and arrival in\nSicily. Here father Anchises dies. From Sicily they sail in the endeavor\nto reach Latium in Italy.\n\nIt is at this point that the epic begins. So after his invocation and\nintroduction (in Book one), Virgil makes unrelenting Juno, through the\nstorm-king \u00c6olus, let loose upon the Trojan fleet a fierce tempest, which\ndrives the remnant of the fleet far away to the Carthaginian coast.\n\u00c6neas, directed by his disguised mother Venus, comes to the court of Dido\nby whom he is kindly received, banqueted; and at her request narrates (in\nBooks two and three) his harsh experiences.\n\nBook four continues the Dido episode. The queen madly loves \u00c6neas\u2014this\nthrough the influence of Venus, who else had feared Carthaginian\nhostility to her dear Trojans. Juno thinks to thwart the fates and Jove\u2019s\nwill that \u00c6neas should create the Roman race; and she plans to hold \u00c6neas\nas spouse of the Carthaginian queen. Jove intervenes, sending Mercury\nwith explicit commands to \u00c6neas to seek Italy. He sails, and Dido slays\nherself.\n\nIn Book five they reach Sicily again, and it being the anniversary of\nAnchises\u2019 death, \u00c6neas celebrates it with athletic contests. During these\nJuno again attempts to thwart the fates, sending a messenger to incite\nthe Trojan women to set the fleet on fire. But this attempt is only\nsuccessful in so far as it leads \u00c6neas to leave the weaklings under the\nkindly sway of their kinsman, the Sicilian chief, Acestes. The rest sail\nfor Italy, losing the faithful pilot, Palinurus.\n\nBook six details the visit \u00c6neas, under the guidance of the Sibyl, to the\nabode of the dead. There he meets again his father Anchises, who passes\nin review, as souls about to be reborn into the upper world, their heroic\ndescendants.\n\nSo far, with the exception of Book two, which recorded the fall and\nsack of Troy, a theme omitted by Homer, Virgil has recorded the Odyssey\nor wanderings of his hero \u00c6neas. Now in the succeeding six books is\ngiven the Iliad or wars of \u00c6neas in Italy. As he lands, King Latinus is\ndivinely led to promise \u00c6neas his daughter Lavinia. But she has been\nbetrothed to Turnus. Under Juno\u2019s prompting then begins this tremendous\nduel between \u00c6neas and Turnus. And here we note a curious likeness\nbetween Milton and Virgil. As our sympathies are aroused in the _Paradise\nLost_ for Lucifer, so Turnus, \u201cthe reckless one,\u201d looms up a figure of\nheroic size, doomed by the fates to die that Rome may live.\n\n\nSOURCES\n\nAs Virgil\u2019s sources for his story and indeed for no small portion of\nhis language may be mentioned preeminently:\u2014 Homer\u2019s _Odyssey_ and\n_Iliad_; Euripides, \u201cwith his droppings of warm tears\u201d; the Greek epic\npoets, called the cyclic poets, as dealing with the cycle of story\nrevolving around Troy; the Greek freedman and teacher, Livius Andronicus,\nwho translated roughly the _Odyssey_; N\u00e6vius, who wrote on the First\nPunic War, tracing Carthaginian hostility back to the \u00c6neas visit; and\nespecially Ennius, \u201cfather of Latin literature,\u201d who in a great epic\ntraced the history of Rome from \u00c6neas down. Of Virgil\u2019s borrowings it\nwere enough perhaps to say that, like our Shakespeare, he ennobled what\nhe borrowed, wove it into the texture of his song\u2014stamped it Virgilian.\n\n\nTHE TRANSLATION\n\nConcerning the translation itself, we should perhaps set over against\nEmerson\u2019s famous saying, \u201cI should as soon think of swimming across\nCharles River when I wish to go to Boston, as of reading all my books\nin originals, when I have them rendered for me in my mother tongue,\u201d\nthat other remark of a great scholar, that \u201cthe thing for the student of\nlanguage to learn is that _translation is impossible_.\u201d Exquisitely done\nas is this version by Professor Conington, noble student of Virgil as he\nwas, some faint notion of what is lost in the process might be gained by\ncomparing a prose version of, say, Longfellow\u2019s \u201cEvangeline\u201d with his\nhexameters themselves:\u2014\n\n This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks\n Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,\n Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic\u2014\n Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.\n\nAt the very least, \u201cthe noblest measure ever moulded by the lips of man,\u201d\nVirgil\u2019s \u201cocean-roll of rhythm,\u201d is lost. That indeed is not revived for\nus in Conington\u2019s own poetical version, not in Dryden\u2019s, nor in Morris\u2019s.\nOf Virgil also that is true which T. B. Aldrich, charming poet that he\nwas, wrote me anent his own early translations, \u201cBut who could hope to\ndecant the wine of Horace?\u201d\n\nYet it may be not without interest to compare some verse renderings of\nthe initial lines:\u2014\n\n I (woll now) sing (if that I can,)\n The armes and also the man,\n That first came through his destinie,\n Fugitive fro Troy the countrie\n Into Itaile, with full much pine,\n Unto the stronds of Lavine.\n\n \u2014CHAUCER, _House of Fame_.\n\n Arms, and the man I sing, who, forced by Fate,\n And haughty Juno\u2019s unrelenting hate,\n Expelled and exiled, left the Trojan shore,\n Long labors, both by sea and land, he bore,\n And in the doubtful war, before he won\n The Latian realm, and built the destined town;\n His banished gods restored to rites divine,\n And settled sure succession in his line,\n From whence the race of Alban fathers come\n And the long glories of majestic Rome.\n\n \u2014DRYDEN.\n\n I sing of arms, I sing of him, who from the Trojan land,\n Thrust forth by Fate, to Italy and that Lavinian strand\n First came: all tost about was he on earth and on the deep\n By heavenly might for Juno\u2019s wrath, that had no mind to sleep:\n And plenteous war he underwent ere he his town might frame,\n And set his gods in Latian earth, whence is the Latin name.\n And father-folk of Alba-town, and walls of mighty Rome.\n\n \u2014MORRIS.\n\n Arms and the man I sing, who first,\n By Fate of Ilian realm amerced,\n To fair Italia onward bore,\n And landed on Lavinium\u2019s shore:\u2014\n Long tossing earth and ocean o\u2019er,\n By violence of heaven, to sate\n Fell Juno\u2019s unrelenting hate;\n Much labored too in battle-field,\n Striving his city\u2019s walls to build,\n And give his gods a home:\n Thence come the hardy Latin brood,\n The ancient sires of Alba\u2019s blood,\n And lofty-rampired Rome.\n\n \u2014CONINGTON.\n\n I sing of arms, and of the man who first\n Came from the coasts of Troy to Italy\n And the Lavinian shores, exiled by fate,\n Much was he tossed about upon the lands\n And in the ocean by supernal powers,\n Because of cruel Juno\u2019s sleepless wrath.\n Many things also suffered he in war,\n Until he built a city, and his gods\n Brought into Latium; whence the Latin race,\n The Alban sires and walls of lofty Rome.\n\n \u2014CRANCH.\n\n I sing of war, I sing the man who erst,\n From off the shore of Troy fate-hunted, came\n To the Lavinian coast in Italy,\n Hard pressed on land and sea, the gods malign,\n Fierce Juno\u2019s hate unslaked. Much too in war\n He bore while he a city built, and set\n His gods in Latium. Thence the Latin race,\n Our Alban sires, the walls of haughty Rome.\n\n \u2014LONG.\n\n Arms and the man I sing who first, from Troy\n Expelled by Fate\u2019s decree, to Italy\n And the Lavinian shores, a wanderer came.\n Sore travail he endured by land and sea\n From adverse gods, and unrelenting rage\n Of haughty Juno: harassed, too, by war,\n His destined city while he strove to build\n And raise new altars for his exiled gods.\n The Latian race, the Alban fathers hence\n Their birth derived\u2014hence Rome\u2019s proud fabric sprung.\n\n \u2014RICKARDS.\n\n(In hexameters.)\n\n Arms and the hero I sing, who of old from the borders of Troja\n Came to Italia, banished by fate to Lavinia\u2019s destined\n Sea coasts: Much was he tossed on the lands and the deep by enlisted\n Might of supernals, through Juno\u2019s remembered resentment:\n Much, too, he suffered in warfare, while he was founding a city,\n And into Latium bearing his gods: whence issued the Latin\n Race, and the Alban fathers, and walls of imperial Roma.\n\n \u2014CRANE.\n\n Sing I the arms and the man, who first from the shores of the Trojan,\n Driven by Fate, into Italy came, to Lavinium\u2019s borders\n Much was he vexed by the power of the gods, on the land and the ocean,\n Through the implacable wrath of the vengeful and pitiless Juno;\n Much, too, he suffered in war, until he could found him a city,\n And into Latium carry his gods; whence the race of the Latins,\n Alba\u2019s illustrious fathers, and Rome\u2019s imperial bulwarks.\n\n \u2014HOWLAND.\n\n\nCHRONOLOGICAL TABLE\n\n B.C.\n 98. Birth of Lucretius.\n 87. Birth of Catullus.\n 70. Virgil is born.\n 69. Birth of M\u00e6cenas; Cicero is \u00e6dile.\n 66. Cicero is pr\u00e6tor.\n 65. Horace is born.\n 63. Birth of Octavius (afterward Gaius Julius C\u00e6sar Octavianus Augustus).\n Cicero\u2019s consulship and _Orations against Catiline_.\n 60. First Triumvirate (C\u00e6sar, Pompey, and Crassus).\n 58. Cicero banished. C\u00e6sar begins conquest of Gaul.\n 57. Cicero recalled from exile.\n 55. Virgil assumes the _toga virilis_. Death of Lucretius, C\u00e6sar in\n Britain.\n 54. Virgil studies in Milan. Death of Catullus. Cicero edits Lucretius\u2019\n _On Nature_, and (perhaps) Catullus\u2019 _Odes_, and begins his essay\n _On the State_.\n 53. Virgil goes to Rome: Horace is also taken there. Cicero is augur.\n Parthians defeat Romans at Carrh\u00e6.\n 52. Cicero\u2019s _Oration for Milo_.\n 51. Cicero proconsul in Cilicia.\n 49. Civil War. C\u00e6sar marches on Rome, bestowing Roman citizenship on\n Italians north of the Po. Pompey leaves Italy.\n 48. Battle of Pharsalia. Assassination of Pompey.\n 46. Battle of Thapsus. Suicide of Cato at Utica.\n 45. Horace goes to Athens.\n 44. C\u00e6sar assassinated: Octavius, adopted in his will, assumes his name.\n Cicero\u2019s _Philippics_.\n 43. Birth of Ovid. Second Triumvirate (Octavianus, Antony, and Lepidus).\n Assassination of Cicero. Civil war with Brutus and Cassius. Horace\n a tribune in Brutus\u2019 army.\n 42. Battles of Philippi. Death of Brutus and Cassius.\n 41. Confiscations by the triumvirs. Virgil introduced to M\u00e6cenas and\n Octavianus. Horace returns to Rome.\n 40. Virgil restored to his estate.\n 39. Horace introduced to M\u00e6cenas by Virgil and Varius.\n 37. Virgil publishes _Eclogues_. Phraates king of Parthia.\n 36. Antony invades Parthia.\n 35. Horace publishes First Book of _Satires_.\n 33. Phraates attacks Armenia and Media.\n 31. Battle of Actium. Overthrow of Antony. Octavianus visits the East.\n 30. Horace publishes Second Book of _Satires_ and his _Epodes_.\n 29. Octavianus returns from the East and celebrates threefold triumph.\n Temple of Janus closed in sign of peace. Virgil publishes\n _Georgics_.\n 27. Octavianus receives the title of Augustus.\n 26. Augustus in Spain corresponds with Virgil.\n 24. Horace (probably) publishes first Three Books of _Odes_.\n 23. Death of Marcellus. Virgil reads portions of the _\u00c6neid_ to Augustus.\n 20. Expedition of Augustus to the East. Parthians restore standards taken\n at Carrh\u00e6.\n 19. Virgil journeys to Greece. Returns with Augustus. Dies at Brundisium.\n Augustus directs Virgil\u2019s friend Varius and Tucca to edit the\n _\u00c6neid_.\n 18. Horace publishes First Book of _Epistles_.\n 17. The Secular Festival. Horace writes the _Secular Hymn_.\n 13. Horace publishes Fourth Book of _Odes_.\n 8. Death of M\u00e6cenas and Horace.\n\n\nVERSE TRANSLATIONS RECOMMENDED\n\nDRYDEN; CONINGTON (Crowell, New York); WILLIAM MORRIS (Roberts Brothers,\nBoston); CRANCH; LONG (Lockwood Brooks & Co., Boston); CRANE (Baker &\nTaylor Co., New York); HOWLAND (D. Appleton & Co., New York), RICKARDS\n(Books I.-VI., Blackwood & Sons, London); RHOADES (Longmans); BILLSON\n(Edward Arnold, London).\n\n\nBOOKS FOR REFERENCE\n\n_Roman Poets of the Augustan Age_, Sellar (Oxford, Clarendon Press);\n_Virgil_, Nettleship (Appletons), and in his _Lectures and Essays_\n(Oxford); _Classical Essays_, F. W. H. Myers (Macmillan); _Studies\nin Virgil_, Glover (Edward Arnold, London); _Country of Horace and\nVirgil_, Boissier (Putnam); _Master Virgil_, Tunison (Robert Clark &\nCo., Cincinnati); _Vergil in the Middle Ages_, Comparetti (Sonnenschein,\nLondon); _Legends of Virgil_, Leland (Macmillan); _Histories of Roman\nLiterature_ by Teuffel (George Bell & Sons, London), Browne (Bentley,\nLondon), Cruttwell (Scribners, N.Y.), Simcox (Harpers, N.Y.). _\u00c6neas as a\nCharacter Study_, Miller (Latine, Vol. IV., p. 18).\n\n\nSUBJECTS FOR INVESTIGATION\n\n(Miller, in _Latine_ for January, 1886.)\n\n(1) Virgilian Proverbs. (2) A Word Study. (3) Fatalism in Virgil. (4)\nVirgil\u2019s Pictures of Roman Customs. (5) Pen Pictures. (6) Astronomy in\nVirgil. (7) Virgil\u2019s Debt to Homer. (8) Milton\u2019s Debt to Virgil. (9)\nVirgil\u2019s Gods and Religious Rites. (10) Omens and Oracles. (11) Virgil\u2019s\nInfluence upon Literature in General. (12) Figures in Virgil. (13)\nVirgilian Herbarium. (14) Detailed Account of the Wandering of \u00c6neas.\n(15) The Geography of Virgil. (16) Virgil as a Poet of Nature. (17)\nVirgil\u2019s Life as gleaned from his Works. [(18) The Manuscript Texts of\nVirgil.] (19) Virgilian Translators and Commentators. (20) Some Noted\nPassages\u2014why? (21) The Platonism of the Sixth Book. (22) Dryden\u2019s Dictum\nDiscussed, (23) Dante\u2014The Later Virgil. [(24) The Prosody of Virgil.]\n(25) Dido\u2014A Psychological Study. (28) \u00c6neas\u2014A Character Study. [(27)\n_Testimonium Veterum de Vergilio._] (28) Virgil and Theocritus. (29)\nVirgil\u2019s Creations. (30) Epithets of \u00c6neas. (31) The Virgilian Birds.\n(32) Was Virgil Acquainted with the Hebrew Scriptures? (33) Visions\nand Dreams\u2014Supernatural Means of Spirit Communication. (34) Night\nScenes in Virgil. (35) Different Names for Trojans and Greeks and their\nSignificance. (36) The Story of the \u00c6neid.\n\n\n\n\nVIRGIL\u2019S \u00c6NEID\n\n\n\n\nTHE \u00c6NEID\n\n\n\n\nBOOK I\n\n\n Arms and the man I sing,[1] who at the first from Troy\u2019s[2]\n shores the exile of destiny, won his way to Italy and her\n Latian[3] coast\u2014a man much buffeted on land and on the\n deep by violence from above, to sate the unforgetting wrath\n of Juno[4] the cruel\u2014much[5] scourged too in war, as he 5\n struggled to build him a city, and find his gods a home in\n Latium\u2014himself the father of the Latian people, and the\n chiefs of Alba\u2019s[6] houses, and the walls of high towering\n Rome.\n\n Bring to my mind, O Muse,[7] the causes\u2014for what 10\n treason against her godhead, or what pain received, the\n queen of heaven drove a man of piety so signal to turn\n the wheel of so many calamities, to bear the brunt of so\n many hardships! Can heavenly natures hate[8] so fiercely\n and so long? 15\n\n Of old there was a city, its people emigrants from\n Tyre,[9] Carthage, over against Italy and Tiber\u2019s mouths,\n yet far removed\u2014rich and mighty, and formed to all\n roughness by war\u2019s[10] iron trade\u2014a spot where Juno, it\n was said, loved to dwell more than in all the world beside, 20\n Samos[11] holding but the second place. Here was her\n armour, here her chariot\u2014here to fix by her royal act\n the empire of the nations, could Fate be brought to assent,\n was even then her aim, her cherished scheme. But she\n had heard that the blood of Troy was sowing the seed of a 25\n race to overturn one day those Tyrian towers\u2014from that\n seed a nation, monarch of broad realms and glorious in\n war, was to bring ruin on Libya[12]\u2014such the turning of\n Fate\u2019s[13] wheel. With these fears Saturn\u2019s[14] daughter, and\n with a lively memory of that old war which at first she\n had waged at Troy for her loved Argos\u2019[15] sake\u2014nor indeed\n had the causes of that feud and the bitter pangs\n they roused yet vanished from her mind\u2014no, stored up 5\n in her soul\u2019s depths remains the judgment of Paris,[16] and\n the wrong done to her slighted beauty, and the race abhorred\n from the womb, and the state enjoyed by the\n ravished Ganymede.[17] With this fuel added to the fire,\n the Trojans, poor remnants of Danaan[18] havoc and 10\n Achilles\u2019[19] ruthless spear, she was tossing from sea to sea,\n and keeping far away from Latium; and for many long\n years they were wandering, with destiny still driving\n them, the whole ocean round. So vast the effort it cost\n to build up the Roman nation! 15\n\n Scarce out of sight of the land of Sicily were they spreading\n their sails merrily to the deep, and scattering with\n their brazen prows the briny spray, when Juno, the everlasting\n wound still rankling in her heart\u2019s core, thus communed\n with herself: \u201cAnd am I to give up what I have 20\n taken in hand, baffled, nor have power to prevent the king\n of the Teucrians[20] from reaching Italy\u2014because, forsooth,\n the Fates forbid me? What! was Pallas[21] strong enough\n to burn up utterly the Grecian fleet, and whelm the crews\n in the sea, for the offence of a single man, the frenzy of 25\n Ajax,[22] O\u00efleus\u2019 son? Aye, she with her own hand launched\n from the clouds Jove\u2019s[23] winged fire, dashed the ships apart,\n and turned up the sea-floor with the wind\u2014him, gasping\n out the flame which pierced his bosom, she caught in the\n blast, and impaled on a rock\u2019s[24] point\u2014while I, who walk 30\n the sky as its queen, Jove\u2019s sister and consort both, am\n battling with a single nation these many years. And are\n there any found to pray to Juno\u2019s deity after this, or lay\n on her altar a suppliant\u2019s gift?\u201d\n\n With such thoughts sweeping through the solitude of 35\n her enkindled breast, the goddess comes to the storm-cloud\u2019s\n birthplace, the teeming womb of fierce southern\n blasts, \u00c6olia.[25] Here, in a vast cavern,[26] King \u00c6olus[27]\n is bowing to his sway struggling winds and howling tempests,\n and bridling them with bond[28] and prison. They,\n in their passion, are raving at the closed doors, while the\n huge rock roars responsive: \u00c6olus is sitting aloft in his\n fortress, his sceptre in his hand, soothing their moods 5\n and allaying their rage; were he to fail in this, why sea\n and land, and the deep of heaven, would all be forced\n along by their blast, and swept through the air. But\n the almighty sire has buried them in caverns dark and\n deep, with this fear before his eyes, and placed over them 10\n giant bulk and tall mountains, and given them a king\n who, by the terms of his compact, should know how to\n tighten or slacken the reins at his patron\u2019s will. To him\n it was that Juno then, in these words, made her humble\n request:\u2014 15\n\n \u201c\u00c6olus\u2014for it is to thee that the sire of gods and king\n of men has given it with the winds now to calm, now to\n rouse the billows\u2014there is a race which I love not now\n sailing the Tyrrhene[29] sea, carrying Ilion[30] into Italy and\n Ilion\u2019s vanquished gods; do thou lash the winds to fury, 20\n sink and whelm their ships, or scatter them apart, and\n strew the ocean with their corpses. Twice seven nymphs\n are of my train, all of surpassing beauty; of these her whose\n form is fairest, Deiopea, I will unite to thee in lasting wedlock,\n and consecrate her thy own, that all her days, for a 25\n service so great, she may pass with thee, and make thee\n father of a goodly progeny.\u201d\n\n \u00c6olus returns: \u201cThine, great Queen, is the task to\n search out on what thou mayest fix thy heart; for me to do\n thy bidding[31] is but right. Thou makest this poor realm 30\n mine, mine the sceptre and Jove\u2019s smile; thou givest me a\n couch at the banquets of the gods, and makest me lord\n of the storm-cloud and of the tempest.\u201d\n\n So soon as this was said, he turned his spear, and pushed\n the hollow mountain on its side; and the winds, as though 35\n in column formed, rush forth[32] where they see any outlet,\n and sweep over the earth in hurricane. Heavily they\n fall[33] on the sea, and from its very bottom crash down the\n whole expanse\u2014one and all, east and south, and south-west,\n with his storms thronging at his back, and roll huge\n billows shoreward. Hark to the shrieks of the crew, and\n the creaking of the cables! In an instant the clouds\n snatch sky and daylight[34] from the Teucrians\u2019 eyes\u2014night 5\n lies on the deep, black and heavy\u2014pole thunders to\n pole; heaven flashes thick with fires, and all nature\n brandishes instant death in the seaman\u2019s face. At once\n \u00c6neas\u2019[35] limbs are unstrung and chilled[36]\u2014he groans\n aloud, and, stretching his clasped hands to the stars, 10\n fetches from his breast words like these:\u2014\u201cO happy,\n thrice[37] and again, whose lot it was, in their fathers\u2019 sight,\n under Troy\u2019s high walls to meet death! O thou, the bravest\n of the Danaan race, Tydeus\u2019 son,[38] why was it not mine\n to lay me low on Ilion\u2019s plains, and yield this fated life to 15\n thy right hand? Aye, there it is that Hector,[39] stern as\n in life, lies stretched by the spear of \u00c6acides[40]\u2014there\n lies Sarpedon\u2019s[41] giant bulk\u2014there it is that Simois[42]\n seizes and sweeps down her channel those many shields\n and helms, and bodies of the brave!\u201d 20\n\n Such words as he flung wildly forth, a blast roaring from\n the north strikes his sail full in front and lifts the billows\n to the stars.[43] Shattered are the oars; then the prow\n turns and presents the ship\u2019s side to the waves; down\n crashes in a heap a craggy mountain of water. Look! 25\n these are hanging on the surge\u2019s crest[44]\u2014to those the\n yawning deep is giving a glimpse of land down among\n the billows; surf and sand are raving together. Three\n ships the south catches, and flings upon hidden rocks\u2014rocks 30\n which, as they stand with the waves all about them,\n the Italians call Altars, an enormous ridge rising above\n the sea. Three the east drives from the main on to shallows\n and Syrtes,[45] a piteous sight, and dashes them on\n shoals, and embanks them in mounds of sand. One in\n which the Lycians were sailing, and true Orontes, a 35\n mighty sea strikes from high on the stem before \u00c6neas\u2019\n very eyes; down goes the helmsman, washed from his\n post, and topples on his head, while she is thrice whirled\n round by the billow in the spot where she lay, and swallowed\n at once by the greedy gulf. You might see them\n here and there swimming in that vast abyss\u2014heroes\u2019\n arms, and planks, and Troy\u2019s treasures glimmering through\n the water. Already Ilioneus\u2019 stout ship, already brave 5\n Achates\u2019, and that in which Abas sailed, and that which\n carried old Aletes, are worsted by the storm; their side-jointings[46]\n loosened, one and all give entrance to the\n watery foe, and part failingly asunder.\n\n Meantime the roaring riot of the ocean and the storm let 10\n loose reached the sense of Neptune,[47] and the still waters\n disgorged from their deep beds, troubling him grievously;\n and casting a broad glance over the main he raised at\n once his tranquil brow from the water\u2019s surface. There\n he sees \u00c6neas\u2019 fleet tossed hither and thither over the 15\n whole expanse\u2014the Trojans whelmed under the billows,\n and the crashing ruin of the sky\u2014nor failed the brother\n to read Juno\u2019s craft and hatred there. East and West\n he calls before him, and bespeaks them thus:\u2014\u201cAre ye\n then so wholly o\u2019ermastered by the pride of your birth? 20\n Have ye come to this, ye Winds, that, without sanction\n from me, ye dare to confound[48] sea and land, and upheave\n these mighty mountains? ye! whom I\u2014but it were best\n to calm the billows ye have troubled. Henceforth ye\n shall pay me for your crimes in far other coin. Make 25\n good speed with your flight, and give your king this message.\n Not to him did the lot assign the empire of the sea\n and the terrible trident, but to me. His sway is over those\n enormous rocks, where you, Eurus,[49] dwell, and such as\n you; in that court let \u00c6olus lord it, and rule in the prison-house 30\n of the winds when its doors are barred.\u201d\n\n He speaks, and ere his words are done soothes the swelling\n waters, and routs[50] the mustered clouds, and brings\n back the sun in triumph. Cymotho\u00eb and Triton[51] combine\n their efforts to push off the vessels from the sharp-pointed 35\n rock. The god himself upheaves them with his\n own trident,[52] and levels the great quicksands, and allays\n the sea, and on chariot-wheels of lightest motion glides\n along the water\u2019s top. Even as when in a great crowd tumult\n is oft stirred up, and the base herd waxes wild and frantic,\n and brands and stones are flying already, rage suiting\n the weapon[53] to the hand\u2014at that moment, should their\n eyes fall on some man of weight, for duty done and public 5\n worth, tongues are hushed and ears fixed in attention,\n while his words sway the spirit and soothe the breast\u2014so\n fell all the thunders of the ocean, so soon as the great\n father, with the waves before him in prospect, and the\n clear sky all about him, guides his steeds at will, and as he 10\n flies flings out the reins freely to his obedient car.\n\n Spent with toil, the family of \u00c6neas labour to gain the\n shore that may be nearest, and are carried to the coasts\n of Libya. There is a spot retiring deep into the land, where\n an island forms a haven[54] by the barrier of its sides, which 15\n break every billow from the main and send it shattered\n into the deep indented hollows. On either side of the bay are\n huge rocks, and two great crags rising in menace to the\n sky; under their summits far and wide the water is hushed\n in shelter, while a theatric background of waving woods, 20\n a black forest of stiffening shade, overhangs it from the\n height. Under the brow that fronts the deep is a cave\n with pendent crags; within there are fresh springs and\n seats in the living rock\u2014the home of the nymphs; no\n need of cable[55] here to confine the weary bark or anchor\u2019s 25\n crooked fang to grapple her to the shore. Here with seven\n ships mustered from his whole fleet \u00c6neas enters; and\n with intense yearning for dry land the Trojans disembark\n and take possession of the wished-for shore, and lay their\n brine-drenched limbs upon the beach. And first Achates 30\n from a flint struck out a spark, and received the fire as it\n dropped in a cradle of leaves, and placed dry food all about\n it, and spread the strong blaze among the tinder. Then\n their corn, soaked and spoiled as it was, and the corn-goddess\u2019\n armoury they bring out, sick of fortune; and make 35\n ready to parch the rescued grain at the fire, and crush it\n with the millstone.\n\n \u00c6neas meanwhile clambers up a rock, and tries to get a\n full view far and wide over the sea, if haply he may see\n aught of Antheus, driven by the gale, and the Phrygian\n biremes,[56] or Capys, or high on the stern the arms of Caicus.\n Sail there is none in sight; three stags he sees at distance\n straying on the shore; these the whole herd follows in the 5\n rear, and grazes along the hollows in long array. At once\n he took his stand, and caught up a bow and fleet arrows,\n which true Achates chanced to be carrying, and lays low first\n the leaders themselves, as they bear their heads aloft with\n tree-like antlers, then the meaner sort, and scatters with 10\n his pursuing shafts the whole rout among the leafy woods;\n nor stays his hand till he stretches on earth victoriously\n seven huge bodies, and makes the sum of them even with\n his ships. Then he returns to the haven and gives all his\n comrades their shares. The wine next, which that good 15\n Acestes had stowed in casks on the Trinacrian shore, and\n given them at parting with his own princely hand, he\n portions out, and speaks words of comfort to their sorrowing\n hearts:\u2014\n\n \u201cComrades! for comrades we are, no strangers to hardships 20\n already; hearts that have felt deeper wounds! for\n these too heaven will find a balm. Why, men, you have\n even looked on Scylla[57] in her madness, and heard those\n yells that thrill the rocks; you have even made trial of\n the crags of the Cyclops.[58] Come, call your spirits back, 25\n and banish these doleful fears\u2014who knows but some\n day this too will be remembered[59] with pleasure? Through\n manifold chances, through these many perils of fortune,\n we are making our way to Latium, where the Fates hold\n out to us a quiet settlement; there Troy\u2019s empire has 30\n leave to rise again from its ashes. Bear up, and reserve\n yourselves for brighter days.\u201d\n\n Such were the words his tongue uttered; heart-sick[60]\n with overwhelming care, he wears the semblance of hope\n in his face, but has grief deep buried in his heart. They 35\n gird themselves to deal with the game, their forthcoming\n meal; strip the hide from the ribs, and lay bare the flesh\u2014some\n cut it into pieces, and impale it yet quivering on\n spits, others set up the caldrons on the beach, and supply\n them with flame. Then with food they recall their\n strength, and, stretched along the turf, feast on old wine\n and fat venison to their hearts\u2019 content. Their hunger\n sated by the meal, and the boards removed, they vent in 5\n long talk their anxious yearning for their missing comrades\u2014balanced\n between hope and fear, whether to\n think of them as alive, or as suffering the last change, and\n deaf already to the voice that calls on them. But good\n \u00c6neas\u2019 grief exceeds the rest; one moment he groans for 10\n bold Orontes\u2019 fortune, another for Amycus\u2019, and in the\n depth of his spirit laments for the cruel fate of Lycus;\n for the gallant Gyas and the gallant Cloanthus.\n\n And now at last their mourning had an end, when\n Jupiter from the height of ether,[61] looking down on the sea 15\n with its fluttering sails, on the flat surface of earth, the\n shores, and the broad tribes of men, paused thus upon\n heaven\u2019s very summit, and fixed his downward gaze on\n Libya\u2019s realms. To him, revolving in his breast such\n thoughts as these, sad beyond her wont, with tears suffusing 20\n her starry eyes, speaks Venus: \u201cO thou, who by thy\n everlasting laws swayest the two commonwealths of men\n and gods, and awest them by thy lightning! What can\n my poor \u00c6neas have done to merit thy wrath? What\n can the Trojans? yet they, after the many deaths they 25\n have suffered already, still find the whole world barred[62]\n against them for Italy\u2019s sake. From them assuredly it\n was that the Romans, as years rolled on\u2014from them were\n to spring those warrior chiefs, aye from Teucer\u2019s blood revived,\n who should rule sea and land with absolute sway\u2014such 30\n was thy promise: how has thy purpose, O my father,\n wrought a change in thee? This, I know, was my constant\n solace when Troy\u2019s star set in grievous ruin, as I sat balancing\n destiny against destiny. And now here is the same\n Fortune, pursuing the brave men she has so oft discomfited 35\n already. Mighty king, what end of sufferings hast thou\n to give them? Antenor,[63] indeed, found means to escape\n through the midst of the Ach\u00e6ans, to thread in safety\n the windings of the Illyrian coast, and the realms of the\n Liburnians, up at the gulf\u2019s head, and to pass the springs\n of Timavus, whence through nine mouths,\u2019mid the rocks\u2019\n responsive roar, the sea comes bursting up, and deluges\n the fields with its thundering billows. Yet in that spot 5\n he built the city of Patavium for his Trojans to dwell in,\n and gave them a place and a name among the nations, and\n set up a rest for the arms[64] of Troy: now he reposes, lapped\n in the calm of peace. Meantime we, of thine own blood,\n to whom thy nod secures the pinnacle of heaven, our ships, 10\n most monstrous, lost, as thou seest, all to sate the malice\n of one cruel heart, are given up to ruin, and severed far\n from the Italian shores. Is this the reward of piety[65]?\n Is this to restore a king to his throne?\u201d\n\n Smiling on her, the planter of gods and men, with that 15\n face which calms the fitful moods of the sky, touched with\n a kiss his daughter\u2019s lips, then addressed her thus: \u201cGive\n thy fears a respite, lady of Cythera[66]: thy people\u2019s destiny\n abides still unchanged for thee; thine eyes shall see the\n city of thy heart, the promised walls of Lavinium[67]; 20\n thine arms shall bear aloft to the stars of heaven thy hero\n \u00c6neas; nor has my purpose wrought a change in me.\n Thy hero\u2014for I will speak out, in pity for the care that\n rankles yet, and awaken the secrets of Fate\u2019s book from\n the distant pages where they slumber\u2014thy hero shall 25\n wage a mighty war in Italy, crush its haughty tribes, and\n set up for his warriors a polity and a city, till the third\n summer shall have seen him king over Latium, and three\n winters in camp shall have passed over the Rutulians\u2019[68]\n defeat. But the boy Ascanius,[69] who has now the new 30\n name of Iulus\u2014Ilus he was, while the royalty of Ilion\u2019s\n state stood firm\u2014shall let thirty of the sun\u2019s great courses\n fulfil their monthly rounds while he is sovereign, then\n transfer the empire from Lavinium\u2019s seat, and build\n Alba the Long, with power and might. Here for full three 35\n hundred years the crown shall be worn by Hector\u2019s[70] line,\n till a royal priestess, teeming by the war-god, Ilia, shall\n be the mother of twin sons. Then shall there be one,\n proud to wear the tawny hide of the wolf that nursed him,\n Romulus, who will take up the sceptre, and build a new\n city, the city of Mars, and give the people his own name\n of Roman. To them I assign no limit, no date of empire:\n my grant to them is dominion without end. Nay, Juno, 5\n thy savage foe, who now, in her blind terror, lets neither\n sea, land, nor heaven rest, shall amend her counsels, and\n vie with me in watching over the Romans, lords of earth,\n the great nation of the gown. So it is willed. The time\n shall come, as Rome\u2019s years roll on, when the house of 10\n Assaracus[71] shall bend to its yoke Phthia[72] and renowned\n Mycen\u00e6,[73] and queen it over vanquished Argos.[74] Then shall\n be born the child of an illustrious line, one of thine own\n Trojans, C\u00e6sar, born to extend his empire to the ocean, his\n glory to the stars,[75]\u2014Julius, in name as in blood the heir of 15\n great Iulus. Him thou shalt one day welcome in safety to\n the sky, a warrior laden with Eastern spoils; to him, as to\n \u00c6neas, men shall pray and make their vows. In his days\n war[76] shall cease, and savage times grow mild. Faith with\n her hoary head, and Vesta,[77] Quirinus,[78] and Remus his 20\n brother, shall give law to the world: grim, iron-bound,\n closely welded, the gates of war shall be closed; the fiend\n of Discord a prisoner within, seated on a pile of arms deadly\n as himself, his hands bound behind his back with a hundred\n brazen chains, shall roar ghastly from his throat of blood.\u201d 25\n\n So saying, he sends down from on high the son of Maia,[79]\n that Carthage the new, her lands and her towers, may\n open themselves to welcome in the Teucrians, lest Dido,[80]\n in her ignorance of Fate, should drive them from her\n borders. Down flies Mercury through the vast abyss of 30\n air, with his wings for oars, and has speedily alighted on\n the shore of Libya. See! he is doing his bidding already:\n the Punic[81] nation is resigning the fierceness of its nature\n at the god\u2019s pleasure; above all the rest, the queen is\n admitting into her bosom thoughts of peace towards the 35\n Teucrians, and a heart of kindness.\n\n But \u00c6neas the good, revolving many things the whole\n night through, soon as the gracious dawn is vouchsafed,\n resolves to go out and explore this new region; to inquire\n what shores be these on which the wind has driven him,\n who their dwellers, for he sees it is a wilderness, men or\n beasts; and bring his comrades back the news. His\n fleet he hides in the wooded cove under a hollow rock, 5\n with a wall of trees and stiffening shade on each side.\n He moves on with Achates, his single companion, wielding\n in his hands two spear shafts, with heads of broad iron.\n He had reached the middle of the wood, when his way\n was crossed by his mother, wearing a maiden\u2019s mien and 10\n dress, and a maiden\u2019s armour, Spartan, or even as Harpalyce\n of Thrace, tires steed after steed, and heads the swift\n waters of her own Hebrus as she flies along. For she had\n a shapely bow duly slung from her shoulders in true huntress\n fashion, and her hair streaming in the wind, her knee 15\n bare, and her flowing scarf gathered round her in a knot.\n Soon as she sees them, \u201cHo![82] youths,\u201d cries she, \u201cif you\n have chanced to see one of my sisters wandering in these\n parts, tell me where to find her\u2014wandering with a quiver,\n and a spotted lynx hide fastened about her; or, it may 20\n be, pressing on the heels of the foaming boar with her\n hounds in full cry.\u201d\n\n Thus Venus spoke, and Venus\u2019 son replied:\u2014\u201cNo sight\n or hearing have we had of any sister of thine, O thou\u2014what\n name shall I give thee? maiden; for thy face is not 25\n of earth, nor the tone of thy voice human: some goddess[83]\n surely thou art. Ph\u0153bus\u2019[84] sister belike, or one of the\n blood of the nymphs? be gracious, whoe\u2019er thou art, and\n relieve our hardship, and tell us under what sky now,\n on what realms of earth we are thrown. Utter strangers 30\n to the men and the place, we are wandering, as thou seest,\n by the driving of the wind and of the mighty waters.\n Do this, and many a victim shall fall to thee at the altar\n by this hand of mine.\u201d\n\n Then Venus:\u2014\u201cNay, I can lay claim to no such honours. 35\n Tyrian maidens, like me, are wont to carry the\n quiver, and tie the purple buskin high up the calf. This\n that you now see is the Punic realm, the nation Tyrian\n and the town Agenor\u2019s[85]; but on the frontiers are the\n Libyans, a race ill to handle in war. The queen is Dido,\n who left her home in Tyre to escape from her brother.\n Lengthy is her tale of wrong, lengthy the windings of its\n course; but I will pass rapidly from point to point. Her 5\n husband was Sych\u00e6us, wealthiest of Ph\u0153nician landowners,\n and loved by his poor wife with fervid passion;\n on him her father had bestowed her in her maiden bloom,\n linking them together by the omens of a first bridal. But\n the crown of Tyre was on the head of her brother, Pygmalion, 10\n in crime monstrous beyond the rest of men.\n They were two, and fury came between them. Impious\n that he was, at the very altar of the palace, the love of\n gold blinding his eyes, he surprises Sych\u00e6us with his\n stealthy steel, and lays him low, without a thought for 15\n his sister\u2019s passion; he kept the deed long concealed,\n and with many a base coinage sustained the mockery\n of false hope[86] in her pining love-lorn heart. But lo! in\n her sleep there came to her no less than the semblance of\n her unburied spouse, lifting up a face of strange unearthly 20\n pallor; the ruthless altar and his breast gored with the\n steel, he laid bare the one and the other, and unveiled\n from first to last the dark domestic crime. Then he urges\n her to speed her flight, and quit her home for ever, and in\n aid of her journey unseals a hoard of treasure long hid in 25\n the earth, a mass of silver and gold which none else knew.\n Dido\u2019s soul was stirred; she began to make ready her\n flight, and friends to share it. There they meet, all whose\n hate of the tyrant was fell or whose fear was bitter; ships,\n that chanced to lie ready in the harbour, they seize, and 30\n freight with gold. Away it floats over the deep, the\n greedy Pygmalion\u2019s wealth; and who heads the enterprise?\n a woman[87]! So they came to the spot where you\n now see yonder those lofty walls, and the rising citadel\n of Carthage the new; there they bought ground, which 35\n got from the transaction the name of Byrsa,[88] as much as\n they could compass round with a bull\u2019s hide. But who\n are you after all? What coast are you come from, or\n whither are you holding on your journey?\u201d That question\n he answers thus, with a heavy sigh, and a voice\n fetched from the bottom of his heart:\u2014\n\n \u201cFair goddess! should I begin from the first and proceed\n in order, and hadst thou leisure to listen to the chronicle 5\n of our sufferings, eve would first close the Olympian gates\n and lay the day to sleep. For us, bound from ancient\n Troy, if the name of Troy has ever chanced to pass through\n a Tyrian ear, wanderers over divers seas already, we have\n been driven by a storm\u2019s wild will upon your Libyan 10\n coasts. I am \u00c6neas, styled the good, who am bearing\n with me in my fleet the gods of Troy rescued from the\n foe; a name blazed by rumour above the stars. I am in\n quest of Italy, looking there for an ancestral home, and a\n pedigree drawn from high Jove himself. With twice ten 15\n ships I climbed the Phrygian main, with a goddess mother\n guiding me on my way, and a chart of oracles to follow.\n Scarce seven remain to me now, shattered by wind and\n wave. Here am I, a stranger, nay, a beggar, wandering\n over your Libyan deserts, driven from Europe and Asia 20\n alike.\u201d Venus could bear the complaint no longer, so\n she thus struck into the middle of his sorrows:\u2014\n\n \u201cWhoever you are, it is not, I trow, under the frown of\n heavenly powers that you draw the breath of life,[89] thus to\n have arrived at our Tyrian town. Only go on, and make 25\n your way straight hence to the queen\u2019s palace. For I\n give you news that your comrades are returned and your\n fleet brought back, wafted into shelter by shifting gales,\n unless my learning of augury was vain, and the parents\n who taught me cheats. Look at these twelve swans 30\n exultant in victorious column, which the bird of Jove,[90]\n swooping from the height of ether, was just now driving\n in confusion over the wide unsheltered sky; see now how\n their line stretches, some alighting on the ground, others\n just looking down on those alighted. As they, thus rallied, 35\n ply their whirring wings[91] in sport, spreading their train\n round the sky, and uttering songs of triumph, even so\n your vessels and your gallant crews are either safe in the\n port, or entering the haven with sails full spread. Only\n go on, and where the way leads you direct your steps.\u201d\n\n She said, and as she turned away, flashed on their sight\n her neck\u2019s roseate hue; her ambrosial locks breathed from\n her head a heavenly fragrance; her robe streamed down 5\n to her very feet; and in her walk[92] was revealed the true\n goddess. Soon as he knew his mother, he pursued her\n flying steps with words like these:\u2014\u201cWhy wilt thou be\n cruel like the rest, mocking thy son these many times\n with feigned semblances? Why is it not mine to grasp 10\n thy hand in my hand, and hear and return the true language\n of the heart?\u201d Such are his upbraidings, while he\n yet bends his way to the town. But Venus fenced them\n round with a dim cloud as they moved, and wrapped them\n as a goddess only can in a spreading mantle of mist, that 15\n none might be able to see them, none to touch them, or\n put hindrances in their path, or ask the reason of their coming.\n She takes her way aloft to Paphos,[93] glad to revisit\n the abode she loves, where she has a temple and a hundred\n altars, smoking with Sab\u00e6an[94] incense, and fragrant with 20\n garlands ever new.\n\n They, meanwhile, have pushed on their way, where the\n path guides them, and already they are climbing the hill\n which hangs heavily over the city, and looks from above\n on the towers that rise to meet it. \u00c6neas marvels at the 25\n mass of building, once a mere village of huts; marvels at\n the gates, and the civic din, and the paved ways. The\n Tyrians are alive and on fire\u2014intent, some on carrying\n the walls aloft and upheaving the citadel, and rolling\n stones from underneath by force of hand; some on making 30\n choice of a site for a dwelling, and enclosing it with a\n trench. They are ordaining the law and its guardians, and\n the senate\u2019s sacred majesty. Here are some digging out\n havens; there are others laying deep the foundation of a\n theatre, and hewing from the rocks enormous columns, 35\n the lofty ornaments of a stage that is to be. Such are the\n toils that keep the commonwealth of bees[95] at work\n in the sun among the flowery meads when summer is\n new, what time they lead out the nation\u2019s hope, the young\n now grown, or mass together honey, clear and flowing, and\n strain the cells to bursting with its nectarous sweets, or\n relieve those who are coming in of their burdens, or collect\n a troop and expel from their stalls the drones, that lazy, 5\n thriftless herd. The work is all afire, and a scent of thyme\n breathes from the fragrant honey. \u201cO happy they, whose\n city is rising already!\u201d cries \u00c6neas, as he looks upward\n to roof and dome. In he goes, close fenced by his cloud,\n miraculous to tell, threads his way through the midst, 10\n and mingles with the citizens, unperceived of all.\n\n A grove there was in the heart of the city, most plenteous\n of shade\u2014the spot where first, fresh from the buffeting of\n wave and wind, the Punic race dug up the token which\n queenly Juno had bidden them expect, the head of a fiery 15\n steed\u2014for even thus, said she, the nation should be renowned\n in war and rich in sustenance for a life of centuries.\n Here Dido, Sidon\u2019s[96] daughter, was building a vast temple\n to Juno, rich in offerings and in the goddess\u2019s especial\n presence; of brass was the threshold with its rising steps, 20\n clamped with brass the door-posts, the hinge creaked on\n a door of brass. In this grove it was that first a new object\n appeared, as before, to soothe away fear: here it was that\n \u00c6neas first dared to hope that all was safe, and to place a\n better trust in his shattered fortunes. For while his eye 25\n ranges over each part under the temple\u2019s massy roof, as\n he waits there for the queen\u2014while he is marvelling at\n the city\u2019s prosperous star, the various artist-hands vying\n with each other, their tasks and the toil they cost, he\n beholds, scene after scene, the battles of Ilion, and the 30\n war that Fame had already blazed the whole world over\u2014Atreus\u2019[o]\n sons, and Priam, and the enemy of both,\n Achilles. He stopped short, and breaking into tears,\n \u201cWhat place is there left?\u201d he cries, \u201cAchates, what\n clime on earth that is not full of our sad story? See there 35\n Priam. Here, too, worth finds its due reward; here, too,\n there are tears[97] for human fortune, and hearts that are\n touched by mortality. Be free from fear: this renown\n of ours will bring you some measure of safety.\u201d So speaking,\n he feeds his soul on the empty portraiture, with many\n a sigh, and lets copious rivers run down his cheeks. For\n he still saw how, as they battled round Pergamus,[98] here\n the Greeks were flying, the Trojan youth in hot pursuit; 5\n here the Phrygians, at their heels in his car Achilles, with\n that dreadful crest. Not far from this he recognizes with\n tears the snowy canvas of Rhesus\u2019 tent, which, all surprised\n in its first sleep, Tydeus\u2019 son was devastating with wide\n carnage, himself bathed in blood\u2014see! he drives off 10\n the fiery steeds to his own camp, ere they have had time\n to taste the pastures of Troy or drink of Xanthus.[99] There\n in another part is Troilus[100] in flight, his arms fallen from\n him\u2014unhappy boy, confronted with Achilles in unequal\n combat\u2014hurried away by his horses, and hanging half 15\n out of the empty car, with his head thrown back, but the\n reins still in his hand; his neck and his hair are being\n trailed along the ground, and his inverted spear is drawing\n lines in the dust. Meanwhile to the temple of Pallas,[101]\n not their friend, were moving the Trojan dames with locks 20\n dishevelled, carrying the sacred robe, in suppliant guise\n of mourning, their breasts bruised with their hands\u2014the\n goddess was keeping her eyes riveted on the ground,\n with her face turned away. Thrice had Achilles dragged\n Hector round the walls of Ilion, and was now selling for 25\n gold his body, thus robbed of breath. Then, indeed,\n heavy was the groan that he gave from the bottom of\n his heart, when he saw the spoils, the car, the very body\n of his friend, and Priam, stretching out those helpless\n hands. Himself, too, he recognizes in the forefront of 30\n the Ach\u00e6an ranks, and the squadrons of the East, and the\n arms of the swarthy Memnon.[102] There, leading the columns\n of her Amazons, with their moony shields, is Penthesilea[103]\n in her martial frenzy, blazing out, the centre of thousands,\n as she loops up her protruded breast with a girdle of gold, 35\n the warrior queen, and nerves herself to the shock of combat,\n a maiden against men.\n\n While these things are meeting the wondering eyes of\n \u00c6neas the Dardan\u2014while he is standing bewildered,\n and continues riveted in one set gaze\u2014the queen has\n moved towards the temple, Dido, of loveliest presence,\n with a vast train of youths thronging round her. Like\n as on Eurotas\u2019 banks, or along the ridges of Cynthus, 5\n Diana[104] is footing the dance, while, attending her, a thousand\n mountain nymphs are massing themselves on either\n side; she, her quiver on her shoulder, as she steps, towers\n over the whole goddess sisterhood, while Latona\u2019s[105] bosom\n thrills silently with delight; such was Dido\u2014such she 10\n bore herself triumphant through the midst, to speed the\n work which had empire for its prospect. Then, at the doors\n of the goddess, under the midmost vaulting of the temple,\n with a fence of arms round her, supported high on a throne,\n she took her seat. There she was giving laws and judgments 15\n to her citizens, and equalizing the burden of their\n tasks by fair partition, or draughting it by lot, when suddenly\n \u00c6neas sees coming among the great crowd Antheus\n and Sergestus, and brave Cloanthus, and other of the\n Teucrians, whom the black storm had scattered over the 20\n deep, and carried far away to other coasts. Astounded\n was he, overwhelmed, too, was Achates, all for joy and\n fear: eagerly were they burning to join hands with theirs,\n but the unexplained mystery confounds their minds.\n They carry on the concealment, and look out from the 25\n hollow cloud that wraps them, to learn what fortune their\n mates have had, on what shore they are leaving their fleet,\n what is their errand here\u2014for they were on their way,\n a deputation from all the crews, suing for grace, and were\n making for the temple with loud cries. 30\n\n After they had gained an entrance, and had obtained\n leave to speak in the presence, Ilioneus, the eldest, thus\n began, calm of soul:\u2014\n\n \u201cGracious queen, to whom Jupiter has given to found a\n new city, and to restrain by force of law the pride of savage 35\n nations, we, hapless Trojans, driven by the winds over\n every sea, make our prayer to you\u2014keep off from our\n ships the horrors of fire, have pity on a pious race, and\n vouchsafe a nearer view to our affairs. We are not come\n to carry the havoc of the sword into the homes of Libya\u2014to\n snatch booty and hurry it to the shore; such violence\n is not in our nature; such insolence were not for\n the vanquished. There is a place\u2014the Greeks call it 5\n Hesperia\u2014a land old in story, strong in arms and in\n the fruitfulness of its soil; the \u0152notrians were its settlers;\n now report says that later generations have called the\n nation Italian, from the name of their leader. Thither\n were we voyaging, when, rising with a sudden swell, Orion,[106] 10\n lord of the storm, carried us into hidden shoals, and far\n away by the stress of reckless gales over the water, the\n surge mastering us, and over pathless rocks scattered us\n here and there: a small remnant, we drifted hither on to\n your shores. What race of men have we here? What 15\n country is so barbarous as to sanction a native usage like\n this? Even the hospitality of the sand is forbidden us\u2014they\n draw the sword, and will not let us set foot on the\n land\u2019s edge. If you defy the race of men, and the weapons\n that mortals wield, yet look to have to do with gods, who 20\n watch over the right and the wrong. \u00c6neas was our king,\n than whom never man breathed more just, more eminent\n in piety, or in war and martial prowess. If the Fates are\n keeping our hero alive\u2014if he is feeding on this upper\n air, and not yet lying down in death\u2019s cruel shade\u2014all 25\n our fears are over, nor need you be sorry to have made\n the first advance in the contest of kindly courtesy. The\n realm of Sicily, too, has cities for us, and store of arms,\n and a hero-king of Trojan blood, Acestes.[o] Give us leave\n but to lay up on shore our storm-beaten fleet, to fashion 30\n timber in your forests, and strip boughs for our oars, that,\n if we are allowed to sail for Italy, our comrades and king\n restored to us, we may make our joyful way to Italy and\n to Latium; or, if our safety is swallowed up, and thou,\n best father of the Teucrians, art the prey of the Libyan 35\n deep, and a nation\u2019s hope lives no longer in Iulus, then, at\n least, we may make for Sicania\u2019s straits, and the houses\n standing to welcome us, whence we came hither, and may\n find a king in Acestes.\u201d Such was the speech of Ilioneus;\n an accordant clamour burst at once from all the sons of\n Dardanus.\n\n Then briefly Dido, with downcast look, makes reply:\u2014\u201cTeucrians!\n unburden your hearts of fear, lay your anxieties 5\n aside. It is the stress of danger and the infancy of\n my kingdom that make me put this policy in motion and\n protect my frontiers with a guard all about. The men\n of \u00c6neas and the city of Troy\u2014who can be ignorant of\n them?\u2014the deeds and the doers, and all the blaze of that 10\n mighty war? Not so blunt are the wits we Punic folk\n carry with us, not so wholly does the sun turn his back\n on our Tyrian town when he harnesses his steeds.\n Whether you make your choice of Hesperia the great, and\n the old realm of Saturn, or of the borders of Eryx and their 15\n king Acestes, I will send you on your way with an escort\n to protect you, and will supply you with stores. Or would\n you like to settle along with me in my kingdom here?\n Look at the city I am building, it is yours, lay up your\n ships, Trojan and Tyrian shall be dealt with by me without 20\n distinction. Would to heaven your king were here too,\n driven by the gale that drove you hither\u2014\u00c6neas himself!\n For myself, I will send trusty messengers along the coast,\n with orders to traverse the furthest parts of Libya, in case\n he should be shipwrecked and wandering anywhere in 25\n forest or town.\u201d\n\n Excited by her words, brave Achates and father \u00c6neas,\n too, were burning long ere this to break out of their cloud.\n Achates first accosts \u00c6neas:\u2014\u201cGoddess-born, what purpose\n now is foremost in your mind? All you see is safe, 30\n our fleet and our mates are restored to us. One is missing,\n whom our own eyes saw in the midst of the surge swallowed\n up, all the rest is even as your mother told us.\u201d\n\n Scarce had he spoken when the cloud that enveloped\n them suddenly parts asunder and clears into the open sky. 35\n Out stood \u00c6neas, and shone[107] again in the bright sunshine,\n his face and his bust the image of a god, for his great\n mother had shed graceful tresses over her son\u2019s brow,\n and the glowing flush of youth, and had breathed the\n breath of beauty and gladness into his eyes, loveliness such\n as the artist\u2019s touch imparts to ivory, or when silver or\n Parian marble is enchased[108] with yellow gold. Then he\n addresses the queen, and speaks suddenly to the astonishment 5\n of all:\u2014\u201cHere am I whom you are seeking, before\n you,\u2014\u00c6neas, the Trojan, snatched from the jaws of the\n Libyan wave. O heart that alone of all has found pity for\n Troy\u2019s cruel agonies\u2014that makes us, poor remnants of\n Danaan fury, utterly spent by all the chances of land and 10\n sea, destitute of all, partners of its city, of its very palace!\n To pay such a debt of gratitude, Dido, is more than we can\n do\u2014more than can be done by all the survivors of the\n Dardan nation, now scattered the wide world over. May\n the gods\u2014if there are powers that regard the pious, if 15\n justice and conscious rectitude count for aught anywhere\n on earth\u2014may they give you the reward you merit!\n What age had the happiness to bring you forth? what\n godlike parents gave such nobleness to the world? While\n the rivers run into the sea, while the shadows sweep along 20\n the mountain-sides, while the stars draw life from the\n sky, your glory and your name and your praise shall still\n endure, whatever the land whose call I must obey.\u201d So\n saying, he stretches out his right hand to his friend Ilioneus,\n his left to Serestus, and so on to others, gallant Gyas 25\n and gallant Cloanthus.\n\n Astounded was Dido, Sidon\u2019s daughter, first at the hero\u2019s\n presence, then at his enormous sufferings, and she bespoke\n him thus:\u2014\u201cWhat chance is it, goddess-born, that is\n hunting you through such a wilderness of perils? what 30\n violence throws you on our savage coasts? Are you, indeed,\n the famed \u00c6neas, whom to Anchises the Dardan,\n Venus, queen of light and love, bore by the stream of\n Simois? Aye, I remember Teucer coming to Sidon, driven\n from the borders of his fatherland, hoping to gain a new 35\n kingdom by the aid of Belus. Belus, my sire, was then\n laying waste the rich fields of Cyprus, and ruling the isle\n with a conqueror\u2019s sway. Ever since that time I knew\n the fate of the Trojan city, and your name, and the\n Pelasgian princes. Foe as he was, he would always extol\n the Teucrians with signal praise, and profess that\n he himself came of the ancient Teucrian stock. Come\n then, brave men, and make our dwellings your home. 5\n I, too, have had a fortune like yours, which, after the\n buffeting of countless sufferings, has been pleased that\n I should find rest in this land at last. Myself no stranger\n to sorrow, I am learning[109] to succour the unhappy.\u201d\n With these words, at the same moment she ushers 10\n \u00c6neas into her queenly palace, and orders a solemn\n sacrifice at the temples of the gods. Meantime, as if\n this were nought, she sends to his comrades at the shore\n twenty bulls, a hundred huge swine with backs all bristling,\n a hundred fat lambs with their mothers, and the 15\n wine-god\u2019s jovial bounty.\n\n But the palace within is laid out with all the splendour of\n regal luxury, and in the centre of the mansion they are\n making ready for the banquet; the coverlets are embroidered\n and of princely purple\u2014on the tables is massy 20\n silver, and chased on gold the gallant exploits of Tyrian\n ancestors, a long, long chain of story, derived through\n hero after hero ever since the old nation was young.\n\n \u00c6neas, for his fatherly love would not leave his heart at\n rest, sends on Achates with speed to the ships to tell Ascanius 25\n the news and conduct him to the city. On Ascanius\n all a fond parent\u2019s anxieties are centred. Presents,\n moreover, rescued from the ruins of Ilion, he bids him\n bring\u2014a pall stiff with figures of gold, and a veil with\n a border of yellow acanthus,[110] adornments of Argive 30\n Helen,[111] which she carried away from Mycen\u00e6, when she\n went to Troy and to her unblessed bridal, her mother\n Leda\u2019s marvellous gift; the sceptre, too, which Ilione\n had once borne, the eldest of Priam\u2019s daughters, and the\n string of pearls for the neck, and the double coronal of 35\n jewels and gold. With this to despatch, Achates was\n bending his way to the ships.\n\n But the lady of Cythera is casting new wiles, new devices\n in her breast, that Cupid,[112] form and feature changed, may\n arrive in the room of the charmer Ascanius, and by the\n presents he brings influence the queen to madness, and turn\n the very marrow of her bones to fire. She fears the two-faced\n generation, the double-tongued sons of Tyre; Juno\u2019s 5\n hatred scorches her like a flame, and as night draws on the\n care comes back to her. So then with these words she\n addresses her winged Love:\u2014\u201cMy son, who art alone my\n strength and my mighty power, my son, who laughest to\n scorn our great father\u2019s Typh\u0153an[113] thunderbolts, to thee 10\n I fly for aid, and make suppliant prayer of thy majesty.\n How thy brother \u00c6neas is tossed on the ocean the whole\n world over by Juno\u2019s implacable rancour I need not tell\n thee\u2014nay, thou hast often mingled thy grief with mine.\n He is now the guest of Dido, the Ph\u0153nician woman, and 15\n the spell of a courteous tongue is laid on him, and I fear\n what may be the end of taking shelter under Juno\u2019s\n wing; she will never be idle at a time on which so much\n hangs. Thus then I am planning to be first in the field,\n surprising the queen by stratagem, and encompassing 20\n her with fire, that no power may be able to work a change\n in her, but that a mighty passion for \u00c6neas may keep\n her mine. For the way in which thou mayest bring this\n about, listen to what I have been thinking. The young\n heir of royalty, at his loved father\u2019s summons, is making 25\n ready to go to this Sidonian city\u2014my soul\u2019s darling\n that he is\u2014the bearer of presents that have survived\n the sea and the flames of Troy. Him I will lull in deep\n sleep and hide him in my hallowed dwelling high on\n Cythera or Idalia, that by no chance he may know or mar 30\n our plot. Do thou then for a single night, no more, artfully\n counterfeit his form, and put on the boy\u2019s usual looks,\n thyself a boy, that when Dido, at the height of her joy,\n shall take thee into her lap while the princely board is\n laden and the vine-god\u2019s liquor flowing, when she shall 35\n be caressing thee and printing her fondest kisses on thy\n cheek, thou mayest breathe concealed fire into her veins,\n and steal upon her with poison.\u201d[114]\n\n At once Love complies with his fond mother\u2019s words,\n puts off his wings, and walks rejoicing in the gait of Iulus.\n As for Ascanius, Venus sprinkles his form all over with the\n dew of gentle slumber,[115] and carries him, as a goddess may,\n lapped in her bosom, into Idalia\u2019s lofty groves, where a 5\n soft couch of amaracus enfolds him with its flowers, and\n the fragrant breath of its sweet shade. Meanwhile Cupid\n was on his way, all obedience, bearing the royal presents to\n the Tyrians, and glad to follow Achates. When he arrives,\n he finds the queen already settled on the gorgeous tapestry 10\n of a golden couch, and occupying the central place. Already\n father \u00c6neas, already the chivalry of Troy are flocking\n in, and stretching themselves here and there on coverlets\n of purple. There are servants offering them water\n for their hands, and deftly producing the bread from the 15\n baskets, and presenting towels with shorn nap. Within\n are fifty maidens, whose charge is in course to pile up provisions\n in lasting store, and light up with fire the gods of the\n hearth. A hundred others there are, and male attendants\n of equal number and equal age, to load the table with 20\n dishes, and set on the cups. The Tyrians, too, have\n assembled in crowds through the festive hall, and scatter\n themselves as invited over the embroidered couches.\n There is marvelling at \u00c6neas\u2019 presents, marvelling at\n Iulus, at those glowing features, where the god shines 25\n through, and those words which he feigns so well, and at\n the robe and the veil with the yellow acanthus border.\n Chief of all, the unhappy victim of coming ruin cannot\n satisfy herself with gazing,[116] and kindles as she looks,\n the Ph\u0153nician woman, charmed with the boy and the 30\n presents alike. He, after he has hung long in \u00c6neas\u2019\n arms and round his neck, gratifying the intense fondness\n of the sire he feigned to be his, finds his way to the queen.\n She is riveted by him\u2014riveted, eye and heart, and ever\n and anon fondles him in her lap[117]\u2014poor Dido, unconscious 35\n how great a god is sitting heavy on that wretched bosom.\n But he, with his mind still bent on his Acidalian mother,\n is beginning to efface the name of Sych\u00e6us letter by letter,\n and endeavouring to surprise by a living passion affections\n long torpid, and a heart long unused to love.\n\n When the banquet\u2019s first lull was come, and the board\n removed, then they set up the huge bowls and wreathe the\n wine. A din rings to the roof\u2014the voice rolls through 5\n those spacious halls; lamps[118] hang from the gilded ceiling,\n burning brightly, and flambeau-fires put out the night.\n Then the queen called for a cup, heavy with jewels and\n gold, and filled it with unmixed wine; the same which\n had been used by Belus, and every king from Belus downward. 10\n Then silence was commanded through the hall.\n \u201cJupiter, for thou hast the name of lawgiver for guest and\n host, grant that this day may be auspicious alike for the\n Tyrians and the voyagers from Troy, and that its memory\n may long live among our posterity. Be with us, Bacchus,[119] 15\n the giver of jollity, and Juno, the queen of our blessings;\n and you, the lords of Tyre, may your goodwill grace this\n meeting.\u201d She said, and poured on the table an offering\n of the wine, and, the libation made, touched the cup\n first with her lips, then handed it to Bitias, rallying his 20\n slowness. Eagerly he quaffed the foaming goblet, and\n drenched himself deep with its brimming gold. Then\n came the other lords in order. Iopas, the long-haired\n bard, takes his gilded lyre, and fills the hall with music;\n he, whose teacher was the mighty Atlas.[120] His song[121] is of 25\n the wanderings of the moon and the agonies of the sun,\n whence sprung man\u2019s race and the cattle, whence rain-water\n and fire; of Arcturus and the showery Hyades,\n and the twin Bears; why the winter suns make such\n haste to dip in ocean, or what is the retarding cause that 30\n bids the nights move slowly. Plaudits redouble from\n the Tyrians, and the Trojans follow the lead. With\n varied talk, too, she kept lengthening out the night, unhappy\n Dido, drinking draughts of love long and deep,\n as she asked much about Priam, about Hector much; 35\n now what were the arms in which Aurora\u2019s son had come\n to battle; now what Diomede\u2019s steeds were like; now how\n great was Achilles. \u201cOr rather, gentle guest,\u201d cries she,\n \u201ctell us the story from the very first\u2014all about the stratagems\n of the Danaans, and the sad fate of your country,\n and your own wanderings\u2014for this is now the seventh\n summer that is wafting you a wanderer still over every\n land and wave.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nBOOK II\n\n\n Every tongue was hushed, and every eye fixed intently,\n when, from high couch, father \u00c6neas began thus:\u2014\n\n \u201cToo cruel to be told, great queen, is the sorrow you\n bid me revive\u2014how the power of Troy and its empire\n met with piteous overthrow from the Danaans\u2014the 5\n heartrending sights which my own eyes saw, and the scenes\n where I had a large part to play. Who, in such recital\u2014be\n he of the Myrmidons[122] or the Dolopes, or a soldier of\n ruthless Ulysses\u2019[123] band\u2014would refrain from tears? And\n now, too, night is rushing in dews down the steep of heaven, 10\n and the setting stars counsel repose. Still, if so great be\n your longing to acquaint yourself with our disasters, and\n hear the brief tale of Troy\u2019s last agony, though my mind\n shudders at the remembrance, and starts back in sudden\n anguish, I will essay the task. 15\n\n \u201cBroken by war and foiled by destiny, the chiefs of the\n Danaans, now that the flying years were numbering so\n many, build a horse of mountain size, by the inspiration of\n Pallas\u2019 skill, and interlace its ribs with planks of fir. A\n vow for their safe journey home is the pretext: such the 20\n fame that spreads. In this they secretly enclose chosen\n men of sinew, picked out by lot, in the depth of its sides,\n and fill every corner of those mighty caverns, the belly of\n the monster, with armed warriors.\n\n \u201cIn sight of Troy lies Tenedos, an island of wide-spread 25\n renown, powerful and rich while Priam\u2019s empire yet was,\n now a mere bay, a treacherous roadstead for ships. Thus\n far they sail out, and hide themselves on the forsaken\n coast. We thought them gone off with a fair wind for\n Mycen\u00e6. And so all Trojan land shakes off the agony of 30\n years. Open fly the gates; what pleasure to go and see the\n Dorian camp, and the places deserted, and the shore forsaken!\n Yes, here were the troops of the Dolopes; here\n the tent of that savage Achilles; here the ships were drawn\n up; here they used to set the battle in array. Some of 5\n us are standing agaze at the fatal offering to the virgin\n goddess, and wondering at the hugeness of the horse;\n and Thym\u0153tes takes the lead, urging to have it dragged\n within the walls, and lodged in the citadel, either with\n treasonable intent, or that the fate of Troy had begun to 10\n set that way. But Capys, and the men of saner judgment,\n bid us send this snare of the Danaans, this suspicious present,\n headlong into the sea, or light a fire under and burn\n it; or, if not that, to pierce and probe that hollow womb\n that might hide so much. The populace, unstable as 15\n ever, divides off into opposite factions.\n\n \u201cThrowing himself before all, with a great crowd at his\n back, Laocoon,[124] all on fire, comes running down the steep\n of the citadel, crying in the distance, \u2018What strange\n madness is this, my unhappy countrymen? Think you 20\n that the enemy has sailed off, or that a Danaan could ever\n make a present that had no treachery in it? Is this your\n knowledge of Ulysses? Either the Ach\u00e6ans are shut up\n and hiding in this piece of wood, or it is an engine framed\n against our walls, to command the houses and come down 25\n on the city from above, or there is some other secret trick.\n Men of Troy, put no faith in the horse. Whatever it be,\n I fear a Greek even with a gift in his hand.\u2019 With these\n words he hurled a mighty spear with all his force against\n the beast\u2019s side, the jointed arch of its belly. It lodged, 30\n and stood quivering; the womb shook again, and an echo\n and a groan rang hollow from its caverns; and, then,\n had but heaven\u2019s destiny and man\u2019s judgment been unwarped,\n he had led us to carry sword and havoc into the\n Argive lurking-place, and Troy would now be standing, 35\n and thou, Priam\u2019s tall fortress, still in being.\n\n \u201cMeanwhile, see! some Dardan shepherds are dragging\n with loud shouts before the king a young man with his\n hands tied behind him, who had thrown himself, a stranger,\n across their way, to compass this very thing, and thus\n let the Ach\u00e6ans into Troy\u2014bold of heart, and ready for\n either issue, either to play off his stratagem, or to meet\n inevitable death. From all sides, in eager curiosity, 5\n the Trojan youth come streaming round, vying in their\n insults to the prisoner. Now then, listen, to the tale of\n Danaan fraud, and from one act of guilt learn what the\n whole nation is. There as he stood, with all eyes bent on\n him, bewildered, defenceless, and looked round on the 10\n Phrygian bands, \u2019 Alas!\u2019 he cries, \u2018where is there a\n spot of earth or sea that will give me shelter now? or what\n last resource is left for a wretch like me\u2014one who has no\n place among the Danaans to hide my head\u2014while the\n children of Dardanus no less are in arms against me, 15\n crying for bloody vengeance?\u2019 At that piteous cry our\n mood was changed, and every outrage checked. We\n encourage him to speak\u2014to tell us what his parentage\n is; what his business; what he has to rest on as a prisoner.\n \u2018All, my lord, shall be avowed to you truly, whatever 20\n be the issue. I will not deny that I am an Argive by\n nation; this to begin with. Nor if Fortune has made a\n miserable man out of Sinon, shall her base schooling\n make him deceiver and liar as well. If haply in talk your\n ears ever caught the name of Palamedes, of the house of 25\n Belus, and his wide-spread renown\u2014his, whom under\n false accusation, an innocent man, charged by the blackest\n calumny, all because his voice was against the war,\n the Pelasgians sent down to death, and now, when he is\n laid in darkness, lament him too late\u2014know that it was 30\n as his comrade and near kinsman I was sent by a needy\n father to a soldier\u2019s life in earliest youth. While he stood\n with his royal state unimpaired, an honoured member of\n the kingly council, I, too, enjoyed my measure of name\n and dignity; but after the jealousy of false Ulysses\u2014you 35\n know the tale\u2014removed him from this upper clime\u2014dashed\n from my height, I dragged on life in darkness and\n sorrow, and vented to my own heart my rage at the disaster\n of my innocent friend. Nor did I keep silence\u2014madman\n that I was! No, if ever the chance were given\n me\u2014if ever I came back with glory to my native Argos\u2014I\n vowed myself his avenger, and my words stirred up\n bitter enmity. From that time my ruin began; from that 5\n time Ulysses was ever threatening me with some new\n charge, ever scattering abroad words of mystery, and looking\n for allies to plot with. Nor did he rest till by Calchas\u2019[125]\n agency\u2014but why recall this unwelcome story with no\n end to gain? Why waste your time, if you hold all Ach\u00e6ans 10\n alike, and to hear that is to hear enough? Take the\n vengeance you should have taken long ago. It is just\n what would please the Ithacan, and earn a large reward\n from the sons of Atreus!\u2019[126]\n\n \u201cThis makes us burn, indeed, to explore and inquire into 15\n the reason of his tale, not knowing that crime could be so\n monstrous, and Pelasgian art so cunning. He resumes, in\n faltering tones, spoken from his false heart:\u2014\n\n \u201c\u2018Often have the Danaans designed to turn their back\n on Troy and accomplish a retreat, and abandon the war 20\n that had wearied them so long; and would they had done\n it! As often has the fierce inclemency of the deep barred\n their purpose, and the south wind frightened them from\n sailing. Especially, when this horse was set up at last, a\n compacted mass of maple planks, the thunder of the storm-clouds 25\n was heard the whole firmament over. In our\n perplexity we send Eurypylus to inquire of Ph\u0153bus\u2019[127]\n oracle, and this is the gloomy message that he brings back\n from the shrine: \u201cWith blood it was ye appeased the winds,\n even with a maiden\u2019s slaughter, when first ye came, Danaans, 30\n to the shore of Ilion. With blood it is ye must buy\n your return, and propitiate heaven by the life of an Argive!\u201d\n Soon as the news reached the public ear, every\n mind was cowed, and a cold shudder thrilled the depth of\n every heart. For whom has Fate a summons? Whom does 35\n Apollo demand as his prey? And now the Ithacan, with\n boisterous vehemence, drags forward the prophet Calchas,\n insists on knowing what that announcement of heaven\u2019s\n will may mean; and many even then were the prophetic\n mouths that warned me of the trickster\u2019s cruel villany,\n and many the eyes that silently foresaw the future. Ten\n days the seer holds his peace, and keeps his tent, refusing\n to utter a word that should, disclose any name or sacrifice 5\n any life. At last, goaded by the Ithacan\u2019s vehement\n clamour, he breaks into a concerted utterance, and dooms\n me to the altar. All assented, well content that the danger\n which each feared for himself should be directed to the\n extinction of one poor wretch. And now the day of horror 10\n was come; all was being ready for my sacrifice\u2014the\n salt cakes for the fire, and the fillet to crown my brow\u2014when\n I escaped, I own it, from death, and broke my\n bonds, and hid myself that night in a muddy marsh in the\n covert of the rushes, while they should be sailing, in the 15\n faint hope that they had sailed. My old country, I\n never expect to see it again, nor my darling children, and\n the father I have longed so for! No! they are likely\n to visit them with vengeance for my escape, and expiate\n this guilt of mine by taking their poor lives. O! by the 20\n gods above, and the powers that know when truth is\n spoken, if there is yet abiding anywhere among men such\n a thing as unsullied faith, I conjure you, have pity on this\n weight of suffering, have pity on a soul that is unworthily\n borne down!\u2019 25\n\n \u201cSuch a tearful appeal gains him his life, and our compassion\n too. Priam himself is first to bid them relieve the\n man of his manacles and the chains that bound him, and\n addresses him in words of kindness. \u2018Whoever you are,\n from this time forth have done with the Greeks, and forget 30\n them. I make you my man, and bid you answer truly\n the questions I shall put. What do they mean by setting\n up this huge mountain of a horse? Who was the prompter\n of it? What is their object? Some religious offering, or\n some engine of war?\u2019 35\n\n \u201cThus Priam: the prisoner, with all his Pelasgian craft\n and cunning about him, raised his unfettered hands to the\n stars:\u2014\n\n \u201c\u2018You, eternal fires, with your inviolable majesty, be\n my witnesses; you, altars and impious swords, from which\n I fled; and you, hallowed fillets, which I wore for the sacrifice!\n I am free to break all the sacred ties that bound me\n to the Greeks. I am free to treat them as my foes, and 5\n disclose all their secrets to the light of day, all the claims\n of the land of my birth notwithstanding. Only do thou\n abide by thy plighted word, and preserve faith with thy\n preserver, land of Troy, if he tells thee true, and makes\n thee large returns. 10\n\n \u201c\u2018The strength of the Danaan hopes, and the soul of\n their confidence in the war they plunged into, has ever\n been the aid of Pallas. From the time when Tydeus\u2019 impious\n son and Ulysses, that coiner of villany, dared to\n drag away from her hallowed temple the fateful Palladium,[128] 15\n slaughtering the guards who watched the citadel\u2019s\n height, thenceforth there was an ebb and a backsliding in\n the Danaan hopes, their forces shattered, the goddess estranged.\n Nor were the portents dubious that betokened\n Tritonia\u2019s change of mood. Scarce was the image lodged 20\n in the camp, when flashing fire glowed in her uplifted eyes,\n and salt sweat trickled over her frame, and thrice of herself\n she leaped from the ground, marvellous to relate, shield\n and quivering lance and all. Forthwith Calchas sounds\n the note for flight over the perilous deep, for that Pergamus 25\n can never be razed by Argive steel, unless they go to\n Argos for fresh omens, and bring back the divine aid\n which their crooked keels bore with them aforetime over\n the sea. And now this their voyage home to Mycen\u00e6 is\n to get new forces and gods to sail with them; they will re-cross 30\n the deep, and come upon you unforeseen. Such is\n Calchas\u2019 scanning of the omens. As for this image, he\n warned them to set it up in exchange for the Palladium,\n and, in expiation of injured deity, to atone for their fatal\n crime. Calchas, however, bade them raise it to the vast 35\n height you see, knitting plank to plank, till it was brought\n near to heaven, that it might not be admitted at the gates\n or dragged within the walls, and thus restore to the people\n the bulwark of their old worship. For if your hand should\n profane Minerva\u2019s offering, then (said he) a mighty destruction\u2014may\n the gods turn the omen on his head ere\n it falls on yours!\u2014would come on the empire of Priam\n and the Phrygian nation; but if these hands of yours 5\n should help it to scale your city\u2019s height, Asia would roll\n the mighty tide of invasion on the walls of Pelops,[129] and\n our posterity would have to meet the fate he threatened.\u2019\n\n \u201cSuch was the stratagem\u2014the cursed art of perjured\n Sinon\u2014that gained credence for the tale; and such the 10\n victory won over us by wiles and constrained tears\u2014over\n us, whom not Tydeus\u2019 son, nor Achilles of Larissa,\n nor ten years of war subdued, nor a fleet of a thousand\n sail.\n\n \u201cAnd now another object, greater and far more terrible, 15\n is forced on my poor countrymen, to the confusion of their\n unprophetic souls. Laocoon, drawn by lot as Neptune\u2019s\n priest, was sacrificing a mighty bull at the wonted altar\u2014when\n behold from Tenedos, over the still deep\u2014I\n shudder as I recount the tale\u2014two serpents coiled in vast 20\n circles are seen breasting the sea, and moving side by side\n towards the shore. Their breasts rise erect among the\n waves; their manes, of blood-red hue, tower over the\n water, the rest of them floats behind on the main, trailing\n a huge undulating length; the brine foams and dashes 25\n about them; they are already on shore, in the plain\u2014with\n their glowing eyes bloodshot and fiery, and their\n forked tongues playing in their hissing mouths. We fly\n all ways in pale terror: they, in an unswerving column,\n make for Laocoon, and first each serpent folds round one 30\n of his two sons, clasping the youthful body, and greedily\n devouring the poor limbs. Afterwards, as the father comes\n to the rescue, weapon in hand, they fasten on him and lash\n their enormous spires tight round him\u2014and now twice\n folded round his middle, twice embracing his neck with 35\n their scaly length, they tower over him with uplifted head\n and crest. He is straining with agonizing clutch to pull\n the knots asunder, his priestly fillets all bedewed with gore\n and black poison, and raising all the while dreadful cries\n to heaven\u2014like the bellowing, when a wounded bull darts\n away from the altar, dashing off from his neck the ill-aimed\n axe. But the two serpents escape glidingly to the\n temple top, making for the height where ruthless Tritonia 5\n is enthroned, and there shelter themselves under the goddess\u2019s\n feet and the round of her shield. Then, indeed,\n every breast is cowed and thrilled through by a new and\n strange terror\u2014every voice cries that Laocoon has been\n duly punished for his crime, profaning the sacred wood 10\n with his weapon\u2019s point, and hurling his guilty lance\n against the back of the steed. Let the image be drawn\n to her temple, and let prayer be made to the goddess, is\n the general cry\u2014we break through the walls and open\n the town within. All gird them to the work, putting 15\n wheels to run easily under its feet, and throwing lengths\n of hempen tie round its neck. It scales the walls, that\n fateful engine, with its armed brood\u2014boys and unwedded\n girls, standing about it, chant sacred hymns, delighted to\n touch the rope. In it moves, rolling with threatening brow 20\n into the heart of the city. O my country! O Ilion,\n home of the gods! O ye, Dardan towers, with your martial\n fame! Yes\u2014four times on the gateway\u2019s very threshold\n it stopped, four times the arms rattled in its womb.\n On, however, we press, unheeding, in the blindness of our 25\n frenzy, and lodge the ill-starred portent in our hallowed\n citadel. Even then Cassandra[130] unseals to speak of future\n fate those lips which by the god\u2019s command no Trojan\n ever believed\u2014while we, alas! we, spend the day that\n was to be our last in crowning the temples of the gods 30\n with festal boughs the whole city through.\n\n \u201cMeantime round rolls the sky, and on comes night from\n the ocean, wrapping in its mighty shade earth and heaven\n and Myrmidon wiles: through the city the Trojans are\n hushed in careless repose, their tired limbs in the arms of 35\n sleep. Already was the Argive host on its way from Tenedos,\n through the friendly stillness of the quiet moon,\n making for the well-known shore, when see! the royal\n ship mounts its fire signal, and Sinon, sheltered by heaven\u2019s\n partial decree, stealthily sets at large the Danaans, hid in\n that treacherous womb, and opens the pine-wood door:\n they as the horse opens are restored to upper air, and leap\n forth with joy from the hollow timber, Thessander and 5\n Sthenelus leading the way, and the dreaded Ulysses, gliding\n down the lowered rope, and Achamas and Thoas, and\n Neoptolemus of Peleus\u2019 line, and first Machaon, and Menelaus,\n and the framer of the cheat himself, Epeus. They\n rush on the town as it lies drowned in sleep and revelry. 10\n The watchers are put to the sword, the gates thrown open,\n and all are welcoming their comrades, and uniting with\n the conspiring bands.\n\n \u201cIt was just the time when first slumber comes to heal\n human suffering, stealing on men by heaven\u2019s blessing 15\n with balmiest influence. Lo! as I slept, before my eyes\n Hector,[131] in deepest sorrow, seemed to be standing by me,\n shedding rivers of tears\u2014mangled from dragging at the\n car, as I remember him of old, and black with gory dust,\n and with his swollen feet bored by the thong. Ay me! 20\n what a sight was there! what a change from that Hector\n of ours, who comes back to us clad in the spoils of Achilles,\n or from hurling Phrygian fire on Danaan vessels! with\n stiffened beard and hair matted with blood, and those\n wounds fresh about him, which fell on him so thickly 25\n round his country\u2019s walls. Methought I addressed him\n first with tears like his own, fetching from my breast the\n accents of sorrow\u2014\u2018O light of Dardan land, surest hope\n that Trojans ever had! What delay has kept you so long?\n From what clime is the Hector of our longings returned 30\n to us at last? O the eyes with which, after long months\n of death among your people, months of manifold suffering\n to Troy and her sons, spent and weary, we look upon you\n now! What unworthy cause has marred the clear beauty\n of those features, or why do I behold these wounds?\u2019 35\n He answers nought, and gives no idle heed to my vain\n inquiries, but with a deep sigh, heaved from the bottom\n of his heart\u2014\u2018Ah! fly, goddess-born!\u2019 cries he, \u2018and\n escape from these flames\u2014the walls are in the enemy\u2019s\n hand\u2014Troy is tumbling from its summit\u2014the claims\n of country and king are satisfied\u2014if Pergamus could be\n defended by force of hand, it would have been defended\n by mine, in my day. Your country\u2019s worship and her 5\n gods are what she entrusts to you now\u2014take them to\n share your destiny\u2014seek for them a mighty city, which\n you shall one day build when you have wandered the\n ocean over.\u2019 With these words he brings out Queen Vesta[132]\n with her fillets and the ever-burning fire from the secret 10\n shrine.\n\n \u201cMeanwhile the city in its various quarters is being convulsed\n with agony\u2014and ever more and more, though my\n father Anchises\u2019 palace was retired in the privacy of embosoming\n trees, the sounds deepen, and the alarm of 15\n battle swells. I start up from sleep, mount the sloping\n roof, and stand intently listening\u2014even as, when among\n standing corn a spark falls with a fierce south wind to\n fan it, or the impetuous stream of a mountain torrent\n sweeps the fields, sweeps the joyous crops and the bullocks\u2019 20\n toil, and drives the woods headlong before it, in\n perplexed amazement a shepherd takes in the crash from\n a rock\u2019s tall summit. Then, indeed, all doubt was over,\n and the wiles of the Danaans stood confessed. Already\n Deiphobus\u2019 palace has fallen with a mighty overthrow 25\n before the mastering fire-god\u2014already his neighbour\n Ucalegon is in flames\u2014the expanse of the Sigean sea\n shines again with the blaze. Up rises at once the shouting\n of men and the braying of trumpets. To arms I rush\n in frenzy.\u2014not that good cause is shown for arms\u2014but 30\n to muster a troop for fight, and run to the citadel with\n my comrades is my first burning impulse\u2014madness and\n rage drive my mind headlong, and I think how glorious to\n die with arms in my hand.\n\n \u201cBut see! Panthus, escaped from an Ach\u00e6an volley, 35\n Panthus, Othrys\u2019 son, priest of Ph\u0153bus in the citadel,\n comes dragging along with his own hand the vanquished\n gods of his worship and his young grandchild, and making\n distractedly for my door. \u2018How goes the day, Panthus?\n What hold have we of the citadel?\u2019 The words\n were scarcely uttered when with a groan he replies, \u2018It is\n come, the last day, the inevitable hour\u2014on Dardan land\n no more Trojans; no more of Ilion, and the great renown 5\n of the sons of Teucer; Jove, in his cruelty, has carried all\n over to Argos; the town is on fire, and the Danaans are\n its masters. There, planted high in the heart of the city,\n the horse is pouring out armed men, and Sinon is flinging\n about fire in the insolence of conquest; some are 10\n crowding into the unfolded gates\u2014thousands, many as\n ever came from huge Mycen\u00e6: some are blocking up the\n narrow streets, with weapons pointed at all comers; the\n sharp steel with its gleaming blade stands drawn, ready\n for slaughter; hardly, even on the threshold, the sentinels 15\n of the gates are attempting resistance, in a struggle where\n the powers of war are blind.\u2019\n\n \u201cAt these words of the son of Othrys, and heaven\u2019s\n will thus expressed, I plunge into the fire and the battle,\n following the war-fiend\u2019s yell, the din of strife, and the 20\n shout that rose to the sky. There join me Rhipeus and\n Epytus, bravest in fight, crossing my way in the moonlight,\n as also Hypanis and Dymas, and form at my side;\n young Coroebus, too, Mygdon\u2019s son; he happened to be\n just then come to Troy, with a frantic passion for Cassandra, 25\n and was bringing a son-in-law\u2019s aid to Priam and his\n Phrygians\u2014poor boy! to have given no heed to the\n warnings of his heaven-struck bride! Seeing them\n gathered in a mass and nerved for battle, I begin thereon:\u2014\u2018Young\n hearts, full of unavailing valour, if your desire 30\n is set to follow a desperate man, you see what the plight\n of our affairs is\u2014gone in a body from shrine and altar\n are the gods who upheld this our empire\u2014the city you\n succour is a blazing ruin; choose we then death, and rush\n we into the thick of the fight. The one safety for vanquished 35\n men is to hope for none.\u2019 These words stirred\n their young spirits to madness: then, like ravenous wolves\n in night\u2019s dark cloud, driven abroad by the blind rage of\n lawless hunger, with their cubs left at home waiting their\n return with parched jaws, among javelins, among foemen,\n on we go with no uncertain fate before us, keeping our\n way through the heart of the town, while night flaps over\n us its dark, overshadowing wings. Who could unfold in 5\n speech the carnage, the horrors of that night, or make his\n tears keep pace with our suffering? It is an ancient city,\n falling from the height where she queened it many a year;\n and heaps of unresisting bodies are lying confusedly in the\n streets, in the houses, on the hallowed steps of temples. 10\n Nor is it on Teucer\u2019s sons alone that bloody vengeance\n lights. There are times when even the vanquished feel\n courage rushing back to their hearts, and the conquering\n Danaans fall. Everywhere is relentless agony; everywhere\n terror, and the vision of death in many a manifestation. 15\n\n \u201cFirst of the Danaans, with a large band at his back,\n Androgeos crosses our way, taking us for a troop of his\n friends in his ignorance, and hails us at once in words of\n fellowship: \u2018Come, my men, be quick. Why, what sloth 20\n is keeping you so late? Pergamus is on fire, and the rest\n of us are spoiling and sacking it, and here are you, but\n just disembarked from your tall ships.\u2019 He said, and instantly,\n for no reply was forthcoming to reassure him, saw\n that he had fallen into the thick of the enemy. Struck 25\n with consternation, he drew back foot and tongue. Just\n as a man who at unawares has trodden on a snake among\n thorns and briers in his walk, and recoils at once in sudden\n alarm from the angry uplifted crest and the black swelling\n neck, so Androgeos, appalled at the sight, was retiring. 30\n But we rush on him, and close round, weapons in\n hand; and, in their ignorance of the ground, and the\n surprise of their terror, they fall before us everywhere.\n Fortune smiles on our first encounter. Hereon Coroebus,\n flushed with success and daring, \u2018Come, my friends,\u2019 he 35\n cries, \u2018where Fortune at starting directs us to the path of\n safety, and reveals herself as our ally, be it ours to follow\n on. Let us change shields, and see if Danaan decorations\n will fit us. Trick or strength of hand, who, in dealing\n with an enemy, asks which? They shall arm us against\n themselves.\u2019 So saying, he puts on Androgeos\u2019 crested\n helm, and his shield with its goodly device, and fastens\n to his side an Argive sword. So does Rhipeus, so Dymas 5\n too, and all our company, with youthful exultation, each\n arming himself out of the new-won spoils. On we go,\n mixing with the Greeks, under auspices not our own, and\n many are the combats in which we engage in the blindness\n of night, many the Danaans whom we send down to 10\n the shades. They fly on all hands: some to the ships,\n making at full speed for safety on the shore; others, in\n the debasement of terror, climb once more the horse\u2019s\n huge sides, and hide themselves in the womb they knew\n so well. 15\n\n \u201cAlas! it is not for man to throw himself on the gods\n against their will!\n\n \u201cLo! there was a princess of Priam\u2019s house being\n dragged by her dishevelled hair from the temple, from\n the very shrine of Minerva, Cassandra, straining her flashing 20\n eyes to heaven in vain\u2014her eyes\u2014for those delicate\n hands were confined by manacles. The sight was too\n much for the infuriate mind of Coroebus: rushing to his\n doom, he flung himself into the middle of the hostile force.\n One and all, we follow, close our ranks, and fall on. And 25\n now, first from the temple\u2019s lofty top we are overwhelmed\n by a shower of our own countrymen\u2019s darts, and a most\n piteous carnage ensues, all along of the appearance of our\n arms and our mistaken Grecian crests. Then the Danaans,\n groaning and enraged at the rescue of the maiden, rally 30\n from all sides, and fall on us. Ajax, in all his fury, and\n the two sons of Atreus, and the whole array of the Dolopes\u2014even\n as one day when the tempest is broken loose, and\n wind meets wind\u2014west, and south, and east exulting in\n his orient steeds\u2014there is crashing in the woods, and 35\n Nereus,[133] in a cloud of foam, is plying his ruthless trident,\n and stirring up the sea from its very bottom. Such of\n the foe, moreover, as in the darkness of night we had\n driven routed through, the gloom\u2014thanks to our stratagem\u2014and\n scattered the whole city over, rally again:\n they are the first to recognize the imposture of shield and\n weapon, and to mark the different sound of our speech.\n All is over\u2014we are overwhelmed by numbers: first of 5\n all, Coroebus is stretched low; his slayer Peneleos, his\n place of death the altar of the Goddess of Arms; slain,\n too, is Rhipeus, the justest and most righteous man in\n Troy\u2014but heaven\u2019s will is not ours\u2014down go Hypanis\n and Dymas both, shot by their friends; nor could all 10\n your acts of piety, good Panthus, shield you in your fall;\n no, nor the fillet of Apollo on your brow. Ye ashes of\n Ilion, and thou, funeral fire of those I loved, witness ye\n that in your day of doom I shrank from no Danaan dart,\n no hand-to-hand encounter; nay, that had my fate been 15\n to fall, my hand had earned it well. We are parted from\n the rest, Iphitus, Pelias, and I. Iphitus, a man on whom\n years were already pressing; Pelias, crippled by a wound\n from Ulysses\u2014all three summoned by the shouting to\n Priam\u2019s palace. 20\n\n \u201cHere, indeed, the conflict was gigantic\u2014just as if the\n rest of the war were nowhere\u2014as if none were dying in the\n whole city beside: even such was the sight we saw\u2014the\n war-god raging untamed, the Danaans streaming up to the\n roof, the door blockaded by a long penthouse of shields. 25\n The scaling ladders are clasping the walls; close to the very\n door men are climbing, with their left hands presenting\n the buckler to shelter them from darts, while with their\n right they are clasping the battlements. The Dardans,\n on their part, are tearing up from the palace turret and 30\n roof\u2014such the weapons with which, in their dire extremity,\n in the last death-struggle, they make ready for their\n defence\u2014gilded rafters, the stately ornaments of elder\n days, they are hurling down; while others, their swords\n drawn, are stationed at the doors at the bottom, and 35\n guarding them in close array. The fire revived within\n me, to bring succour to the royal roof, and relieve those\n brave men, and breathe new daring into the vanquished.\n\n \u201cA door there was, a hidden entrance, a thoroughfare\n through Priam\u2019s palace, a postern which you leave in the\n rear; by it the hapless Andromache,[134] while yet the throne\n was standing, used often to repair unattended to her husband\u2019s 5\n parents, and pull the boy Astyanax into his grandsire\u2019s\n presence. Through it I make my way to the summit\n of the roof, whence the wretched Teucrians were hurling\n darts without avail. There was a tower standing precipitous,\n its roof reared high to the stars, whence could be\n seen all Troy, and the Danaan fleet, and the Ach\u00e6an camp; 10\n to this we applied our weapons, just where the lofty flooring\n made the joining insecure; we wrench it from its eminence,\n we have toppled it over\u2014down it falls at once, a huge\n crashing ruin, and tumbles far and wide over the Danaan\n ranks. But others fill their place; while stones and every 15\n kind of missile keep raining unabated.\n\n \u201cThere in the entry, at the very gate, is Pyrrhus[135] in his\n glory, gleaming with spear and sword, and with all the\n brilliance of steel. Even as against the daylight a serpent\n gorged with baleful herbage, whom winter\u2019s cold of late 20\n was keeping swollen underground, now, his skin shed, in\n new life and in the beauty of youth, rears his breast erect,\n and wreathes his shining scales, towering to the sun, and\n flashes in his mouth his three-forked tongue. With him\n gigantic Periphas and Automedon, his armour-bearer, 25\n once Achilles\u2019 charioteer, with him the whole chivalry\n of Scyros press to the walls, and hurl up fire to the roof.\n Himself among the foremost, a two-edged axe in hand,\n is bursting through the stubborn door and forcing from\n their hinges the valves copper-sheathed; see! now he has 30\n cut out a plank and delved into that stout heart of oak,\n and made a wide gaping window in the middle. There is\n seen the house within, and the long vista of the hall;\n there is seen the august retirement of Priam and the\n monarchs of past days, and armed warriors are disclosed 35\n standing in the entrance.\n\n \u201cBut the palace within is a confused scene of shrieking\n and piteous disorder; the vaulted chambers wail from\n their hollow depths with female lamentation; the noise\n strikes the golden stars above. The terror-stricken matrons\n are running to and fro through the spacious courts, clinging\n claspingly to the gates and printing them with kisses.\n On presses Pyrrhus with all his father\u2019s might; neither 5\n barrier of oak nor yet living guard can resist him; the\n door gives way under the thick strokes of the battery,\n and the valves are torn from their hinges and brought\n down. Force finds its way; the Danaans burst a passage,\n rush in, and slaughter those they meet, and the whole 10\n wide space is flooded with soldiers. With far less fury,\n when the river, all foam, has broken the prison of its banks\n and streamed with triumphant tide over the barriers set\n to check it, down it comes tumbling along the corn-fields,\n and along the whole country sweeps away herd and stall. 15\n With my own eyes I saw Neoptolemus, mad with carnage,\n and the two Atrid\u00e6 on the palace-floor. I saw Hecuba[136]\n and her hundred daughters-in-law, and Priam at the\n altar, polluting with his blood the flames he had himself\n made holy. Those fifty marriage-chambers, the splendid 20\n promise of children\u2019s children, doors gorgeous with barbaric\n gold and plundered treasure, all sank in dust. Where\n the fire flags, the Danaans are masters.\n\n \u201cPerhaps, too, you may be curious to hear the fate of\n Priam. When he saw his city fallen and captured, the 25\n doors of his palace burst open, the foe in the heart of his\n home\u2019s sanctuary, poor old man! helplessly and hopelessly\n he puts about his shoulders, trembling with age,\n his armour, long disused, and girds on his unavailing sword,\n and is going to his doom among the thick of the foe. In 30\n the midst of the palace, under the naked height of the sky,\n stood a great altar, and by it a bay tree of age untold,\n leaning over the altar and enfolding the household gods\n in its shade. Here about the altar Hecuba and her\n daughters, all helpless, like doves driven headlong down 35\n by a murky tempest, huddled together and clinging to\n the statues of the gods, were sitting. But when she saw\n Priam\u2014yes, Priam\u2014wearing the arms of his youth\u2014\u2018What\n monstrous thought,\u2019 cries she, \u2018my most wretched\n spouse, has moved you to gird on these weapons? or to\n what are you hurrying? It is not help like this, not protections\n like those you wear, that the crisis needs. No,\n not even if my lost Hector were now at our side. Come, 5\n join us here at last; this altar shall be a defence for us all,\n or we will die together.\u2019 With these words she took him\n to where she was, and lodged his aged frame in the hallowed\n resting-place.\n\n \u201cBut, see! here is Polites, one of Priam\u2019s sons escaped 10\n from Pyrrhus\u2019 murderous hand, through showers of darts\n and masses of foemen, flying down the long corridors and\n traversing the empty courts, sore and wounded, while\n Pyrrhus, all on fire, is pursuing him, with a deadly stroke,\n his hand all but grasping him, his spear close upon him. 15\n Just as at last he won his way into the view and presence of\n his parents, down he fell and poured out his life in a gush of\n blood. Hereon Priam, though hemmed in by death on\n all sides, could not restrain himself, or control voice and\n passion. \u2018Aye,\u2019 cries he, \u2018for a crime, for an outrage like 20\n this, may the gods, if there is any sense of right in heaven\n to take cognizance of such deeds, give you the full thanks\n you merit, and pay you your due reward; you, who have\n made me look with my own eyes on my son\u2019s death, and\n stained a father\u2019s presence with the sight of blood. But 25\n he whom your lying tongue calls your sire, Achilles, dealt\n not thus with Priam his foe\u2014he had a cheek that could\n crimson at a suppliant\u2019s rights, a suppliant\u2019s honour.\n Hector\u2019s lifeless body he gave back to the tomb, and sent\n me home to my realms in peace.\u2019 So said the poor old 30\n man, and hurled at him a dart unwarlike, unwounding,\n which the ringing brass at once shook off, and left hanging\n helplessly from the end of the shield\u2019s boss. Pyrrhus\n retorts: \u2018You shall take your complaint, then, and carry\n your news to my father, Pelides. Tell, him about my 35\n shocking deeds, about his degenerate Neoptolemus,\n and do not forget. Now die.\u2019 With these words he\n dragged him to the very altar, palsied and sliding in a pool\n of his son\u2019s blood, wreathed his left hand in his hair, and\n with his right flashed forth and sheathed in his side the\n sword to the hilt. Such was the end of Priam\u2019s fortunes,\n such the fatal lot that fell upon him, with Troy blazing\n and Pergamus in ruins before his eyes\u2014upon him, once 5\n the haughty ruler of those many nations and kingdoms,\n the sovereign lord of Asia! There he lies on the shore,\n a gigantic trunk, a head severed from the shoulders, a\n body without a name.\n\n \u201cNow, for the first time grim horror prisoned me round\u2014I 10\n was wildered\u2014there rose up the image of my dear\n father, as I saw the king, his fellow in age, breathing out\n his life through that ghastly wound. There rose up Creusa[137]\n unprotected, my house, now plundered, and the chance to\n which I had left my little Iulus. I cast my eyes back and 15\n look about to see what strength there is round me. All\n had forsaken me, too tired to stay; they had leapt to the\n ground, or dropped helplessly into the flames. And now\n I was there alone. When lodged in the temple of Vesta,\n and crouching mutely in its darkest recess, the daughter of 20\n Tyndareus[138] meets my eye; the brilliant blaze gives light\n to my wandering feet and ranging glance. Yes, she in her\n guilty fears, dreading at once the Teucrians whom the\n overthrow of Pergamus had made her foes, and the vengeance\n of the Danaans, and the wrath of the husband she 25\n abandoned\u2014she, the common fiend of Troy and of her\n country, had hid herself away, and was sitting in hateful\n solitude at the altar. My spirit kindled into flame\u2014a\n fury seized me to avenge my country in its fall, and to do\n justice on a wretch. \u2018So she is to see Sparta and her 30\n native Mycen\u00e6 again in safety, and is to move as a queen\n in a triumph of her own? She is to look upon her lord\n and her old home, her children and her parents, with a\n crowd of our Trojan ladies and Phrygian captives to wait\n on her? Shall it be for this that Priam has died by the 35\n sword, that Troy has been burnt with fire, that the Dardan\n shore has gushed so oft with the sweat of blood? No,\n never\u2014for though there are no proud memories to be\n won by vengeance on a woman, no laurels to be reaped from\n a conquest like this, yet the extinction of so base a life\n and the exaction of vengeance so merited will count as a\n praise, and it will be a joy to have glutted my spirit with\n the flame of revenge and slaked the thirsty ashes of those 5\n I love.\u2019 Such were the wild words I was uttering, such\n the impulse of my infuriate heart, when suddenly there\n appeared to me, brighter than I had ever seen her before,\n and shone forth in clear radiance through the night, my\n gracious mother, all her deity confessed, with the same 10\n mien and stature by which she is known to the dwellers\n in heaven. She seized me by the hand and stayed me,\n seconding her action with these words from her roseate\n lips; \u2018My son, what mighty agony is it that stirs up\n this untamed passion? What means your frenzy? or 15\n whither has fled your care for me? Will you not first see\n where you have left your father Anchises, spent with age\n as he is? whether your wife, Creusa, be yet alive, and\n your child, Ascanius? All about them the Grecian armies\n are ranging to and fro, and were not my care exerted to 20\n rescue them, ere this they had been snatched by the flame,\n devoured by the foeman\u2019s sword. It is not the hated\n beauty of the daughter of Tyndareus, the Spartan woman\u2014not\n the reviled Paris. No, it is heaven, unpitying\n heaven that is overturning this great empire and levelling 25\n Troy from its summit. See here\u2014for I will take away\n wholly the cloud whose veil, cast over your eyes, dulls\n your mortal vision and darkles round you damp and\n thick\u2014do you on your part shrink in naught from your\n mother\u2019s commands, nor refuse to obey the instructions 30\n she gives. Here, where you see huge masses rent asunder,\n and stones wrenched from stones, and blended torrents\n of smoke and dust, is Neptune with his mighty trident\n shaking the walls and upheaving the very foundations;\n here is Juno, cruellest of foes, posted at the entry of the 35\n Sc\u00e6an gate, and summoning in tones of fury from the\n ships her confederate band, herself girt with steel like them.\n Look behind you\u2014there is Tritonian Pallas, seated already\n on the summit of our towers, in the lurid glare of\n her storm-cloud and grim Gorgon\u2019s head. The great\n Father himself is nerving the Danaans with courage and\n strength for victory\u2014himself leading the gods against\n our Dardan forces. Come, my son, catch at flight while 5\n you may and bring the struggle to an end. I will not leave\n you, till I have set you in safety at your father\u2019s door.\u2019\n She had ceased, and veiled herself at once in night\u2019s\n thickest shadows. I see a vision of awful shapes\u2014mighty\n presences of gods arrayed against Troy. 10\n\n \u201cThen, indeed, I beheld all Ilion sinking into flame, and\n Neptune\u2019s city, Troy, overturned from its base. Even as\n an ancient ash on the mountain-top, which woodmen have\n hacked with steel and repeated hatchet strokes, and are\n trying might and main to dislodge\u2014it keeps nodding 15\n menacingly, its leafy head palsied and shaken, till at\n last, gradually overborne by wound after wound, it has\n given its death-groan, and fallen uprooted in ruined\n length along the hill. I come down, and, following my\n heavenly guide, thread my way through flames and foemen, 20\n while weapons glance aside and flames retire.\n\n \u201cNow when at last I had reached the door of my father\u2019s\n house, that old house I knew so well, my sire, whom it\n was my first resolve to carry away high up the hills\u2014who\n was the first object I sought\u2014refuses to survive the 25\n razing of Troy and submit to banishment. \u2018You, whose\n young blood is untainted, whose strength is firmly based\n and self-sustained, it is for you to think of flight. For me,\n had the dwellers in heaven willed me to prolong my life,\n they would have preserved for me my home. It is enough 30\n and more than enough to have witnessed one sack, to\n have once outlived the capture of my city. Here, O\n here as I lie, bid farewell to my corpse and begone. I will\n find me a warrior\u2019s death. The enemy will have mercy on\n me, and my spoils will tempt him. The loss of a tomb 35\n will fall on me lightly. Long, long have I been a clog on\n time, hated of heaven and useless to earth, from the day\n when the father of gods and sovereign of men blasted me\n with the wind of his lightning, and laid on me the finger\n of flame.\u2019[139]\n\n \u201cSuch the words he kept on repeating and continued\n unshaken, while we were shedding our hearts in tears\u2014Creusa,\n my wife, and Ascanius and my whole house, 5\n imploring my father not to be bent on dragging\n all with him to ruin, and lending his weight to the avalanche\n of destiny. But he refuses, and will not be moved\n from his purpose or his home. Once more I am plunging\n into battle, and choosing death in the agony of my 10\n wretchedness\u2014for what could wisdom or fortune do\n for me now? What, my father? that I could stir a step\n to escape, leaving you behind? was this your expectation?\n could aught so shocking fall from a parent\u2019s lips? No\u2014if\n it is the will of heaven that naught of this mighty city 15\n should be spared\u2014if your purpose is fixed, and you find\n pleasure in throwing yourself and yours on Troy\u2019s blazing\n pile, the door stands open for the death you crave. Pyrrhus\n will be here in a moment, fresh from bathing in\n Priam\u2019s blood\u2014Pyrrhus, who butchers the son before the 20\n father\u2019s face, who butchers the father at the altar. Gracious\n mother! was it for this that thou rescuest me from fire and\n sword\u2014all that I may see the foe in the heart of my\n home\u2019s sanctuary\u2014may see my Ascanius, and my father,\n and my Creusa by them sacrificed in a pool of each other\u2019s 25\n blood? My arms, friends, bring me my arms! the call\n of the day of death rings in the ears of the conquered.\n Give me back to the Danaans, let me return and renew the\n combat. Never shall this day see us all slaughtered\n unresisting. 30\n\n \u201cNow I gird on my sword again, and was buckling and\n fitting my shield to my left arm, and making my way out\n of the house\u2014when lo! my wife on the threshold began\n to clasp and cling to my feet, holding out my little Iulus to\n his father. \u2018If it is to death you are going, then carry us 35\n with you to death and all, but if experience gives you any\n hope in the arms you are resuming, let your first stand be\n made at your home. To whom, think you, are you leaving\n your little Iulus\u2014your father, and me who was once\n styled your wife?\u2019\n\n \u201cThus she was crying, while her moaning filled the\n house, when a portent appears, sudden and marvellous to\n relate. Even while the hands and eyes of his grieving 5\n parents were upon him, lo, a flickering tongue of flame\n on the top of Iulus\u2019 head was seen to shoot out light,\n playing round his soft curly locks with innocuous contact\n and pasturing about his temples. We are all hurry and\n alarm, shaking out his blazing hair and quenching the 10\n sacred fire with water from the spring\u2014but Anchises\n my father raised his eyes in ecstasy to heaven, directing\n hand and voice to the stars: \u2018Almighty Jove, if any\n prayer can bow thy will, look down on us\u2014\u2019tis all I crave\u2014and\n if our piety have earned requital, grant us thy 15\n succour, father, and ratify the omen we now see.\u2019 Scarce\n had the old man spoken, when there came a sudden peal\n of thunder on the left, and a star fell from heaven and\n swept through the gloom with a torchlike train and a\n blaze of light. Over the top of the house we see it pass, 20\n and mark its course along the sky till it buries itself lustrously\n in Ida\u2019s wood\u2014then comes a long furrowed line\n of light, and a sulphurous smoke fills the space all about.\n Then at length overcome, my father raises himself towards\n the sky, addresses the gods, and does reverence to the 25\n sacred meteor: \u2018No more, no more delay from me. I\n follow your guidance, and am already in the way by which\n you would lead me. Gods of my country! preserve my\n house, preserve my grandchild. Yours in this augury\u2014your\n shield is stretched over Troy. Yes, my son, I 30\n give way, and shrink not from accompanying your flight.\u2019\n He said\u2014and by this the blaze is heard louder and louder\n through the streets, and the flames roll their hot volumes\n nearer. \u2018Come then, dear father, take your seat on my\n back, my shoulders shall support you, nor shall I feel the 35\n task a burden. Fall things as they may, we twain will\n share the peril, share the deliverance. Let my little Iulus\n walk by my side, while my wife follows our steps at a\n distance. You, our servants, attend to what I now say.\n As you leave the city there is a mound, where stands an\n ancient temple of Ceres all alone, and by it an old cypress,\n observed these many years by the reverence of our sires.\n This shall be our point of meeting in one place from 5\n many quarters. You, my father, take in your hand these\n sacred things, our country\u2019s household gods. For me, just\n emerged from this mighty war, with the stains of carnage\n fresh upon me, it were sacrilege to touch them, till I\n have cleansed me in the running stream.\u2019 10\n\n \u201cSo saying, I spread out my shoulders, bow my neck,\n cover them with a robe, a lion\u2019s tawny hide, and take up\n the precious burden. My little Iulus has fastened his\n hand in mine, and is following his father with ill-matched\n steps, my wife comes on behind. On we go, keeping in the 15\n shade\u2014and I, who erewhile quailed not for a moment at\n the darts that rained upon me or at the masses of Greeks\n that barred my path, now am scared by every breath of air,\n startled by every sound, fluttered as I am, and fearing alike\n for him who holds my hand and him I carry. And now I 20\n was nearing the gates, and the whole journey seemed accomplished,\n when suddenly the noise of thick trampling\n feet came to my ear, and my father looks onward through\n the darkness. \u2018Son, son,\u2019 he cries, \u2018fly: they are upon\n us. I distinguish the flashing of their shields and the 25\n gleam of their steel.\u2019 In this alarm some unfriendly\n power perplexed and took away my judgment. For,\n while I was tracking places where no track was, and\n swerving from the wonted line of road, woe is me! destiny\n tore from me my wife Creusa. Whether she stopped, 30\n or strayed from the road, or sat down fatigued, I never\n knew\u2014nor was she ever restored to my eyes in life.\n Nay, I did not look back to discover my loss, or turn my\n thoughts that way till we had come to the mound and\n temple of ancient Ceres; then at last, when all were 35\n mustered, she alone was missing, and failed those who\n should have travelled with her, her son and husband both.\n Whom of gods or men did my upbraiding voice spare?\n what sight in all the ruin of the city made my heart bleed\n more? Ascanius and Anchises my father and the Teucrian\n household gods I give to my comrades\u2019 care, and lodge\n them in the winding glade. I repair again to the city\n and don my shining armour. My mind is set to try every 5\n hazard again, and retrace my path through the whole of\n Troy, and expose my life to peril once more. First\n I repair again to the city walls, and the gate\u2019s dark entry\n by which I had passed out. I track and follow my footsteps\n back through the night, and traverse the ground 10\n with my eye. Everywhere my sense is scared by the\n horror, scared by the very stillness. Next I betake me\n home, in the hope, the faint hope that she may have turned\n her steps thither. The Danaans had broken in and were\n lodged in every chamber. All is over\u2014the greedy flame 15\n is wafted by the wind to the roof, the fire towers triumphant\u2014the\n glow streams madly heavenwards. I pass\n on, and look again at Priam\u2019s palace and the citadel. There\n already in the empty cloisters, yes, in Juno\u2019s sanctuary,\n chosen guards, Ph\u0153nix and Ulysses the terrible, were 20\n watching the spoil. Here are gathered the treasures of\n Troy torn from blazing shrines, tables of gods, bowls of\n solid gold, and captive vestments in one great heap. Boys\n and mothers stand trembling all about in long array.\n\n \u201cNay, I was emboldened even to fling random cries 25\n through the darkness. I filled the streets with shouts, and\n in my agony called again and again on my Creusa with unavailing\n iteration. As I was thus making my search and\n raving unceasingly the whole city through, the hapless\n shade, the spectre of my own Creusa appeared in my 30\n presence\u2014a likeness larger than the life. I was aghast,\n my hair stood erect, my tongue clove to my mouth, while\n she began to address me thus, and relieve my trouble\n with words like these: \u2018Whence this strange pleasure\n in indulging frantic grief, my darling husband? It is 35\n not without Heaven\u2019s will that these things are happening:\n that you should carry your Creusa with you on your journey\n is forbidden by fate, forbidden by the mighty ruler\n of heaven above. You have long years of exile, a vast\n expanse of ocean to traverse\u2014and then you will arrive\n at the land of Hesperia, where Tiber, Lydia\u2019s river, rolls\n his gentle volumes through rich and cultured plains.\n There you have a smiling future, a kingdom and a royal 5\n bride waiting your coming. Dry your tears for Creusa,\n your heart\u2019s choice though she be. I am not to see the\n face of Myrmidons or Dolopes in their haughty homes,\n or to enter the service of some Grecian matron\u2014I, a\n Dardan princess, daughter by marriage of Venus the immortal. 10\n No, I am kept in this country by heaven\u2019s\n mighty mother. And now farewell, and continue to love\n your son and mine. Thus having spoken, spite of my\n tears, spite of the thousand things I longed to say, she left\n me and vanished into unsubstantial air. Thrice, as I 15\n stood, I essayed to fling my arms round her neck\u2014thrice\n the phantom escaped the hands that caught at it in vain\u2014impalpable\n as the wind, fleeting as the wings of sleep.\n\n \u201cSo passed my night, and such was my return to my\n comrades. Arrived there, I find with wonder their band 20\n swelled by a vast multitude of new companions, matrons\n and warriors both, an army mustered for exile, a crowd\n of the wretched. From every side they were met, prepared\n in heart as in fortune to follow me over the sea to\n any land where I might take them to settle. And now 25\n the morning star was rising over Ida\u2019s loftiest ridge\n with the day in its train\u2014Danaan sentinels were blocking\n up the entry of the gates, and no hope of succour appeared.\n I retired at last, took up my father, and made for the\n mountains. 30\n\n\n\n\nBOOK III\n\n\n \u201cAfter that it had seemed well to the powers above to\n overthrow Asia\u2019s fortunes and Priam\u2019s guiltless nation;\n after that Ilion fell headlong from its pride, and Troy,\n which Neptune reared, became one levelled smoking ruin,\n we are driven by auguries from heaven to look elsewhere 5\n for the exile\u2019s home in lands yet unpeopled. We build us\n a fleet under the shadow of Antandros,[140] and the range of\n our own Phrygian Ida, all uncertain whither fate may\n carry us, where it may be our lot to settle, and muster\n men for sailing. Scarcely had summer set in, when my 10\n father, Anchises, was bidding us spread our sails to destiny.\n Then I give my last tearful look to my country\u2019s shores\n and her harbours, and those plains where Troy once stood\n but stands no longer. A banished man, I am wafted into\n the deep with my comrades and my son, my household 15\n gods and their mighty brethren.\n\n \u201cIn the distance lies the land of the war-god, inhabited,\n in vast extent\u2014the Thracians are its tillers\u2014subject\n erewhile to Lycurgus\u2019[141] savage sway, bound by old hospitality\n to Troy, their household gods friends of ours, while 20\n our star yet shone. Hither I am wafted, and on the\n bending line of coast trace the outline of a city, a commencement\n made in an evil hour, and call the new nation\n \u00c6nead\u00e6,[142] after my own name.\n\n \u201cI was sacrificing to my parent, Dione\u2019s[143] daughter, and 25\n the rest of the gods, that they might bless the work I\n had begun, and was slaying to the heavenly monarch of the\n powers above a bull of shining whiteness on the shore.\n It happened that there was a mound near, on whose top\n were plants of cornel, and a myrtle bristling thick with 30\n spearlike wands. I drew near, and essayed to pull up\n from the ground the green forest growth, that I might\n have leafy boughs wherewith to shadow the altar, when I\n see a portent dreadful and marvellous to tell. For the\n first tree that I pull up from the soil, severing its roots, 5\n from that tree trickle drops of black blood, staining the\n earth with gore. For me, a freezing shudder palsies my\n frame, and my chilled blood curdles with affright. Again\n I go on to pluck the reluctant fibres of a second tree, and\n thus probe the hidden cause to the bottom; as surely 10\n from the bark of that second tree the black blood follows.\n Much musing in my mind, I began to call on the nymphs\n of the wood, and Gradivus,[144] our father, patron of the land\n of Thrace, that they might duly turn the appearance to\n good, and make the heavy omen light. But when I come 15\n to tear up a third spear-shaft with a still greater effort,\n straining with my knees against the sand which pressed on\n them\u2014ought I to tell the tale or hold my peace?\u2014a lamentable\n groan is heard from the bottom of the mound, and\n the utterance of a human voice reaches my ear: \u2018Why, 20\n \u00c6neas, mangle a wretch like me? Spare me at length in\n my grave\u2014spare those pious hands the stain of guilt.\n It was not an alien to you that Troy bore in bearing me\u2014it\n is no alien\u2019s blood that is trickling from the stem. Ah!\n fly from this land of cruelty, fly from this shore of greed, 25\n for I am Polydorus. Here I lie, pierced and buried by a\n growing crop of spears that has shot into sharp javelins.\u2019\n\n \u201cThen, indeed, terror, blank and irresolute, came over\n me\u2014I was aghast\u2014my hair stood erect, my tongue\n clove to my mouth. Yes, this Polydorus had long ago 30\n been sent secretly by Priam, unhappy then as ever, with\n a vast weight of gold, to be brought up by the king of\n Thrace, when he had already come to despair of the arms\n of Dardania, and saw the siege folding closer round his\n city. When the power of the Trojans had been broken, 35\n and their star set, the Thracian followed Agamemnon\u2019s\n fortunes, and joined the standard of the conqueror\u2014every\n tie of duty is snapped\u2014he murders Polydorus, and\n by violence possesses himself of the gold. Cursed lust of\n gold, to what dost thou not force the heart of man? After\n the cold shuddering had ceased to tingle in my marrow,\n I lay this portent from heaven before the select senate\n of our nation, and my father as their chief, and ask them 5\n what they think. All are of the same mind, to depart from\n the land of crime, to leave the home of violated friendship,\n and indulge our fleet with the gales that wooed it. So we\n give Polydorus a solemn funeral: earth is heaped high\n upon his mound; there stand the altars reared to his 10\n manes,[145] in all the woe of dark fillets and sad-coloured\n cypress: and round them are daughters of Ilion, their\n hair unbound in mourner fashion: we offer bowls of new\n milk warm and frothing, and dishes of consecrated blood:\n so we lay the spirit to rest in its grave, and with a loud 15\n voice give the farewell call.[146]\n\n \u201cThen, when the deep first looks friendly, and the\n winds offer a smooth sea, and the south\u2019s gentle whisper invites\n us to the main, our crews haul down their ships and\n crowd the shore. We sail out of the harbour, land and 20\n town leaving us fast. There is a sacred country with\n water all round it, chief favourite of the mother of the\n Nereids and the god of the \u00c6gean. Once it drifted among\n the coasts and seaboards round about, till the heavenly\n archer in filial gratitude moored it to the rock of Myconos 25\n and to Gyaros, and gave it to be a fixed dwelling-place\n henceforth, and to laugh at the winds. Hither I sail:\n here it is that in a sheltered harbour our weary crews\n find gentlest welcome. We land, and worship the city of\n Apollo. King Anius, king of men at once and priest of 30\n Ph\u0153bus, his temples wreathed with fillets and hallowed\n bay, comes running up; in Anchises he owns an old friend,\n we knit hand to hand in hospitality and enter his roof.\n\n \u201cBehold me now worshipping the temple of the god,\n built of ancient stone. \u2018Give us, god of Thymbra,[147] a home 35\n that we can call our own: give us weary men a walled\n habitation, a posterity, a city that will last: keep from\n ruin Troy\u2019s second Pergamus, all that was left by the\n Danaans and their ruthless Achilles! Who is our guide?\n Whither wouldst thou have us go? where set up our\n roof-tree? Vouchsafe us a response, great father, and\n steal with power upon our souls!\u2019\n\n \u201cScarce had I spoken, when methought suddenly came 5\n a trembling on the whole place, temple-gate and hallowed\n bay, a stir in the mountain from height to depth, a muttering\n from the tripod as the door of the shrine flew open.\n We fall low on earth, and a voice is wafted to our ears:\n \u2018Sons of Dardanus, strong to endure, the land which first 10\n gave you birth from your ancestral tree, the same land\n shall welcome you back, restored to its fruitful bosom:\n seek for your old mother till you find her. There it is\n that the house of \u00c6neas shall set up a throne over all\n nations, they, and their children\u2019s children, and those 15\n that shall yet come after.\u2019 Thus Ph\u0153bus; and a mighty\n burst succeeds of wild multitudinous joy, all asking as one\n man what that city is\u2014whither is Ph\u0153bus calling the\n wanderers, and bidding them return. Then my father,\n revolving the traditions of men of old: \u2018Listen,\u2019 he cries, 20\n \u2018lords of Troy, and learn where your hopes are. Crete\n lies in the midst of the deep, the island of mighty Jove.\n There is Mount Ida, and there the cradle of our race.\n It has a hundred peopled cities, a realm of richest plenty.\n Thence it was that our first father, Teucer, if I rightly 25\n recall what I have heard, came in the beginning to the\n Rh\u0153tean coast, and fixed on the site of empire: Ilion and\n the towers of Pergamus had not yet been reared: the\n people dwelt low in the valley. Hence came our mighty\n mother, the dweller on Mount Cybele, and the symbols 30\n of the Corybants, and the forest of Ida: hence the inviolate\n mystery of her worship, and the lions harnessed\n to the car of their queen. Come, then, and let us follow\n where the ordinance of heaven points the way: let us\n propitiate the winds, and make for the realm of Gnossus[148]\u2014the 35\n voyage is no long one\u2014let but Jupiter go with us,\n and the third day will land our fleet on the Cretan shore.\u2019\n He said, and offered on the altar the sacrifice that was\n meet\u2014a bull to Neptune, a bull to thee, beauteous\n Apollo\u2014a black lamb to the storm-wind, to the favouring\n Zephyrs a white one.\n\n \u201cFame flies abroad that King Idomeneus[149] has been\n driven to quit his paternal realm, that the shores of Crete 5\n are abandoned, houses cleared of the enemy, dwellings\n standing empty to receive us. So we leave Ortygia\u2019s\n harbour, and fly along the deep, past Naxos\u2019 bacchant\n mountains, and green Donysa, Olearos, and snowy Paros,\n and the Cyclades sprinkled over the waves, and seas thick 10\n sown with islands. Up rises the seaman\u2019s shout amid\n strain and struggle\u2014each encourages his comrades,\n \u2018For Crete and our forefathers, ho!\u2019 A wind gets up\n from the stern and escorts us on our way, and at length we\n are wafted to the Curetes\u2019 time-honoured shore. 15\n\n \u201cAnd now the site is chosen, and I am rearing a city\u2019s\n walls and calling it Pergamia: the new nation is proud\n to bear the name of the old: I bid them love hearth and\n home, and raise and roof the citadel. Already the ships\n had been hauled up high and dry on the shore, the crews 20\n were busied with marriage and tilling the new country, and\n I was appointing laws to live by, and houses to dwell in\u2014when\n suddenly there came on the human frame a wasting\n sickness, shed from the whole tainted expanse of the sky,\n a piteous blight on trees and crops, a year charged with 25\n death. There were men leaving the lives they loved, or\n dragging with them the bodies that burdened them,\n while Sirius baked the fields into barrenness, the herbage\n was parching, the corn was sickening, and would not\n yield its food. Back again to Ph\u0153bus and his Ortygian 30\n oracle over the sea my father bids us go, and there sue for\n grace, asking the god to what haven he means to bring our\n overtoiled fortunes, whence he orders us to seek for help\n in our sufferings\u2014whither to direct our course.\n\n \u201cIt was night and all living things on earth were in the 35\n power of sleep, when methought the sacred images of the\n gods, the Phrygian household deities, whom I had borne\n away with me from Troy, even from the midst of the blazing\n town, stood before my eyes as I lay in slumber, clear in\n a flood of light, where the full moon was streaming through\n the windows of the house. Then they began to address\n me thus, and relieve my trouble with words like these:\n \u2018The answer which Apollo has ready to give you when you 5\n reach Ortygia, he delivers here, sending us, see, of his own\n motion to your very door. We, the followers of you and\n your fortune since Dardanland sunk in flame\u2014we,\n the comrades of the fleet which you have been guiding over\n the swollen main\u2014we it is that will raise to the stars the 10\n posterity that shall come after you, and crown your city\n with imperial sway. Be it yours to build mighty walls\n for mighty dwellers, and not abandon the task of flight for\n its tedious length. Change your settlement: it is not this\n coast that the Delian god moved you to accept\u2014not in 15\n Crete that Apollo bade you sit down. No, there is a\n place\u2014the Greeks call it Hesperia[150]\u2014a land old in\n story, strong in arms and in the fruitfulness of its soil\u2014the\n \u0152notrians were its settlers. Now report says that\n later generations have called the nation Italian from the 20\n name of their leader. That is our true home: thence\n sprung Dardanus and father Iasius, the first founder of our\n line. Quick! rise, and tell the glad tale, which brooks no\n question, to your aged sire; tell him that he is to look for\n Corythus[151] and the country of Ausonia. Jupiter bars you 25\n from the fields of Dicte.\u2019[152] Thus astonished by visions\n and voices of heaven\u2014for sleep it was not: no\u2014methought\n I saw them face to face, their wreathed locks and\n their features all in full view; and a cold sweat, too,\n trickled down my whole frame. I leap from the bed, and 30\n direct upturned hand and voice to heaven, and pour on the\n hearth the undefiled libation. The sacrifice paid, with\n joy I inform Anchises, and expound the whole from first to\n last. He owns the double pedigree and the rival ancestors,\n and his own new mistake about the two old countries. 35\n Then he says: \u2018My son, trained in the school of Troy\u2019s\n destiny, Cassandra\u2019s was the one voice which used to\n chant to me of this chance. Now I recollect, this was the\n fortune she presaged as appointed for our line, calling often\n for Hesperia, often for the land of Italy. But could anyone\n think that Teucrians would ever reach the Hesperian\n shore? Could Cassandra\u2019s prophesying in those days gain\n any one\u2019s credence? Let us give way to Ph\u0153bus, and 5\n follow the better course enjoined.\u2019 He said, and with one\n consent we gladly obey. So we quit this settlement as we\n quitted the last, and leaving a few behind, set sail, and\n make our hollow barque fly over the vast world of waters.\n\n \u201cSoon as the ships had gained the mid-sea, and land was 10\n no more to be seen, sky on every side, on every side ocean,\n then came a murky storm-cloud and stood over my head,\n charged with night and winter tempest, and darkness\n ruffled the billow\u2019s crest. At once the winds lay the sea in\n heaps, and the waters rise mountains high: a scattered 15\n fleet, we are tossed upon the vast abyss: clouds enshrouded\n the day, and dank night robbed us of the sky, while fire\n flashes momently from the bursting clouds. We are\n dashed out of our track, and wander blindly over the blind\n waters. Nay, even Palinurus owns he cannot tell day 20\n from night in a heaven like this, or recollect the footpath\n in the watery wilderness. Three dreary suns, blotted by\n blinding darkness, we wander on the deep: three nights\n with never a star. On the fourth day, at last, land was\n first seen to rise, and mountains with curling smoke 25\n wreaths to dawn in distant prospect. Down drop the\n sails: we rise on our oars: incessantly the crews, straining\n every nerve, toss the foam and sweep the blue.\n\n \u201cEscaped from the sea, I am first welcomed by the coast\n of the Strophades\u2014the Strophades are known by the 30\n name Greece gave them, islands in the great Ionian, which\n fell Cel\u00e6no[153] and the rest of the Harpies have made their\n home, ever since Phineus\u2019[154] doors were closed against\n them, and fear drove them from the board which once fed\n them. A more baleful portent than this\u2014a fiercer plague 35\n of heaven\u2019s vengeance never crawled out of the Stygian\n flood. Birds with maiden\u2019s faces, a foul discharge, crooked\n talons, and on their cheeks the pallor of eternal famine.\n\n \u201cOn our arrival here, and entering the harbour, see! we\n behold luxuriant herds of oxen grazing dispersedly in the\n fields, and goats all along the grass, with none to tend them.\n On we rush, sword in hand, inviting the gods and Jove\n himself to share the spoil with us: and then on the winding 5\n shore pile up couches for the banquet, and regale on the\n dainty fare. But on a sudden, with an appalling swoop\n from the hills, the Harpies are upon us, flapping their\n wings with a mighty noise\u2014they tear the food in pieces,\n and spoil all with their filthy touch, while fearful screeches 10\n blend with foul smells. Again, in a deep retreat under a\n hollow rock, with trees and crisp foliage all about us, we set\n out the board and put new fire on new altars. Again,\n from another quarter of the sky, out of their hidden lair,\n comes the troop, all rush and sound, flying about the prey 15\n with their hooked talons, tainting the food with their\n loathsome mouths. I give the word to my comrades to\n seize their arms and wage war with the fell tribe. As I\n ordered they do\u2014they arrange their swords in hiding\n about the grass, and cover and conceal their shields. So 20\n soon as the noise of their swoop was heard along the winding\n shore, Misenus, from his lofty watch-tower, makes the\n hollow brass sound the alarm. On rush my comrades, and\n essay a combat of a new sort, to spoil with their swords the\n plumage of these foul sea-birds. But no violence will 25\n ruffle their feathers, no wounds pierce their skin: they are\n off in rapid flight high in the air, leaving their half-eaten\n prey and their filthy trail behind them. One of them,\n Cel\u00e6no, perches on a rock of vast height\u2014ill-boding\n prophetess\u2014and gives vent to words like these: \u2018What, 30\n is it war, for the oxen you have slain and the bullocks\n you have felled, true sons of Laomedon? is it war that\n _you_ are going to make on _us_, to expel us, blameless Harpies,\n from our ancestral realm? Take then into your minds\n these my words, and print them there. The prophecy 35\n which the Almighty Sire imparted to Ph\u0153bus, Ph\u0153bus\n Apollo to me, I, the chief of the Furies, make known to you.\n For Italy, I know, you are crowding all sail: well, the winds\n shall be at your call as you go to Italy, and you shall be\n free to enter its harbours: but you shall not build walls\n round your fated city, before fell hunger and your murderous\n wrong against us drive you to gnaw and eat up your\n very tables.\u2019[155] She said, and her wings carried her swiftly 5\n into the wood. But for my friends, a sudden terror curdled\n their blood, their hearts died within them; no more arms\u2014no,\n we must sue for grace, with vows and prayers, be\n the creatures goddesses or fell and loathsome birds. And\n my father Anchises, spreading his hands from the shore, 10\n invokes the mighty powers, and ordains meet sacrifice\u2014\u2018Great\n gods, forefend these menaces! Great gods, avert a\n chance like this, and let your blessing shield your worshippers!\u2019\n Then he bids us tear our moorings from the shore,\n and uncoil and stretch our ropes. 15\n\n \u201cThe winds swell our sails, we scud over the foaming\n surge, where gale and pilot bid us go. Now rising from\n the wave are seen the woods of Zacynthos,[156] and Dulichium,\n and Samos, and the tall cliffs of Neritos: we fly\n past the rocks of Ithaca, Laertes\u2019 realm, breathing a curse 20\n for the land that nursed the hard heart of Ulysses. Soon,\n too, the storm-capped peaks of Leucata dawn on the\n view, and their Apollo, the terror of sailors. In our\n weariness we make for him, and enter the little town:\n our anchors are thrown from the prow, our sterns ranged 25\n on the coast.\n\n \u201cSo now, masters of the land beyond our hope, we perform\n lustrations to Jove, and set the altars ablaze with\n our vows, and solemnize the shores of Actium[157] with the\n native games of Troy. My comrades strip, and practise 30\n the wrestle of the old country, all slippery with oil: what\n joy to have passed in safety by all those Argive cities,\n and held on our flight through the heart of the foe!\n Meanwhile the sun rolls round the mighty year, and the\n north winds of icy winter roughen the sea. A shield of 35\n hollow brass, once borne by the great Abas, I fasten up\n full on the temple gate, and signalize the deed with a\n verse: \u2018These arms are the offering of \u00c6neas, won from\n his Danaan conquerors.\u2019 Then I give the word to leave\n the haven and take seat on the benches. Each vying with\n each, the crews strike the water and sweep the marble\n surface. In due course we hide from view the airy summits 5\n of Ph\u00e6acian[158] land, coast the shore of Epirus, enter\n the Chaonian haven, and approach Buthrotum\u2019s lofty\n tower.\n\n \u201cHere a rumour of events past belief takes hold of our\n ears\u2014that Helenus, son of Priam, is reigning among\n Grecian cities, lord of the wife and crown of Pyrrhus, 10\n Achilles\u2019 very son, and that Andromache had again been\n given to a husband of her own nation. I was astounded:\n my heart kindled with a strange longing to have speech\n of my old friend, and learn all about this wondrous stroke\n of fortune. So I advance into the country from the haven, 15\n leaving fleet and coast behind, at the very time when\n Andromache, before the city, in a grove, by the wave of\n a mock Simois, was celebrating a yearly banquet, the\n offering of sorrow, to the dead, and invoking her Hector\u2019s\n shade at a tomb called by his name, an empty mound of 20\n green turf which she had consecrated to him with two\n altars, that she might have the privilege of weeping.\n Soon as her wild eye saw me coming with the arms of\n Troy all about me, scared out of herself by the portentous\n sight, she stood chained to earth while yet gazing\u2014life\u2019s 25\n warmth left her frame\u2014she faints, and after long time\n scarce finds her speech:\u2014\u2018Is it a real face that I see?\n are those real lips that bring me news? Goddess-born,\n are you among the living? or, if the blessed light has left\n you, where is my Hector?\u2019 She spoke\u2014her tears flowed 30\n freely, and the whole place was filled with her shrieks.\n Few, and formed with labour, are the words I address to\n her frenzied ear, broken and confused the accents I utter:\u2014\u2018Aye,\n I live, sure enough, and through the worst of\n fortunes am dragging on life still. Doubt it not, your eye 35\n tells you true. Alas! on what chance have you alit,\n fallen from the height where your first husband throned\n you? What smile has Fortune bright enough to throw\n back on Hector\u2019s Andromache? is it Pyrrhus\u2019 bed you\n are still tending?\u2019 She dropped her eyes, and spoke with\n bated breath:\u2014\u2018O blest pre-eminently over all, Priam\u2019s\n virgin daughter,[159] bidden to die at the grave of her foe,\n under Troy\u2019s lofty walls! she that had not to brook the 5\n chance of the lot, or, a slave and a captive, to touch the\n bed of her lord and conqueror! While we, after the burning\n of our city, carried over this sea and that, have stooped\n to the scorn, the youthful insolence of Achilles\u2019 heir, the\n slave-mother of his child; he, after this, goes in quest of 10\n Leda\u2019s Hermione[160] and her Spartan alliance, and gives me\n over to Helenus, the bondwoman to be the bondman\u2019s\n mate! Him, however, Orestes, fired by desperate passion\n for a ravished bride, and maddened by the frenzy-fiend of\n crime, surprises at unawares, and slays at his sire\u2019s own 15\n altar. At Neoptolemus\u2019 death a portion of this kingdom\n passed to Helenus, who called the fields Chaonian, and\n the land itself Chaonia, from Chaon, their Trojan namesake,\n and crowned, as you see, these heights with a new\n Pergamus, the citadel of Ilion. But you\u2014what wind, 20\n what destiny has shaped your voyage? What god has\n driven you on a coast which you know not to be ours?\n What of the boy Ascanius? is he alive and breathing\n upper air? he, whom you on that night at Troy\u2014say,\n can his boyish mind feel yet for the mother he has lost? 25\n Is he enkindled at all to the valour of old days, the prowess\n of a grown man, by a father like \u00c6neas, an uncle like\n Hector?\u2019\n\n \u201cSuch were the sorrows she kept pouring out, weeping\n long and fruitlessly, when Priam\u2019s noble son, Helenus, 30\n presents himself from the city, with a train of followers,\n and knows his friends again, and joyfully leads them to\n his home, many a tear interrupting his utterance. As I\n go on, I recognize a miniature Troy, a Pergamus copied\n from the great one, a dry rivulet the namesake of Zanthus, 35\n and throw my arms round a Sc\u00e6an[161] gate. My\n Trojan comrades, too, are made free of the friendly town.\n The king made entertainment for them in spacious cloisters.\n There, in the midst of the hall, they were pouring libations\n from cups of wine, their meat served on gold, and\n goblets in their hands.\n\n \u201cAnd now suppose a day past, and yet another day:\n the breeze is inviting the sail, the swelling south inflating 5\n the canvas, when I accost the prophet with these words,\n and put to him the question I tell you:\u2014\u2018True Trojan\n born, heaven\u2019s interpreter,[B] whose senses inform you of\n the stars, and of the tongue of birds, and of the omens of\n the flying wing, tell me now\u2014for revelation has spoken 10\n in auspicious words of the whole of my voyage, and all\n the gods have urged me with one voice of power to make\n for Italy, and explore that hidden clime. One alone, the\n Harpy Cel\u00e6no, forebodes a strange portent, too horrible\n to tell, denouncing fierce vengeance and unnatural hunger. 15\n Tell me then, what perils do I shun first, or what must\n I observe to surmount the tremendous hardships before\n me?\u2019 Then Helenus first implores the favour of Heaven\n by a solemn sacrifice of bullocks, and unbinds the fillet\n from his consecrated brow, and with his own hand leads 20\n me to thy temple, Ph\u0153bus, my mind lifted from its place\n by the effluence of divine power; which done, that priestly\n mouth chants these words from its prophetic lips:\u2014\n\n \u201c\u2018Goddess-born\u2014for that presages of mighty blessing\n are attending you over the deep is clear beyond doubt\u2014such 25\n is the casting of the lot of fate by heaven\u2019s king as\n he rolls event after event\u2014such the ordained succession\u2014a\n few things out of many, to make your voyage through\n strange waters safer, your settlement in Ausonia\u2019s haven\n more assured. My speech shall unfold to you but a few\u2014for 30\n the rest the fatal sisters keep from Helenus\u2019 knowledge,\n and Saturnian Juno seals his lips. First then for\n Italy, which you think close at hand, ready in your blindness\n to rush into the harbours that neighbour us, the\n length of a way where no way is severs you from its length 35\n of territory. First must the oar be suppled in Trinacrian\n waters, and your ships must traverse the expanse\n of the Ausonian brine, and the spectral lake, and the isle\n of \u00c6\u00e6an Circe,[162] ere you can find a safe spot to build a\n peaceful city. I will tell you the tokens, be it yours to 5\n keep them lodged in your mind. When on an anxious\n day, by the side of a sequestered river, you shall find an\n enormous swine lying under the oaks on the bank with a\n litter of thirty head just born, white herself through all\n her lazy length, her children round her breasts as white 10\n as she\u2014that shall be the site of your city\u2014that your\n assured rest from toil and trouble. Nor need you shudder\n beforehand at the prospect of gnawing your tables\u2014the\n fates will find you a path, and a prayer will bring you\n Apollo. But as for these lands, and this line of the 15\n Italian coast, which lies close at hand, and is washed by\n the spray of our waters, this you must fly: the cities, one\n and all, are peopled by enemies from Greece. Here the\n Narycian Locrians have built them cities, and the Sallentine\n fields have been occupied with an army by Lyctian 20\n Idomeneus: here is the Melib\u0153an chief Philoctetes\u2019 tiny\n town Patelia, with a strong wall to prop it. Further,\n when your fleet stands moored on the other side the\n water, and you build altars and pay vows on the coast,\n shroud your head with the covering of a purple robe, lest, 25\n while the hallowed fires are blazing, and the worship of\n the gods is yet unfinished, some enemy\u2019s eye should meet\n yours, and make the omens void. Be this ritual custom\n maintained by your comrades as by yourself: let the piety\n of generations to come abide in this observance. But 30\n when leaving Italy you are carried by the wind near the\n Sicilian coast, and Pelorus\u2019 narrow bars dimly open, make\n for the left shore, for the left water, long as the circuit\n round may be; avoid the right, its land and its seas.\n This whole region by the forceful throes of a mighty convulsion\u2014such 35\n power of change is there in long centuries\n of olden time\u2014was rent in twain, so runs the story, the\n two countries before having been one and unbroken; at\n last the sea poured in violently between, and with its\n waters cut off the Hesperian from the Sicilian side, washing\n between fields and cities, their seaboards now parted,\n with the waves of its narrow channel. There the right-hand\n coast is held by Scylla,[163] the left by Charybdis, ever 5\n hungering, who, at the bottom of the whirling abyss,\n thrice a day draws the huge waves down her precipitous\n throat, and in turn upheaves them to the sky, and lashes\n the stars with their spray. But Scylla is confined in the\n deep recesses of a cave, whence she thrusts out her mouths, 10\n and drags vessels on to her rocks. At top, a human face,\n a maiden with beauteous bosom; at bottom an enormous\n sea-monster\u2014dolphins\u2019 tails attached to a belly all of\n wolves\u2019 heads. Better far wearily to round the goal of\n Trinacrian[164] Pachynus and fetch about a tedious compass, 15\n than once to have looked on the monster Scylla in her\n enormous cave, and the rocks that echo with her sea-coloured\n dogs. Moreover, if there be any foresight in\n Helenus, if you give any credence to his prophetic tongue,\n if his mind be a fountain of Apollo\u2019s truth, one thing 20\n there is, goddess-born, one thing outweighing all beside\n which I will foreshow you, reiterating the warning again\n and again\u2014be Juno, great Juno, the first whose deity\n you worship\u2014to Juno chant your willing prayers: subdue\n that mighty empress by suppliant offerings: thus at 25\n last victorious you will leave Trinacria behind, and be\n sped to the borders of Italy. When you are there at\n length, and have come to the city of Cum\u00e6, and the\n haunted lake, and the woods that rustle over Avernus, you\n will have sight of the frenzied prophetess, who, in the 30\n cavern under the rock, chants her fateful strain, and commits\n characters and words to the leaves of trees. All the\n strains that the maid has written on these leaves she\n arranges in order, shuts them up in her cave, and leaves\n them there. They remain as she has left them, their 35\n disposition unchanged. But, strange to say, when the\n hinge is turned, and a breath of air moves the leaves,\n and the opened door throws their light ranks into confusion,\n henceforth she never troubles herself for a moment\n to catch them as they fly about the cavern, to restore\n them to their places, or to fit each strain to each. The\n inquirers retire with their doubts unsolved, and a hatred\n of the sibyl\u2019s seat. Arrived here, let no cost of time or 5\n delay weigh with you so much\u2014though your comrades\n should chide, and the voyage loudly call your sails\n to sea, and a sheet-full of fair wind be there at your choice\u2014but\n that you visit the prophetess, and beg and pray\n her herself to chant the oracle, loosing speech and tongue 10\n with a ready will. She shall tell you of the nations of\n Italy, and the wars of the future, and the way to shun or\n stand the shock of every peril, and shall vouchsafe to\n your prayer the boon of a prosperous voyage. Such are\n the counsels which it is given you to receive from my 15\n lips. Go on your way, and by your own actions lift to\n heaven the greatness of Troy.\u2019\n\n \u201cSoon as the seer had thus uttered these words of kindness,\n he next orders massy gifts of gold and carved ivory\n to be carried on shipboard, and stores in the keels, a 20\n weight of silver and caldrons of Dodona, a cuirass of\n chain-mail, three-threaded in gold, and a splendid helmet\n with cone and flowing crest, the armour of Neoptolemus.\n My father, too, has presents of his own. Horses, too, he\n gives, and guides too; makes up the complement of oars, 25\n and arms the crews. Meanwhile Anchises was giving the\n word to rig the fleet, not to wear out the patience of a\n fair wind. Him the interpreter of Ph\u0153bus addresses with\n much pomp of courtesy: \u2018Anchises, graced with the\n proud privilege of Venus\u2019 wedded love, the special care 30\n of the gods, whom they twice interposed to save from the\n fall of Pergamus, lo! there lies Ausonia\u2019s land; for this\n make all sail. Yet what have I said? This coast you\n must needs sail past; far away yonder lies that part of\n Ausonia which Apollo reveals to you. Go on your way,\u2019 35\n cries he, \u2018blessed in a son so duteous! Why proceed\n further, and make the rising gales wait while I talk?\u2019\n As freely, too, Andromache, saddened with the grief of\n parting, presents Ascanius with robes pictured with gold\n embroidery, and a Phrygian scarf. She tires not in her\n bounty, but loads him with gifts of needlework, and bespeaks\n him thus: \u2018Take, too, these, dear boy, to be a\n memorial of what my hands can do\u2014a token for long 5\n years of the affection of Andromache, Hector\u2019s wife. Yes,\n take the last presents your kin can bestow, O sole surviving\n image of my own Astyanax[165]! Those eyes are his\n eyes, those hands his hands, that face his face, and he\n would now be growing to manhood by your side, in bloom 10\n like yours!\u2019 Tears started forth, as I addressed my parting\n words to the royal pair: \u2018Live long and happily, as\n those should for whom the book of Fortune is closed.\n We, alas! are still called to turn page after page. You\n have won your rest: you have no expanse of sea to 15\n plough, no Ausonian fields to chase, still retiring as\n you advance. Your eyes look upon a copy of the old\n Xanthus, upon a Troy which your own hands have made\u2014made,\n I would hope and pray, with happier auspices, and\n with less peril of a visit from Greece. If the day ever 20\n arrive when I shall enter Tiber and the fields that neighbour\n Tiber, and look on the walls which Fate has made\n over to my people, then we will have our two kindred\n cities, our two fraternal nations\u2014the one in Epirus, the\n other in Hesperia, with a common founder, Dardanus, 25\n and a common history\u2014animated by one heart, till they\n come to be one Troy. Be this the destined care of our\n posterity!\u2019\n\n \u201cWe push on over the sea under Ceraunia\u2019s neighbouring\n range, whence there is a way to Italy, the shortest 30\n course through the water. Meantime the sun drops, and\n the mountains are veiled in shadow. We stretch ourselves\n gladly on the lap of earth by the water\u2019s side, having cast\n lots for the oars, and take our ease dispersedly along the\n dry beach. Sleep\u2019s dew sprinkles our wearied limbs. Not 35\n yet was night\u2019s car entering the middle of its circle, drawn\n by the unflagging hours, when Palinurus, with no thought\n of sloth, springs from his bed, explores every wind, and\n catches with his ears the voices of the air. All the stars\n he notes, as they swim through the silent sky, looking\n round on Arcturus, and the showery Hyades, and the\n twin Bears, and Orion in his panoply of gold. Soon as\n he sees them all set in a heaven of calm, he gives a clear 5\n signal from the stern. We break up our quarters, essay\n our flight, and spread the wings of our sails. And now\n the stars were fled, and Aurora[166] was just reddening in the\n sky, when in the distance we see the dim hills and low\n plains of Italy. \u2018Italy!\u2019 Achates was the first to cry. 10\n Italy our crews welcome with a shout of rapture. Then\n my father, Anchises, wreathed a mighty bowl with a garland,\n and filled it with wine, and called on the gods, standing\n upon the tall stern: \u2018Ye powers that rule sea and\n land and weather, waft us a fair wind and a smooth passage, 15\n and breathe auspiciously!\u2019 The breeze we wished\n for freshens; the harbour opens as we near it, and the\n temple of Minerva is seen crowning the height. The crews\n furl the sails, and turn their prows coastward. The harbour\n is curved into an arch by the easterly waves; a 20\n barrier of cliffs on each side foams again with the briny\n spray; between them the haven lies concealed; the towery\n rocks let down their arms like two walls, and the temple\n retires from the shore. Here on the grass I saw four\n horses, the first token of heaven\u2019s will, browsing the 25\n meadow at large, of snowy whiteness. And Anchises, my\n father, breaks forth: \u2018War is on thy front, land of the\n stranger; for war thy horses are prepared; war is threatened\n by the cattle we see. Still, these beasts no less are trained\n one day to stoop to the car, and carry harness and curb 30\n in harmony with the yoke; yes,\u2019 cries he, \u2018there is hope\n of peace, too.\u2019 With that we make our prayers to the\n sacred majesty of Pallas, queen of clanging arms, the first\n to welcome us in the hour of our joy; and, according to\n Helenus\u2019 order, that order which he gave so earnestly, we 35\n duly solemnize to Juno of Argos the prescribed honours.\n Then, without dallying, soon as our vows were paid in\n course, we turn landward the horns of our covered sail-yards,\n and leave the homes of the sons of Greece, and\n the fields we could not trust. Next we sight the bay of\n Tarentum, the city, if legend say true, of Hercules; right\n against us rises the goddess of Lacinium, and the towers\n of Caulon, and Scylaceum, wrecker of ships. Then, in 5\n the distance, from the surge is seen Trinacrian \u00c6tna;\n and the heavy groaning of the sea and the beating of the\n rocks is heard from afar, and broken voices on the beach,\n and the depths leap up to sight, and the sands are in a\n turmoil with the surge. Then, my father, Anchises: \u2018No 10\n doubt this is that Charybdis; these the cliffs, these the\n frightful rocks of Helenus\u2019 song. Snatch us from them,\n comrades; rise on your oars as one man.\u2019 They do no\n less than bidden; first of all Palinurus turned the plashing\n prow to the waters on the left; for the left makes the 15\n whole fleet, oars, winds, and all. Up we go to heaven on\n the arched back of the wave; down again, as the water\n gives way under us, we sink to the place of death below.\n Thrice the rocks shouted in our ears deep in their stony\n hollows; twice we saw the foam dashed up, and the stars 20\n all dripping. Meanwhile, tired and spent, we lose wind\n and sunlight at once, and, in our ignorance of the way,\n float to the land of the Cyclops.\n\n \u201cThere is a haven, sheltered from the approach of the\n winds, and spacious, were that all; but \u00c6tna is near, 25\n thundering with appalling crashes; at one time it hurls\n to the sky a black cloud, a smoky whirlwind of soot and\n glowing ashes, and upheaves balls of fire, and licks the\n stars; at another it raises rocks, torn from the mountain\u2019s\n bowels, and whirls heaps of molten stones into the air 30\n with a groan, and boils up from its very foundations.\n The legend is, that the body of Enceladus,[167] blasted by\n lightning, is kept down by this mighty weight, and that\n the giant bulk of \u00c6tna, piled on him, breathes forth penal\n fire through passages which that fire has burst; and ever, 35\n as he shifts his side from weariness, all Trinacria quakes\n and groans, and draws up a curtain of smoke over the\n sky. That night, in the shelter of the woods, we endure\n the visitation of monstrous portents, yet see not what\n cause produces the sound. For there was no starlight,\n no sky, bright with a heaven of constellations, but the\n firmament was dim and murky, and dead night was keeping\n the moon in a prison of storm-clouds. 5\n\n \u201cAnd now the next day was breaking in early dawn,\n and Aurora had drawn off the dewy shadow from the\n sky, when suddenly from the woods comes forth the\n strange figure of a man unknown, in piteous trim\u2014a\n picture completed by Famine\u2019s master-stroke, and 10\n stretches his hands in supplication to the shore. We\n look back: there was filth to make us shudder, a length\n of beard, a covering fastened with thorns; yet the rest\n betokened a Greek, who had once been sent to Troy in\n the army of his nation. As for him, when he saw from 15\n afar the dress of Dardan land and the arms of Troy, for\n a moment he faltered, scared by the sight, and checked\n his steps; soon he ran headlong to the shore, crying and\n praying: \u2018By the stars I adjure you, by the powers\n above, by this blessed light of heaven we breathe, take 20\n me with you, Teucrians; carry me off to any land you\n will; this will be enough. I know I am one of the Danaan\n crews; I own that I carried war into your Trojan homes;\n for which, if the guilt of my crime is so black, fling me\n piecemeal to the waves, drown me deep in the great sea. 25\n If I am to die, there will be pleasure in dying by the hands\n of men.\u2019 His speech was over, and he was clinging about\n us, clasping our knees, and writhing round them. We\n encourage him to tell us who he is, of what race sprung,\n to reveal what fortune has since made him its sport. My 30\n father, Anchises, after no long pause, himself gives his\n hand to the youth, and reassures him by the powerful\n pledge. He at length lays aside his fear, and speaks as\n follows:\u2014\n\n \u201c\u2018I come from Ithaca, a comrade of the ill-starred 35\n Ulysses, my name Achemenides. I went to Troy, leaving\n my father, Adamastus, who was poor. Would that his\n lot had remained mine! Here, in their hurry to leave\n the door of the slaughterhouse, my comrades forgot me\n and so left me behind in the Cyclops\u2019 enormous den. It\n is a house of gore and bloody feasting, deep, and dark,\n and huge; its master towers aloft, and strikes the stars\n on high (ye gods, remove from the earth a plague like 5\n this!), whom no eye rests on with pleasure, no tongue dare\n accost. The flesh of wretched men and their black blood\n are the food he feeds on. These eyes saw, when two\n bodies from our company, caught by his huge hand, as\n he threw back his head in the midst of the den, were 10\n being brained against the rock, and the floor was plashed\n and swimming with blood\u2014they saw, when he was\n crunching their limbs, dripping with black gore, and the\n warm joints were quivering under his teeth. He did it,\n but not unpunished. Ulysses was not the man to brook 15\n a deed like this; the brain of Ithaca was not wanting to\n itself when the need was so great. For soon as, gorged\n with his food and buried in wine, he bent and dropped\n his neck, and lay all along the den in unmeasured length,\n belching out gore in his sleep, and gobbets mixed with 20\n bloody wine; then we, having made our prayer to the\n great gods and drawn our places by lot, surround him on\n all sides as one man, and with a sharp weapon bore out\n his eye, that vast eye, which used to lie single and sunk\n under his grim brow,[C] and thus at last take triumphant 25\n vengeance for our comrades\u2019 shades. But fly, unhappy\n men, fly, and tear your cable from the shore. For hideous\n and huge as is Polyphemus, folding in his den his woolly\n flocks and pressing their udders, as hideous and huge are\n a hundred others that dwell everywhere along this coast, 30\n monster Cyclops, and stalk over the tall mountains. It\n is now the third moon, whose horns are filling out with\n light, that I am dragging along my life in the woods;\n among the lonely lairs where wild beasts dwell, and looking\n forth on the huge Cyclops as they stalk from rock to 35\n rock, and trembling at their tread and at the sound of\n their voices. My wretched fare, berries and stony cornels,\n is supplied by the boughs, and herbage uprooted yields\n me food. As I turned my eyes all about, this fleet of\n yours at last I saw advancing to the shore; with this, 5\n prove it what might, I cast in my lot; it is enough to\n have escaped this race of monsters. Sooner do you destroy\n this life by any death you please.\u2019\n\n \u201cScarce had he ended, when on the mountain-top we\n see the giant himself, moving along with his enormous 10\n bulk among his cattle, and making for the well-known\n shore\u2014a monster dreadful, hideous, huge, with his eye\n extinguished. A pine, lopped by his own hand, guides\n him and steadies his footsteps. His woolly sheep accompany\n him\u2014there is his sole pleasure, the solace of his 15\n suffering. After he had touched the waves of the deep\n and come to the sea, he washes with its water the gore\n that trickles from his scooped-out eye, gnashing his teeth\n with a groan; and he steps through the sea, now at main\n height, while the wave has not yet wetted his tall sides. 20\n We, in alarm, hasten our flight from the place, taking on\n board the suppliant, who had thus made good his claim,\n and silently cut the cable; then throw ourselves forward,\n and with emulous oars sweep along the sea. He perceived\n it, and turned his steps towards the noise he heard. 25\n But when he finds he has no means of grasping at us with\n his hand, no power of keeping pace with the Ionian waves\n in pursuit, he raises a gigantic roar, at which the sea and\n all its waters trembled inwardly, and the land of Italy\n shuddered to its core, and \u00c6tna bellowed through her 30\n winding caverns. But the tribe of the Cyclops, startled\n from wood and lofty mountain, rush to the haven and\n fill the shore. There we see them standing, each with\n the empty menace of his grim eye, the brethren of \u00c6tna,\n lifting their tall heads to heaven, a dire assemblage\u2014like 35\n as on some tall peak, skyey oaks or cone-bearing cypresses\n stand together, a lofty forest of Jupiter, or a grove of\n Diana. Headlong our crews are driven by keen terror to\n fling out the ropes anywhither, and stretch their sails to\n the winds that would catch them. On the other hand,\n Helenus\u2019 warning bids them not to hold on their way\n between Scylla and Charybdis, a passage on either side\n removed but a hair\u2019s breadth from death; so our purpose 5\n stands to spread our sails backward. When lo! the north\n wind is upon us, sped from Pelorus\u2019 narrow strait. On I\n fly past Pantagia\u2019s mouth of living rock, and the bay of\n Megara, and low-lying Thapsus. Such were the coasts\n named to us by Achemenides, as he retraced his former 10\n wanderings\u2014Achemenides, comrade of the ill-starred\n Ulysses.\n\n \u201cStretched before the Sicanian bay lies an island, over\n against Plemyrium the billowy\u2014former ages named it\n Ortygia. Hither, the legend is, Alpheus, the river of 15\n Elis, made himself a secret passage under the sea; and\n he now, through thy mouth, Arethusa,[168] blends with the\n waters of Sicily. Obedient to command, we worship\n the mighty gods of the place; and from thence I pass the\n over-rich soil of Helorus the marshy. Hence we skirt the 20\n tall crags and jutting rocks of Pachynus, and Camarina is\n seen in the distance,\u2014Camarina, which the oracle gave\n no man leave to disturb, and the plains of Gela, and Gela\n itself, mighty city, called from the stream that laves it.\n Next Acragas the craggy displays from afar its lofty 25\n walls, one day the breeder of generous steeds. Thee,\n too, I leave, by favour of the winds, palmy Selinus, and\n pick my way through the sunk rocks that make Lilyb\u00e6um\u2019s\n waters perilous. Hence Drepanum receives me,\n with its haven and its joyless coast. Here, after so many 30\n storms on the sea had done their worst, woe is me! I\n lose him that had made every care and danger light, my\n father, Anchises. Here, best of sires, you leave your son,\n lone and weary, you, who had been snatched from those\n fearful dangers, alas! in vain. Helenus, the seer, among 35\n the thousand horrors he foretold, warned me not of\n this agony; no, nor dread Cel\u00e6no. This was my last\n suffering, this the goal of my long journeyings. It\n was on parting hence that Heaven drove me on your\n coast.\u201d\n\n Thus father \u00c6neas, alone, amid the hush of all around,\n was recounting Heaven\u2019s destined dealings, and telling of\n his voyages; and now, at length, he was silent, made an 5\n end, and took his rest.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK IV\n\n\n But the queen, pierced long since by love\u2019s cruel shaft,\n is feeding the wound with her life-blood, and wasting under\n a hidden fire. Many times the hero\u2019s own worth comes\n back to her mind, many times the glory of his race; his\n every look remains imprinted on her breast, and his every 5\n word, nor will trouble let soothing sleep have access to\n her frame.\n\n The dawn-goddess[169] of the morrow was surveying the\n earth with Ph\u0153bus\u2019 torch in her hand, and had already\n withdrawn the dewy shadow from the sky, when she, 10\n sick of soul, thus bespoke the sister whose heart was one\n with hers:\u2014\u201cAnna, my sister, what dreams are these\n that confound and appal me! Who is this new guest\n that has entered our door! What a face and carriage!\n What strength of breast and shoulders! I do believe\u2014it 15\n is no mere fancy\u2014that he has the blood of gods in his\n veins. An ignoble soul is known by the coward\u2019s brand.\n Ah! by what fates he has been tossed! What wars he\n was recounting, every pang of them borne by himself!\n Were it not the fixed, immovable purpose of my mind 20\n never to consent to join myself with any in wedlock\u2019s\n bands, since my first love played me false and made me\n the dupe of death\u2014had I not been weary of bridal bed\n and nuptial torch, perchance I might have stooped to\n this one reproach. Anna\u2014for I will own the truth\u2014since 25\n the fate of Sych\u00e6us, my poor husband\u2014since the\n sprinkling of the gods of my home with the blood my\n brother shed, he and he only has touched my heart and\n shaken my resolution till it totters. I recognize the\n traces of the old flame. But first I would pray that earth 30\n may yawn for me from her foundations, or the all-powerful\n sire hurl me thunder-stricken to the shades, to the wan\n shades of Erebus[170] and abysmal night, ere I violate thee,\n my woman\u2019s honour, or unknit the bonds thou tiest.\n He who first wedded me, he has carried off my heart\u2014let 5\n him keep it all his own, and retain it in his grave.\u201d\n Thus having said, she deluged her bosom with a burst of\n tears.\n\n Anna replies:\u2014\u201cSweet love, dearer than the light to\n your sister\u2019s eye, are you to pine and grieve in loneliness 10\n through life\u2019s long spring, nor know aught of a mother\u2019s\n joy in her children, nor of the prizes Venus gives? Think\n you that dead ashes and ghosts low in the grave take this\n to heart? Grant that no husbands have touched your\n bleeding heart in times gone by, none now in Libya, none 15\n before in Tyre; yes, Iarbas has been slighted, and the\n other chieftains whom Afric, rich in triumphs, rears as\n its own\u2014will you fight against a welcome, no less than\n an unwelcome passion? Nor does it cross your mind in\n whose territories you are settled? On one side the cities 20\n of the G\u00e6tulians, a race invincible in war, and the Numidians\n environ you, unbridled as their steeds, and the\n inhospitable Syrtis; on another, a region unpeopled by\n drought, and the widespread barbarism of the nation of\n Barce. What need to talk of the war-cloud threatening 25\n from Tyre, and the menaces of our brother? It is under\n Heaven\u2019s auspices, I deem, and by Juno\u2019s blessing, that\n the vessels of Ilion have made this voyage hither. What\n a city, my sister, will ours become before your eyes!\n what an empire will grow out of a marriage like this! 30\n With the arms of the Teucrians at its back, to what a\n height will the glory of Carthage soar! Only be it yours\n to implore the favour of Heaven, and having won its\n acceptance, give free course to hospitality and weave a\n chain of pleas for delay, while the tempest is raging its 35\n full on the sea, and Orion, the star of rain, while his ships\n are still battered, and the rigour of the sky still unyielding.\u201d\n By these words she added fresh fuel to the fire of\n love, gave confidence to her wavering mind, and loosed\n the ties of woman\u2019s honour.\n\n First they approach the temples and inquire for pardon\n from altar to altar; duly they slaughter chosen sheep to\n Ceres the lawgiver, to Ph\u0153bus, and to father Ly\u00e6us[171]\u2014above 5\n all to Juno, who makes marriage bonds her care.\n Dido herself, in all her beauty, takes a goblet in her\n hand, and pours it out full between the horns of a heifer\n of gleaming white, or moves majestic in the presence of\n the gods towards the richly-laden altars, and solemnizes 10\n the day with offerings, and gazing greedily on the victims\u2019\n opened breasts, consults the entrails yet quivering with\n life. Alas! how blind are the eyes of seers! What can\n vows, what can temples do for the madness of love? All\n the while a flame is preying on the very marrow of her 15\n bones, and deep in her breast a wound keeps noiselessly\n alive. She is on fire, the ill-fated Dido, and in her madness\n ranges the whole city through, like a doe from an\n arrow-shot, whom, unguarded in the thick of the Cretan\n woods, a shepherd, chasing her with his darts, has pierced 20\n from a distance, and left the flying steel in the wound,\n unknowing of his prize; she at full speed scours the\n forests and lawns of Dicte; the deadly reed still sticks\n in her side. Now she leads \u00c6neas with her through the\n heart of the town, and displays the wealth of Sidon, and 25\n the city built to dwell in. She begins to speak, and stops\n midway in the utterance. Now, as the day fades, she\n seeks again the banquet of yesterday, and once more in\n frenzy asks to hear of the agonies of Troy, and hangs\n once more on his lips as he tells the tale. Afterwards, 30\n when the guests are gone, and the dim moon in turn is\n hiding her light, and the setting stars invite to slumber,\n alone she mourns in the empty hall, and presses the\n couch he has just left; him far away she sees and hears,\n herself far away; or holds Ascanius long in her lap, spellbound 35\n by his father\u2019s image, to cheat, if she can, her ungovernable\n passion. The towers that were rising rise no\n longer; the youth ceases to practise arms, or to make\n ready havens and bulwarks for safety in war; the works\n are broken and suspended, the giant frowning of the\n walls, and the engine level with the sky.\n\n Soon as Jove\u2019s loved wife saw that she was so mastered\n by the plague, and that good name could not stand in 5\n the face of passion, she, the daughter of Saturn, bespeaks\n Venus thus:\u2014\u201cBrilliant truly is the praise, ample the\n spoils you are carrying off, you and your boy\u2014great and\n memorable the fame, if the plots of two gods have really\n conquered one woman. No; I am not so blind either 10\n to your fears of my city, to your suspicions of the open\n doors of my stately Carthage. But when is this to end?\n or what calls now for such terrible contention? Suppose\n for a change we establish perpetual peace and a firm marriage\n bond. You have gained what your whole heart 15\n went to seek. Dido is ablaze with love, and the madness\n is coursing through her frame. Jointly then let us rule\n this nation, each with full sovereignty; let her stoop to\n be the slave of a Phrygian husband, and make over her\n Tyrians in place of dowry to your control.\u201d 20\n\n To her\u2014for she saw that she had spoken with a feigned\n intent, meaning to divert the Italian empire to the coast of\n Libya\u2014Venus thus replied:\u2014\u201cWho would be so mad\n as to spurn offers like these, and prefer your enmity to your\n friendship, were it but certain that the issue you name 25\n would bring good fortune in its train? But I am groping\n blindly after destiny\u2014whether it be Jupiter\u2019s will that\n the Tyrians and the voyagers from Troy should have one\n city\u2014whether he would have the two nations blended\n and a league made between them. You are his wife; it 30\n is your place to approach him by entreaty. Go on, I\n will follow.\u201d Imperial Juno rejoined thus:\u2014\u201cThat task\n shall rest with me. Now, in what way our present purpose\n can be contrived, lend me your attention, and I will explain\n in brief. \u00c6neas and Dido, poor sufferer! are 35\n proposing to go hunting in the forest, when first to-morrow\u2019s\n sun displays his rising, and with his beams uncurtains\n the globe. On them I will pour from above a black\n storm of mingled rain and hail, just when the horsemen\n are all astir, and spreading their toils before the wood-walks,\n and the whole heaven shall be convulsed with\n thunder. The train shall fly here and there, and be lost\n in the thick darkness. Dido and the Trojan chief shall 5\n find themselves in the same cave. I will be there, and,\n if I may count on your sanction, will unite her to him in\n lasting wedlock, and consecrate her his for life. Thus\n shall Hymen[172] give us his presence.\u201d The Queen of\n Cythera makes no demur, but nods assent, smiling at the 10\n trick she has found out.\n\n Meanwhile Aurora has risen, and left the ocean. Rising\n with the day-star, the chivalry of Carthage streams\n through the gates, their woven toils, and nets, and hunting-spears\n tipped with broad iron, and Massylian horsemen 15\n hurry along, and a force of keen-scented hounds.\n There are the Punic princes, waiting for the queen, who\n still lingers in her chamber; there stands her palfrey,\n conspicuous in purple and gold, fiercely champing the\n foaming bit. At length she comes forth, with a mighty 20\n train attending, a Tyrian scarf round her, itself surrounded\n by an embroidered border; her quiver of gold, her hair\n knotted up with gold, her purple robe fastened with a\n golden clasp. The Phrygian train, too, are in motion,\n and Iulus, all exultation. \u00c6neas himself, comely beyond 25\n all the rest, adds his presence to theirs, and joins the procession;\n like Apollo, when he leaves his Lycian winter-seat\n and the stream of Xanthus, and visits Delos, his\n mother\u2019s isle, and renews the dance; while with mingled\n voices round the altar shout Cretans and Dryopians, and 30\n tattooed Agathyrsians. The god in majesty walks on\n the heights of Cynthus, training his luxuriant hair with the\n soft pressure of a wreath of leaves, and twining it with\n gold; his arrows rattle on his shoulders. Not with less\n ease than he moved \u00c6neas; such the beauty that sparkles 35\n in that peerless countenance. When they reach the high\n mountains and the pathless coverts, see! the wild goats,\n dropping from the tops of the crags, have run down the\n slopes; in another quarter the deer are scouring the open\n plains, massing their herds as they fly in a whirlwind of\n dust, and leaving the mountains. But young Ascanius\n is in the heart of the glens, exulting in his fiery courser.\n Now he passes one, now another of his comrades at full 5\n speed, and prays that in the midst of such spiritless game\n he may be blest with the sight of a foaming boar, or that\n a tawny lion may come down the hill. Meantime the sky\n begins to be convulsed with a mighty turmoil; a storm-cloud\n follows of mingled rain and hail. The Tyrian train, 10\n all in confusion, and the chivalry of Troy, and the hope\n of Dardania, Venus\u2019 grandson, have sought shelter in\n their terror up and down the country, some here, some\n there. The streams run in torrents down the hills. Dido\n and the Trojan chief find themselves in the same cave. 15\n Earth, the mother of all, and Juno give the sign.\n\n Lightnings blaze, and heaven flashes in sympathy with\n the bridal; and from mountain-tops the nymphs give the\n nuptial shout. That day was the birthday of death, the\n birthday of woe. Henceforth she has no thought for the 20\n common eye or the common tongue; it is not a stolen passion\n that Dido has now in her mind\u2014no, she calls it\n marriage; that name is the screen of her sin.\n\n Instantly Fame[173] takes her journey through Libya\u2019s great\n cities\u2014Fame, a monster surpassed in speed by none; her 25\n nimbleness lends her life, and she gains strength as she\n goes. At first fear keeps her low; soon she rears herself\n skyward, and treads on the ground, while her head is\n hidden among the clouds. Earth, her parent, provoked to\n anger against the gods, brought her forth, they say, the 30\n youngest of the family of C\u0153us[174] and Enceladus\u2014swift\n of foot and untiring of wing, a portent terrible and vast\u2014who,\n for every feather on her body has an ever-wakeful\n eye beneath, marvellous to tell, for every eye a loud tongue\n and mouth, and a pricked-up ear. At night she flies midway 35\n between heaven and earth, hissing through the darkness,\n nor ever yields her eyes to the sweets of sleep. In\n the daylight she sits sentinel on a high house-top, or on a\n lofty turret, and makes great cities afraid; as apt to cling\n to falsehood and wrong as to proclaim the truth. So\n then she was filling the public ear with a thousand tales\u2014things\n done and things never done alike the burden of\n her song\u2014how that \u00c6neas, a prince of Trojan blood, had 5\n arrived at Carthage, a hero whom lovely Dido deigned to\n make her husband, and now in luxurious ease they were\n wearing away the length of winter together, forgetful of\n the crowns they wore or hoped to wear, and enthralled by\n unworthy passion. Such are the tales the fiendlike goddess 10\n spreads from tongue to tongue. Then, in due course, she\n turns her steps to King Iarbas, and inflames him with her\n rumours, and piles his indignation high. He, the son of\n Ammon, from the ravished embrace of a Garamantian\n nymph, built within his broad realms a hundred temples 15\n to Jove, and in each temple an altar; there he had consecrated\n an ever-wakeful fire, the god\u2019s unsleeping sentry,\n a floor thick with victims\u2019 blood, and doors wreathed with\n particoloured garlands. And he, frenzied in soul, and\n stung by the bitter tidings, is said, as he stood before the 20\n altars, with the majesty of Heaven all around him, to have\n prayed long and earnestly to Jove with upturned hands:\u2014\u201cJove,\n the Almighty, to whom in this my reign the\n Moorish race, feasting on embroidered couches, pour out\n the offering of the vintage, seest thou this? or is our dread 25\n of thee, Father, when thou hurlest thy lightnings, an idle\n panic? are those aimless fires in the clouds that appal us?\n have their confused rumblings no meaning? See here:\n a woman, who, wandering in our territories, bought leave\n to build a petty town, to whom we made over a strip of 30\n land for tillage, with its rights of lordship, she has rejected\n an alliance with us, and received \u00c6neas into her kingdom,\n to be its lord and hers. And now that second Paris, with\n his emasculate following, a M\u00e6onian[175] cap supporting his\n chin and his essenced hair, is enjoying his prize, while we, 35\n forsooth, are making offerings to temples of thine, and\n keeping alive an idle rumour.\u201d\n\n Thus as he prayed, his hands grasping the altar, the\n almighty one heard him, and turned his eyes to the queenly\n city and the guilty pair, lost to their better fame. Then\n thus he bespeaks Mercury, and gives him a charge like this:\u2014\u201cGo,\n haste, my son, summon the Zephyrs, and float on\n thy wings; address the Dardan chief, who is now dallying 5\n in Tyrian Carthage, and giving no thought to the city\n which Destiny makes his own; carry him my commands\n through the flying air. It was not a man like that whom\n his beauteous mother promised us in him, and on the\n strength of her word twice rescued him from the sword of 10\n Greece. No, he was to be one who should govern Italy\u2014Italy,\n with its brood of unborn empires, and the war-cry\n bursting from its heart\u2014who should carry down a line\n sprung from the grand fountain-head of Teucer\u2019s blood,\n and should force the whole world to bow to the laws[176] he 15\n makes. If he is fired by no spark of ambition for greatness\n like this, and will not rear a toilsome fabric for his own\n praise, is it a father\u2019s heart that grudges Ascanius the hills\n of Rome? What is he building? What does he look to\n in lingering on among a nation of enemies, with no thought 20\n for the great Ausonian family, or for the fields of Lavinium?\n Away with him to sea! This is our sentence;\n thus far be our messenger.\u201d\n\n Jove had spoken, and Mercury was preparing to execute\n the great sire\u2019s command: first he binds to his feet his 25\n sandals, all of gold, which carry him, uplifted by their\n pinions, over sea no less than land, with the swiftness of\n the wind that wafts him. Then he takes his rod\u2014the\n rod with which he is wont to call up pale spectres from the\n place of death, to send others on their melancholy way to 30\n Tartarus, to give sleep or take it away, and to open the\n eyes when death is past. With this in hand, he drives the\n winds before him, and makes a path through the sea of\n clouds. And now in his flight he espies the crest and the\n tall sides of Atlas the rugged, who with his top supports 35\n the sky\u2014Atlas, whose pine-crowned dead, ever wreathed\n with dark clouds, is buffeted by wind and rain. A mantle\n of snow wraps his shoulders; rivers tumble from his hoary\n chin, and his grisly beard is stiff with ice. Here first\n Cyllene\u2019s god poised himself on his wings and rested; then\n from his stand stooping his whole body, he sent himself\n headlong to the sea, like a bird which haunting the coast and\n the fishy rocks flies low, close to the water. Even so was 5\n he flying between earth and heaven, between Libya\u2019s\n sandy coast and the winds that swept it, leaving his\n mother\u2019s father behind, himself Cyllene\u2019s progeny.\n\n Soon as his winged feet alit among the huts of Carthage,\n he sees \u00c6neas founding towers and making houses new. 10\n A sword was at his side, starred with yellow jaspers, and\n a mantle drooped from his shoulders, ablaze with Tyrian\n purple\u2014a costly gift which Dido had made, varying the\n web with threads of gold. Instantly he assails him:\u2014\u201cAnd\n are you at a time like this laying the foundations of 15\n stately Carthage, and building, like a fond husband, your\n wife\u2019s goodly city, forgetting, alas! your own kingdom\n and the cares that should be yours? It is no less than the\n ruler of the gods who sends me down to you from his\n bright Olympus\u2014he whose nod sways heaven and earth; 20\n it is he that bids me carry his commands through the flying\n air. What are you building? what do you look to in\n squandering your leisure in Libyan land? If you are fired\n by no spark of ambition for the greatness in your view,\n and will not rear a toilsome fabric for your own praise, 25\n think of Ascanius rising into youth, think of Iulus, your\n heir and your hope, to whom you owe the crown of Italy\n and the realm of Rome.\u201d With these words Cyllene\u2019s\n god quitted mortal sight ere he had well ceased to speak,\n and vanished away from the eye into unsubstantial air. 30\n\n The sight left \u00c6neas dumb and aghast indeed; his hair\n stood shudderingly erect; his speech clave to his throat.\n He burns to take flight and leave the land of pleasure, as\n his ears ring with the thunder of Heaven\u2019s imperious warning.\n What\u2014ah! what is he to do? with what address 35\n can he now dare to approach the impassioned queen?\n what first advances can he employ? And thus he despatches\n his rapid thought hither and thither hurrying\n it east and west, and sweeping every corner of the field.\n So balancing, at last he thought this judgment the best.\n He calls Mnestheus and Sergestus and brave Serestus;\n bids them quietly get ready the fleet, muster the crews on\n the shore, with their arms in their hands, hiding the reason 5\n for so sudden a change. Meantime he, while Dido, kindest\n of friends, is in ignorance, deeming love\u2019s chain too strong\n to be snapped, will feel his way, and find what are the\n happiest moments for speech, what the right hold to take\n of circumstance. At once all gladly obey his command, 10\n and are busy on the tasks enjoined.\n\n But the queen (who can cheat a lover\u2019s senses?) scented\n the plot, and caught the first sound of the coming stir, alive\n to fear in the midst of safety. Fame, as before, the same\n baleful fiend, whispered in her frenzied ear that the fleet 15\n was being equipped and the voyage got ready. She\n storms in impotence of soul, and, all on fire, goes raving\n through the city, like a M\u00e6nad[177] starting up at the rattle\n of the sacred emblems, when the triennial orgies lash her\n with the cry of Bacchus, and Cith\u00e6ron\u2019s yell calls her into 20\n the night. At length she thus bespeaks \u00c6neas, unaddressed\n by him:\u2014\n\n \u201cTo hide, yes, hide your enormous crime, perfidious\n wretch, did you hope _that_ might be done\u2014to steal away\n in silence from my realm? Has our love no power to keep 25\n you? has our troth, once, plighted, none, nor she whom\n you doom to a cruel death, your Dido? Nay, are you\n fitting out your fleet with winter\u2019s sky overhead, and hastening\n to cross the deep in the face of all the northern winds,\n hard-hearted as you are? Why, suppose you were not 30\n seeking a strange clime and a home you know not\u2014suppose\n old Troy were still standing\u2014would even Troy draw\n you to seek her across a billowy sea? Flying, and from\n me! By the tears I shed, and by your plighted hand,\n since my own act, alas! has left me nought else to plead\u2014by 35\n our union\u2014by the nuptial rites thus prefaced\u2014if\n I have ever deserved well of you, or aught of mine ever\n gave you pleasure\u2014have pity on a falling house, and strip\n off, I conjure you, if prayer be not too late, the mind that\n clothes you. It is owing to you that the Libyan tribes and\n the Nomad chiefs hate me, that my own Tyrians are estranged;\n owing to you, yes, you, that my woman\u2019s honour\n has been put out, and that which was my one passport 5\n to immortality, my former fame. To whom are you abandoning\n a dying woman, my guest?\u2014since the name of\n husband has dwindled to that. Why do I live any longer?\u2014to\n give my brother Pygmalion time to batter down\n my walls, or Iarbas the Moor to carry me away captive? 10\n Had I but borne any offspring of you before your flight,\n were there some tiny \u00c6neas to play in my hall, and remind\n me of you, though but in look, I should not then feel utterly\n captive and forlorn.\u201d\n\n She ceased. He all the while, at Jove\u2019s command, was 15\n keeping his eyes unmoved, and shutting up in his heart his\n great love. At length he answers in brief:\u2014\u201cFair queen,\n name all the claims to gratitude you can, I shall never\n gainsay one, nor will the thought of Elissa[178] ever be unwelcome\n while memory lasts, while breath animates this 20\n frame. A few words I will say, as the case admits. I\n never counted\u2014do not dream it\u2014on stealthily concealing\n my flight. I never came with a bridegroom\u2019s torch\n in my hand, nor was this the alliance to which I agreed.\n For me, were the Fates to suffer me to live under a star 25\n of my own choosing, and to make with care the terms I\n would, the city of Troy, first of all the dear remains of what\n was mine, would claim my tendance. Priam\u2019s tall roof-tree\n would still be standing, and my hand would have\n built a restored Pergamus, to solace the vanquished. But 30\n now to princely Italy Grynean[179] Apollo, to Italy his Lycian\n oracles bid me repair. There is my heart, there my fatherland.\n If you are riveted here by the sight of your stately\n Carthage, a daughter of Ph\u0153nicia by a Libyan town,\n why, I would ask, should jealousy forbid Teucrians to 35\n settle in Ausonian land? We, like you, have the right of\n looking for a foreign realm. There is my father Anchises,\n oft as night\u2019s dewy shades invest the earth, oft as the fiery\n stars arise, warning me in dreams and appalling me by his\n troubled presence. There is my son Ascanius, and the\n wrongs heaped on his dear head every day that I rob him\n of the crown of Hesperia, and of the land that fate makes\n his. Now, too, the messenger of the gods, sent down from 5\n Jove himself (I swear by both our lives) has brought me\n orders through the flying air. With my own eyes I saw\n the god in clear daylight entering the walls, and took in his\n words with the ears that hear you now. Cease then to\n harrow up both our souls by your reproaches: my quest 10\n of Italy is not of my own motion.\u201d\n\n Long ere he had done this speech she was glaring at him\n askance, rolling her eyes this way and that, and scanning\n the whole man with her silent glances, and thus she bursts\n forth all ablaze:\u2014\u201cNo goddess was mother of yours, no 15\n Dardanus the head of your line, perfidious wretch!\u2014no,\n your parent was Caucasus, rugged and craggy, and\n Hyrcanian tigresses put their breasts to your lips. For\n why should I suppress aught? or for what worse evil hold\n myself in reserve? Did he groan when I wept? did he 20\n move those hard eyes? did he yield and shed tears, or\n pity her that loved him? What first? what last? Now,\n neither Juno, queen of all, nor Jove, the almighty Father,\n eyes us with impartial regard. Nowhere is there aught\n to trust\u2014nowhere. A shipwrecked beggar, I welcomed 25\n him, and madly gave him a share of my realm; his lost\n fleet, his crews, I brought back from death\u2019s door. Ah!\n Fury sets me on fire, and whirls me round! Now, prophet\n Apollo, now the Lycian oracles. Now the messenger of\n the gods, sent down by Jove himself, bears his grim bidding 30\n through the air! Aye, of course, that is the employment\n of the powers above, those the cares that break their\n repose! I retain not your person, nor refute your talk.\n Go, chase Italy with the winds at your back; look for\n realms with the whole sea between you. I have hope that 35\n on the rocks midway, if the gods are as powerful as they\n are good, you will drain the cup of punishment, with Dido\u2019s\n name ever on your lips. I will follow you with murky\n fires when I am far away: and when cold death shall have\n parted soul and body, my shade shall haunt you everywhere.\n Yes, wretch, you shall suffer, I shall hear it\u2014the\n news will reach me down among the dead.\u201d So saying,\n she snaps short her speech, and flies with loathing 5\n from the daylight, and breaks and rushes from his sight,\n leaving him hesitating, and fearing, and thinking of a\n thousand things to say. Her maidens support her, and\n carry her sinking frame into her marble chamber, and\n lay her on her bed. 10\n\n But good \u00c6neas, though yearning to solace and soothe\n her agonized spirit, and by his words to check the onset of\n sorrow, with many a groan, his whole soul upheaved by\n the force of love, goes nevertheless about the commands\n of Heaven, and repairs to his fleet. The Teucrians redouble 15\n their efforts, and along the whole range of the shore\n drag their tall ships down. The keels are careened and\n floated. They carry oars with their leaves still on, and\n timber unfashioned as it stood in the woods, so strong their\n eagerness to fly. You may see them all in motion, streaming 20\n from every part of the city. Even as ants when they\n are sacking a huge heap of wheat, provident of winter\n days, and laying up the plunder in their stores; a black\n column is seen moving through the plain, and they convey\n their booty along the grass in a narrow path: some are 25\n putting their shoulders to the big grains, and pushing them\n along; others are rallying the force and punishing the\n stragglers; the whole track is in a glow of work. What\n were your feelings then, poor Dido, at a sight like this!\n How deep the groans you heaved, when you looked out 30\n from your lofty tower on a beach all seething and swarming,\n and saw the whole sea before you deafened with that\n hubbub of voices! Tyrant love! what force dost thou not\n put on human hearts? Again she has to condescend to\n tears, again to use the weapons of entreaty, and bow her 35\n spirit in suppliance under love\u2019s yoke, lest she should have\n left aught untried, and be rushing on a needless death.\n\n \u201cAnna, you see there is hurrying all over the shore\u2014they\n are met from every side; the canvas is already wooing\n the gale, and the joyful sailors have wreathed the sterns.\n If I have had the foresight to anticipate so heavy a blow,\n I shall have the power to bear it too, my sister. Yet,\n Anna, in my misery, perform me this one service. You, 5\n and you only, the perfidious man was wont to make his\n friend\u2014aye, even to trust you with his secret thoughts.\n You, and you only, know the subtle approaches to his\n heart, and the times of essaying them. Go, then, my\n sister, and supplicate our haughty foe. Tell him I was 10\n no party to the Danaan league at Aulis to destroy the\n Trojan nation; I sent no ships to Pergamus; I never\n disinterred his father Anchises, his dust or his spirit. Why\n will he not let my words sink down into his obdurate ears?\n Whither is he hurrying? Let him grant this last boon to 15\n her who loves him so wildly; let him wait till the way is\n smoothed for his flight, and there are winds to waft him.\n I am not asking him now to renew our old vows which he\n has forsworn. I am not asking him to forego his fair\n Latium, and resign his crown. I entreat but a few vacant 20\n hours, a respite and breathing-space for my passion, till\n my fortune shall have taught baffled love how to grieve.\n This is my last request of you\u2014Oh, pity your poor sister!\u2014a\n request which when granted shall be returned with\n interest in death.\u201d 25\n\n Such was her appeal\u2014such the wailing which her\n afflicted sister bears to him, and bears again; but no wailing\n moves him, no words find him a gentle listener. Fate\n bars the way, and Heaven closes the hero\u2019s relenting ears.\n Even as an aged oak, still hale and strong, which Alpine 30\n winds, blowing now here, now there, strive emulously to\n uproot\u2014a loud noise is heard, and, as the stem rocks,\n heaps of leaves pile the ground; but the tree cleaves\n firmly to the cliff; high as its head strikes into the air,\n so deep its root strikes down to the abyss\u2014even thus the 35\n hero is assailed on all sides by a storm of words: his mighty\n breast thrills through and through with agony; but his\n mind is unshaken, and tears are showered in vain.\n\n Then at last, maddened by her destiny, poor Dido prays\n for death: heaven\u2019s vault is a weariness to look on. To\n confirm her in pursuing her intent, and closing her eyes on\n the sun, she saw, as she was laying her offerings on the\n incense-steaming altars\u2014horrible to tell\u2014the sacred 5\n liquor turn black, and the streams of wine curdle into\n loathly gore. This appearance she told to none, not even\n to her sister. Moreover, there was in her palace a marble\n chapel to her former husband, to which she used to pay\n singular honours, wreathing it with snowy fillets and festal 10\n boughs; from it she thought she heard a voice, the accents\n of the dead man calling her, when the darkness of night\n was shrouding the earth: and on the roof a lonely owl in\n funereal tones kept complaining again and again, and\n drawing out wailingly its protracted notes; and a thousand 15\n predictions of seers of other days come back on her,\n terrifying her with their awful warnings. When she\n dreams, there is \u00c6neas himself driving her in furious chase:\n she seems always being left alone to herself, always pacing\n companionless on a never-ending road, and looking for her 20\n Tyrians in a realm without inhabitants\u2014like Pentheus,[o]\n when in frenzy he sees troops of Furies, and two suns, and\n a double Thebes rising around him; or Agamemnon\u2019s[o]\n Orestes rushing over the stage, as he flies from his mother,\n who is armed with torches and deadly snakes, while the 25\n avenging fiends sit crouched on the threshold.\n\n So when, spent with agony, she gave conception to the\n demon, and resolved on death, she settled with herself\n time and means, and thus bespoke her grieving sister, her\n face disguising her intent, and hope smiling on her brow:\u2014 30\n\n \u201cDearest, I have found a way\u2014wish me joy, as a sister\n should\u2014to bring him back to me, or to loose me from the\n love which binds me to him. Hard by the bound of ocean\n and the setting sun lies the extreme Ethiopian clime, where\n mighty Atlas turns round on his shoulders the pole, studded 35\n with burning stars. From that clime, I have heard of a\n priestess of the Massylian race, once guardian of the\n temple of the Hesperides, who used to give the dragon his\n food, and so preserve the sacred boughs on the tree, sprinkling\n for him moist honey and drowsy poppy-seed. She,\n by her spells, undertakes to release souls at her pleasure,\n while into others she shoots cruel pangs; she stops the\n water in the river-bed, and turns back the stars in their 5\n courses, and calls ghosts from realms of night. You will\n see the earth bellowing under you, and the ashes coming\n down from the mountain-top. By the gods I swear,\n dearest sister, by you and your dear life, that unwillingly\n I gird on the weapons of magic. Do you, in the privacy 10\n of the inner court, build a pile to the open sky; lay on it\n the arms which that godless man left hanging in the\n chamber, and all his doffed apparel, and the nuptial bed\n which was my undoing. To destroy every memorial of\n the hateful wretch is my pleasure, and the priestess\u2019 bidding.\u201d 15\n This said, she is silent\u2014paleness overspreads her\n face. Yet Anna does not dream that these strange rites\n are a veil to hide her sister\u2019s death: she cannot grasp\n frenzy like that; she fears no darker day than that of their\n mourning for Sych\u00e6us, and so she does her bidding. 20\n\n But the queen, when the pile had been built in the heart\n of the palace to the open sky, a giant mass of pine-wood and\n hewn oak, spans the place with garlands, and crowns it\n with funeral boughs. High above it on the couch she sets\n the doffed apparel, and the sword that had been left, and 25\n the image of the false lover, knowing too well what was\n to come. Altars rise here and there; the priestess, with\n hair dishevelled, thunders out the roll of three hundred\n gods, Erebus and Chaos, and Hecate[180] with her triple form\u2014the\n three faces borne by maiden Dian. See! she has 30\n sprinkled water, brought, so she feigns, from Avernus\u2019\n spring, and she is getting green downy herbs, cropped by\n moonlight with brazen shears, whose sap is the milk of\n deadly poison, and the love-charm, torn from the brow\n of the new-born foal, ere the mother could snatch it. 35\n Dido herself, with salted cake and pure hands at the altars,\n one foot unshod, her vest ungirdled, makes her dying\n appeal to the gods and to the stars who share Fate\u2019s\n counsels, begging the powers, if any there be, that watch,\n righteous and unforgetting, over ill-yoked lovers, to hear\n her prayer.\n\n It was night, and overtoiled mortality throughout the\n earth was enjoying peaceful slumber; the woods were at 5\n rest, and the raging waves\u2014the hour when the stars are\n rolling midway in their smooth courses, when all the land is\n hushed, cattle, and gay-plumed birds, haunters far and wide\n of clear waters and rough forest-ground, lapped in sleep\n with stilly night overhead, their troubles assuaged, their 10\n hearts dead to care. Not so the vexed spirit of Ph\u0153nicia\u2019s\n daughter; she never relaxes into slumber, or\n welcomes the night to eye or bosom; sorrow doubles peal\n on peal; once more love swells, and storms, and surges,\n with a mighty tempest of passion. Thus, then, she 15\n plunges into speech, and whirls her thoughts about thus\n in the depth of her soul:\u2014\u201cWhat am I about? Am I\n to make fresh proof of my former suitors, with scorn before\n me? Must I stoop to court Nomad bridegrooms, whose\n offered hand I have spurned so often? Well, then, shall 20\n I follow the fleet of Ilion, and be at the beck and call of\n Teucrian masters? Is it that they think with pleasure\n on the succour once rendered them? that gratitude for\n past kindness yet lives in their memory? But even if I\n wished it, who will give me leave, or admit the unwelcome 25\n guest to his haughty ships? Are you so ignorant, poor\n wretch? Do you not yet understand the perjury of the\n race of Laomedon[181]? What then? Shall I fly alone, and\n swell the triumph of their crews? or shall I put to sea, with\n the Tyrians and the whole force of my people at my back, 30\n dragging those whom it was so hard to uproot from their\n Sidonian home again into the deep, and bidding them\n spread sail to the winds? No!\u2014die the death you have\n merited, and let the sword put your sorrow to flight.\n You, sister, are the cause; overmastered by my tears, 35\n you heap this deadly fuel on my flame, and fling me upon\n nay enemy. Why could I not forswear wedlock, and live\n an unblamed life in savage freedom, nor meddle with\n troubles like these? Why did I not keep the faith I\n vowed to the ashes of Sych\u00e6us?\u201d Such were the reproaches\n that broke from that bursting heart.\n\n Meanwhile \u00c6neas, resolved on his journey, was slumbering\n in his vessel\u2019s tall stern, all being now in readiness. 5\n To him a vision of the god, appearing again with the same\n countenance, presented itself as he slept, and seemed to\n give this second warning\u2014the perfect picture of Mercury,\n his voice, his blooming hue, his yellow locks, and the youthful\n grace of his frame:\u2014\u201cGoddess-born, at a crisis like 10\n this can you slumber on? Do you not see the wall of\n danger which is fast rising round you, infatuate that you\n are, nor hear the favouring whisper of the western gale?\n She is revolving in her bosom thoughts of craft and cruelty,\n resolved on death, and surging with a changeful tempest 15\n of passion. Will you not haste away while haste is in your\n power? You will look on a sea convulsed with ships, an\n array of fierce torch-fires, a coast glowing with flame, if\n the dawn-goddess shall have found you loitering here on\n land. Quick!\u2014burst through delay. A thing of moods 20\n and changes is woman ever.\u201d He said, and was lost in the\n darkness of night.\n\n At once \u00c6neas, scared by the sudden apparition, springs\n up from sleep, and rouses his comrades. \u201cWake in a moment,\n my friends, and seat you on the benches. Unfurl 25\n the sails with all speed. See! here is a god sent down\n from heaven on high, urging us again to hasten our flight,\n and cut the twisted cables. Yes! sacred power, we follow\n thee, whoever thou art, and a second time with joy obey\n thy behest. Be thou with us, and graciously aid us, and 30\n let propitious stars be ascendant in the sky.\u201d So saying,\n he snatches from the scabbard his flashing sword, and with\n the drawn blade cuts the hawsers. The spark flies from\n man to man; they scour, they scud, they have left the\n shore behind; you cannot see the water for ships. With 35\n strong strokes they dash the foam, and sweep the blue.\n\n And now Aurora was beginning to sprinkle the earth\n with fresh light, rising from Tithonus\u2019[182] saffron couch.\n Soon as the queen from her watch-tower saw the gray\n dawn brighten, and the fleet moving on with even canvas,\n and coast and haven forsaken, with never an oar left,\n thrice and again smiting her beauteous breast with her\n hands, and rending her golden locks, \u201cGreat Jupiter!\u201d 5\n cries she, \u201cshall he go? Shall a chance-comer boast of\n having flouted our realm? Will they not get their arms\n at once, and give chase from all the town, and pull, some\n of them, the ships from the docks? Away! bring fire;\n quick! get darts, ply oars! What am I saying? Where 10\n am I? What madness turns my brain? Wretched Dido!\n do your sins sting you now? They should have done so\n then, when you were giving your crown away. What\n truth! what fealty!\u2014the man who, they say, carries\n about with him the gods of his country, and took up on 15\n his shoulders his old worn-out father! Might I not have\n caught and torn him piecemeal, and scattered him to the\n waves?\u2014destroyed his friends, aye, and his own Ascanius,\n and served up the boy for his father\u2019s meal? But the\n chance of a battle would have been doubtful. Let it have 20\n been. I was to die, and whom had I to fear? I would\n have flung torches into his camp, filled his decks with flame,\n consumed son and sire and the whole line, and leapt myself\n upon the pile. Sun, whose torch shows thee all that is\n done on earth, and thou, Juno, revealer and witness 25\n these stirrings of the heart, and Hecate, whose name is\n yelled in civic crossways by night, avenging fiends, and\n gods of dying Elissa, listen to this! Let your power stoop\n to ills that call for it, and hear what I now pray! If\n it must needs be that the accursed wretch gain the haven 30\n and float to shore\u2014if such the requirement of Jove\u2019s\n destiny, such the fixed goal\u2014yet grant that, harassed\n by the sword and battle of a warlike nation, a wanderer\n from his own confines, torn from his Iulus\u2019 arms, he may\n pray for succour, and see his friends dying miserably round 35\n him! Nor when he has yielded to the terms of an unjust\n peace, may he enjoy his crown, or the life he loves; but\n may he fall before his time, and lie unburied in the midst\n of the plain! This is my prayer\u2014these the last accents\n that flow from me with my life-blood. And you, my\n Tyrians, let your hatred persecute the race and people for\n all time to come. Be this the offering you send down to\n my ashes: never be there love or league between nation 5\n and nation. Arise from my bones, my unknown avenger,\n destined with fire and sword to pursue the Dardanian\n settlers, now or in after-days, whenever strength shall be\n given! Let coast be at war with coast, water with wave,\n army with army; fight they, and their sons, and their 10\n sons\u2019 sons!\u201d\n\n Thus she said, as she whirled her thought to this side\n and that, seeking at once to cut short the life she now abhorred.\n Then briefly she spoke to Barce, Sych\u00e6us\u2019 nurse,\n for her own was left in her old country, in the black 15\n ashes of the grave: \u201cFetch me here, dear nurse, my sister\n Anna. Bid her hasten to sprinkle herself with water\n from the stream, and bring with her the cattle and the\n atoning offerings prescribed. Let her come with these;\n and do you cover your brow with the holy fillet. The 20\n sacrifice to Stygian Jove, which I have duly commenced\n and made ready, I wish now to accomplish, and with it\n the end of my sorrows, giving to the flame the pile that\n pillows the Dardan head!\u201d She said: the nurse began\n to quicken her pace with an old wife\u2019s zeal. 25\n\n But Dido, wildered and maddened by her enormous\n resolve, rolling her bloodshot eye, her quivering cheeks\n stained with fiery streaks, and pale with the shadow of\n death, bursts the door of the inner palace, and frantically\n climbs the tall pile, and unsheathes the Dardan sword, a 30\n gift procured for a far different end. Then, after surveying\n the Trojan garments and the bed, too well known,\n and pausing awhile to weep and think, she pressed her\n bosom to the couch, and uttered her last words:\n\n \u201cRelics, once darlings of mine, while Fate and Heaven 35\n gave leave, receive this my soul, and release me from these\n my sorrows. I have lived my life\u2014the course assigned\n me by Fortune is run, and now the august phantom of\n Dido shall pass underground. I have built a splendid\n city. I have seen my walls completed. In vengeance for\n a husband, I have punished a brother that hated me\u2014blest,\n ah! blest beyond human bliss, if only Dardan ships\n had never touched coast of ours!\u201d She spoke\u2014and kissing 5\n the couch: \u201cIs it to be death without revenge? But\n be it death,\u201d she cries\u2014\u201cthis, this is the road by which\n I love to pass to the shades. Let the heartless Dardanian\u2019s\n eyes drink in this flame from the deep, and let him\n carry with him the presage of my death.\u201d 10\n\n She spoke, and even while she was yet speaking, her\n attendants see her fallen on the sword, the blade spouting\n blood, and her hands dabbled in it. Their shrieks rise to\n the lofty roof; Fame runs wild through the convulsed city.\n With wailing and groaning, and screams of women, the 15\n palace rings; the sky resounds with mighty cries and beating\n of breasts\u2014even as if the foe were to burst the gates\n and topple down Carthage or ancient Tyre, and the infuriate\n flame were leaping from roof to roof among the\n dwellings of men and gods. 20\n\n Her sister heard it. Breathless and frantic, with wild\n speed, disfiguring her cheeks with her nails, her bosom\n with her fists, she bursts through the press, and calls\n by name on the dying queen: \u201cWas this your secret,\n sister? Were you plotting to cheat me? Was this what 25\n your pile was preparing for me, your fires, and your altars?\n What should a lone heart grieve for first? Did you disdain\n your sister\u2019s company in death? You should have\n called me to share your fate\u2014the same keen sword-pang,\n the same hour, should have been the end of both. And 30\n did these hands build the pile, this voice call on the gods\n of our house, that you might lie there, while I, hard-hearted\n wretch, was away? Yes, sister, you have destroyed\n yourself and me, the people and the elders of Sidon,\n and your own fair city. Let in the water to the wounds; 35\n let me cleanse them, and if any remains of breath be\n still flickering, catch them in my mouth!\u201d As she thus\n spoke, she was at the top of the lofty steps, and was embracing\n and fondling in her bosom her dying sister, and\n stanching with her robe the black streams of blood.\n Dido strives to raise her heavy eyes, and sinks down\n again, the deep stab gurgles in her breast. Thrice, with\n an effort, she lifted and reared herself up on her elbow; 5\n thrice, she fell back on the couch, and with helpless\n wandering eyes aloft in the sky, sought for the light and\n groaned when she found it.\n\n Then Juno almighty, in compassion for her lengthened\n agony and her trouble in dying, sent down Iris[183] from 10\n Olympus to part the struggling soul and its prison of flesh.\n For, as she was dying, not in the course of fate, nor for\n any crime of hers, but in mere misery, before her time, the\n victim of sudden frenzy, not yet had Proserpine[184] carried\n off a lock of her yellow hair, and thus doomed her head to 15\n Styx and the place of death. So then Iris glides down\n the sky with saffron wings dew-besprent, trailing a thousand\n various colours in the face of the sun, and alights\n above her head. \u201cThis I am bidden to bear away as an\n offering to Pluto, and hereby set you free from the body.\u201d 20\n So saying, she stretches her hand and cuts the lock: at\n once all heat parts from the frame, and the life has passed\n into air.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK V\n\n\n \u00c6neas, meantime, was well on his road, holding with set\n purpose on the watery way, and cutting through billows\n gloomed by the North wind, with eyes ever and anon\n turned back to the city, which poor Elissa\u2019s funeral flame\n now began to illumine. What cause has lit up a blaze so 5\n mighty they cannot tell; but as they think of the cruel\n pangs which follow outrage done on great love, and remember\n what a frantic woman can do, the Teucrian hearts\n are swept through a train of dismal presage.\n\n Soon as the ships gained the mid-ocean, and no land met 10\n the view any more\u2014waters everywhere and everywhere\n skies\u2014a dark rain-cloud arose and stood over the hero\u2019s\n head, charged with night and winter tempest, and darkness\n ruffled the billow\u2019s crest. Palinurus himself, the pilot,\n was heard from the lofty stern:\u2014\u201cAh! why has such an 15\n army of storms encompassed the heaven? What hast\n thou for us now, old Father Neptune?\u201d No sooner said\n than he bids them gather up the tackle and ply the lusty\n oar, and shifts the sheet to the wind, and speaks thus:\u2014\u201cNoble\n \u00c6neas, though Jove himself were to pledge me 20\n his faith, I could not hope to reach Italy with a sky like\n this. The winds shift and storm crosswise, ever rising\n from the blackening West, and the mist is being massed\n into clouds. We cannot make head against them, or\n struggle as we should. Well, since Fortune exerts her 25\n tyranny, let us follow, and turn our faces as she pulls the\n rein. I take it, too, we are not far from the friendly\n brother-coast of your Eryx, and the havens of Sicania,\n if my memory serves me as I retrace the stars I watched\n long ago.\u201d To him good \u00c6neas:\u2014\u201cI have seen myself 30\n this long time that such is the winds\u2019 will, and all your\n counter-efforts vain. Turn sail and ship. Could any\n land indeed be welcomer, any that I would sooner choose\n to harbour my weary ships, than the land which keeps for\n me above ground the Darden Acestes, and laps in its breast 5\n the bones of my sire Anchises?\u201d This said, they make\n for the haven; favouring zephyrs swell their sail, the fleet\n rides swiftly over the flood, and at last they touch with\n joy the strand they know so well.\n\n From a hill\u2019s tall top Acestes had marked with wonder 10\n afar off the new arrival, and the friendly vessels; up he\n runs, all in the savage trim of hunting-spear and Libyan\n bearskin\u2014Acestes, son of a Trojan mother by the river\n Crimisus. The ancestral blood quickens in his veins as\n he gives them joy of their safe arrival, welcomes them 15\n with the plenty of rustic royalty, and soothes their weariness\n with every kind appliance.\n\n On the morrow, when the first dawn of the bright dayspring\n had put the stars to flight, \u00c6neas calls his comrades\n to a gathering from all the shore, and standing on a heaped 20\n mound bespeaks them thus:\u2014\u201cMighty sons of Dardanus,\n race of Heaven\u2019s high parentage, the months are\n all past and the year has fulfilled its cycle, since we gave\n to the earth the earthly relics, the ashes of my deified sire,\n and consecrated the altars of mourning. And now, if I 25\n err not, the very day is here\u2014that day which for me shall\n ever be a day of weeping, ever a day of honour, since you,\n ye gods, have willed it so. Though this day were to find\n me among the G\u00e6tulian Syrtes a homeless wanderer\u2014were\n it to surprise me in the Argive main or in the streets 30\n of Mycen\u00e6\u2014still would I pay my yearly vows and the\n pomp of solemn observance, and would pile the altars with\n their proper gifts. And now, behold, by an unsought\n chance we are standing\u2014not in truth I deem without the\n providence, the beckoning hand of Heaven\u2014at the very 35\n grave, the buried ashes of my sire, driven as we are into\n this friendly haven. Come, then, solemnize we all the\n glad celebration; pray we for winds, and may He be\n pleased that I should offer these rites yearly in a city of\n my own building, in a temple dedicated to himself. Two\n heads of oxen Acestes, like a true son of Troy, gives you\n for each ship; call to the feasts the gods of the hearth,\n both those of our fathers and those worshipped by Acestes 5\n our host. Furthermore, if the ninth day hence the dawn-goddess\n restore to mortals the genial light, and make the\n world visible with sunshine, I will set up, first of all, for\n all Teucrian comers, a match among our swift fleet; then\n let him that is light of foot, and him that, glorying in his 10\n strength, bears himself more proudly with the dart and the\n flying arrow, or has confidence to join battle in gauntlets\n of raw hide, let one and all be here, and look for the prizes\n that victory earns. Give me your auspicious voices, and\n bind your brows with green.\u201d 15\n\n This spoken, he shrouds his own brows with his mother\u2019s\n myrtle. So does Helymus, so does veteran Acestes, so\n young Ascanius\u2014so the whole multitude of warriors.\n He was already on his way from the council to the tomb\n with many thousands round him, the centre of a great 20\n company. Here in due libation he pours on the ground\n two bowls of the wine-god\u2019s pure juice, two of new milk,\n two of sacrificial blood; he flings bright flowers, and makes\n this utterance:\u2014\u201cHail to thee, blessed sire, once more!\n hail to you, ashes of one rescued in vain, spirit and shade 25\n of my father! It was not in Fate that thou shouldst\n journey with me to the Italian frontier and the fields of\n Destiny, or see the Ausonian Tiber, whatever that name\n may import.\u201d He had said this, when from the depth\n of the grave a smooth shining serpent trailed along seven 30\n spires, seven volumes of giant length, coiling peacefully\n round the tomb and gliding between the altars: dark\n green flecks were on its back; its scales were all ablaze\n with spots of golden lustre, even as the bow in the clouds\n showers a thousand various colours in the face of the sun. 35\n \u00c6neas stood wonder-struck: the creature, winding its\n long column among the dishes and the polished goblets,\n tasted of the viands, and then, innocent of harm, re\u00ebntered\n the tomb at its base, leaving the altars where its mouth\n had been. Quickened by this, the hero resumes the work\n of homage to his sire, not knowing whether to think this\n the genius of the spot or his father\u2019s menial spirit: duly\n he slays two young sheep, two swine, two black-skinned 5\n bullocks; again and again he pours goblets of wine, again\n and again he calls on the soul of great Anchises and the\n shade loosed from Acheron\u2019s[185] prison. His comrades, too,\n each according to his means, give glad offerings\u2014they\n pile the altars, they slay the bullocks; others in their function 10\n set on the cauldrons, and, stretched along the grass,\n hold the spits over the embers and roast the flesh.\n\n And now the expected day was come; the steeds of\n Phaethon[186] were ushering in the goddess of the ninth\n dawn through a heaven of clear light; the rumoured spectacle 15\n and the great name of Acestes had brought the\n neighbouring people from their homes; the holiday crowd\n was flooding the shore, to gaze on the family of \u00c6neas,\n and some, too, ready to dispute the prizes. First, in sight\n of all, the gifts are bestowed in the midst of the ring\u2014hallowed 20\n tripods and verdant chaplets, and palms, the\n conquerors\u2019 special guerdon\u2014armour and raiment of\n purple dye\u2014a talent\u2019s[187] weight of silver and gold; and\n from a mound in the centre the shrill trumpet proclaims\n the sports begun. The first contest, waged with labouring 25\n oars, is entered by four ships, the flower of the entire\n fleet. There is Mnestheus, with his fiery crew, speeding\n along the swift Shark\u2014Mnestheus, hereafter a prince of\n Italy, who gives his name to the Memmian line; there is\n Gyas with his monster Chim\u00e6ra, that monster mass[D] 30\n which three tiers of stout Dardans are pulling on, the oars\n rising in a triple bank; Sergestus, from whom the Sergian\n house gains the name it keeps, sails in the mighty Centaur;\n and in the sea-green Scylla Cloanthus, your great forefather,\n Cluentius of Rome. 35\n\n At a distance in the sea is a rock, over against the spray-washed\n shore\u2014sometimes covered by the swelling waves\n that beat on it, when the wintry north winds hide the stars\n from view\u2014in a calm it rests in peace, and rises over the\n unruffled waters, a broad table-land, a welcome basking-ground 5\n for the sea-bird. Here \u00c6neas set up a green stem\n of leafy oak with his own royal hand\u2014a sign for the sailors,\n that they might know whence to begin their return, and\n where to double round their long voyage. Then they choose\n their places by lot: there are the captains on the sterns, 10\n a glorious sight, gleaming far with gold and purple; the\n crews are crowned with thick poplar leaves, and their bare\n shoulders shine with the oil that has rubbed them. They\n seat them on the benches, every arm is strained on the\n oar\u2014straining they expect the signal, and their beating 15\n hearts are drained at each stroke by panting fear and high-strung\n ambition. Then, when the shrill trumpet has uttered\n its voice, all in a moment dart forward from their\n bounds, the seaman\u2019s shout pierces the sky; the upturned\n seas foam as the arm is drawn back to the chest. With 20\n measured strokes they plough their furrows; the water\n is one yawning chasm, rent asunder by the oar and the\n pointed beak. Not such the headlong speed when in two-horse\n race the chariots dash into the plain and pour along\n from their floodgates, or when the drivers shake the streaming 25\n reins over their flying steeds, and hang floating over\n the lash. Then plaudits, and shouts of manly voices,\n and the clamorous fervour of the backers, make the whole\n woodland ring; the pent-up shores keep the sound rolling;\n the hills send back the blows of the noise. See! flying 30\n ahead of the rest, gliding over the first water in the midst\n of crowd and hubbub, is Gyas; next him comes Cloanthus,\n with better oars, but the slow pinewood\u2019s weight keeps\n him back. After them at equal distance the Shark and\n the Centaur strive to win precedence. And now the Shark 35\n has it. Now she is beaten and passed by the Centaur.\n Now the two ride abreast stem to stem, cutting with their\n long keels the salt waves. And now they were nearing the\n rock, and the goal was just in their grasp, when Gyas, the\n leader, the victor of the halfway-passage, calls aloud to his\n ship\u2019s pilot Men\u0153tes:\u2014\u201cWhither away so far to my right?\n Steer us hither; hug the shore; let the oar-blade graze\n the cliffs on the left; leave the deep to others.\u201d Thus he; 5\n but Men\u0153tes, afraid of hidden rocks, keeps turning the\n prow well towards the sea. \u201cWhither away from the right\n course? Make for the rocks, Men\u0153tes!\u201d shouted Gyas\n again; and see! looking back, he perceives Cloanthus\n gaining on him close behind. Between Gyas\u2019 ship and 10\n the sounding rocks he threads his way to the left, steering\n inward, and in an instant passes the winner, leaves the\n goal behind, and gains the smooth open sea. Grief turned\n the youth\u2019s very marrow to flame, nor were his cheeks\n free from tears; he seizes the slow Men\u0153tes, forgetting 15\n at once his own decency and his crew\u2019s safety, and flings\n him headlong from the lofty stern into the sea. Himself\n becomes their guide at the helm, himself their pilot, cheering\n on the rowers, and turning the rudder to the shore.\n But Men\u0153tes, when at last disgorged from the bottom of 20\n the sea, heavy with age, and with his dripping clothes all\n hanging about him, climbs the cliff-top, and seats himself\n on a dry rock. The Teucrians laughed as he was falling,\n laughed as he was swimming, and now they laugh as he\n discharges from his chest the draught of brine. Then 25\n sprung up an ecstatic hope in the two last, Sergestus and\n Mnestheus, of passing the lagging Gyas. Sergestus gets\n the choice of water and comes nearer the rock\u2014not first,\n however, he by a whole vessel\u2019s length\u2014half his ship is\n ahead, half is overlapped by the beak of his rival, the 30\n Shark. Mnestheus walks through the ship among the\n crew and cheers them on. \u201cNow, now, rise to your oars,\n old Hector\u2019s men, whom I chose to follow me at Troy\u2019s last\n gasp; now put out the strength, the spirit I saw you exert\n in the G\u00e6tulian Syrtes, the Ionian Sea, the entangling 35\n waves of Malea. It is not the first place I look for. I\n am not the man; this is no struggle for victory\u2014yet\n might it be!\u2014but conquest is for them, Neptune, to\n whom thou givest it. Let our shame be to come in last;\n be this your victory, friends, to keep off disgrace.\u201d Straining\n every nerve, they threw themselves forward; their\n mighty strokes make the brazen keel quiver, the ground\n flies from under them; thick panting shakes their limbs, 5\n their parched throats; sweat flows down in streams.\n\n A mere chance gave them the wished pre\u00ebminence; for\n while Sergestus, blind with passion, keeps driving his prow\n towards the rock nearer and nearer, and pressing through\n the narrow passage, his ill star entangled him with a projecting 10\n crag. The cliffs were jarred, the oars cracked as\n they met the sharp flint, and the prow hung where it had\n lodged. Up spring the sailors with loud shout, while the\n ship stands still. They bring out their iron-shod poles\n and pointed boat-hooks, and pick up the broken oars in 15\n the water. But Mnestheus, rejoicing, and keener for success,\n with quick plashing oars, and the winds at his call,\n makes for the seas that shelve to the coast and speeds along\n the clear expanse. Like as a dove suddenly startled in a\n cave, where in the hollow of the rock are her home and her 20\n loved nestlings, issues out to fly over the plain, clapping\n loud her pinions in terror in the cell\u2014then, gliding smooth\n through the tranquil air, she winnows her liquid way without\n a motion of her rapid wings\u2014so with Mnestheus,\n so the Shark, flying of herself, cuts through the last water 25\n of the course, so the mere impulse bears her speeding on.\n First he takes leave of Sergestus, struggling with the tall\n rock and the shallow water, and in vain calling for help, and\n learning to run along with broken oars. Then he comes\n up with Gyas and the great monster Chim\u00e6ra itself; she 30\n yields, because deprived of her pilot. And now there\n remains Cloanthus alone, just at the very end of the race;\n him he makes for, and presses on him with all the force of\n effort. Then, indeed, the shouting redoubles\u2014all lend\n their good-will to spur on the second man, and the sky 35\n echoes with the din. These think it shame to lose the\n glory that they have won, the prize that is already their\n own, and would fain barter life for renown; these are feeding\n on success, they feel strong because they feel that they\n are thought[188] strong. And perhaps their beaks would have\n been even and the prize divided, had not Cloanthus,\n stretching out both hands over the deep, breathed a\n prayer and called the gods to hear his vow:\u2014\u201cPowers 5\n whose is the rule of ocean, whose waters I ride, for you with\n glad heart will I lead to your altars on this shore a snow-white\n bull, as a debtor should; I will throw the entrails\n afar into the salt waves, and pour out a clear stream of\n wine.\u201d He said, and deep down among the billows there 10\n heard him all the Nereids and Phorcus\u2019 train, and maiden\n Panopea, and father Portunus[189] himself, with his own great\n hand, pushed the ship as she moved; fleeter than south-wind\n or winged arrow she flies to the land and is lodged\n already deep in the haven. 15\n\n Then Anchises\u2019 son, duly summoning the whole company,\n proclaims by a loud-voiced herald Cloanthus conqueror,\n and drapes his brow with green bay; he gives each\n crew a gift at its choice, three bullocks, and wine, and the\n present of a great talent of silver. To the captains themselves 20\n he further gives especial honours, to the conqueror\n a gold-broidered scarf, round which runs a length of Melib\u0153an\n purple with a double M\u00e6ander; enwoven therein is the\n royal boy[190] on leafy Ida, plying the swift stag with the javelin\n and the chase, keen of eye, his chest seeming to heave; 25\n then, swooping down from Ida, the bearer of Jove\u2019s armour\n has snatched him up aloft in his crooked talons, while his\n aged guardians are stretching in vain their hands to heaven,\n and the barking of the hounds streams furious to the sky.\n But for him whose prowess gained him the second place 30\n there is a cuirass of linked chain mail, three-threaded with\n gold, which the hero himself had stripped with a conqueror\u2019s\n hand from Demoleos on swift Simois\u2019 bank under\n the shadow of Troy; this he gives the warrior for his own, 35\n a glory and a defence in the battle. Scarce could the two\n servants, Phegeus and Sagaris, support its many folds,\n pushing shoulder to shoulder; yet Demoleos, in his day,\n with it on his breast, used to drive the Trojans in flight\n before him. The third present he makes a pair of brazen\n cauldrons, and two cups of wrought silver, rough with\n fretwork.\n\n And now all had received their presents, and each, glorying\n in his treasure, was walking along with purple festooning 5\n round his brows, when Sergestus, at last with great pain\n dislodged from the cruel rock, his oars lost and one whole\n side crippled, was seen propelling among jeers his inglorious\n vessel. Like as a serpent surprised on the highway,\n whom a brazen wheel has driven across, or a traveller, 10\n heavy of hand, has left half dead and mangled by a stone,\n writhes its long body in ineffectual flight, its upper part\n all fury, its eyes blazing, its hissing throat reared aloft, the\n lower part, disabled by the wound, clogs it as it wreathes\n its spires and doubles upon its own joints. Such was the 15\n oarage with which the ship pushed herself slowly along:\n she makes sail, however, and enters the haven with canvas\n flying. To Sergestus \u00c6neas gives the present he had\n promised, delighted to see the ship rescued and the crew\n brought back. His prize is a slave, not unversed in Pallas\u2019 20\n labours, Pholo\u00eb, Cretan born, with twin sons at her\n breast.\n\n This match dismissed, good \u00c6neas takes his way to a\n grassy plain, surrounded on all sides with woods and sloping\n hills: in the middle of the valley was a circle, as of a 25\n theatre; thither it was that the hero repaired with many\n thousands, the centre of a vast assembly, and sat on a\n raised throne. Then he invites, with hope of reward, the\n bold spirits who may wish to contend in the swift foot-race,\n and sets up the prizes. Candidates flock from all 30\n sides, Teucrian and Sicanian mixed. Nisus and Euryalus\n the foremost. Euryalus conspicuous for beauty and blooming\n youth, Nisus for the pure love he bore the boy; following\n them came Diores, a royal scion of Priam\u2019s illustrious\n stock; then Salius and Patron together, one from 35\n Acarnania, the other from Tegea, an Arcadian by blood;\n next two Trinacrian youths, Helymus and Panopes, trained\n foresters, comrades of their elder friend, Acestes, and many\n others, whom dim tradition leaves in darkness. As they\n crowd round him, \u00c6neas bespeaks them thus:\u2014\u201cHear\n what I have to say, and give the heed of a glad heart. No\n one of this company shall go away unguerdoned by me.\n I will give a pair of Gnossian darts, shining with polished 5\n steel, and an axe chased with silver for the hand to wield.\n This honour all shall obtain alike. The three first shall\n receive prizes, and shall wear also wreaths of yellow-green\n olive. Let the first, as conqueror, have a horse, full\n decorated with trappings; the second an Amazonian 10\n quiver, full of Thracian shafts, with a belt of broad gold\n to encompass it, and a buckle of a polished jewel to fasten\n it; let the third go away content with this Argive helmet.\u201d\n This said, they take their places, and suddenly, on hearing\n the signal, dash into the course, and leave the barrier 15\n behind, pouring on like a burst of rain, their eyes fixed on\n the goal. First of all, away goes Nisus, his limbs flying\n far before all the rest, swifter than wind and winged\n thunderbolt; next to him, but next at a long distance\n follows Salius; then, at a shorter space, Euryalus third. 20\n After Euryalus comes Helymus; close on him, see! flies\n Diores, heel touching heel and shoulder shoulder: were the\n course but longer, he would be shooting on and darting\n beyond him, and turning a doubtful race to a victory.\n\n Now they were just at the end of the course, all panting 25\n as they reached the goal, when Nisus, the ill-starred, slides\n in a puddle of blood, which lay there just as it had been\n spilt after a sacrifice of bullocks, soaking the ground and\n the growing grass. Poor youth! just in the moment of\n triumph, he could not keep his sliddery footing on the soil 30\n he trod, but fell flat in the very middle of unclean ordure\n and sacrificial gore. But he forgot not Euryalus\u2014forgot\n not his love\u2014no! he threw himself in Salius\u2019 way, rising\n in that slippery place\u2014and Salius lay there too, flung\n on the puddled floor. Forth darts Euryalus, and gains 35\n the first place, a winner, thanks to his friend, cheered in\n his flight by plaudit and shouting. Next comes in Helymus\n and Diores, thus made the third prize. But now\n Salius is heard, deafening with his clamour the whole\n company in the ring and the seniors in the first rank, and\n insisting that the prize, which he had lost by a trick, be\n restored him. Euryalus is supported by the popular voice,\n by the tears he sheds so gracefully, and the greater loveliness 5\n of worth when seen in a beauteous form. Diores\n backs his claim with loud appealing shouts; he had just\n won the prize, and his attainment of the third place was all\n for nothing if the first reward were to be given to Salius.\n To whom father \u00c6neas:\u2014\u201cYour rewards, boys, remain 10\n fixed as they ever were; no one disturbs the palm once\n arranged: suffer me to show pity to a friend\u2019s undeserved\n misfortune.\u201d So saying, he gives Salius the enormous\n hide of a G\u00e6tulian lion, loaded with shaggy hair and talons\n of gold. On which Nisus:\u2014\u201cIf the vanquished are 15\n rewarded so largely\u2014if you can feel for tumblers\u2014what\n prize will be great enough for Nisus\u2019 claims? My\n prowess had earned me the first chaplet, had not unkind\n Fortune played me foul, as she played Salius;\u201d and with\n these words he displayed his features and his limbs, all 20\n dishonoured by slime and ordure. The gracious prince\n smiled at him, and bade them bring out a shield of Didymaon\u2019s\n workmanship, once wrested by the Danaans from\n Neptune\u2019s hallowed gate, and with this signal present he\n endows the illustrious youth. 25\n\n Next, when the race was finished, and the prizes duly\n given:\u2014\u201cNow, whoever has courage, and a vigorous\n collected mind in his breast, let him come forward, bind on\n the gloves, and lift his arms.\u201d Thus speaks \u00c6neas, and\n sets forth two prizes for the contest: for the conqueror, 30\n a bullock with gilded horns and fillet festoons; a sword\n and a splendid helmet, as a consolation to the vanquished.\n In a moment, with all the thews of a giant, rises Dares,\n uprearing himself amid a loud hum of applause\u2014the\n sole champion who used to enter the lists with Paris: 35\n once, at the tomb where mighty Hector lies buried, he\n encountered the great conqueror Butes, who carried his\n enormous bulk to the field with all the pride of Amycus\u2019[191]\n Bebrycian blood\u2014struck him down, and stretched him\n in death on the yellow sand. Such are Dares\u2019 powers,\n as he lifts high his crest for the battle, displays his broad\n shoulders, throws out his arms alternately, and strikes the\n air with his blows. How to find his match is the cry; 5\n no one of all that company dares to confront such a champion,\n and draw on the gauntlets. So, with confident\n action, thinking that all were retiring from the prize, he\n stands before \u00c6neas, and without further prelude grasps\n with his left hand the bull by the horn, and bespeaks him 10\n thus:\u2014\u201cGoddess-born, if no one dares to take the risk\n of the fight, how long are we to stand still? How long is\n it seemly to keep me waiting? Give the word for me to\n carry off the prize.\u201d A simultaneous shout broke from\n the sons of Dardanus, all voting that their champion should 15\n have the promised gift made good.\n\n On this Acestes, with grave severity of speech, rebukes\n Entellus, just as he chanced to be seated next him on the\n verdant grassy couch. \u201cEntellus, once known as the\n bravest of heroes, and all for nought, will you brook so 20\n calmly that a prize so great be carried off without a blow?\n Where are we now to look for that mighty deity your\n master, Eryx, vaunted so often and so idly? Where is\n that glory which spread all Trinacria through, and those\n spoils that hang from your roof?\u201d He replied: \u201cIt is 25\n not the love of praise, not ambition, that has died out,\n extinguished by fear. No, indeed; but my blood is dulled\n and chilled by the frost of age, and the strength in my\n limbs withered and ice-bound. Had I now what I once\n had, what is now the glory and the boast of that loud braggart 30\n there; had I but the treasure of youth, I should not\n have needed the reward and the goodly bullock to bring\n me into the field; nor are gifts what I care for.\u201d So saying,\n he flung into the midst a pair of gauntlets of enormous\n weight, with which the fiery Eryx[192] was wont to 35\n deal his blows in combat, stringing his arms with the tough\n hide. Every heart was amazed, so vast were the seven\n huge bull-hides, hardened with patches of lead and iron.\n More than all the rest Dares is astonished, and recoils\n many paces; and the hero himself, Anchises\u2019 son, stands\n turning in his hands the massive weight and the enormous\n wrappers of twisted thong. Then the old man fetched\n from his heart words like these:\u2014\u201cWhat if any one here 5\n had seen those mightier weapons, Hercules\u2019 own gauntlets,\n and the fatal combat on this very strand? These are the\n arms that Eryx, your brother, once wielded; you see on\n them still the stains of blood and sprinkled brains. With\n these he stood up against the great Alcides. These I 10\n was trained to use while fresher blood inspired me with\n strength, and the snows of age, my jealous rival, were not\n yet sprinkled on my brows. But if Dares the Trojan\n refuses our Sicilian weapons, and that is good \u00c6neas\u2019 fixed\n wish, approved by Acestes, my backer in the fight, make 15\n we the contest even. I spare you the bull-hides of Eryx\u2014never\n fear\u2014and do you put off your Trojan gauntlets.\u201d\n So saying, he flung off from his shoulders his double garment,\n and displays the giant joints of his limbs, the giant\n bone-work of his arms, and stands, a mighty frame, in 20\n the midst of the sand.\n\n Then Anchises\u2019 son brought out with his royal hand two\n pairs of equal gauntlets, and bound round the fists of the\n twain weapons of even force. At once each rose on tiptoe,\n and raised his arms undaunted to the air of heaven. They 25\n draw back their towering heads out of the reach of blows,\n and make their fists meet in the mel\u00e9e, and provoke the\n battle. The one is better in quick movement of the foot,\n and youth lends him confidence; the other\u2019s strength is in\n brawny limbs and giant bulk, but his knees are heavy and 30\n unstable, and a troubled panting shakes that vast frame.\n Many the blows that the champions hail on each other in\n vain; many are showered on the hollow side, and draw\n loud echoes from the chest. The fist keeps playing round\n ear and temple; the teeth chatter under the cruel blow. 35\n Heavily stands Entellus, unmoved, in the same strained\n posture; his bending body and watchful eye alone withdraw\n him from the volley. His rival, like a general who\n throws up mounds round a high-walled town, or sits down\n with his army before a mountain fort, tries now this approach,\n now that, reconnoitres the whole stronghold, and\n plies him with manifold assaults, baffled in each. Rising\n to the stroke, Entellus put forth his right hand, and raised 5\n it aloft; the other\u2019s quick eye foresaw the downcoming\n blow, and his lithe frame darts beyond its range. Entellus\n has flung his whole force on air; at once, untouched by his\n foe, the heavy giant, with heavy giant weight, falls to\n earth, even as one day falls hollow-hearted with hollow 10\n crash on Erymanthus or lofty Ida, uptorn by the roots, a\n mighty pine. Eagerly start up at once the Teucrian and\n Trinacrian chivalry; up soars a shout to heaven; and first\n runs up Acestes, and soothingly raises from the ground\n his friend, aged as he. But not slackened by his overthrow, 15\n nor daunted, the hero comes back fiercer to the\n field, with anger goading force; that mass of strength is\n enkindled at last by shame and conscious prowess. All on\n fire, he drives Dares headlong over the whole plain, now\n with his right hand showering blows, now with his giant 20\n left. No stint, no stay; thick as the hail with which the\n storm-clouds rattle on the roof, so thick the blows with\n which the hero, crowding on with both hands, is battering\n and whirling Dares. Then father \u00c6neas thought fit to\n stem the tide of fury, nor suffered Entellus\u2019 wounded spirit 25\n to glut its rage further, but put an end to the fray, and\n rescued the gasping Dares with soothing words, and bespeaks\n him thus:\u2014\u201cMy poor friend! what monstrous\n madness has seized you? See you not that strength has\n passed over\u2014that the gods have changed their sides? 30\n Give way to Heaven.\u201d He said, and his word closed the\n fight. But Dares is in the hands of his faithful comrades,\n dragging after him his feeble knees, dropping his head on\n this side and on that, discharging from his mouth clotted\n gore, teeth and blood together. Thus they lead him to 35\n the ships; summoned, they receive for him the helmet and\n the sword; the palm and the bull they leave to Entellus.\n Hereon the conqueror, towering in pride of soul, and\n exulting in his prize, the bull: \u201cGoddess-born,\u201d cries he,\n \u201cand you, Teucrians, take measure at once of the strength\n which dwelt in my frame, while that frame was young,\n and the death from whose door you have called back,\n and are still keeping, your Dares.\u201d So saying, he took his 5\n stand full before the face of the bullock, which was there\n as the prize of the fray, and with arm drawn back, swung\n the iron gauntlet right between the horns, rising to his\n full height, crashed it down on the bone, and shattered the\n brain. Prostrated, breathless, and quivering, on earth lies 10\n the bull. He from his bosom\u2019s depth speaks thus over\n the dead:\u2014\u201cThis life, Eryx, I render to thee\u2014a better\n substitute for Dares\u2019 death; here, as a conqueror may,\n I resign the gauntlets and the game.\u201d\n\n Next \u00c6neas invites those who may care to vie in shooting 15\n the fleet arrow, and sets forth the prizes. With his\n own giant hand he rears upright the mast from Serestus\u2019\n ship, and from its lofty summit ties a fluttering dove with\n a cord passed round the mast\u2014a mark for aiming the\n steel. The archers are met; the lot has been thrown 20\n and received by the brazen helmet. See! first, among the\n shouts of his friends, comes out before all the place of\n Hyrtacus\u2019 son, Hippocoon, who is followed by Mnestheus,\n late conqueror in the ship-race\u2014Mnestheus, crowned\n with the green olive-wreath. Third comes Eurytion, thy 25\n brother, thrice glorious Pandarus, who in elder days,\n bidden to destroy the truce, wast the first to wing thy\n weapon into the Ach\u00e6an ranks. Last is Acestes, sank at\n the bottom of the helm, the old man\u2019s spirit nerving his\n arm to essay the task of the young. And now, with stern 30\n strength, they bend and arch their bows, each hero his\n own, and draw forth the shaft from the quiver. First\n through heaven from the twanging string the arrow of\n Hyrtacus\u2019 youthful son pierces sharp and shrill the flying\n air: it hits\u2014it is lodged full in the mast-tree. After 35\n him stood keen Mnestheus, his bowstring drawn to his\n breast, his bow pointing upwards, eye and shaft levelled\n at once. But the bird itself, hapless man! his arrow had\n not power to touch that: it cut the knot and the hempen\n fastening by which she hung, tied by the foot, from the\n mast\u2019s top. Away she flew, all among the south-winds\n and their murky clouds. Then, quick as thought, his\n bow long since ready, and his shaft poised on the string, 5\n Eurytion breathed a vow to his brother, fixing his eye on\n her in the moment of her triumph high up in the open sky,\n and as she claps her wings, pierces the dark cloudy covert,\n and strikes the dove. Down she drops unnerved, leaving\n her life among the stars of ether, and as she tumbles to 10\n earth, brings back the arrow in her breast. Acestes remained\n alone, a champion with no prize to gain; yet he\n shot his weapon into the air aloft, displaying at once his\n veteran skill and the force of his twanging bow. And now\n their eyes are met by a sudden portent, drawing a mighty 15\n augury in its train. In after days the vast issue told the\n tale, and terror-striking seers shrieked their omens too late.\n For as it flew in the clouds of heaven, the reed took fire,\n and marked its way with a trail of flame, and wasted and\n vanished wholly into unsubstantial air; even as stars unfastened 20\n from the firmament oft sweep across and drag\n their blazing hair as they fly. Fixed aghast to the spot,\n in prayer to Heaven, hung the stout sons of Trinacria and\n Troy; nor does \u00c6neas\u2019 sovran judgment reject the omen.\n He clasps the glad Acestes to his heart, loads him with 25\n costly gifts, and bespeaks him thus:\u2014\u201cTake them, my\n father; for Olympus\u2019 mighty monarch has said by the\n voice of these omens that yours is to be a prize drawn without\n a lot. From Anchises the aged himself comes the\n present I now bestow\u2014a bowl embossed with figures, 30\n which in old days Cisseus[o] gave to my sire Anchises in\n royal bounty, a standing remembrance of himself and a\n testimony of his love.\u201d So saying, he crowns his brow\n with verdant bays, and proclaims, first of all, the conquering\n name of Acestes. Nor did good Eurytion grudge the 35\n pre\u00ebminence, though he and none but he brought down\n the bird from the sky. Next steps into the prize he who cut\n the cord; last, he whose quivering arrow nailed the mast\n\n But father \u00c6neas, ere the match was over, calls to his\n side the guardian and companion of Iulus\u2019 tender years,\n Epytides, and thus speaks into his ear in secret:\u2014\u201cGo\n now and tell Ascanius, if his company of boys is ready,\n and the movements of his young cavalry duly marshalled, 5\n to bring them into the field in his grandsire\u2019s honour, and\n show himself in arms.\u201d He, by his own voice, bids the\n whole surging crowd retire from the length of the circus,\n and leave the field clear. The boys come prancing in on\n well-reined steeds, in even lines of light brightening their 10\n parents\u2019 eyes; and as they pass, an admiring shout, breaks\n from the gathered chivalry of Sicily and Troy. All alike\n have their flowing hair duly cinctured with stripped leaves;\n each bears two cornel javelins tipped with steel; some have\n polished quivers at their backs; round the top of the chest 15\n goes a pliant chain of twisted gold circling the neck.\n Three are the companies of horse, three the leaders that\n scour the plain; twelve boys follow each, a glittering show,\n in equal divisions and commanded alike. The first of the\n youthful bands is led as to victory by a young Priam, 20\n who revives his grandsire\u2019s name, thy princely offspring,\n Polites, destined to people Italy; him a Thracian steed\n carries, dappled with spots of white, with white on the\n extremes of his prancing feet, and white on his towering\n brow. Next is Atys, whence comes the house of Roman 25\n Atii\u2014Atys the young, the boyish friend of the boy Iulus.\n Last of all, and excelling all in beauty, Iulus rides in on a\n Sidonian steed, bestowed on him by Dido the fair, in remembrance\n of herself, and in testimony of her love.\n The remaining youth are borne on Trinacrian horses from 30\n old Acestes\u2019 stalls. The Dardans welcome them with\n reassuring plaudits, and gaze on them with rapture, and\n trace in their young faces the features of their old sires.\n Soon as the riders have made their joyous survey of the\n whole gazing crowd and of their friends\u2019 loving eyes, 35\n Epytides gives the expected signal with far-reaching shout\n and loud cracking whip. In regular order they gallop asunder,\n the three companies breaking and parting right and left;\n and again, at the word of command, they wheel round, and\n charge each other with levelled lances. Then they essay\n other advances and other retreats in quarters still opposite,\n each entangling each in circles within circles, and in their\n real armour raise an image of battle. Now they expose 5\n their backs in flight, now they turn their spear-points in\n charge, now as in truce they ride along side by side. Even\n as men tell of that old labyrinth[193] in lofty Crete, its way\n cunningly woven with blind high walls, and the ambiguous\n mystery of its thousand paths, winding till the pursuer\u2019s 10\n every trace was baffled by a maze without solution and\n without return, not unlike are the courses in which these\n sons of the Teucrians interlace their movements\u2014a\n gamesome tangle of flying and fighting, as it were dolphins\n that swimming the watery seas dart through the Carpathian 15\n and the Libyan, and sport along the billows. Such\n was the form of exercise, and such the game that Ascanius,\n when he built the cincturing walls of Alba the Long, was the\n first to revive, and taught the early Latians to celebrate it\n as he had done in his boyhood, he and the youth of Troy 20\n with him; the men of Alba taught their sons; from them\n mighty Rome received the tradition and maintained the\n observance of her sires; and the boys still bear the name\n of Troy, and their band is styled the band of Troy. Thus\n far went the solemn[194] games in honour of the deified sire. 25\n\n Now it was that Fortune exchanged her old faith for\n new. While they are rendering to the tomb the due solemnities\n of the varied games, Juno, Saturn\u2019s daughter, has\n sped down Iris from heaven to the feet of Ilion, with breath\n of winds to waft her on her way\u2014Juno, deep-brooding 30\n over many thoughts, her ancient wrath yet unsated.\n Speeding along her many-coloured bow, seen of none, runs\n swiftly down the celestial maid. She beholds that mighty\n concourse; she looks round on the coast, and sees harbour\n abandoned and fleet forsaken. Far away, in the privacy 35\n of a solitary beach, the Trojan dames were weeping for\n lost Anchises, and, as they wept, were gazing, one and all,\n wistfully on the great deep. Alas, that wearied souls\n should still have those many waters to pass, and that vast\n breadth of sea! Such the one cry of every heart. Oh\n for a city! the toils of the main are a weariness to bear!\n So, then, in the midst of them, she suddenly alights\u2014no\n novice in the ways of doing hurt\u2014and lays by her heavenly 5\n form and heavenly raiment. She takes the shape of\n Beroe, the aged wife of Doryclus of Tinaros, a dame who\n once had had race and name and children, and in this guise\n stands in the midst of the Dardan matrons. \u201cWretched\n women,\u201d cries she, \u201cnot to have been dragged to the death 10\n of battle by the force of Achaia under our country\u2019s walls!\n Hapless nation! What worse than death has Fortune in\n store for you? Here is the seventh summer rolling on\n since Troy\u2019s overthrow, and all the while we are being\n driven, land and ocean over, among all the rocks of an 15\n unfriendly sea, under all the stars of heaven, as through\n the great deep we follow after retreating Italy, and are\n tossed from wave to wave. Here is the brother-land of\n Eryx; here is Acestes, our ancient friend. Who shall gainsay\n digging a foundation, and giving a people the city 20\n they crave? O my country! O gods of our homes,\n snatched in vain from the foe! Shall there never be walls\n named with the name of Troy? Shall I never on earth\n see the streams that Hector loved\u2014his Xanthus and his\n Simois? Come, join me in burning up these accursed 25\n ships. For in my sleep methought the likeness of Cassandra\n the seer put blazing torches into my hands. \u2018Here,\u2019\n she said, \u2018and here only, look for Troy: here, and here\n only, is your home.\u2019 The hour for action is come. Heaven\u2019s\n wonders brook not man\u2019s delay. See here! four 30\n altars to Neptune. The god himself gives us the fire and\n the will.\u201d\n\n So saying, she is the first to snatch the baleful brand\u2014swinging\n back her hand on high; with strong effort she\n whirls and flings it. The dames of Ilion gaze with straining 35\n mind and wildered brain. Then one of the crowd, the\n eldest of all, Pyrgo, the royal nurse of Priam\u2019s many sons:\n \u201cNo Beroe have you here, matrons\u2014this is not Doryclus\u2019\n wife, of Rhoeteum\u2014mark those signs of heavenly\n beauty, those glowing eyes\u2014what a presence is there\u2014what\n features\u2014what a tone in her voice\u2014what majesty\n in her gait! Beroe I myself parted from but now, and\n left her sick and sullen to think that she alone should fail 5\n at this observance, nor pay Anchises the honour that is\n his due.\u201d Such were her words, while the matrons, doubtful\n at first, were looking on the ships with evil eyes, distracted\n between their fatal yearning for a country now\n theirs, and the voice of destiny from realms beyond the 10\n sea\u2014when the goddess, spreading her two wings, soared\n up into the sky and severed the clouds as she flew with the\n giant span of her bow. Then indeed, maddened by the\n portent, goaded by frenzy, they shriek one and all, and\n snatch fire from house and hearth\u2014some strip the altars, 15\n and fling on the vessels leaf and bough and brand. The\n fire-god revels in full career along bench and oar, and\n painted pine-wood stern. The news of the fleet on fire\n is carried by Eumelus to Anchises\u2019 tomb, and the seats in\n the circus. They look back, and with their own eyes see 20\n sparks and smoke in a black flickering cloud. First of all\n Ascanius, riding in triumph at the head of his cavalry,\n spurred his horse just as he was to the wildering camp,\n while his breathless guardians strive in vain to stay him.\n \u201cWhat strange madness this? whither now, whither 25\n would ye go,\u201d cries he, \u201cmy poor countrywomen? It is\n not the Argive foe and his hated camp\u2014it is your own\n hopes that you are burning. See, I am your own Ascanius\u201d\u2014at\n his feet he flung his empty helmet which he was\n wearing in sport as he helped to raise the image of war. 30\n Quick follows \u00c6neas, quick the Teucrian host at his heels.\n But the matrons are flying in panic along the coast, now\n here, now there, stealing to the thickest woods and the\n deepest caves. They loathe the deed and the daylight.\n Sobered, they know their friends again, and Juno is exorcised 35\n from their souls. But not for all this will blaze and\n burning resign their unslaked powers: deep among the\n moistened timber smoulders the quick tow, discharging\n a slow lazy smoke: the crawling heat preys on the keels,\n and the plague sinks down into the vessel\u2019s every limb,\n and strength of giant warriors and streaming water-floods\n are all of no avail. Then good \u00c6neas began to tear his\n raiment from his back and call the gods for aid, and raise 5\n his hands in prayer: \u201cJove Almighty, if thy hate would\n not yet sweep off the whole Trojan race to a man, if thy\n ancient goodness has yet any regard for human suffering,\n grant the fleet to escape from flame now, Father, even now,\n and rescue from death the shattered commonweal of Troy. 10\n Or else do thou with thy wrathful bolt send down this\n poor remnant to the grave, if that is my fit reward, and\n here with thy own right hand overwhelm us all.\u201d Scarce\n had the words been breathed, when a black tempest is\n set loose, raging with fierce bursts of rain: the thunderpeals 15\n thrill through highland and lowland\u2014down from\n the whole sky pours a torrent of blinding water, thickened\n to blackness by the southern winds\u2014the ships are filled,\n the smouldering timbers soaked\u2014till every spark is\n quenched at last, and all the vessels, with the loss of four, 20\n rescued from the deadly plague.\n\n But father \u00c6neas, staggering under this cruel blow,\n began to shift from side to side a vast burden of care, as\n he pondered whether to settle in the plains of Sicily, shutting\n his ears to Fate\u2019s voice, or still make for the shores of 25\n Italy. Then Nautes the aged\u2014whom Tritonian Pallas\n singled from his kind, to teach her lore and dower him\n with the fame of abundant wisdom\u2014hers the oracular\n utterances which told what Heaven\u2019s awful wrath portended,\n or what the stern sequence of destiny required\u2014he 30\n it was that addressed \u00c6neas thus in words of comfort:\n \u201cGoddess-born, be it ours to follow as Fate pulls us to or\n fro; come what may, there is no conquering fortune but\n by endurance. Here you have Acestes, the blood of Dardanus\n and of gods mingling in his veins\u2014make him the 35\n partner of your thoughts, and invite the aid he will gladly\n give. Consign to him the crews whom your missing ships\n have left homeless, and those who are tired of high emprize\n and of following your fortunes\u2014the old, old men,\n and the matrons, weary of ocean, and whatever you have\n that is weak and timorsome\u2014set these apart, and suffer\n them to have in this land a city of rest. The town\u2019s name,\n with leave given, they shall call Acesta.\u201d 5\n\n The fire thus kindled by the words of his aged friend,\n now indeed the thoughts of his mind distract him utterly.\n And now black Night, car-borne, was mounting the sky,\n when the semblance of his sire Anchises, gliding from\n heaven, seemed to break on his musings in words like 10\n these: \u201cMy son, dearer to me of old than life, while life\n was yet mine\u2014my son, trained in the school of Troy\u2019s\n destiny, I come hither at the command of Jove\u2014of him\n who chased the fire from your ships, and looked down on\n your need in pity from on high. Obey the counsel which 15\n Nautes the aged now so wisely gives you. The flower of\n your youth, the stoutest hearts you have, let these and\n these only follow you to Italy\u2014hard and of iron grain is\n the race you have to war down in Latium. Still, ere you\n go there, come to the infernal halls of Dis,[195] and travel 20\n through Avernus\u2019 deep shades till you meet your father.\n No, my son, godless Tartarus[196] and its spectres of sorrow\n have no hold on me\u2014the company of the good is my\n loved resort and Elysium[197] my dwelling. The virgin Sibyl\n shall point you the way, and the streaming blood of black 25\n cattle unlock the gate. There you shall hear of your whole\n posterity, and the city that Fate has in store. And now\n farewell, dark Night has reached the midst of her swift\n career, and the relentless Daystar has touched me with the\n breath of his panting steeds.\u201d He said, and vanished, like 30\n smoke, into unsubstantial air. \u201cWhither away now?\u201d\n cries \u00c6neas; \u201cwhither in such haste? from whom are\n you flying? what power withholds you from my embrace?\u201d\n With these words he wakes to life the embers\n and their slumbering flame, and in suppliance worships the 35\n god of Pergamus and hoary Vesta\u2019s shrine with duteous\n meal and a full-charged censer.\n\n At once he calls his friends to his side, and Acestes, first\n of all, shows to them the command of Jove, and his loved\n father\u2019s precept, and what is now the settled judgment of\n his mind. Brief is the parley, nor does Acestes gainsay\n his bidding. They remove the matrons to the new city\u2019s\n roll, and disembark a willing crew of hearts that need not 5\n the stir of great renown. For themselves they repair the\n benches and restore the vessels\u2019 half-burnt timber, shape\n the oars and fit the ropes, a little band, but a living wellspring\n of martial worth. \u00c6neas, meanwhile, is marking\n out the city with the plough, and assigning the dwellings 10\n by lot, creating an Ilium here, and there a Troy. Acestes,\n true Trojan, wields with joy his new sceptre, and proclaims\n a court, and gives laws to his assembled senate.[E]\n\n And now the whole nation had enjoyed a nine days\u2019\n banquet, and the altars had received due observance; 15\n the sleeping winds have lulled the waves, and the repeated\n whispers of the south invite to the deep once more. Uprises\n along the winding shore a mighty sound of weeping;\n prolonged embraces make day and night move slow.\n Even the matrons, even the weaklings, who so lately 20\n shuddered at the look of the sea, and could not bear its\n name, would now fain go and endure all the weariness of\n the journey. Them the good \u00c6neas cheers with words\n of kindness, and tearfully commends them to Acestes, his\n kinsman and theirs. Then he bids slay three calves to 25\n Eryx, and a ewe-lamb to the weather gods, and in due\n course has the cable cut, while he, his head wreathed with\n stript olive leaves, stands aloft in the prow with a charger\n in hand, and far into the briny waves flings the entrails,\n and pours the sparkling wine. A wind gets up from the 30\n stern, and escorts them on their way. Each vying with\n each, the crews strike the water, and sweep the marble\n surface.\n\n Meanwhile Venus, harassed with care, bespeaks Neptune,\n and utters from her heart plaints like these: \u201cThe\n fell wrath of Juno\u2019s bottomless heart constrains me, Neptune,\n to stoop to all the abasement of prayer\u2014wrath that no\n length of time softens, no piety of man, unconquered and unsilenced\n by Jove\u2019s behest, by destiny itself. It is not enough 5\n that her monstrous malice has torn the heart from the breast\n of Phrygia,[o] and dragged a city through an infinity of vengeance\u2014the\n remnants of Troy, the very ashes and bones\n of the slain\u2014these she pursues; rage so fiendish let _her_\n trace to its source. Thou thyself canst bear me witness 10\n but now in the Libyan waters, what mountains she raised\n all in a moment\u2014all ocean she confounded with heaven,\n blindly relying on \u00c6olus\u2019 storms to convulse a realm where\n thou art master. See now\u2014goading the matrons of\n Troy to crime, she has basely burnt their ships, and driven 15\n them in the ruins of their fleet to leave their mates to a\n home on an unknown shore. These poor relics, then, let\n _them_, I beg, spread the sail in safety along thy waters; let\n them touch the mouth of Laurentian Tiber, if my prayer\n is lawful, if that city is granted them of Fate.\u201d 20\n\n Then thus spake Saturn\u2019s son, lord of the ocean deep:\n \u201cAll right hast thou, queen of Cythera, to place thy trust\n in these realms of mine, whence thou drawest thy birth.\n And I have earned it too\u2014often have I checked the madness,\n the mighty raving of sky and sea; nor less on earth 25\n (bear witness Xanthus and Simois!) has thy \u00c6neas known\n my care. When Achilles was chasing Troy\u2019s gasping\n bands, forcing them against their own ramparts, and offering\n whole hecatombs to Death, till the choked rivers\n groaned again, and Xanthus could not thread his way, 30\n or roll himself into the sea\u2014in that day, as \u00c6neas confronted\n Peleus\u2019 mighty son with weaker arm and weaker aid\n from heaven, I snatched him away in a circling cloud even\n while my whole heart was bent on overthrowing from their\n base the buildings of my own hand, the walls of perjured 35\n Troy. As my mind was then, it abides now. Banish thy\n fears; safely, according to thy prayer, he shall reach\n Avernus haven. One there shall be, and one only, whom\n thou shalt ask in vain from the engulfing surge\u2014one life,\n and one only, shall be given for thousands.\u201d\n\n With these words, having soothed to joy the goddess\u2019\n heart, the august Father yokes his steeds with a yoke of\n gold, and puts to their fierce mouth the foaming bit, and 5\n gives full course to his flowing reins. The azure car glides\n lightly over the water\u2019s surface\u2014the waves sink down,\n the swelling sea stills its waters under the wheels of thunder\u2014the\n storm-clouds fly away over the wide waste of\n heaven. Then come the hundred shapes of attendant 10\n powers: enormous whales and Glaucus\u2019[198] aged train, and\n Ino\u2019s young Pal\u00e6mon,[199] and rapid Tritons, and the whole\n host that Phorcus leads; on the left are Thetis, and Melite,\n and maiden Panopea, Nes\u00e6a, and Spio, and Thalia, and\n Cymodoce. 15\n\n And now father \u00c6neas feels a soft thrill of succeeding\n joy shoot through his anxious bosom; at once he bids\n every mast be reared, every sail stretched on its yard-arm.\n One and all strain the rope and loosen the sheet, now right,\n now left\u2014one and all turn to and fro the sailyard\u2019s lofty 20\n horns; the fleet is wafted by the gales it loves. First,\n before all, Palinurus led the crowding ranks; after him the\n rest, as bidden, shaped their course. And now dewy\n Night had well-nigh reached the cope of heaven\u2019s arch\u2014in\n calm repose the sailors were relaxing their limbs, 25\n stretched each by his oar along the hard benches\u2014when\n Sleep\u2019s power, dropping lightly down from the stars of\n heaven, parted the dusky air, and swam through the night,\n in quest of you, poor Palinurus, with a fatal freight of\n dreams for your guiltless head. The god has sat down 30\n high on the stern, in the likeness of Phorbas, and these are\n the words he utters: \u201cSon of Iasus, Palinurus, the sea\n itself is steering the fleet; the winds breathe evenly and\n fully; it is slumber\u2019s own hour; come, relax that strained\n head, and let those weary eyes play truant from their toil. 35\n I myself will undertake your functions awhile in your\n stead.\u201d Hardly raising his eyes, Palinurus answered him\n thus:\u2014\u201c_I_ blind myself to smiling seas and sleeping\n waves: is that your will? _I_ place my faith on this fickle\n monster? What? trust \u00c6neas to lying gales and fair\n skies, whose fraud I have rued so often?\u201d So he said,\n and went on cleaving and clinging, never dropping his\n hand from the rudder, nor his eye from the stars. When 5\n lo! the god waves over his two temples a bough dripping\n with Lethe\u2019s[200] dews, and drugged by the charms of Styx,\n and in his own despite closes his swimming eyes. Scarce\n had sudden slumber begun to unstring his limbs, when\n the power, leaning over him, hurled him headlong into the 10\n streaming waves, tearing away part of the vessel\u2019s stern\n and the rudder as he fell, with many a cry for help that\n never came, while Sleep himself soared high on his wings\n into the yielding air. Safely, nevertheless, rides the fleet\n over the water, travelling undaunted in the strength of 15\n Neptune\u2019s royal promise. And now it was nearing the\n cliffs of the Sirens\u2019[201] isle, cliffs unfriendly in days of old, and\n white with many a seaman\u2019s bones, and the rocks were\n sounding hollow from afar with the untiring surge, when\n the great Father perceived the unsteady reel of the masterless 20\n ship, and guided it himself through the night of waters,\n groaning oft, and staggering under the loss of his friend:\n \u201cVictim of faith in the calm of sky and sea, you will lie,\n Palinurus, a naked[202] corpse on a strand unknown.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nBOOK VI\n\n\n So saying and weeping, he gives rope to his fleet, and in\n due time is wafted smoothly to Cum\u00e6\u2019s shores of Eub\u0153an\n fame. They turn their prows seaward: then the anchor\n with griping fang began to moor vessel after vessel, and\n crooked keels fringe all the coast. With fiery zeal the 5\n crews leap out on the Hesperian shore: some look for the\n seed of fire where it lies deep down in the veins of flint:\n some strip the woods, the wild beast\u2019s shaggy covert, and\n point with joy to the streams they find. But good \u00c6neas\n repairs to the heights on which Apollo sits exalted, and 10\n the privacy of the dread Sibyl,[203] stretching far away into a\n vast cavern\u2014the Sibyl, into whose breast the prophet that\n speaks at Delos breathes his own mighty mind and soul,\n and opens the future to her eye. And now they are entering\n the groves of the Trivian goddess and the golden 15\n palace.\n\n D\u00e6dalus, so runs the legend, flying from Minos\u2019 sceptre,\n dared to trust himself in air on swift wings of his own workmanship,\n sailed to the cold north along an unwonted way,\n and at last stood buoyant on the top of this Eub\u0153an hill. 20\n Grateful to the land that first received him, he dedicated\n to thee, Ph\u0153bus, his feathery oarage, and raised a mighty\n temple. On the doors was seen Androgeos\u2019 death: there\n too were the sons of Cecrops,[204] constrained\u2014O cruel woe!\n to pay in penalty the yearly tale of seven of their sons\u2019 25\n lives: the urn is standing, and the lots drawn out. On the\n other side, breasting the wave, the Gnossian land frowns\n responsive. There is Pasipha\u00eb\u2019s tragic passion for the\n bull, and the mingled birth, the Minotaur, half man, half\n brute, a monument of monstrous love. There is the edifice,[205] 30\n that marvel of toiling skill, and its inextricable maze\u2014inextricable,\n had not D\u00e6dalus in pity for the enthralling\n passion of the royal princess, himself unravelled\n the craft and mystery of those chambers, guiding the\n lover\u2019s dark steps with a clue of thread. You too, poor\n Icarus,[206] had borne no mean part in that splendid portraiture, 5\n would grief have given art its way. Twice the artist\n essayed to represent the tragedy in gold: twice the father\u2019s\n hands dropped down palsied. So they would have gone on\n scanning all in succession, had not Achates returned from\n his errand, and with him the priestess of Ph\u0153bus and 10\n Diana, De\u00efphobe, Glaucus\u2019 daughter, who thus bespeaks\n the king: \u201cNot this the time for shows like these; your\n present work is to sacrifice seven bullocks untouched by the\n yoke, seven sheep duly chosen.\u201d\n\n This said to \u00c6neas, whose followers swiftly perform the 15\n prescribed rites, she summons the Teucrians into the lofty\n temple, herself its priestess. One huge side of the Eub\u0153an\n cliff has been hollowed into a cave, approached by a hundred\n broad avenues, a hundred mouths\u2014from these a\n hundred voices are poured, the responses of the Sibyl. 20\n Just as they were on the threshold, \u201cIt is the moment\n to pray for the oracle,\u201d cries the maiden; \u201cthe god, the god\n is here.\u201d Thus as she spoke at the gate, her visage, her\n hue changed suddenly\u2014her hair started from its braid\u2014her\n bosom heaves and pants, her wild soul swells with 25\n frenzy\u2014she grows larger to the view, and her tones are\n not of earth, as the breath of the divine presence comes\n on her nearer and nearer. \u201cWhat! a laggard at vows and\n prayers? \u00c6neas of Troy a laggard? for that is the only\n spell to part asunder the great closed lips of the terror-smitten 30\n shrine.\u201d She said, and was mute. A cold\n shudder runs through the Teucrians\u2019 iron frames, and their\n king pours out his very soul in prayer: \u201cPh\u0153bus, ever\n Troy\u2019s pitying friend in her cruel agonies\u2014thou who\n didst level Paris\u2019 Dardan[207] bow and string his Dardan arm 35\n against the vast frame of \u00c6acides[208]\u2014by thy guidance I\n have penetrated all these unknown seas that swathe\n mighty continents. The Massylian tribes, thrust away by\n Nature out of view, and the quicksands that environ their\n coasts\u2014now at last our hands are on the flying skirts of\n Italy. Oh, let it suffice Troy\u2019s fortune to have followed\n us thus far! Ye too may now justly spare our nation of\n Pergamus, gods and goddesses all, whose eyes were 5\n affronted by Troy and the great glories of Dardan land.\n And thou, most holy prophetess, that canst read the future\n as the present, grant me\u2014I am asking for no crown that\n Fate does not owe me\u2014grant a settlement in Latium to the\n Teucrians and their wandering gods, even the travel-tost 10\n deities of Troy. Then to Ph\u0153bus and his Trivian sister\n I will set up a temple of solid marble, and appoint feast-days\n in Ph\u0153bus\u2019 name. For thee too an august shrine\n is in store in that our future realm. For there I will lodge\n thy oracles and the secret words of destiny which thou 15\n shalt speak to my nation, and consecrate chosen men to\n thy gracious service. Only commit not thy strains to\n leaves, lest they float all confusedly the sport of the\n whirling winds. Utter them with thine own mouth, I\n implore thee.\u201d So his prayer ended. 20\n\n But the prophetess, not yet Ph\u0153bus\u2019 willing slave, is\n storming with giant frenzy in her cavern, as though she\n hoped to unseat from her bosom the mighty god. All\n the more sharply he plies her mouth with his bit till its\n fury flags, tames her savage soul, and moulds her to his 25\n will by strong constraint. And now the hundred mighty\n doors of the chamber have flown open of their own accord,\n and are wafting through the air the voice of prophecy: \u201cO\n you whose vast perils by sea are over at length! but on\n land there are heavier yet in store. The sons of Dardanus 30\n shall come to the realm of Lavinium\u2014from this care set\n your mind at rest\u2014but think not that they shall also\n have joy of their coming. War, savage war, and the\n Tiber foaming with surges of blood, is the vision I see. No\n lack for you of Simois, or Xanthus, or a Dorian[209] camp. 35\n Another Achilles is reserved for Latium, he too goddess-born\u2014nor\n will Juno ever be seen to quit her fastened hold\n on Troy\u2014while you, a needy suppliant\u2014what nation,\n what city in Italy will not have had you knocking at its\n gates! Once more will an alien bride bring on the Teucrians\n all this woe\u2014once more a foreign bed. But you,\n yield not to affliction, but go forth all the bolder to meet it,\n so far as your destiny gives you leave. The first glimpse of 5\n safety, little as you dream it, shall dawn on you from a\n Grecian town.\u201d\n\n Such are the words with which Cum\u00e6\u2019s Sibyl from her\n cell shrills forth awful mysteries and booms again from\n the cavern, robing her truth in darkness\u2014such the violence 10\n with which Apollo shakes the bridle in her frenzied mouth\n and plies her bosom with his goad. Soon as her frenzy\n abated and the madness of her lips grew calm, \u00c6neas the\n hero began: \u201cNo feature, awful maiden, that suffering can\n show rises on my sight new or unlooked-for\u2014I have 15\n foreseen all and scanned all in fancy already. I have\n but one prayer to make: since here it is that Fame tells of\n the gate of the infernal monarch, and the murky pool of\n Acheron\u2019s overflow, grant me to pass to the sight, to\n the presence of my loved father\u2014teach the way, and unlock 20\n the sacred doors. Him I bore away through flames\n and a driving tempest of darts on these my shoulders and\n rescued him from the midst of the foe: he was the companion\n of my journey, and encountered with me all the\n waves of ocean, all the terrors of sea and sky in his own 25\n feeble frame, beyond the strength and the day of old age.\n Nay more\u2014that I would kneel to thee and approach thy\n dwelling\u2014this was his charge, his oft-repeated prayer.\n Oh, of thy grace, pity the son and the sire; for thou art\n all-powerful, nor is it for nought that Hecate has set thee 30\n over the groves of Avernus. If Orpheus had the power to\n fetch back the shade of his wife, by the help of his Thracian\n lyre and its sounding strings\u2014if Pollux redeemed\n his brother by dying in turn with him, and went and returned\n on the path those many times\u2014why talk of Theseus, 35\n why of great Alcides[210]? my line, like theirs, is from\n Jove most high.\u201d\n\n Such were his prayers, while his hands clasped the altar,\n when thus the prophetess began: \u201cHeir of the blood of\n gods, son of Anchises of Troy, easy is the going down to\n Avernus\u2014all night and all day the gate of gloomy\n Pluto stands unbarred; but to retrace your footsteps, and\n win your way back to the upper air, that is the labour, that 5\n the task. There have been a few, favourites of gracious\n Jove, or exalted to heaven by the blaze of inborn worth,\n themselves sprung from the gods, who have had the power.\n The whole intervening space is possessed by woods,\n and lapped round by the black windings of Cocytus\u2019[211] 10\n stream. And now, if your heart\u2019s yearning is so great,\n your passion so strong, twice to stem the Stygian pool,\n twice to gaze on the night of Tartarus\u2014if it be your joy\n to give scope to a madman\u2019s striving\u2014hear what must\n first be done. Deep in the shade of a tree lurks a branch, all 15\n of gold, foliage alike and limber twig, dedicated to the\n service of the Juno of the shades; it is shrouded by the\n whole labyrinth of the forest, closed in by the boskage that\n darkens the glens. Yet none may pierce the subterranean\n mystery, till a man have gathered from the tree that leafy 20\n sprout of gold, for this it is that fair Proserpine has ordained\n to be brought her as her own proper tribute. Pluck\n off one, another is there unfailingly, of gold as pure, a twig\n burgeoning with as fine an ore. Let then your eye be\n keen to explore it, your hand quick to pluck it when duly 25\n found, for it will follow the touch with willingness and\n ease, if you have a call from Fate; if not, no strength of\n yours will overcome it, no force of steel tear it away.\n But, besides this, you have the breathless corpse of a\n friend lying unburied\u2014alas! you know it not\u2014tainting 30\n your whole fleet with the air of death, while you are asking\n Heaven\u2019s will, and lingering on this our threshold. Him\n first consign to his proper place, and hide him in the grave.\n Lead black cattle to the altar: be this the expiation to\n pave your way. Thus at last you shall look on the groves 35\n of Styx and the realms untrodden of the living.\u201d She\n said, and closed her lips in silence.\n\n \u00c6neas, with saddened face and steadfast eye, moves on,\n leaving the cave behind, and revolves in his mind the secrets\n of the future. Achates, ever faithful, walks at his\n side, and plants his foot with no less consciousness of\n care. Many were the things exchanged in their ranging\n talk\u2014who could be the dead comrade that the priestess 5\n spoke of, what the corpse that needed burial. And lo!\n Misenus, soon as they came, there on the dry beach they\n see him, snatched by death that should have spared him\u2014Misenus,\n son of \u00c6olus, than whom none was mightier to\n stir men\u2019s hearts with his clarion, and kindle with music 10\n the war-god\u2019s flame. Hector the great had been his chief:\n in Hector\u2019s service he performed a warrior\u2019s part, famous\n alike with the trumpet and the spear. But after the conquering\n arm of Achilles robbed his master of life, valiant\n hero, he made himself the comrade of the Dardan \u00c6neas, 15\n nor found the standard he followed meaner than of old.\n But in those days, as he was making his hollow shell ring\n over the waters, infatuate mortal, challenging the gods to\n compete, Triton, roused to jealousy, seized him, if the\n story be true, and plunged him in a moment in the billow 20\n that laps among the rocks. So they all stood round, uttering\n loud shrieks; louder than the rest \u00c6neas the good.\n And then without delay they set about the Sibyl\u2019s bidding,\n weeping sore, and in mournful rivalry heap up the funeral\n pyre with trees, and carry it into the sky. 25\n\n Away they go to an ancient wood, the wild beast\u2019s tall\n covert\u2014down go the pitch-trees; the holm-oak rings with\n the axe\u2019s blows, and so do the ashen beams; the wedge\n cleaves through the fissile[212] oak; they roll down from the\n heights huge mountain ashes. There is \u00c6neas, in this, 30\n as in other labours, the first to cheer on his comrades, and\n wielding a weapon like theirs; and thus he ponders in the\n sad silence of his own breast, looking at the immeasurable\n wood, and thus gives utterance to his prayer: \u201cOh that\n at this moment that golden branch on the tree would reveal 35\n itself to our sight in all this depth of forest! for I see that\n in all things the prophetess has told us of you, Misenus,\n alas! too truly!\u201d Scarce had he spoken, when, as by\n chance, a pair of doves come flying along the sky, under the\n hero\u2019s very eyes, and settle on the turf at his feet. At once\n the mighty chief recognizes his mother\u2019s birds, and gladly\n breathes a second prayer: \u201cOh guide us on our way, wherever\n it be, and as ye fly direct our steps into the grove 5\n where the precious branch casts its shade on the rich\n ground! Thou too forsake not our perplexity, O goddess\n mother!\u201d Thus much he said, and checked his advancing\n foot, watching to see what prognostics they bring, whither\n they aim their onward course. They, as they graze, go 10\n ever forward on the wing, as far as the eyes of the travellers\n can keep them in view. Then when they come to Avernus\u2019\n noisome jaws, swiftly they soar aloft, and gliding through\n the clear sky, settle twain on the same tree, their chosen\n seat, whence there flashed through the branches the contrasted 15\n gleam of gold. Even as in the woods, in the cold of\n midwinter, the mistletoe is wont to put forth new leaves, a\n vegetable growth, but of no parent tree, and with its\n yellow produce to surround the tapering boles, so looked\n the leafy gold among the holm-oak\u2019s dark shade\u2014so in the 20\n light breeze tinkled the foil. \u00c6neas snatches it at once,\n plucks it off with eagerness overpowering its delay, and\n carries it to the home of the prophetic Sibyl.\n\n Meantime, with not less zeal, the Teucrians on the\n shore were mourning for Misenus, and paying the last 25\n honour to the thankless ashes. First they raised a pile,\n unctuous with pine-wood, and high-heaped with planks of\n oak: they wreath its sides with gloomy foliage, and set\n up before it funeral cypresses, and adorn it with a covering\n of refulgent armour. Some make ready heated water and 30\n cauldrons bubbling over the fire, and wash and anoint the\n cold corpse. Loud rings the wail: then, the dirge over,\n they place the limbs on the couch that claims them,\n and fling over them purple garments, the dead men\u2019s\n usual covering. Some put their shoulders to the heavy 35\n bier in melancholy service, and after ancestral fashion,\n with averted eyes, apply the torch from under. The rich\n heap is ablaze\u2014offerings of incense, sacrificial viands, oil\n streaming from the bowl. After that the ashes were fallen\n in and the blaze was lulled, they drenched with wine the\n relics and the thirsty embers on the pyre, and Coryn\u00e6us\n gathered up the bones, and stored them in a brazen urn.\n He, too, carried round pure water, and sprinkled thrice 5\n the comrades of the dead, scattering the thin drops with\n a branch of fruitful olive\u2014so he expiated the company,\n and spoke the last solemn words. But good \u00c6neas raises\n over the dead a monument of massive size, setting up for\n the hero his own proper arms, the oar and the trumpet, 10\n under a skyey mountain, which is now from him called\n Misenus, and retains from age to age the everlasting name.\n\n This done, he hastens to execute the Sibyl\u2019s bidding.\n A deep cave there was, yawning wide with giant throat,\n rough and shingly, shadowed by the black pool and the 15\n gloom of the forest\u2014a cave, over whose mouth no winged\n thing could fly unharmed, so poisonous the breath that\n exhaling from its pitchy jaws steamed up to the sky\u2014whence\n Greece has given the spot the name _Aornos_.[213]\n Here first the priestess places in sacrificial station four 20\n black-skinned bullocks, and empties wine over their\n brows, and plucking from between their horns the hairs of\n the crown, throws them into the hallowed flame, as the\n firstfruits of worship, with loud cries on Hecate, queen in\n heaven and Erebus both. Others put the knife to the 25\n throat, and catch in chargers the steaming blood. With\n his own sword \u00c6neas strikes down a lamb of sable fleece,\n for the Furies\u2019[214] mother and her mighty sister, and a\n barren heifer for thee, dread Proserpine. Then to the\n Stygian monarch he rears altars, blazing through the 30\n darkness, and piles on the flame the bulls\u2019 carcases\n entire, pouring fat oil on the entrails all aglow. When,\n hark! as the sun began to glimmer and dawn, the ground\n is bellowing under their feet, and the wood-crowned heights\n are nodding, and the baying of dogs sounds through the 35\n gloom, for the goddess is at hand. \u201cHence, hence with\n your unhallowed feet!\u201d clamours the prophetess, \u201cand rid\n the whole grove of your presence. And you\u2014strike into\n the road, and pluck your sword from his scabbard\u2014now\n is the hour for courage, \u00c6neas, now for a stout heart.\u201d\n No more she said, but flung herself wildly into the cavern\u2019s\n mouth; and he, with no faltering step, keeps pace with his\n guide. 5\n\n Ye gods, whose empire is the shades\u2014spirits of silence,\n Chaos and Phlegethon, stretching wide in the stillness of\n night, suffer me to tell what has reached my ears; grant\n me your aid to reveal things buried underground, deep and\n dark. 10\n\n On they went, darkling in solitary night, far into the\n gloom, through Pluto\u2019s void halls and ghostly realms\u2014like\n a journey in a wood under the niggard beams of a\n doubtful moon, when Jupiter has shrouded heaven in\n shadow, and black Night has stolen the colour from 15\n Nature\u2019s face. There before the threshold, in the very\n mouth of Hell, Agony and the fiends of Remorse have made\n their lair: there dwell wan Diseases, and woful Age, and\n Terror, and Hunger that prompts to Sin, and loathly\n Want\u2014shapes of hideous view\u2014and Death, and Suffering; 20\n then comes Sleep, Death\u2019s blood-brother, and the\n soul\u2019s guilty joys, and deadly War couched in the gate,\n and the Furies\u2019 iron chambers, and frantic Strife, with\n bloody fillets wreathed in her snaky hair.\n\n In the midst there stands, with boughs and aged arms 25\n outspread, a massive elm, of broad shade, the chosen\n seat, so Rumour tells, of bodiless dreams, which cling\n close to its every leaf. There, too, are a hundred monstrous\n shapes of wild beasts of divers kinds, Centaurs\n stalled in the entrance and two-formed Scyllas, and 30\n Briareus,[215] the hundred-handed, and the portent of Lerna,[216]\n hissing fearfully, and Chim\u00e6ra[217] in her panoply of flames,\n Gorgons,[218] and Harpies, and the semblance of the three-bodied\n spectre. At once \u00c6neas grasps his sword, in the\n haste of sudden alarm, and meets their advance with its 35\n drawn blade; and did not his companion warn him, of\n her own knowledge, that they are but thin unbodied\n spirits flitting in a hollow mask of substance, he would\n be rushing among them, and slashing shadows asunder\n with the steel\u2019s unavailing blows.\n\n Hence runs the road that leads to the waters of Tartarean\n Acheron, whose gulfy stream, churning mud in its\n monstrous depths, is all aglow, and disgorges into Cocytus 5\n the whole of its sand. These waters are guarded by a\n grisly ferryman, frightful and foul\u2014Charon; his chin an\n uncleared forest of hoary hair; his eyes a mass of flame;\n while his uncleanly garb hangs from his shoulders, gathered\n into a knot. With his own hand he pushes on the craft 10\n with a pole, and trims the sails, and moves the dead\n heavily along in his boat of iron-gray, himself already in\n years; but a god\u2019s old age is green and vigorous. Towards\n him the whole crowd was pouring to the bank: matrons\n and warriors, and bodies of mighty heroes discharged of 15\n life, boys and unwedded maidens, and youths laid on the\n pile of death in their parents\u2019 eyes\u2014many as are the\n leaves that drop and fall in the woods in autumn\u2019s early\n cold, or many as are the birds that flock massed together\n from the deep to the land, when the wintry year drives 20\n them over sea to tenant a sunnier clime. There they\n stood, each praying that he might be the first to cross,\n with hands yearningly outstretched towards the further\n shore; but the grim boatman takes on board now these,\n now those, while others he drives away, and bars them 25\n from the river\u2019s brink. \u00c6neas cries as a man perplexed\n and startled by the tumult: \u201cTell me, dread maiden,\n what means this concourse to the stream? Of what are\n these spirits in quest? What choice decides that these\n shall retire from the shore, while those are rowing through 30\n that leaden pool?\u201d To him in brief returned the aged\n priestess: \u201cSon of Anchises, Heaven\u2019s undoubted offspring,\n before you are Cocytus\u2019 depths and the marshy\n flood of Styx, that power by whose name the gods fear\n to swear in vain. The whole multitude you see here is 35\n helpless and tombless; Charon is the ferryman; those\n who ride the wave are the buried. He may not ferry\n them from the dreadful banks across that noisy current\n till their bones have found a place of rest. A hundred\n years they wander hovering about these shores; then at\n last they embark, and see again the flood of their longing.\u201d\n Anchises\u2019 son stood and paused, musing deeply, and pitying\n at his heart a lot so unkind. Yes, there he sees, sadly 5\n wandering without death\u2019s last tribute, Leucaspis and\n Orontes, the captain of Lycia\u2019s fleet: both had sailed\n with him from Troy over the stormy water, and the south\n wind whelmed them both, engulfing the vessel and its\n crew. 10\n\n Lo! he sees his pilot, Palinurus, moving along\u2014Palinurus,\n who but now, while voyaging from Libya, his eyes\n bent on the stars, had fallen\u2019 from the stern, flung out\n into the wide waste of waters. So when he had at last\n taken knowledge of his features, now saddened, in the 15\n deep gloom, he thus accosts him first: \u201cWho was it,\n Palinurus, of all the gods, that tore you from us, and\n whelmed you in the wide sea? Tell me who. Till now\n I never found him false; but in this one response Apollo\n has proved a cheat, foretelling that you would be unharmed 20\n on the deep, and win your way to the Ausonian\n frontier, and thus it is that he keeps his word!\u201d \u201cNay,\u201d\n returned he, \u201cmy chief, Anchises\u2019 son, Ph\u0153bus\u2019 tripod has\n told you no lie, nor did any god whelm me in the sea.\n No, I chanced to fall, tearing away by main force the 25\n rudder, to which I was clinging like sentry to his post,\n as I guided your course, and dragging it with me in my\n headlong whirl. Witness those cruel waters, I felt no\n fear for my own life like that which seized me for your\n ship, lest, disarmed and disabled, shaken loose from her 30\n ruler\u2019s hand, she should give way under the great sea that\n was rising then. Three long nights of storm the south\n wind swept me over the vast wilderness of convulsed\n ocean. Hardly at last, at the fourth dawn, I looked out\n aloft upon Italy from the crest of the wave. Stroke by 35\n stroke I was swimming to shore; and now I was just\n laying hold on safety, had not the savage natives come\n on me, sword in hand, clogged as I was with my dripping\n clothes, and clutching with talon fingers the steep mountain-top,\n and deemed blindly they had found a prize.\n Now the wave is my home, and the winds keep tossing\n me on the beach. Oh, by heaven\u2019s pleasant sunshine\n and bright sky; by your father, I adjure you; by the 5\n promise growing up with your Iulus, rescue me with that\n unconquered arm from this cruel fate: be yourself, and\n either spread earth upon me, for that you can surely do,\n and put back to Velia\u2019s haven; or, if any way there be,\n any that your goddess mother can reveal\u2014for well I 10\n ween it is not without Heaven\u2019s leave that you purpose\n to stem these fearful tides and the reluctant pool of Styx\u2014stretch\n your hand to your poor friend, and take me\n with you over the water, that at least I may find in death\n a place of rest and peace.\u201d So had he spoken, when thus 15\n the priestess begins: \u201cWhat demon, Palinurus, has set\n on you so monstrous a desire? You, unburied, look on\n the Stygian water, and the dread river of the furies?\n You set foot on the bank unbidden? Cease to dream\n that Heaven\u2019s destiny can be swayed by prayer. Yet 20\n hear and retain a word which may console your hard lot.\n For know that the dwellers in that fatal border, goaded\n far and wide through their cities by prodigies from heaven,\n shall propitiate your dust: they shall erect a tomb, and\n through that tomb send down your funeral dues, and the 25\n spot shall bear forever the name of Palinurus.\u201d These\n words allayed his cares, and banished for a while grief\n from that sad bosom: his heart leaps to the land that is\n called by his name.\n\n They accordingly continue their journey, and approach 30\n the river. Soon as the boatman saw them, at the moment,\n from the wave of Styx, moving through the stilly forest,\n and turning their steps to the bank, he first bespeaks\n them thus, and assails them unaccosted: \u201cYou, whoever\n you are, that are making for these waters of ours in warlike 35\n trim, speak your errand from the spot where you\n are, and come no nearer. This is the place for the shadows,\n for Sleep and slumberous Night. The bodies of the living\n may not be ferried in my Stygian barque. Nay, it was\n not to my joy that I gave Alcides a passage over the lake,\n nor Theseus and Pirithous, born of gods though they\n were, and of strength unsubdued. The one laid a jailer\u2019s\n hand on the warder of Tartarus, even at the foot of the 5\n king\u2019s own throne, and dragged him trembling along:\n the others essayed to carry off the queen from Pluto\u2019s\n bridal chamber.\u201d To which the Amphrysian priestess\n replied in brief: \u201cHere there are no stratagems like those;\n be not discomposed; these weapons are not borne for 10\n violence; the monstrous guardian of your gate is free to\n terrify the bloodless spectres from his den with his unending\n bark; Proserpine is free to keep her uncle\u2019s home\n as faithful wife should. This is \u00c6neas of Troy, renowned\n for piety and arms alike: it is to see his father that he 15\n is going down to Erebus\u2019 lowest depth of gloom. If thou\n art moved in nought by the spectacle of piety so signal,\n yet let this branch\u201d\u2014she uncovered the branch which\n was concealed in her robe\u2014\u2018claim recognition.\u2019 At\n once the angry swell subsides, and the breast is calm. 20\n No further parley. Gazing in wonder at the sacred offering\n of the fated bough, last seen so long ago, he turns to\n them the sea-green boat, and draws near the bank.\n Then he dislodges other ghostly passengers who were sitting\n along the benches, and clears the gangways, while 25\n he takes into the vessel\u2019s hollow the mighty \u00c6neas. The\n sutures of the boat cracked beneath the weight, as through\n its rents it drew in large draughts of marsh-water. At\n length priestess and prince are safe across the flood, set\n down amid featureless mud and blue-green rushes. 30\n\n Cerberus,[219] the monster, makes the whole realm ring\n with his three barking throats, as he lies in giant length\n fronting them in his den\u2019s mouth. The priestess, seeing\n the snakes already bristling on his neck, throws him a\n morsel steeped in the slumber of honey and medicated 35\n meal. He, in the frenzy of hunger, opens his triple jaws\n to catch it as it comes, and stretches his enormous back at\n length on the ground, till his huge bulk covers the den.\n \u00c6neas masters the approach while the warder sleeps, and\n swiftly passes from the bank of the river without return.\n\n At once there breaks on his ear a voice of mighty wailing,\n infant spirits sobbing and crying on the threshold,\n babes that, portionless of the sweets of life, were snatched 5\n from the breast by the black death-day\u2019s tyranny, and\n whelmed in untimely night. Next to them are those\n who were done to death by false accusation. Yet let\n none think that the lot of award or the judge\u2019s sentence\n are wanting here. There sits Minos,[220] the president, urn 10\n in hand: he summons an assembly of the speechless, and\n takes cognizance of earthly lives and earthly sins.\n\n Next to them comes the dwelling-place of the sons of\n sorrow, who, though guiltless, procured their own death by\n violence, and, for mere hatred of the sunshine, flung their 15\n lives away. Oh, how gladly would they now, in the air\n above, bear to the end the load of poverty and the full\n extremity of toil! But Fate bars the way: the unlovely\n pool swathes them round in her doleful waters, and Styx,\n with her ninefold windings, keeps them fast. 20\n\n Not far hence the traveller\u2019s eye sees stretching on every\n side the Mourning Fields: such the name they bear.\n Here dwell those whom cruel Love\u2019s consuming tooth\n has eaten to the heart, in the privacy of hidden walks\n and an enshrouding myrtle wood: their tender sorrows 25\n quit them not even in death. In this region he sees\n Ph\u00e6dra and Procris, and sad Eriphyle, pointing to the\n wounds of her ruthless son, and Evadne, and Pasipha\u00eb:\n along with them moves Laodamia, and C\u00e6neus, once a\n man, now a woman, brought back by the turn of fate to 30\n her former self. Among these was Ph\u0153nicia\u2019s daughter,\n Dido, fresh from her death-wound, wandering in that\n mighty wood: soon as the Trojan hero stood at her side,\n and knew her, looming dimly through the dusk\u2014as a\n man sees or thinks he sees through the clouds, when the 35\n month is young, the rising moon\u2014his tears broke forth,\n and he addressed her tenderly and lovingly. \u201cUnhappy\n Dido! and was it then a true messenger that reached\n me with the tale that you were dead: that the sword\n had done its worst? Was it, alas, to a grave that I\n brought you? By the stars of heaven I swear, by the\n powers above, by all that is most sacred here underground,\n against my will, fair queen, I quitted your coast. 5\n No; it was the command of the gods; the same stern\n force which compels me now to pass through this realm\n of shade, this wilderness of squalor and abysmal night;\n it was that which drove me by its uttered will: nor could\n I have thought that my departure would bring on you 10\n such violence of grief. Stay your step, and withdraw not\n from the look I bend on you. Whom would you shun?\n the last word which fate suffers me to address you is this.\u201d\n With words like these, \u00c6neas kept soothing the soul that\n blazed forth through those scowling eyes, and moving 15\n himself to tears. She stood with averted head and eyes\n on the ground, her features as little moved by the speech\n he essayed as if she held the station of a stubborn flint,\n or a crag of Marpessa.[221] At length she flung herself\n away, and, unforgiving still, fled into the shadow of the 20\n wood, where her former lord, Sych\u00e6us, answers her sorrows\n with his, and gives her full measure for her love.\n Yet, none the less, \u00c6neas, thrilled through and through\n by her cruel fate, follows far on her track with tears, and\n sends his pity along with her. 25\n\n Thence he turns, to encounter the appointed way.\n And now they were already in the furthest region, the\n separate place tenanted by the great heroes of war.\n Here there meets him Tydeus, here Parthenop\u00e6us, illustrious\n in arms, and the spectre of pale Adrastus. Here 30\n are chiefs of Dardan line, wailed long and loudly in the\n upper air as they lay low in fight: as he saw them all in\n long array, he groaned heavily. Glaucus and Medon, and\n Thersilochus, the three sons of Antenor, and Polyph\u0153tes,\n Ceres\u2019 priest, and Id\u00e6us, with his hand still on the car, 35\n still on the armour. They surround him, right and left,\n the ghostly crowd; one look is not sufficient: they would\n fain linger on and on, and step side by side with him,\n and learn the cause of his coming. But the nobles of the\n Danaans, and the flower of Agamemnon\u2019s bands, when\n they saw the hero and his armour gleaming through the\n shade, were smitten with strange alarm: some turn their\n backs in flight, as erst they fled to the ships: others raise 5\n a feeble war-shout. The cry they essay mocks their\n straining throats.\n\n Here it is that he sees Priam\u2019s son, mangled all over,\n Deiphobus, his face cruelly marred\u2014face and both\n hands\u2014his temples despoiled of his ears, and his nose 10\n lopped by unseemly carnage. Scarce, in truth, he recognized\n him, trembling as he was, and trying to hide the\n terrible vengeance wreaked on him: unaccosted, he addresses\n him in the tones he knew of old: \u201cDeiphobus,\n mighty warrior, scion of Teucer\u2019s illustrious stock, who 15\n has had the ambition to avenge himself so cruelly? who\n has had his will of you thus? For me, Rumour told me\n on that fatal night that you had sunk down, tired with\n the work of slaughtering the Greeks, on a heap of undistinguished\n carnage. Then with my own hand, I set up 20\n an empty tomb on the Rh\u0153tean shore, and thrice with a\n loud voice invoked your spirit. There are your name and\n your arms to keep the spot in memory: your self, dear\n friend, I could not see, so as to give you repose in the\n fatherland I was leaving.\u201d To whom the son of Priam: 25\n \u201cDear friend, you have failed in nought: all that Deiphobus\n could claim has been paid by you to him and to his\n shade. No; it was my own destiny and the deadly\n wickedness of the Spartan woman that plunged me thus\n deep in ill: these tokens are of her leaving. How we 30\n spent that fatal night in treacherous joyance you know\n well: too good cause is there to bear it in mind. When\n the fateful horse at one bound surmounted the height of\n Pergamus, and brought a mailclad infantry in its laden\n womb, she feigned a solemn dance, and led round the 35\n city Phrygian dames in Bacchic ecstasy; herself in their\n midst raising a mighty torch aloft, and calling to the\n Danaans from the top of the citadel. That hour I, spent\n with care and overborne with sleep, was in the hold of\n our ill-starred bridal chamber, weighed down as I lay, by\n slumber sweet and sound, the very image of the deep\n calm of death. Meantime, my peerless helpmate removes\n from the house arms of every sort: yes, my trusty sword 5\n she had withdrawn from my pillow, and now she calls\n Menelaus to come in, and throws wide the door, hoping,\n I doubt not, that the greatness of the boon would soften\n her lover\u2019s heart, and that the memory of her crime of\n old could thus be wiped from men\u2019s minds. Why make 10\n the story long? They burst into the chamber, along with\n them that child of \u00c6olus,[222] then as ever the counsellor\n of evil. Recompense, ye gods, the Greeks in kind, if\n these lips, that ask for retribution, are pure and loyal.\n But you; what chance has brought you here in your lifetime, 15\n let me ask in turn? Are you come under the spell\n of ocean-wandering, or by the command of heaven? or\n what tyranny of fortune constrains you to visit these\n sad, sunless dwellings, the abode of confusion?\u201d\n\n In this interchange of talk, the Dawn-goddess in her 20\n flushing car, careering through the sky, had well passed\n the summit of the arch; and perchance they had spent\n all their allotted time in converse like this, had not the\n Sibyl warned her companion with brief address: \u201cNight\n is hastening, \u00c6neas; and we, as we weep, are making 25\n hours pass. This is the spot where the road parts in\n twain. The right, which goes under the palace-wall of\n mighty Dis\u2014there lies our way to Elysium; the left\n puts in motion the tortures of the wicked, and sends\n them to Tartarus, the home of crime.\u201d Deiphobus replied: 30\n \u201cFrown not, dread priestess; I depart, to make\n the ghostly number complete, and plunge again in darkness.\n Go on your way, our nation\u2019s glory, go: may your\n experience of fate be more blest.\u201d He said, and, while\n yet speaking, turned away. 35\n\n Suddenly, \u00c6neas looks back, and, under a rock on the\n left, sees a broad stronghold, girt by a triple wall; a fierce\n stream surrounds it with surges of fire, Tartarean Phlegethon,\n and tosses craggy fragments in thunder. Full in\n front is a vast gate, its pillars of solid adamant. No force\n of man, not even the embattled powers of heaven, could\n break it down. Rising in air is a turret of iron, and Tisiphone,\n with a gory robe girt round her, sits at the vestibule 5\n with sleepless vigilance night and day. Hence\n sounds of wailing meet the ear, and the crack of remorseless\n whips; the clank of steel follows, and the trailing of\n the chain. \u00c6neas stood still, riveted by the terror of\n the noise. \u201cWhat shapes is guilt wearing now? tell me, 10\n dread maiden. What are the torments that lie on it so\n hard? what mean these loud upsoaring shrieks?\u201d The\n priestess returned: \u201cNoble leader of the Teucrians, no\n innocent foot may tread that guilty threshold; but the\n day when Hecate set me over the groves of Avernus, she 15\n taught me from her own lips the punishments of Heaven,\n and led me through from end to end. Here rules Gnosian\n Rhadamanthus, a reign of iron\u2014avenger, at once, and\n judge of cowering guilt, he compels a confession of what\n crimes soever men in upper air, blindly rejoicing in the 20\n cheat, have kept secret till the hour of death, to be expiated\n then. In a moment, Tisiphone the torturer, with\n uplifted scourge, lashes from side to side the spurned\n and guilty soul; and brandishing in her left hand knots\n of serpents, summons her unpitying sisterhood. Then at 25\n last, grating on their dread-sounding hinge, the awful\n gates are opened. See you what manner of sentry is\n seated at the entrance? what a presence is guarding the\n threshold? Know that a Hydra fiercer yet with fifty\n monstrous throats, each a yawning pit, holds her seat 30\n within. Then there is the abyss of Tartarus in sheer\n descent, extending under the shades, twice as far as\n man\u2019s skyward gaze from earth to the heaven of Olympus.\n Here are earth\u2019s ancient progeny, the Titan brood,\n hurled down by the thunderbolt to wallow in the depths 35\n of the gulf. Here too saw I the twin sons of Aloeus,\n frames of giant bulk, who essayed by force of hand to\n pluck down the mighty heavens, and dislodge Jove from\n his realm in the sky. I saw too Salmoneus, smitten with\n cruel vengeance, while mimicking the fires of Jove and\n the rumblings of Olympus. Borne in a four-horse car, a\n flaring torch in hand, he was making his triumphal progress 5\n through the tribes of Greece, and the midst of Elis\u2019\n city, and bidding men accord him a god\u2019s homage. Madman!\n to counterfeit the storm-cloud and the unrivalled\n thunderbolt with the rattle of brass and the beat of\n horses\u2019 horny hoofs. But the almighty sire from the\n depth of his cloudy dwelling hurled his weapon\u2014no 10\n futile firebrand his, no pinewood\u2019s smoky glare\u2014and\n dashed him headlong down with that tremendous blast.\n Tityos, too, the foster-child of Earth\u2019s common breast, it\n was mine to see: his body lies extended over nine whole\n acres, and there is a monstrous vulture with hooked beak 15\n shearing away his imperishable liver, and reaping a harvest\n of suffering from his vitals, as it digs deep for its meal,\n and burrows in the cavern of his breast, nor gives the\n new-growing filaments rest or respite. What need to tell\n of the Lapith\u00e6, of Ixion[223] and Pirithous\u2014men who live 20\n under a black crag, ever falling, and just in act to drop?\n The lofty couch is spread for the banquet, and the pillar\n of gold gleams underneath: the feast is before them,\n served in kingly luxury; but the eldest of the Furies is\n couched at their side: she will not let them stretch a hand 25\n to the board: she starts up with torch uplifted and\n thunder in her tones. Here are they who lived in hatred\n with their brethren while life yet was; who smote a\n parent or wove for a client the web of fraud; who gained\n a treasure and brooded over it alone, and never shared it 30\n with their kin\u2014a mighty number these\u2014adulterers,\n who were slain for their crime; citizens who followed\n the standard of treason; slaves who shrunk not from\n breaking their troth to their lords: all in prison awaiting\n their doom. Ask not _what_ doom is theirs, what 35\n phase, what fate has whelmed them so deep. Others roll\n the huge stone up the hill, or hang dispread from the\n spokes of the wheel: there sits, as he will sit for evermore,\n unhappy Theseus: and Phlegyas, from the depth\n of his agony, keeps warning all, and proclaiming with a\n voice of terror through the shades: \u2018Learn hereby to be\n righteous, and not to scorn the gods.\u2019 This sold his country\n for gold, and saddled her with a tyrant; for gain he 5\n made and unmade laws: this assailed his daughter\u2019s bed,\n and essayed a forbidden union: all dared some monstrous\n crime, and enjoyed their daring. No; had I even a hundred\n tongues, and a hundred mouths, and lungs of iron,\n not then could I embrace all the types of crime, or rehearse 10\n the whole muster-roll of vengeance.\u201d\n\n So spoke Apollo\u2019s aged priestess; and then resuming:\n \u201cBut come,\u201d she cries, \u201cspeed on your way, and fulfil\n the duty you have essayed: quicken we our pace. I see\n the walls which the Cyclopian forge raised in air, and the 15\n arched gates confronting us, where sacred rule bids us\n set down our offering.\u201d As she spoke, they step side by\n side through the dusky ways, despatch the interval of\n distance, and draw near the gate. \u00c6neas masters the\n approach, sprinkles his body with pure spring water, and 20\n fixes the branch on the portal\u2019s front.\n\n And now these things done at length, and the offering\n to the goddess accomplished, they have reached the\n regions of bliss, green pleasaunces of happy groves, and the\n abodes of the blest. Here ether clothes the plains with 25\n an ampler plenitude and a dazzling lustre; and the eye\n beholds a sun and stars of its own. There are some,\n plying their limbs on the grassy wrestling-ground, conflicting\n in sport, and grappling each other on the yellow\n sand: some are beating their feet in the dance, and chanting 30\n songs. There, too, is the Thracian priest[224] in his flowing\n robe, singing the seven notes in unison with the\n dancer\u2019s measure, and striking them now with his fingers,\n now with the quill of ivory. Here are the old race of\n Teucer, a goodly family, heroes of lofty soul, born in 35\n earth\u2019s better days, Ilus and Assaracus, and Dardanus,\n founder of Troy. From afar he gazes wonderingly on\n their warrior arms and their ghostly chariots. Their spears\n stand rooted in the ground, and their unyoked steeds\n graze dispersedly over the meadow. All the delight they\n took when alive in chariots and armour, all their pride in\n grooming and feeding their horses, goes with them underground,\n and animates them there. See, too, his eye rests 5\n on others regaling on either hand upon the grass, and\n singing in chorus a joyous p\u00e6an, all in a fragrant grove\n of bay, the source whence, welling forth into the upper\n world, Eridanus[225] flows in broad current between his\n wooded banks. Here is a noble company who braved 10\n wounds in fight for fatherland; all the priests who kept\n their purity while life was; all the poets whose hearts\n were clean, and their songs worthy Ph\u0153bus\u2019 ear; all who\n by cunning inventions gave a grace to life, and whose\n worthy deeds made their fellows think of them with love: 15\n each has his brow cinctured with a snow-white fillet.\n Looking on the multitude as it streamed around, the\n Sibyl bespoke them thus\u2014Mus\u00e6us before all; for he\n stands the centre of that vast crowd, which looks up to\n him, as with rising shoulders he towers above them: 20\n \u201cTell us, happy spirits, and you, best of bards, which is\n Anchises\u2019 haunt? which his home? for it is to see him\n that we have come hither, and won our way over the\n mighty river of Erebus.\u201d Instant the hero replied in brief:\n \u201cHere there are no fixed abodes: our dwellings are in 25\n shadowy groves: our settlements on the velvet slope of\n banks and meadows fresh with running streams. But\n come, if you will, climb this hill with me, and I will set\n your feet at once on a road that will lead you.\u201d So saying,\n he moves on before, and from the top of the ridge 30\n points to broad fields of light, while they descend from\n the summit.\n\n But father Anchises, down in the depth of the green\n dell, was surveying with fond observance the spirits now\n confined there, but hereafter to pass into the light of day, 35\n and scanning, as chance would have it, the whole multitude\n of his people, even his loved posterity, their destinies,\n their warrior deeds, their ways and their works.\n Soon as he saw \u00c6neas advancing through the grass to\n meet him, he stretched out both his hands with eager\n movement, tears gushed over his cheeks, and words escaped\n his lips: \u201cAnd are you come at last? has love fulfilled\n a father\u2019s hopes and surmounted the perils of the 5\n way? is it mine to look on your face, my son, and listen\n and reply as we talked of old? Yes; I was even thinking\n so in my own mind. I was reckoning that it would\n be, counting over the days. Nor has my longing played\n me false. Oh, the lands and the mighty seas from which 10\n you have come to my presence! the dangers, my son,\n that have tossed and smitten you! Oh, how I have feared\n lest you should come to harm in that realm of Libya!\u201d\n The son replied: \u201cYour shade it was, father, your melancholy\n shade, that, coming to me oft and oft, constrained 15\n me to knock at these doors: here, in the Tyrrhene deep\n my ships are riding at anchor. Let us grasp hand in\n hand: let us, my father! Oh, withdraw not from my\n embrace!\u201d As he spoke, the streaming tears rolled down\n his face. Thrice, as he stood, he essayed to fling his 20\n arms round that dear neck: thrice the phantom escaped\n the hands that caught at it in vain, impalpable as the\n wind, fleeting as the wings of sleep.\n\n Meanwhile \u00c6neas sees in the retired vale a secluded\n grove with brakes and rustling woods, and the river of 25\n Lethe,[226] which floats along by those abodes of peace.\n Round it were flying races and tribes untold: even as\n in the meadows when bees in calm summer-tide settle on\n flower after flower, and stream over the milk-white lilies,\n the humming fills the plain. Startled at the sudden 30\n sight, \u00c6neas wonderingly inquires what it means, what\n are those waters in the distance, or who the men that are\n thronging the banks in crowds so vast. To him his father\n Anchises: \u201cThey are spirits to whom Destiny has promised\n new bodies, there at the side of Lethe\u2019s water, drinking 35\n the wave of carelessness, and the long draught of oblivion.\n In truth I have long wished to tell you of them and show\n them before you, to recount the long line of my kindred,\n that you may rejoice with me now that Italy is found.\u201d\n \u201cOh, my father! and must we think that there are souls\n that fly hence aloft into the upper air, and thus return\n to the sluggish fellowship of the body? can their longing\n for light be so mad, as this?\u201d \u201cI will tell you, my son, 5\n nor hold you longer in doubt.\u201d So replies Anchises, and\n unfolds the story in order.\n\n \u201cKnow, first, that heaven and earth, and the watery\n plains, and the Moon\u2019s lucid ball, and Titan\u2019s starry fires\n are kept alive by a spirit within: a mind pervading each 10\n limb stirs the whole frame and mingles with the mighty\n mass. Hence spring the races of men and beasts, and\n living things with wings, and the strange forms that\n Ocean carries beneath his marble surface. These particles\n have a fiery glow, a heavenly nature, struggling against 15\n the clogs of corrupting flesh, the dulness of limbs of clay\n and bodies ready to die. Hence come their fears and\n lusts, their joys and griefs: nor can they discern the\n heavenly light, prisoned as they are in night and blind\n dungeon walls. Nay, when life\u2019s last ray has faded from 20\n them, not even, then, poor wretches, are they wholly freed\n from ill, freed from every plague of the flesh: those many\n taints must needs be ingrained strangely in the being, so\n long as they have grown with it. So they are schooled\n with punishment, and pay in suffering for ancient ill: 25\n some are hung up and dispread to the piercing winds:\n others have the stain of wickedness washed out under the\n whelming gulf, or burnt out with fire: each is chastised\n in his own spirit: then we are sped through the breadth\n of Elysium, while some few remain to inhabit these happy 30\n plains, till the lapse of ages, when time\u2019s cycle is complete,\n has cleansed the ingrained blot and left a pure\n residue of heavenly intelligence, the flame of essential\n ether. All of these, when they have rounded the circle\n of a thousand years, Heaven summons to the stream of 35\n Lethe, a mighty concourse, to the end that with memory\n effaced they may return to the vault of the sky, and learn\n to wish for a new union with the body.\u201d\n\n Anchises ended: he draws his son and the Sibyl with\n him into the midst of the assemblage, the heart of that\n buzzing crowd, and mounts an eminence, whence he\n might see face to face the whole of the long procession,\n and learn each comer\u2019s looks. 5\n\n \u201cNow, then, for the glories of the Dardan race from\n this time onward, the posterity reserved for you in the\n Italian line, noble spirits, the ordained heirs of our proud\n name: of these I will tell you, and inform you of your\n destiny. 10\n\n \u201cHe whom you see there, the youth leaning on the\n pointless spear, his lot is to fill the next place in light:\n he will be first to rise to upper day, born from the admixture\n of Italian blood, Silvius, that great Alban name,\n your latest offspring, whom in your old age at set of life 15\n your spouse Lavinia will bear you in the woods, himself\n a king and the father of kings to be: from him it is that\n our race shall rule over Alba the Long. Next comes\n mighty Procas, the pride of the people of Troy, and\n Capys, and Numitor, and a second bearer of your name, 20\n Silvius \u00c6neas, himself renowned alike for piety and for\n valour, if ever he should come to the throne of Alba.\n What glorious youths! look what strength they carry in\n their port, while their brows are shaded by the civic oak!\n These shall uprear for you, high on the mountains, Nomentum, 25\n and Gabii, and Fiden\u00e6\u2019s town, and the towers\n of Collatia, Pometii and Inuus\u2019 camp, and Bola, and\n Cora; names which shall one day be named: now they\n are mere nameless lands. Romulus, too, the child of\n Mars, shall come along with his grandsire. Romulus, 30\n whom a mother, bearing Ilium\u2019s name, shall produce\n from the blood of Assaracus. See you the two plumes\n standing on his crest, how his sire marks him even now\n for the upper world by his own token of honour? Yes,\n my son, it is by his auspices that our glorious Rome shall 35\n extend her empire to earth\u2019s end, her ambition to the\n skies, and embrace seven hills with the wall of a single\n city, blest parent of a warrior brood: even as the mighty\n Berecyntian[227] mother rides tower-crowned through the\n towns of Phrygia, proud of the gods that have sprung\n from her, a hundred grand-children at her knee, all dwellers\n in heaven, all lords of the lofty sky. Hither now turn\n your two rays of vision: look at this family, at Romans 5\n of your own. Here is C\u00e6sar: here the whole progeny of\n Iulus, as it will pass one day under heaven\u2019s mighty cope.\n This, this is he, the man promised to you so often, Augustus\n C\u00e6sar, true child of a god, who shall establish again\n for Latium a golden age in that very region where Saturn 10\n once reigned, while he stretches his sway alike beyond\n Garamantian and Indian. See, the land is lying outside\n the stars, outside the sun\u2019s yearly path, where heaven-carrier\n Atlas turns round on his shoulder the pole, studded\n with burning constellations. In view of his approach, a 15\n shiver runs already by oracular warning through Caspian\n realms and M\u00e6otian land, and there is stir and confusion\n at the mouths of seven-fold Nile. Nay, even Alcides\n traversed no such length of earth, though he stalked the\n brazen-footed deer, or tamed Erymanthus\u2019 savage wilds, 20\n and appalled Lerna with his arrows: no, nor he who\n guides his triumphal car with reins of ivy-leaf, Bacchus,\n driving his tigers down from Nysa\u2019s lofty top. And do\n we still hesitate to let prowess give scope to power, or\n does fear prevent our setting foot on Ausonian soil? 25\n But who is he in the distance, conspicuous with a wreath\n of olive, with sacred vessels in his hand? Ah! I know\n the hoary hair and beard of the king of Rome, who shall\n give the infant city the support of law, sent from his\n homely Cures and a land of poverty into a mighty empire. 30\n Next shall come one doomed to break his country\u2019s peace,\n and stir up with the war-cry of his name, Tullus, warriors\n rusting in ease and squadrons that have forgotten their\n triumphs. Ancus follows, a greater boaster, even now\n too ready to catch the breath of a popular cheer. Would 35\n you look too at the kings of Tarquin\u2019s house, at the\n haughty spirit of Brutus the avenger, and the fasces[228] retrieved?\n He shall be the first to take the consul\u2019s power\n and the axes of doom: the father will bring his rebel sons\n to death, all for fair freedom\u2019s sake. Unhappy man! let\n after ages speak of that deed as they will, strong over all\n will be patriot passion and unmeasured thirst of praise.\n Look, there are the Drusi[229] and the Decii,[230] and Torquatus[231] 5\n with his unpitying axe, and Camillus[232] the restorer of the\n standards. But those whom you see there, dressed alike\n in gleaming armour\u2014spirits at harmony now and so\n long as they are confined in darkness\u2014alas! how vast\n a war will they wage, each with each, if they shall attain 10\n the light of day, what arraying of hosts, what carnage\n will there be! Father-in-law and son-in-law,[233] the one\n coming down from Alpine ramparts and the stronghold\n of Mon\u0153cus: the other drawn up against him with the\n forces of the east. Do not, do not, my children, make 15\n wars like these familiar to your spirits: turn not your\n country\u2019s valour against your country\u2019s vitals: and you,\n restrain yourself the first: you, whose lineage is from\n heaven, drop the steel from your grasp, heir of Anchises\u2019\n blood. See here, a conqueror who shall drive to the lofty 20\n Capitol the car of triumph over Corinth, glorious from\n Ach\u00e6an slaughter: here one who shall lay Argos in dust,\n and Agamemnon\u2019s own Mycen\u00e6, ay, and the heir of \u00c6acus,\n with Achilles\u2019 martial blood in his veins: a Roman\u2019s\n vengeance for his Trojan grandsires, and for Pallas\u2019 insulted 25\n fame. What tongue would leave you unpraised,\n great Cato, or Cossus, you? or the race of the Gracchi,\n or those twin thunderbolts of war, the Scipios, Libya\u2019s\n ruin, or Fabricius, princely in his poverty, or you, Serranus,\n sowing your own ploughed fields? When, ye Fabii,[234] 30\n will panting praise overtake you? You are in truth our\n greatest, the single saviour of our state by delay. Others,\n I doubt not, will mould the breathing brass to more flesh-like\n softness, and spread over marble the look of life.\n Others will plead better at the bar, will trace with the 35\n rod the courses of heaven, and foretell the risings of the\n stars. Yours, Roman, be the lesson to govern the nations\n as their lord: this is your destined culture, to impose the\n settled rule of peace, to spare the humbled, and to crush\n the proud.\u201d\n\n Father Anchises paused; and, as they wondered, went\n on to say: \u201cSee how Marcellus advances in the glory of\n the general\u2019s spoils, towering with conqueror\u2019s majesty 5\n over all the warriors near! When the state of Rome\n reels under the invader\u2019s shock, he shall stay it; his horse\u2019s\n hoofs shall trample the Carthaginian and the revolted\n Gaul; and he shall dedicate the third suit of armour to\n Quirinus[235] the sire.\u201d Hereupon \u00c6neas, for he saw walking 10\n at Marcellus\u2019 side a youth of goodly presence and in\n gleaming armour, but with little joy on his brow and\n downcast eyes: \u201cWho, my father, is he that thus attends\n the warrior\u2019s march? his son, or one of the glorious line\n of his posterity? What a hum runs through the attendant 15\n train! how lofty his own mien! but the shadow of gloomy\n night hovers saddening round his head.\u201d Father Anchises\n began, tears gushing forth the while: \u201cAlas, my son!\n ask not of the heavy grief that those of your blood must\n bear. Of him the fates shall give but a glimpse to earth, 20\n nor suffer him to continue longer. Yes, powers of the\n sky! Rome\u2019s race would have been in your eyes too\n strong, had a boon like this been its own forever. What\n groanings of the brave shall be wafted from Mars\u2019 broad\n field to Mars\u2019 mighty town! What a funeral, father 25\n Tiber, shall thine eyes behold, as thou flowest past that\n new-built sepulchre! No child of the stock of Ilion shall\n raise his Latian ancestors to such heights of hope: never\n while time lasts shall the land of Romulus take such pride\n in any that she has reared. Woe for the piety, for the 30\n ancient faith, for the arm unconquered in battle! Never\n would foeman have met that armed presence unscathed,\n marched he on foot into the field or tore with bloody spur\n the flank of his foaming steed. Child of a nation\u2019s sorrow!\n were there hope of thy breaking the tyranny of fate, thou 35\n shalt be Marcellus. Bring me handfuls of lilies, that I\n may strew the grave with their dazzling hues, and crown,\n if only with these gifts, my young descendant\u2019s shade, and\n perform the vain service of sorrow.\u201d Thus they wander\n here and there through the whole expanse in the broad\n fields of shadow and take note of all. Soon as Anchises\n had taken his son from end to end, and fired his mind\n with the prospect of that glorious history, he then tells 5\n the warrior of the battles that he must fight at once, and\n informs him of the Laurentian[236] tribes and Latinus\u2019 town,\n and how to shun or stand the shock of every peril.\n\n There are two gates of Sleep: the one, as story tells,\n of horn, supplying a ready exit for true spirits: the other 10\n gleaming with the polish of dazzling ivory, but through\n it the powers below send false dreams to the world above.\n Thither Anchises, talking thus, conducts his son and the\n Sibyl, and dismisses them by the gate of ivory.[237] \u00c6neas\n traces his way to the fleet and returns to his comrades; 15\n then sails along the shore for Caieta\u2019s haven. The anchor\n is cast from the prow: the keels are ranged on the beach.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK VII\n\n\n And thou, too, in thy death, Caieta,[238] nurse of \u00c6neas, hast\n left to our coast the heritage of an ever-living fame; still in\n this later day thy glory hovers over thy resting-place, and\n a name on Hesperia\u2019s mighty seaboard is thy monument,\n if that be renown. So when good \u00c6neas had paid the last 5\n dues and raised a funeral mound, and had waited for the\n calming of the deep, he spreads sail and leaves the harbour.\n Nightward the breezes blow, nor does the fair Moon scorn\n to show the way: her rippling light makes the sea shine\n again. The next land they skirt is the coast of Circe\u2019s 10\n realm, where in queenly state the daughter of the Sun\n thrills her forest fastness with never-ending song, and in\n her haughty mansion burns fragrant cedar to give light by\n night, as she draws her shrill comb over the delicate warp.\n From the shore they heard the growling noise of lions in 15\n wrath, disdaining their bonds and roaring in midnight\n hour, bristly boars and caged bears venting their rage, and\n shapes of huge wolves fiercely howling: things which\n Circe, fell goddess, had transformed by her magic drugs\n from the mien of man to a beast\u2019s visage and a beast\u2019s hide. 20\n So, lest the pious race of Troy should suffer such monstrous\n change, were they to seek harbour there or approach the\n perilous shore, Neptune filled their sails with favouring\n breezes, sped their flight along, and wafted them past the\n seething waters. 25\n\n The sea was just reddening in the dawn, and Aurora was\n shining down from heaven\u2019s height in saffron robe and rosy\n car, when all at once the winds were laid, and every breath\n sank in sudden sleep, and the oars pull slowly against the\n smooth unmoving wave. In the same moment \u00c6neas, 30\n looking out from the sea, beholds a mighty forest. Among\n the trees Tiber, that beauteous river, with his gulfy rapids\n and the burden of his yellow sand, breaks into the main.\n Around and above, birds of all plumes, the constant tenants\n of bank and stream, were lulling the air with their notes and\n flying among the woods. He bids his comrades turn aside 5\n and set their prows landward, and enters with joy the\n river\u2019s shadowed bed.\n\n Now be with me Erato,[239] and I will unfold who were the\n kings, what the stage of circumstance, what the condition\n of ancient Latium, when the stranger host first landed on 10\n Ausonian shores, and will recall how the first blood was\n drawn. Thou, goddess, thou prompt thy poet\u2019s memory.\n Mine is a tale of grisly war, of battle array, and princes in\n their fury rushing on carnage\u2014of Tyrrhenian[240] ranks, and\n all Hesperia mustered in arms. Grander is the pile of 15\n events that rises on my view, grander the task I essay.\n It was the time when king Latinus, now stricken in age, was\n ruling country and city in the calm of years of peace. He,\n as story tells us, was the son of Faunus and a Laurentine\n nymph, Marica. Faunus\u2019 father was Picus, who owes his 20\n birth to thee, great Saturn: thou art the first founder of the\n line. No son, no male progeny, so Heaven willed, had\n Latinus now; just as it was budding into youth, the branch\n was cut off. The sole maintainer of the race, the sole\n guardian of that princely house, was a daughter, already 25\n ripe for wedlock, already arrived at full-blown womanhood.\n Many were her wooers from mighty Latium, nay, from all\n Ausonia. One wooer there was in beauty passing others,\n Turnus,[241] strong in the glory of sires and grandsires: his alliance\n the queen with intense yearning was seeking to compass; 30\n but heavenly portents bar the way with manifold\n alarm. There was a laurel in the middle of the palace, in the\n very heart of royal privacy, sacred in its every leaf, cherished\n by the awful observance of many years; men said that\n father Latinus himself found it there when he first laid the 35\n foundation of the tower, dedicated it to Ph\u0153bus, and thence\n gave his new people the name of Laurentines. On the\n top of this tree lodged a dense swarm of bees, marvellous\n to tell, sailing thither with loud humming noise across the\n liquid air, and twining their legs together, the cluster in a\n moment was seen to hang from the leafy bough. At once\n spoke a prophet: \u201cThere is a stranger approaching: I\n see him now; along this self-same path a troop is moving 5\n hitherward, and commanding the height of the citadel.\u201d\n Moreover, while Lavinia is applying the hallowed torch to\n the altars, as she stands in maiden purity at her father\u2019s\n side, she was seen, oh, monstrous sight! to catch the fire\n with her long tresses, all her headgear consuming in the 10\n crackling flame, her queenly hair, her jewelled coronal all\n ablaze, till at last she was wrapt in smoke and yellow\n glare, and scattered the fire-god\u2019s sparks the whole palace\n through. There indeed was a tale of horror, a marvel and\n a portent; for, said the wise men, she will herself be illustrious 15\n in fame and fortune, but to the nation she bodes\n tremendous war. Troubled by these prodigies, the king\n repairs to the oracle of Faunus, his prophetic sire, to\n question at the groves beneath Albunea\u2019s shade\u2014that\n queen of forests, ever vocal with the sacred waters, ever 20\n breathing from its dark heart deadly vaporous steam.\n It is here that the tribes of Italy and all \u0152notrian land\n seek answers in their perplexity; hither the priestess\n brings the inquirer\u2019s offering, lies in the still of night on a\n couch of slaughtered sheep\u2019s skins, and turns to sleep, when 25\n she sees many phantoms flitting in marvellous fashion,\n and hears divers voices, and enjoys communion with the\n gods, and holds converse with Acheron down in Avernus\u2019\n deep. Here also king Latinus, in quest of an answer, was\n sacrificing duly a hundred sheep of the second year, and 30\n was lying on their skins, a fleecy bed, when sudden from the\n depth of the grove an utterance was heard: \u201cLook not to\n ally your daughter in wedlock of Latium, O my son;\n put not faith in marriage chambers dressed and ready;\n there are sons-in-law from a far country now on their way, 35\n men destined by mixing their blood with ours to exalt our\n name to the spheres\u2014men whose lineal posterity shall\n one day look down and see under their feet the whole\n world, far as the two oceans which the sun surveys in his\n daily round, revolving beneath them and wielded by their\n control.\u201d Such was the response of father Faunus,\n the counsel given at still of night: nor does Latinus hold\n it shut in the prison of his own lips; but Fame had flown 5\n with the rumour through Ausonia far and wide from city\n to city, when the young chivalry of old Laomedon anchored\n their ships on the river\u2019s grassy bank.\n\n \u00c6neas and his chief captains, and Iulus young and fair,\n lay their limbs to rest under the boughs of a lofty tree; 10\n there they spread the banquet, putting cakes of flour along\n the sward to support the food\u2014such was Jove\u2019s high inspiration\u2014and\n rearing on the wheaten foundation a pile\n of wilding fruits. It chanced that when the rest was eaten,\n the want of meat forced them to ply their tooth on those 15\n scanty gifts of Ceres\u2014to profane with venturous hand and\n mouth the sanctity of the cake\u2019s fated circle, nor respect\n the square impressed on its surface. \u201cWhat! eating our\n tables[242] as well?\u201d cries Iulus, in his merry vein; that and no\n more. That utterance first told the hearers that their 20\n toils were over: even as it fell from the boy\u2019s mouth his\n father caught it up and broke it short, wondering in himself\n at the power of Heaven. Then anon: \u201cHail to thee,\n promised land of my destiny! hail to you,\u201d he cries, \u201cTroy\u2019s\n faithful gods! Yes, here is our home\u2014this our country. 25\n It was my father\u2014these, I remember, were the mystic\n words of fate he left me: \u2018My son, whenever you are wafted\n to an unknown coast, and hunger drives you, failing food,\n to eat your tables, then remember my saying, there look\n for a home of rest, set up your first roof-tree and strengthen 30\n it with mound and rampart.\u2019 This was the hunger he\n meant. This was the last strait in store for us, not the\n beginning but the end of death. Come then, take heart,\n and with the morrow\u2019s earliest light explore we what is\n the place, who its dwellers, where the city of the nation, 35\n making from the haven in different ways. Meanwhile\n pour libations to Jove, invoke in prayer my sire Anchises,\n and set again the wine on the board.\u201d So having said, he\n wreathes his brow with the leafy spray, and offers prayer\n to the genius of the spot; to Earth the eldest of the gods;\n to the nymphs and the streams yet unknown by name:\n after that, to Night and Night\u2019s new-born stars and\n Ida\u2019s Jove, and Phrygia\u2019s mighty mother, invoking each 5\n in turn, and his own two parents in the upper and the\n nether world. Just then the Almighty Father thundered\n thrice aloft in a clear sky, and with his own right hand\n flashed in open view from on high a cloud ablaze with rays\n of golden light. At once the news spreads among the Trojan 10\n ranks that the day has arrived when they are to build\n their promised city. With emulous haste they celebrate\n the banquet, and in the power of the august presage set on\n the bowls exultingly, and wreathe the wine.\n\n Soon as on the morrow the risen day began to illumine 15\n the earth with the first sparkle of her torch, some here,\n some there, they set about exploring the city, the frontiers,\n the seaboard of the country. This, they learn, is the spring\n of Numicius, this the river Tiber, this the home of the brave\n Latian race. Thereupon Anchises\u2019 son commands an 20\n embassy of a hundred, chosen from all classes alike, to go to\n the monarch\u2019s royal city, all of them with wreathed boughs\n from Pallas\u2019 tree, to carry presents for his honoured hand,\n and entreat his friendship for the Teucrians. They delay\n not, but hasten at his bidding, moving with rapid pace, 25\n while he is marking out the city with a shallow trench,\n preparing the ground, and surrounding this their first\n settlement on the coast, camp-fashion, with battlements\n and earthworks. Meanwhile the missioned band had performed\n their journey, and were in sight of the towers and 30\n stately homes of Latium, and passing under the city wall.\n In a space before the town, boys and youths in their prime\n are exercising on horseback, and breaking in their harnessed\n cars among clouds of dust, or bending the sharp-springing\n bow, or hurling from the arm the quivering javelin, 35\n or vying on foot or with the gloves, when galloping up,\n a messenger announces, in the aged monarch\u2019s ears, that\n mighty men have arrived in strange attire. The king bids\n him summon them into the presence-hall, and takes his\n seat in the midst on his ancestral throne. It was a reverend\n pile, of vast proportions, raised high upon a hundred\n pillars, on the city\u2019s topmost ground, the palace of Picus\n the Laurentine, clothed in the terror of waving woods and 5\n hereditary awe. Here it was held to be of auspicious presage\n that kings should first take in hand the sceptre, and\n lift up the fasces: this temple was their senate-house,\n the hall for their sacrificial feasts: here, when a ram was\n slain, the seniors were wont to banquet down long lines 10\n of tables. Here, too, in succession were the effigies of\n past generations, carved from ancient cedar\u2014Italus and\n father Sabinus, planter of the vine, preserving in that\n mimic form his curved hook, and hoary Saturn, and the\n image of two-faced Janus, all standing in the vestibule, 15\n and other kings from the earliest days, and heroes who had\n sustained the war-god\u2019s wounds in fighting for their\n country. Moreover, there was hanging on the sacred\n doors abundance of armour, captive chariots, crooked\n axe-heads, helmet-crests, ponderous gates, javelins, and 20\n shields, and beaks torn from vessels. There, as in life,\n was sitting, decked with Quirinal staff and robe of scanty\n border, in his left hand the sacred shield, Picus, tamer of\n the steed, he whom, in her bridal jealousy, Circe, by a stroke\n of her golden rod and the witchery of her drugs, transformed 25\n to a bird, and scattered spots over his wings. Such was\n the temple where Latinus, seated on his ancestral throne,\n summoned the Teucrians to his presence within, and on\n their entry with placid mien bespoke them thus:\u2014\n\n \u201cTell me, sons of Dardanus\u2014for we know your city and 30\n your race, and your coming over the deep has reached our\n ears\u2014what is your errand? what cause or what necessity\n has wafted your ships to our Ausonian coast through\n those many leagues of blue water? Be it from ignorance of\n the way or stress of weather, or any of the thousand chances 35\n that happen to seamen on the main, that you have passed\n between our river\u2019s banks, and are resting in the haven,\n shrink not from our welcome, but know in the Latian\n race the true people of Saturn, kept in righteousness by no\n band of law, but by our own instinct and the rule of our\n parent-god. And now I remember, though years have\n dulled the freshness of the tale, that aged Auruncans used\n to tell how in this land Dardanus saw the light, and hence 5\n he won his way to the towns of Phrygian Ida and Thracian\n Samos, which men now call Samothrace. Ay, it was from\n the house of Tuscan Corythus he went, and now the golden\n palace of starry heaven seats him on a throne, and among\n the altars of the gods makes room for him.\u201d 10\n\n He ended; and Ilioneus followed thus: \u201cGreat king,\n illustrious son of Faunus, no stress of gloomy storm has\n made us the sport of the waves and driven us on your\n coast, no sky or land misread has beguiled us of our\n track: of set purpose, with full intent, we are arrived one 15\n and all at your city, driven from a realm once the greatest\n which the sun surveyed in his course from end to end of\n heaven. From Jove is the origin of our race; in Jove, as\n their ancestor, the sons of Dardanus glory; our monarch\n himself, sprung of Jove\u2019s own pure blood, \u00c6neas of Troy, 20\n has sent us to your doors. How dire a hurricane, launched\n from fell Mycen\u00e6, swept over Ida\u2019s plains\u2014how the two\n worlds of Europe and Asia, fate driving each, met and\n crashed together\u2014has reached the ears of the man, if\n such there be, whom earth\u2019s last corner withdraws from 25\n the wash of ocean, and his too who is parted from his fellows\n by the zone that lies midmost among the four, the zone of\n the tyrannous sun. From the jaws of that deluge flying\n over many and mighty waters, we ask of you for our\n country\u2019s gods a narrow resting-place\u2014the harmless 30\n privilege of the coast, and the common liberty of water and\n air. We shall be no disgrace to your kingdom, nor light\n shall be the fame that men will blaze of you, nor shall\n gratitude for your great bounty grow old, nor shall\n Ausonia mourn the day when she welcomed Troy to her 35\n heart. I swear by \u00c6neas\u2019 star, by his strong right hand,\n known as such by all who have proved it in friendship or\n in war, many have been the peoples, many the nations\u2014nay,\n scorn us not for that we accost you with fillets of suppliance\n and words of prayer\u2014who have sued for our company\n and wished to make us one with them. But the\n oracles of heaven, speaking as they only can, have driven\n us to search out your realms. Hence sprang Dardanus; 5\n hither Apollo bids us return, with the instance of high\n command, even to Tuscan Tiber and the sacred waters of\n Numicius\u2019 spring. Moreover, here are presents from \u00c6neas,\n the scanty offerings of past prosperity, relics snatched from\n the flames of Troy. From this gold his father, Anchises, 10\n poured libations at the altar; this was Priam\u2019s royal\n accoutrement, when he gave laws in kingly fashion to the\n assembled people; this sceptre, this sacred diadem, these\n robes, the work of Trojan dames.\u201d\n\n Thus, as Ilioneus is speaking, Latinus holds his countenance 15\n in set downcast gaze, and sits rooted to his throne,\n turning his eyes in intense thought. Nor does the\n broidered purple stir his princely mind; no, nor the sceptre\n of Priam, so deeply as he ponders on the wedlock, the\n bridal bed of his daughter, revolving in his breast old 20\n Faunus\u2019 oracle. This must be that predicted son-in-law,\n arrived from a foreign home, destined to reign in joint\n sovereignty with himself; thence must be born that glorious\n progeny, whose prowess is to master the world. At\n length he breaks out in glad tones: \u201cMay the gods prosper 25\n our intent and ratify their own presage! Yes, Trojan,\n you shall have your prayer, nor do I reject your presents.\n Long as Latinus shall reign, you shall not lack the bounty of\n a fruitful soil, nor miss the wealth of Troy. Let but \u00c6neas\n himself, if his desire of us is so great, if he covets the tie of 30\n hospitality and the style of alliance, come to our presence,\n nor shrink from eyes that will view him kindly. Peace\n will be incomplete till I have touched your monarch\u2019s\n hand. And now do you take back to your king this my\n message: I have a daughter, whose marriage with a husband 35\n of our nation is forbidden by voices from my father\u2019s\n shrine, by countless prodigies from heaven; sons-in-law\n are to arrive from foreign climes\u2014such, they say, is\n Fate\u2019s will for Latium\u2014who by mixing their blood with\n ours are to exalt our name to the spheres. That he is this\n chosen one of destiny is my belief, and, if my mind reads\n the future true, my award.\u201d With these words the old\n king makes choice of horses from the multitude he possessed. 5\n Three hundred there were, sleek-coated, standing\n in their lofty stalls. At once he bids his servants\n bring for each of the Teucrians a fleet-foot with housings\n of embroidered purple; golden poitrels hang down to the\n chest of each; there is gold on their coverings; yellow 10\n gold under their champing teeth. For the absent \u00c6neas\n he orders a car and two coursers of ethereal seed, snorting\n fire from their nostrils, sprung of that brood which artful\n Circe raised up fraudfully to her father the Sun, a spurious\n race, from the womb of a mortal dam. Thus graced with 15\n gifts and kind speeches, the children of \u00c6neas journey\n homeward on their tall steeds, and carry tidings of peace.\n\n Meanwhile, there was Jove\u2019s relentless spouse travelling\n back from her own Argos, city of Inachus, and already\n launched on mid air; looking from the sky over Sicilian 20\n Pachynus, she beheld in distant prospect \u00c6neas in his\n hour of joy and the Dardan fleet. Already she sees him\n building his home; already he has made the soil his friend,\n and has parted from his ships. Pierced with bitter grief,\n she stayed her course, and then, shaking her head, pours 25\n from her heart words like these: \u201cAh, that hated stock!\n those destinies of Phrygia that hold my destinies in check!\n Did the dead really fall on the plains of Sigeum? were the\n captives captured in truth? did the flames of Troy burn\n the men of Troy? Through the heart of the battle, 30\n through the heart of the fire they have found a way.\n Ay, belike, my power at last lies gasping and spent; my\n hatred is slaked and I am at peace. I, who followed them\n with a foe\u2019s zeal over the water even when tossed from\n their country\u2019s arms, and met the exiles front to front on 35\n every sea! Spent on these Teucrians is all that sky and\n surge can do. Have Syrtes, has Scylla, has Charybdis\u2019\n yawning gulf stood me aught in stead? They have\n gained the channel of Tiber, the haven of their wishes,\n and may laugh at ocean and at me. Mars had strength to\n destroy the Lapithan nation, huge as they were; the father\n of the gods gave up the honoured land of Calydon to Diana\u2019s\n vengeance; and what had Lapithans or Calydon done 5\n to earn such penal ruin? But I, Jove\u2019s great consort,\n who have stooped, miserably stooped, to leave nothing\n untried, who have assumed every form by turns, am vanquished\n by \u00c6neas. Well, if my power be not august\n enough, I would not shrink from suing for other aid, be it 10\n found where it may; if I cannot prevail above, I will stir\n up the fiends of the deep. It will not be mine to keep him\n from the crown of Latium\u2014be it so; fixed for him by fate\n unalterably is his bride Lavinia; but delays and impediments\n may well be where the matter is so great; but to 15\n cut off the subjects of our two monarchs\u2014this may be\n done. So let father and son-in-law embrace, at the cost\n of their people\u2019s lives. The blood of Trojan and Rutulian\n shall be your dower, fair lady; Bellona[243] is waiting to lead\n you to your chamber. Nor is Hecuba the only mother that 20\n has teemed with a fire-brand and given birth to a nuptial\n blaze; Venus sees the tale repeated in her own offspring\u2014a\n second Paris\u2014a funeral torch rekindled for reviving\n Troy.\u201d\n\n Having vented words like these, she flew down in black 25\n rage to the earth; and now she summons Allecto[244] the baleful\n from the dwelling of the dread goddesses and the darkness\n of the pit\u2014Allecto, whom bitter wars, and strifes,\n and stratagems, and injurious crimes cheer like a cordial.\n Hateful even to Pluto her sire is the fiend, hateful to her 30\n Tartarean sisters, so many the forms she puts on, so terrible\n the mien of each, so countless the vipers that burgeon\n blackly from her head. Her, thus dreadful, Juno lashes\n to fiercer fury, speaking on this wise: \u201cGrant me, maiden\n daughter of Night, a boon all my own\u2014thine undivided 35\n aid, that my praise and renown may not be dashed from\n their pedestal\u2014that the children of \u00c6neas may not be\n able to ensnare Latinus in a bridal alliance or beset the\n Italian frontier. Thou canst make brothers of one soul\n take arms and fight; canst make peaceful homes dens of\n strife; thou canst gain entrance for the scourge and the\n funeral torch: thou hast a thousand names, a thousand\n means of ill. Stir up that prolific bosom, snap the formed 5\n bands of peace, scatter the incentives of war, let the nation\n in the same moment desire, demand, and seize the sword.\u201d\n\n So then Allecto, empoisoned with Gorgon venom, first\n repairs to Latium and the lofty halls of the Laurentine\n monarch, and sits down before the hushed chamber of 10\n queen Amata,[245] who, as she mused on the arrival of the\n Trojans and Turnus\u2019 bridal hopes, was glowing and seething\n with all a woman\u2019s passion, a woman\u2019s spleen. Snatching\n a snake from her dark venomed locks, she hurls it at\n her, and lodges it in the bosom close to the very heart, that, 15\n maddened by the pest, she may drive the whole house wild.\n In glides the reptile unfelt, winding between the robe and\n the marble breast, and beguiles her into frenzy, breathing\n into her lungs its viperous breath; the linked gold round\n her neck turns to the monstrous serpent; so does the festoon 20\n of her long fillet; it twines her hair, it slides smoothly\n from limb to limb. And while the first access of contagion,\n stealing in with clammy poison, is pervading her senses\n and threading her bones with flame, ere yet the soul has\n caught fire through the whole compass of the bosom, she 25\n speaks with gentle plaint, as mothers wont, shedding\n many tears over her child and the Phrygian alliance: \u201cAnd\n are fugitives from Troy to take Lavinia in marriage, good\n father? have you no compassion for your daughter and\n yourself? none for her mother, whom with the first fair 30\n gale the faithless pirate will leave and make for the deep,\n carrying off his maiden prey? Ay, things were not so\n when the Phrygian shepherd stole into Laced\u00e6mon, and\n bore away Leda\u2019s Helen to Troy town. Where is your\n pledged faith? where your old tenderness for your own 35\n blood, and your hand plighted so oft to your kinsman\n Turnus? If Latian folk must have a son-in-law fetched\n from a foreign stock, and this is unalterably fixed, and\n your father Faunus\u2019 command sits heavy on your soul, I\n hold that every nation is foreign whose independence\n severs it from our rule, and that such is Heaven\u2019s intent.\n Turnus, too, if you go back to the first foundation of his\n house, has Inachus and Acrisius for his ancestors, and the 5\n heart of Mycen\u00e6 for his home.\u201d But when, having tried\n in vain what these words can do, she sees Latinus obstinately\n bent, and meantime the serpent\u2019s fiendish mischief\n has sunk deep into her vitals, and is thrilling every\n vein, then at last the miserable queen, unsexed by the 10\n portentous enormity, raves in ungoverned frenzy through\n the city\u2019s length and breadth; as oft you may see a top\n spinning under the lash, which boys are flogging round\n and round in a great ring in an empty courtyard, with\n every thought on their game: driven by the whip it 15\n keeps making circle after circle: the beardless faces\n hang over it in puzzled wonder, marvelling how the box-wood\n can fly, as though the blows made it a living thing.\n With motion as furious she courses through crowded\n streets and unruly peoples. Nay, more than this, she 20\n feigns the inspiration of Bacchus, nerving herself to more\n atrocious deeds, and climbing new heights of madness\u2014flies\n into the woods, and hides her daughter among the\n leafy hills, all to snatch from the Teucrians the bridal\n bed and delay the kindling of Hymen\u2019s torch. \u201cEvoe 25\n Bacchus!\u201d is her cry; \u201cthou, and none but thou art\n fit mate for a maid like this. See! for thee she takes up\n the sacred wand, for thee she leads the dance, for thee she\n grows her dedicated hair.\u201d Fame flies abroad; other\n mothers are instinct with frenzy, and all have the same 30\n mad passion driving them to seek a new home. They\n have left their houses, and are spreading hair and shoulders\n to the wind; while some are filling the sky with quivering\n shrieks, clad in fawn-skins, and carrying vine-branch\n spears. There in the middle is the queen all aglow, lifting 35\n high a blazing pine, and singing the bridal song of Turnus\n and her daughter, her eye red and glaring; and sudden she\n shouts like a savage: \u201cHo! mothers of Latium all, where\u2019er\n ye be, if ye have human hearts and kindness left there for\n poor Amata, if ye are stung to think of a mother\u2019s rights,\n off with the fillets from your hair, and join the orgie with\n me.\u201d Such is the queen, driven among the woods, among\n the wild beasts\u2019 lairs far and wide, by Bacchus\u2019 goad in 5\n Allecto\u2019s hand.\n\n And now, judging that she had barbed enough the\n young fangs of frenzy, upheaving from their bases the\n royal purpose and the royal house, the grim goddess next\n soars in air on her murky wings on to the walls of the bold 10\n Rutulian, the city which they say Danae built for her Argive\n settlers, landing there under stress of wind. Ardea\n was the name which past generations gave the place, and\n Ardea still keeps her august title; but her star is set,\n Here, in his lofty palace, Turnus at deep of night was in 15\n the midst of his sleep. Allecto puts off her hideous features\n and her fiendish shape, transforms herself to an old\n woman\u2019s countenance and furrows her loathly brow\n with wrinkles, assumes hoary locks and woollen fillet,\n lastly twines them with an olive spray, and so becomes 20\n Calybe, the aged priestess of Juno\u2019s temple; and presents\n herself to the young warrior\u2019s eyes with such words as\n these: \u201cAnd can Turnus calmly see all his toils poured out\n in vain, and the crown that is his own transferred to settlers\n from Dardania? See, the king is refusing you your bride 25\n and your blood-bought dowry, and search is being made for\n a foreign heir to fill the throne. Go on now, confront ungracious\n perils, and earn derision; go, mow down the\n Tuscan ranks, and spread over Latium the shield of peace.\n These very words Saturn\u2019s almighty daughter with her 30\n own lips bade me say to you when you should be slumbering\n in the still of night. Rise, then, bid your soldiery arm\n and move from city to camp, set fire to the Phrygian\n chiefs who have anchored in our fair river and to their\n painted ships. The dread voice of heaven speaks by me, 35\n Nay, let king Latinus, unless he consent to give you your\n bride and respect his promise, feel at last and find what\n it is to have Turnus for a foe.\u201d\n\n Laughing scornfully at the old seer, the youth thus spoke\n in reply: \u201cThe news that a fleet has arrived in the Tiber\n has not, as you imagine, escaped my ear. Conjure me\n no such mighty terrors, nor think that queen Juno has forgotten\n me. No, it is you, good mother, whom mouldering 5\n dotage, drained dry of truth, is vexing to no end, mocking\n your prophetic soul with false alarms in an atmosphere of\n royal armaments. You are in your place watching over\n statues and temples; but war and peace must be wielded\n by men, whose work war is.\u201d 10\n\n At these words Allecto kindled into wrath. Even in\n the act of speaking a shudder seized the youth\u2019s frame and\n his eyes grew stiff and stony, so fierce the hissing of the\n Fury\u2019s thousand snakes, so monstrous the features that\n rose on his view. Instant with a roll of her fiery orbs she 15\n thrust him back as he faltered and tried to speak further;\n on either brow she upreared a serpent lock, and cracked her\n whip, and with infuriate lips followed thus: \u201cHere is the\n mouldering mother, whom dotage, drained dry of truth, is\n mocking with false alarms in an atmosphere of royal armaments. 20\n Turn your eyes hither; I am come from the dwelling\n of the Dread Sisters: war and death are wielded by\n this hand.\u201d\n\n Saying thus, she hurled a torch full at the youth, and\n lodged in his breast the pine-wood with its lurid smoke and 25\n glare. The bonds of sleep are broken by the giant terror,\n and a burst of sweat all over bathes the whole man, bone\n and limb. \u201cMy sword!\u201d he screams in frenzy; for his\n sword he searches pillow and palace: the fever of the steel,\n the guilty madness of bloodshed rage within him, and angry 30\n pride tops all: even as when loud-crackling a fire of sticks\n is heaped round the sides of a waving caldron, and the\n heat makes the water start; there within is the flood,\n steaming and storming, and bubbling high in froth, till at\n last the wave cannot contain itself, and the black vapour 35\n flies up into the air. So then, trampling on treaties, he\n gives the word to the chiefs of his soldiery for a march\n upon King Latinus, and bids arms be got ready. Italy\n must be protected, the foe must be driven from the frontier;\n he and his men will be enough for both, Teucrians and\n Latians. So he says and appeals to Heaven: and the\n Rutulians with emulous zeal encourage each other to\n the fight. This one is fired by his leader\u2019s peerless beauty 5\n and youth; this by the kings in his pedigree; this by the\n glorious deeds of his hand.\n\n While Turnus is filling the Rutulians with the spirit of\n daring, Allecto is putting her infernal wings in motion\n against the Teucrians. A new device working in her 10\n mind, she fixed her eye on the spot where on the winding\n coast Iulus was hunting game with the snare and the\n course. Hereon the maiden of Cocytus suddenly presents\n to the hounds a maddening lure, and touches their nostrils\n with the scent they know so well, making them chase a 15\n stag in full cry; which was the first origin of the trouble,\n and put the spark of war to the spirit of the countryside.\n There was a stag of beauteous form and lofty horns,\n taken by the sons of Tyrrheus from its mother\u2019s breast,\n and brought up by them and their father Tyrrheus, 20\n who had the control of the royal herds and the charge of\n the whole range of lawn. Trained to obey, it was the\n chief care of their sister Silvia; she would deck and\n wreathe its horns with delicate festoons, and comb its\n rough coat, and wash it in the clear stream. Grown tame 25\n to the hand, and accustomed to its master\u2019s table, it would\n run free in the forest and take itself back home to the\n well-known door, however late the night. Now, in one\n of its wanderings the maddened hounds of Iulus started\n it in the hunt, as it happened to be floating down the 30\n stream or allaying its heat on the verdant bank. Ascanius\n himself, fired with a proud ambition, bent his bow and\n levelled a shaft: nor did his hand err for want of heavenly\n aid: the reed sped with a loud hurtling sound and pierced\n the belly and the flank. The wounded creature took refuge 35\n under the roof it knew, and moaning crept into its\n stall, and bleeding all over filled, like a human suppliant,\n the house with its piteous plaints. Sister Silvia first,\n smiting on her arms with her flat hands, calls for help and\n summons the rough country folk. They\u2014for the fell\n fiend is lurking in the silence of the forest\u2014are at her\n side ere she looks for them, armed one with a seared brand,\n one with a heavy knotted stock: what each first finds as he 5\n gropes about, anger makes do weapon\u2019s service. Tyrrheus\n musters the company, just as the news found him, splitting\n an oak in four with convergent wedges, catching up an\n axe and breathing savage rage. But the cruel goddess,\n seizing from her watch-tower the moment of mischief, 10\n makes for the stall\u2019s lofty roof, and from its summit\n shrills forth the shepherd\u2019s clarion, pitching high on the\n wreathen horn her Tartarean note; at the sound the\n whole line of forest was convulsed, and the woods echoed\n to their depths: it was heard far off by Trivia\u2019s[246] lake, 15\n heard by river Nar[246] with his whitening sulphurous waters,\n and by the springs of the Veline[246]: and terror-stricken\n mothers clasped their children to their breasts.\n\n At once running to the sound with which the dread\n clarion gave the signal, the untamed rustics snatch up 20\n their weapons and gather from all sides; while the forces\n of Troy, on their part, pour through the camp\u2019s open gates\n their succour for Ascanius. It is no longer a woodman\u2019s\n quarrel waged with heavy clubs or seared stakes; they try\n the issue with two-edged steel; a dark harvest of drawn 25\n swords bristles over the field; the brass shines responsive\n to the sun\u2019s challenge, and flings its radiance skyward; as\n when the wave has begun to whiten under the rising wind,\n the ocean gradually upheaves itself, and raises its billows\n higher and higher, till at last, from its lowest depths, it 30\n mounts up to heaven. See! as the arrow whizzes, a young\n warrior in the first rank, once Tyrrheus\u2019 eldest born, Almo,\n is laid low in death; for the wound has lodged in his\n throat, and has cut off, with the rush of blood, the passage\n of the liquid voice and the vital breath. Round him lie 35\n many gallant frames, and among them old Gal\u00e6sus, while\n throwing himself between the armies and pleading for\n peace; none so just as he, none so wealthy before to-day in\n Ausonian land; five flocks of sheep had he, five herds of\n oxen went to and fro from his stalls, and his land was\n furrowed by a hundred ploughs.\n\n While thus on the plains the impartial war-god deals out\n fortune, the goddess, having achieved her promise, soon 5\n as she had inaugurated the war with blood, and brought\n the battle to its first murderous shock, flies from Hesperia,\n and rounding the cope of heaven, addresses Juno in the\n haughty tones of triumph: \u201cSee here the work of discord\n complete in the horrors of war! Now bid them come together 10\n in friendship and strike truce. Thou hast seen that\n I can sprinkle the Trojans with Ausonian blood; let me\n but be assured of thy wish, I will give thee a further boon:\n I will sew rumours and bring the neighbouring cities into\n the war, and inflame their souls with mad martial passion 15\n to crowd from all sides with succour; I will scatter arms\n broadcast.\u201d Juno returns: \u201cThere is panic and treachery\n enough; the seeds of war are sown deep; men are fighting\n hand to hand; the weapons which chance first supplied\n are being seasoned with new-spilt blood. Such be the 20\n alliance, such the nuptial rites solemnized by Venus\u2019\n virtuous son and good king Latinus. For thee to walk the\n upper air with larger freedom would displease the great\n Father, the monarch of high Olympus. Give place; should\n any chance emerge in the struggle, myself will deal with it.\u201d 25\n So spoke Saturn\u2019s daughter: the Fury lifts her wings that\n hurtle with serpent plumage, and seeks her home in Cocytus,\n leaving the altitudes above. There is a place in the\n bosom of Italy, under the shadow of lofty hills, known to\n fame and celebrated in far-off lands, the vale of Amsanctus; 30\n pent between two woody slopes, dark with dense foliage,\n while at the bottom a broken torrent makes a roaring\n among the rocks along its winding bed. Here men show\n an awful cavern, the very gorge of the fell infernal god, and\n a deep gulf through which Acheron breaks open its baleful 35\n mouth: there dived the Fury, and relieved of her loathed\n presence earth and heaven.\n\n Meanwhile, for her part, Saturn\u2019s royal daughter gives\n the last touch that brings down the war. From the battle-field\n there pours into the city the whole company of shepherds,\n with their slain in their arms, young Almo and\n Gal\u00e6sus\u2019 disfigured countenance, calling on the gods and\n adjuring Latinus. Turnus is on the spot, and, in the fury 5\n and fire of the blood-cry, sounds again and again the note\n of terror: \u201cThe Teucrians are invited to reign in Latium;\n a Phrygian shoot is to be grafted on the royal tree; the\n palace-gate is closed on himself.\u201d Moreover, the kinsmen\n of the matrons, who in Bacchic madness are footing the 10\n pathless woods\u2014for Amata\u2019s name weighs not lightly\u2014muster\n from all sides, and strain the throat of Mars to\n hoarseness. All at once, defying omens and oracles,\n under the spell of a cursed deity, they clamour for an\n atrocious war. With emulous zeal they swarm round 15\n Latinus\u2019 palace; he, like a rock in the sea, stands unshaken;\n like a rock in the sea before the rush and crash of waters,\n which, amid, thousands of barking waves, is fixed by its\n own weight; the crags and the spray-foamed stones\n roar about it in vain, and the lashed seaweed falls idly 20\n from its side. But when he finds no power given him to\n counterwork the secret agency, and all is moving at relentless\n Juno\u2019s beck, then with many an appeal to the gods\n and the soulless skies, \u201cAlas!\u201d exclaims the good sire,\n \u201cshattered are we by destiny and whirled before the storm! 25\n On you will come the reckoning, and your impious blood\n will pay it, my wretched children! You, Turnus, you will\n be met by your crime and its fearful vengeance, in a day\n when it will be too late to pray to Heaven. For me, my\n rest is assured; my ship is just dropping into port; it is 30\n but of a happy departure that I am robbed.\u201d No more\n he spoke, but shut himself in an inner chamber, and let\n the reins of empire go.\n\n A custom there was in the Hesperian days of Latium,\n observed as sacred in succession by the Alban cities, and 35\n now honoured by the observance of Rome, the greatest\n power on earth, when men first stir up the war-god to\n battle, whether their purpose be to carry piteous war\n among the Get\u00e6, the Hyrcanians, or the Arabs, or to\n march as far as India, track the Morning-star to its home,\n and wrest the standards from the grasp of Parthia.\n There are two folding-gates of War\u2014such the title they\n bear\u2014clothed with religious awe and with the terrors of 5\n Mars the cruel: they are closed by a hundred brazen bars\n and by the everlasting strength of iron, and Janus[247] never\n quits his guard on the threshold. When the fathers finally\n conclude for battle, the consul himself, in the pride of\n Quirinus\u2019 striped robe and the Gabine[248] cincture, unbars the 10\n grating portals, and with his own voice invokes battle;\n the rest of the warriors take up the cry, and brazen horns\n blare out in unison their hoarse assent. Thus it was that\n then, too, Latinus was urged to declare war against the\n family of \u00c6neas and to unclose the grim gates. The good 15\n old king recoiled from the touch, turned with averted eyes\n from the service he loathed, and shrouded himself in impenetrable\n gloom. Then darted down from the sky the\n queen of heaven, smote with her own royal hand the unwilling\n portals, and from their bursten fastenings, as Saturn\u2019s 20\n daughter might, flung back the valves on their hinges.\n All Ausonia, sluggish and moveless till then, blazes into\n fury; some commence their footmarch over the plain,\n some from the height of their steeds storm through the\n dust; one and all cry out for arms. Some are rubbing their 25\n shields smooth and their javelins bright with unctuous\n lard, and putting their axes under the grindstone; there\n is joy in the carrying of the standard, joy in the hearing\n of the trumpet\u2019s sound. And now there are five great\n cities with anvils everywhere set up, giving a new edge to 30\n their weapons: Atina the mighty and Tibur the proud,\n Ardea, and they of Crustumium, and tower-crowned\n Antemn\u00e6. Helmets are hollowed to guard the head;\n willows are twisted into wicker frames for shields; others\n are beating out brass into breastplates, or stretching ductile 35\n silver into polished greaves. All the pride of sickle\n and share, all the passion for the plough are swallowed\n up in this; they bring out their father\u2019s swords, and smelt\n them anew in the furnace. Here, in wild haste, is one\n snatching his helm from the chamber-wall; there is another\n bringing his snorting steeds to the yoke, clothing\n himself with shield and corslet of three-plied gold, and\n girding to his side his trusty sword. 5\n\n [F][249]Now, Muses, ope your Helicon,\n The gates of song unfold,\n What chiefs, what tribes to war came on\n In those dim days of old,\n What sons were then Italia\u2019s pride, 10\n And what the arms that blazed so wide:\n For ye are goddesses: full well\n Your mind takes note, your tongue can tell:\n The far-off whisper of the years\n Scarce reaches our bewildered ears. 15\n Mezentius first from Tyrrhene coast,\n Who mocks at heaven, arrays his host,\n And braves the battle\u2019s storm:\n His son, young Lausus, at his side,\n Excelled by none in beauty\u2019s pride, 20\n Save Turnus\u2019 comely form:\n Lausus, the tamer of the steed,\n The conqueror of the silvan breed,\n Leads from Agylla\u2019s towers in vain\n A thousand youths, a valiant train: 25\n Ah happy, had the son been blest\n In harkening to his sire\u2019s behest,\n Or had the sire from whom he came\n Had other nature, other name!\n\n Next drives along the grassy meads 30\n His palm-crowned car and conquering steeds\n Fair Aventinus, princely heir\n Of Hercules the brave and fair,\n And for his proud escutcheon takes\n His father\u2019s Hydra and her snakes. 35\n \u2019Twas he that priestess Rhea bare,\n A stealthy birth, to upper air,\n \u2019Mid shades of woody Aventine\n Mingling her own with heavenly blood,\n When triumph-flushed from Geryon slain\n Aleides touched the Latian plain,\n And bathed Iberia\u2019s distant kine\n In Tuscan Tiber\u2019s flood. 5\n Long pikes and poles his bands uprear,\n The shapely blade, the Sabine spear.\n Himself on foot, with lion\u2019s skin,\n Whose long white teeth with ghastly grin\n Clasp like a helmet brow and chin, 10\n Joins the proud chiefs in rude attire,\n And flaunts the emblem of his sire.\n From Tiber\u2019s walls twin brothers came,\n The town that bears Tiburtus\u2019 name,\n Bold Coras and Catillus strong: 15\n Through the thick-rained darts they storm along,\n And foremost in the fray:\n As when two cloud-born Centaurs leap\n Down Homole or Othrys\u2019 steep,\n The forest parts before their sweep, 20\n And crashing trees give way.\n\n Nor lacked there to the embattled power\n The founder of Pr\u00e6neste\u2019s tower,\n Brave C\u00e6culus, by all renowned\n As Vulcan\u2019s son, \u2019mid embers found 25\n And monarch of the rustics crowned.\n Beneath him march his rural train,\n Whom high Pr\u00e6neste\u2019s walls contain,\n Who dwell in Gabian Juno\u2019s plain,\n Whose haunt is Anio\u2019s chilly flood 30\n And Hernic rocks, by streams bedewed,\n Who till Anagnia\u2019s bosom green\n Or drink of father Amasene.\n Not all are furnished for the war\n With ample shield or sounding car. 35\n Some sling lead bullets o\u2019er the field,\n Some javelins twain in combat wield.\n A cap of fur protects their head\n By spoil of tawny wolf supplied;\n Their left foot bare, on earth they tread, 40\n The right is cased in raw bull-hide.\n Messapus, tamer of the steed,\n The Ocean-monarch\u2019s mighty seed,\n Whom none might harm, so willed his sire,\n With force of iron or of fire,\n Awakes his people\u2019s slumbering zeal 5\n Long time unused to war\u2019s appeal,\n And from the scabbard bares the steel.\n With him Fescennia\u2019s armed train,\n The dwellers in Falerii\u2019s plain,\n Who hold Soracte\u2019s lofty hill 10\n Or fair Flavinia\u2019s cornland till,\n Capena\u2019s woods their dwelling make\n Or Ciminus, its mount and lake.\n With measured pace they march along,\n And make their monarch\u2019s deeds their song; 15\n Like snow-white swans in liquid air,\n When homeward from their food they fare,\n And far and wide melodious notes\n Come rippling from their slender throats,\n While the broad stream and Asia\u2019s fen 20\n Reverberate to the sound again.\n Sure none had thought that countless crowd\n A mail-clad company;\n It rather seemed a dusky cloud\n Of migrant fowl, that, hoarse and loud, 25\n Press landward from the sea.\n\n Lo! Clausus there, the Sabines\u2019 boast,\n Leads a great host, himself a host;\n Whence spreads the Claudian race, since Rome\n With Sabine burghers shared her home. 30\n With him the Amiternians came\n And Cures\u2019 sons of ancient name,\n The squadron that Eretum guards\n And green Mutusca\u2019s olive-yards.\n Those whom Nomentum\u2019s city yields, 35\n Who till Velinus\u2019 Rosean fields,\n Who Tetrica\u2019s rude summit climb\n Or on Severus sits sublime,\n Or dwell where runs Hemella by\n Casperia\u2019s walls and Foruli, 40\n Who Tiber haunt and Fabaris\u2019 banks,\n Whom Nursia sends to battle down\n From her cold home, Hortinian ranks\n And Latian tribes of old renown,\n With those whom Allia\u2019s stream ill-starred\n Flows through, dividing sward from sward: 5\n Thick as the Libyan billows swarm\n When fell Orion sets in storm,\n Or as the sun-baked ears of grain\n In H\u00e6mus\u2019 field or Lycia\u2019s plain;\n Their bucklers rattle, and the ground 10\n Quakes, startled by their footfall\u2019s sound.\n\n Hal\u00e6sus, Agamemnon\u2019s mate,\n Who hates all Troy with liegeman\u2019s hate,\n Yokes his swift horses to the car,\n And brings his hosts to Turnus\u2019 war, 15\n The rustic tribes whose ploughshare tills\n The vine-clad slopes of Massic hills,\n Sent from Auruncan heights, or bound\n From Sidicinian champaign-ground,\n Who fertile Cales leave behind 20\n Or where Vulturnian waters wind,\n Saticule\u2019s tenants, rough and rude,\n And all the hardy Oscan brood.\n Spiked truncheons they are wont to fling,\n But fit them with a leathern string: 25\n A target shields the good left hand,\n And curved like primer\u2019s hook the brand\n They wield when foot to foot they stand.\n\n Nor, \u0152balus, shalt thou pass by\n Unnamed in this our minstrelsy, 30\n Born to old Telon, Capre\u00e6\u2019s king,\n By Naiad of Sebethus\u2019 spring;\n The son contemned his sire\u2019s domain,\n And stretched o\u2019er neighbouring lands his reign.\n Sarrastes\u2019 tribes his rule obey, 35\n And fields where Sarnus\u2019 waters play,\n Who Batulum and Rufr\u00e6 hold\n Or till Celenn\u00e6\u2019s fruitful mould,\n Or those whom fair Abella sees\n Down-looking through her apple-trees, 40\n All wont in Teuton sort to throw\n Nail-studded maces \u2019gainst the foe;\n Their helm of bark from cork-tree peeled,\n Of brass their sword, of brass their shield.\n\n Thee too steep Ners\u00e6 sends to war 5\n Brave Ufens, born \u2019neath happy star:\n Hard as their clods the \u00c6quian race,\n Inured to labour in the chase;\n In armour sheathed, they till their soil,\n Heap foray up, and live by spoil. 10\n\n Came too from old Marruvia\u2019s realm,\n An olive-garland round his helm,\n Bold Umbro, priest at once and knight,\n By king Archippus sent to fight;\n Who baleful serpents knew to steep 15\n By hand and voice in charmed sleep,\n Soothed their fierce wrath with subtlest skill,\n And from their bite drew off the ill.\n But ah! his medicines could not heal\n The death-wound dealt by Dardan steel; 20\n His slumberous charms availed him nought,\n Nor herbs on Marsian mountains sought\n And cropped with magic shears;\n For thee Anguitia\u2019s woody cave,\n For thee the glassy Fucine wave, 25\n For thee the lake shed tears.\n\n From green Aricia, bent on fame,\n Hippolytus\u2019 fair offspring came,\n In lone Egeria\u2019s forest reared,\n Where Dian\u2019s shrine is loved and feared. 30\n For lost Hippolytus,\u2019tis said,\n By cruel stepdame\u2019s cunning dead,\n Dragged by his frightened steeds, to sate\n His angry sire\u2019s vindictive hate,\n Was called once more to realms above, 35\n By P\u00e6on\u2019s skill and Dian\u2019s love.\n Then Jove incensed that man should rise\n From darkness to the upper skies,\n The leech that wrought such healing hurled\n With lightening down to Pluto\u2019s world. 40\n But Trivia kind her favourite hides\n And to Egeria\u2019s care confides,\n To live in woods obscure and lone,\n And lose in Virbius\u2019 name his own.\n \u2019Tis thence e\u2019en now from Trivia\u2019s shrine 5\n The horn-hoofed steeds are chased,\n Since, scared by monsters of the brine,\n The chariot and the youth divine\n They tumbled on the waste,\n Yet ne\u2019ertheless with horse and car 10\n His dauntless son essays the war.\n\n In foremost rank see Turnus move,\n His comely head the rest above:\n On his tall helm the triple cone\n Chim\u00e6ra in relief is shown; 15\n The monster\u2019s gaping jaws expire\n Hot volumes of \u00c6tn\u00e6an fire:\n And still she flames and raves the more\n The deeper floats the field with gore.\n With bristling hide and lifted horns 20\n So, all gold, his shield adorns,\n E\u2019en as in life she stood;\n There too is Argus, warder stern,\n And Inachus from graven urn,\n Her father, pours his flood. 25\n A cloud of footmen at his back\n And shielded hosts the plain made black;\n Auruncans, Argives, brave and bold,\n Rutulians and Sicanians old,\n Sacranians thirsting for the field, 30\n Labici with enamelled shield;\n Who Tiber\u2019s lawns with furrow score\n And pure Numicius\u2019 sacred shore,\n Subdue Rutulian slopes, and plough\n Circeius\u2019 steep reluctant brow: 35\n Where Anxur boasts her guardian Jove\n And greenly blooms Feronia\u2019s grove;\n Where Satura\u2019s unlovely mere\n In sullen quiet sleeps,\n And Ufens gropes through marshland drear 40\n And hides him in the deeps.\n Last marches forth for Latium\u2019s sake\n Camilla fair, the Volscian maid,\n A troop of horsemen in her wake\n In pomp of gleaming steel arrayed;\n Stern warrior queen! those tender hands 5\n Ne\u2019er plied Minerva\u2019s ministries:\n A virgin in the fight she stands,\n Or winged winds in speed outvies.\n Nay, she might fly o\u2019er fields of grain\n Nor crush in flight the tapering wheat, 10\n Or skim the surface of the main,\n Nor let the billows touch her feet.\n Where\u2019er she moves, from house and land\n The youths and ancient matrons throng,\n And fixed in greedy wonder stand 15\n Beholding as she speeds along:\n In kingly dye that scarf was dipped:\n \u2019Tis gold confines those tresses\u2019 flow:\n Her pastoral wand with steel is tipped,\n And Lycian are her shafts and bow. 20\n\n\n\n\nBOOK VIII\n\n\n Soon as Turnus set high on Laurentum\u2019s tower the\n ensign of war, and the horns clanged forth their harsh\n music, soon as he shook the reins in the mouth of his\n fiery steeds, and clashed his armour, at once came a stirring\n of men\u2019s souls: all Latium conspires in tumultuous rising, 5\n and the warrior bands are inflamed to madness. The\n generals, Messapus and Ufens and Mezentius, scorner of\n the gods, assume the lead, mustering succour from all\n sides and unpeopling the fields of their tillers far and\n wide. Venulus too is sent to the town of mighty Diomede 10\n to entreat help, and set forth that the Teucrians are\n planting foot in Latium: that \u00c6neas is arrived by sea\n and intruding his vanquished home-gods, and announcing\n himself as the Latians\u2019 destined king; that many tribes\n are flocking to the standard of the Dardan chief, and the 15\n contagion of his name is spreading over Latium\u2019s length\n and breadth. What is to be the end of such a beginning,\n what, should fortune favour him, he promises to himself\n as the issue of the battle, Diomede will know better than\n king Turnus or king Latinus. 20\n\n So go things in Latium. The chief of Laomedon\u2019s line\n sees it all, and is tossed on a sea of cares; now on this\n point, now on that, he throws in a moment the forces of\n his mind, hurrying it into all quarters and sweeping the\n whole range of thought: as in water a flickering beam 25\n on a brazen vat, darted back by the sun or the bright\n moon\u2019s image, flits far and wide over the whole place,\n now at last mounting to the sky and striking the ceiling\n of the roof. Night came, and tired life the earth over,\n bird and beast alike, were lapped deep in slumber, when 30\n \u00c6neas, good king, troubled at heart by the anxious war,\n stretched himself on the bank under heaven\u2019s chilly cope,\n and let repose at last steal over his frame. Before him\n appeared in person the god of the place, old Tiber of the\n pleasant stream, rising among the poplar foliage: a gray\n mantle of transparent linen floated about him, and his 5\n hair was shaded with bushy reeds: and thus he began to\n address the chief and relieve his care: \u201cO offspring of\n heaven\u2019s stock, who are bringing back to us safe from\n the foe the city of Troy, and preserving Pergamus in enduring\n life, yourself looked for long on the Laurentian 10\n soil and in the fields of Latium, here is your abiding place\n of rest, here, distrust it not, permanence for your home-gods:\n let not war\u2019s threatenings make you afraid, the\n swellings of the anger of heaven have all given way.\n Even now, that you may not think this the idle coinage 15\n of sleep, under the oaks on the bank you shall find an\n enormous swine lying with a litter of thirty head just\n born, white herself throughout her lazy length, her children\n round her breasts as white as she: a sign that when\n thirty years have made their circuit, Ascanius shall found 20\n that city known by the illustrious name of the White.\n Of no doubtful issue are these words of mine. Now for\n the way in which you may triumphantly unravel the\n present knot, grant me your attention, and I will show\n you in brief. On this my coast, Arcadians, a race sprung 25\n from Pallas, who have followed king Evander and his\n banner, have chosen themselves a site and built a city\n on the hills, called from the name of their ancestor Pallas,\n Pallanteum. These are forever engaged in war with the\n Latian nation: let them join your camp as allies, and 30\n make league with them. I myself will lead you between\n the banks, straight along my stream, that as you journey\n up your oars may surmount the adverse current. Up\n then, goddess-born, and ere the stars have well set, offer\n prayer in due course to Juno, and overbear with suppliant 35\n vows her anger and her menace. Once triumphant,\n you shall pay your worship to me. I am he whom you\n see here with brimming flood grazing the banks and\n threading rich cultured lands, sea-green Tiber, the river\n whom gods love best. Here rises my royal palace, the\n crown of lofty cities.\u201d The river-god said, and plunged\n into his deep pool, down to the bottom; night and sleep\n at once fled from \u00c6neas. He rises, and with his eyes 5\n fixed on the sun\u2019s rays just dawning on the sky, he lifts\n up in due form water from the river in the hollow of\n his hands, and pours forth to heaven words like these:\n \u201cNymphs, Laurentian nymphs, whence rivers derive their\n birth, and thou, father Tiber, with thy hallowed flood, 10\n take \u00c6neas to your bosom, and at last relieve him from\n perils. Whatever the spring of the pool where thou\n dwellest in thy pity for our troubles, whatever the soil\n whence thy goodly stream arises, ever shalt thou be\n honoured by me with sacrifice, ever with offerings, the 15\n river with the crescent horn, the monarch of Hesperian\n waters. Be but thou present, and confirm by thy deed\n thy heavenly tokens.\u201d So saying, he chooses two biremes\n from the fleet and fits them with rowers, while he gives\n his comrades arms to wear. 20\n\n When lo, a sudden portent marvellous to view\u2014stretched\n in milk-white length along the sward, herself of\n one hue with her white litter, conspicuous on the verdant\n bank is seen a sow, whom pious \u00c6neas to thee, even to\n thee, mightiest Juno, immolates in sacrifice, and sets her 25\n with all her brood before the altar. That whole night\n long Tiber smoothed his brimming stream, and so stood\n with hushed waves, half recoiling, as to lay down a watery\n floor as of some gentle lake or peaceful pool, that the oar\n might have nought to struggle with. So they begin their 30\n voyage and speed with auspicious cheers. Smooth along\n the surface floats the anointed pine: marvelling stand\n the waters, marvelling the unwonted wood, to see the\n warriors\u2019 shields gleaming far along the stream, and the\n painted vessels gliding between the banks. The rowers 35\n give no rest to night or day, as they surmount the long\n meanders, sweep under the fringe of diverse trees, and\n cut through the woods that look green in the still expanse.\n The sun had climbed in full blaze the central cope of\n heaven, when from afar they see walls, and a citadel,\n and the roofs of straggling habitations\u2014the place which\n the power of Rome has now made to mate the skies:\n then it was but Evander\u2019s poor domain. At once they 5\n turn their prows to land and approach the town.\n\n It happened that on that day the Arcadian monarch\n was performing a yearly sacrifice to Amphitryon\u2019s mighty\n child[250] and the heavenly brotherhood in a grove before the\n city. With him his son Pallas, with him all the prime of 10\n his warriors and his unambitious senate were offering incense,\n and the new-shed blood was steaming warm on the\n altar. Soon as they saw tall ships gliding toward them\n through the shadowy trees, and plying the oar in silence,\n alarmed by the sudden apparition, each and all start up 15\n from the sacrificial board. Pallas, bolder than the rest,\n bids them not break the sacred observance, and snatching\n up a weapon flies himself to meet the strangers, and\n from a height at distance, \u201cWarriors,\u201d he cries, \u201cwhat\n cause has led you to venture on a path you know not? 20\n whither are you bound? what is your nation, your family?\n is it peace you bring us or war?\u201d Then father \u00c6neas\n bespeaks him thus from the lofty stern, stretching forth\n in his hand a branch of peaceful olive: \u201cThese are Trojans\n you see. These weapons mean hostility to the 25\n Latins, who have driven us from their land by a tyrannous\n war. Our errand is to Evander. Take back our message,\n and say that chosen chiefs of Dardany are at his gate,\n praying for an armed alliance.\u201d That mighty name\n struck awe into Pallas. \u201cDisembark,\u201d he cries, \u201cwhoever 30\n you be, and speak to my sire in person, and come\n beneath our home-gods\u2019 hospitable shelter,\u201d and gave his\n hand in welcome, and clung to the hand he clasped.\n They advance under the shade of the grove, and leave\n the river behind. 35\n\n Then \u00c6neas addresses the king with friendly courtesy:\n \u201cBest of the sons of Greece, to whom it has pleased Fortune\n that I should make my prayer and stretch out boughs\n wreathed with fillets, I felt no fear for that you were a\n Danaan leader, an Arcadian, allied by lineage with the\n two sons of Atreus: I felt that my own worth, and the\n gods\u2019 hallowed oracles, and the old connection of our\n ancestry, and your world-wide fame, had linked me to 5\n you, and brought me before you at once by destiny and\n of my own will. Dardanus, first father and founder of the\n town of Ilion, born, as Greeks tell, of Electra, daughter of\n Atlas, came among Teucer\u2019s people: Electra\u2019s father was\n mighty Atlas, he that bears up on his shoulders the 10\n spheres of heaven. Your progenitor is Mercury, whom\n beauteous Maia[251] conceived and brought forth on Cyllene\u2019s\n chill summit; but Maia, if tradition be credited, is the\n child of Atlas, the same Atlas who lifts up the stars of\n the firmament. Thus our two races part off from one 15\n and the same stock. Trusting to this, I sent no embassy,\n nor contrived the first approaches to you by rule\n and method: in myself, in my own person, I have made\n the experiment, and come to your gate as a suppliant.\n The same tribe which persecutes you, the Daunians, is 20\n now persecuting us with cruel war: should they drive us\n away, they foresee nought to hinder their subduing all\n Hesperia utterly to their yoke, and mastering either sea,\n that washes it above or below. Take our friendship and\n give us yours. On our side are hearts valiant in war, 25\n and a gallant youth approved by adventure.\u201d\n\n \u00c6neas ended. Long ere this the other\u2019s eye was scanning\n the speaker\u2019s countenance and eyes, and surveying\n his whole frame. Then he returns in brief: \u201cWith what\n joy, bravest of the Teucrians, do I welcome and acknowledge 30\n ye! how well I call to mind the words, the voice,\n the look of your sire, the great Anchises! For I remember\n how Priam, son of Laomedon, journeying to Salamis,\n to see the kingdom of his sister Hesione, went on to visit\n the chill frontier of Arcadia. In those days the first 35\n bloom of youth was clothing my cheeks. I admired the\n Teucrian leaders, I admired Laomedon\u2019s royal son; but\n Anchises\u2019 port was nobler than all. My mind kindled\n with a youth\u2019s ardour to accost one so great, and exchange\n the grasp of the hand. I made my approach, and eagerly\n conducted him to the walls of Pheneus.[252] On leaving he\n gave me a beauteous quiver with Lycian arrows, and a\n scarf embroidered with gold, and two bridles which my 5\n Pallas has now, all golden. So now I both plight you\n here with the hand you ask, and soon as to-morrow\u2019s light\n shall restore to the earth its blessing, I will send you back\n rejoicing in an armed succour, and re\u00ebnforced with stores.\n Meanwhile, since you are arrived here as my friends, join 10\n in gladly solemnizing with us this our yearly celebration,\n which it were sin to postpone, and accustom yourselves\n thus early to the hospitalities of your new allies.\u201d\n\n This said, he bids set on again the viands and the cups,\n erewhile removed, and himself places the warriors on a 15\n seat of turf, welcoming \u00c6neas in especial grace with the\n heaped cushion of a shaggy lion\u2019s hide, and bidding him\n occupy a throne of maple wood. Then chosen youths\n and the priest of the altar with emulous zeal bring in the\n roasted carcases of bulls, pile up in baskets the gifts of 20\n the corn-goddess prepared by art, and serve the wine-god\n round. \u00c6neas and the warriors of Troy with him\n regale themselves on a bull\u2019s long chine[o] and on sacrificial\n entrails.\n\n When hunger had been quenched and appetite allayed, 25\n king Evander begins: \u201cThink not that these solemnities\n of ours, these ritual feastings, this altar so blest in divine\n presence, have been riveted on us by idle superstition,\n unknowing of the gods of old; no, guest of Troy, it is\n deliverance from cruel dangers that makes us sacrifice 30\n and pay again and again worship where worship is due.\n First of all cast your eyes on this rock-hung crag: observe\n how the masses of stone are flung here and there, how\n desolate and exposed stands the mountain\u2019s recess, and\n how the rocks have left the trail of a giant downfall. 35\n Here once was a cave, retiring in enormous depth, tenanted\n by a terrible shape, Cacus, half man, half brute: the sun\u2019s\n rays could never pierce it; the ground was always steaming\n with fresh carnage; fixed to its imperious portals\n were hanging human countenances ghastly with hideous\n gore. This monster\u2019s father was Vulcan: Vulcan\u2019s were\n the murky fires that he disgorged from his mouth as he\n towered along in enormous bulk. To us also at length 5\n in our yearning need time brought the arrival of a divine\n helper. For the mightiest of avengers, Alcides, triumphing\n in the slaughter and the spoils of the triple Geryon,[253]\n was in our land, and was driving by this road as a conqueror\n those giant oxen, and the cattle were filling valley 10\n and river-side. But Cacus, infatuated by fiendish frenzy,\n not to leave aught of crime or craft undared or unessayed,\n carries off from the stalls four bulls of goodly form, and\n heifers no fewer of surpassing beauty. And these, that\n they might leave no traces by their forward motion, he 15\n dragged by the tail to his cave, haled them with reversed\n footprints to tell the story, and so concealed them in the\n dark rocky den. Thus the seeker found no traces to lead\n him to the cavern. Meantime, when Amphitryon\u2019s son\n was at last removing from their stalls his feasted herds 20\n and preparing to quit the country, the oxen gave a farewell\n low, filling the whole woodland with their plainings,\n and taking clamorous leave of the hills. One of the\n heifers returned the sound, lowing from the depth of the\n vast cavern, and thus baffled the hopes of her jealous 25\n guardian. Now, if ever, Alcides\u2019 wrath blazed up from\n the black choler of his heart: he snatches up his weapons\n and his club with all its weight of knots, and makes at\n full speed for the skyey mountain\u2019s height. Then first the\n men of our country saw Cacus\u2019 limbs tremble and his 30\n eyes quail: away he flies swifter than the wind, and seeks\n his den; fear has winged his feet. Scarce had he shut\n himself in, and let down from its burst fastenings the\n huge stone, suspended there by his father\u2019s workmanship\n in iron, and with that barrier fortified his straining doorway, 35\n when lo! the hero of Tiryns[254] was there in the fury\n of his soul: scanning every inlet he turns his face hither\n and thither, gnashing with his teeth. Thrice in white\n heat of wrath he surveys the whole mass of Aventine;\n thrice he attempts in vain the stony portal; thrice,\n staggering from the effort, he sits down in the hollow.\n Before him stood a pointed crag with abrupt rocky sides\n rising over the cave behind, high as the eye can reach, a 5\n fitting home for the nests of unclean and hateful birds.\n This, as sloping down it inclined towards the river on the\n left, pushing it full on the right he upheaved and tore it\n loose from its seat, then suddenly sent it down, with a\n shock at which high heaven thunders, the banks start 10\n apart, and the river runs back in terror. Then the cave\n and the vast halls of Cacus were seen unroofed, and the\n dark recesses lay open to their depths\u2014even as if earth,\n by some mighty force laid open to her depths, should\n burst the doors of the mansions below, and expose the 15\n realms of ghastly gloom which the gods hate, and from\n above the vast abyss were to be seen, and the spectres\n dazzled by the influx of day. So as Cacus stares surprised\n by the sudden burst of light, pent by the walls of\n his cave, and roars in strange and hideous sort, Alcides 20\n from above showers down his darts, and calls every\n weapon to his aid, and rains a tempest of boughs and\n huge millstones. But he, seeing that no hope of flight\n remains, vomits from his throat huge volumes of smoke,\n marvellous to tell, and wraps the whole place in pitchy 25\n darkness, blotting out all prospect from the eyes, and in\n the depth of the cave masses a smothering night of blended\n blackness and fire. The rage of Alcides brooked not this:\n headlong he dashed through the flame, where the smoke\n surges thickest and the vast cavern seethes with billows 30\n of black vapour. Here while Cacus in the heart of the\n gloom is vomiting his helpless fires he seizes him, twines\n his limbs with his own, and in fierce embrace compresses\n his strangled eyeballs and his throat now bloodless and\n dry. At once the doors are burst and the black den laid 35\n bare, and the plundered oxen, the spoil that his oath had\n disclaimed, are exposed to light, and the hideous carcase\n is dragged out by the heels. The gazers look unsatisfied\n on those dreadful eyes, those grim features, the shaggy\n breast of the half bestial monster, and the extinguished\n furnace of his throat. Since then grateful acknowledgments\n have been paid, and the men of younger time have\n joyfully observed the day: foremost among them Potitius, 5\n founder of the ceremony, and the Pinarian house, custodian\n of the worship of Hercules. He himself set up in\n the grove this altar, which shall ever be named by us\n the greatest, and shall ever be the greatest in truth.\n Come then, warriors, and in honour of worth so glorious 10\n wreathe your locks with leaves, and present in your hands\n brimming cups, and invoke our common deity, and pour\n libations with gladness of heart.\u201d As he ended, the white-green\n poplar cast its Herculean shade over his locks and\n hung down with a festoon of leaves, and the sacred goblet 15\n charged his hand. At once all with glad hearts pour\n libations on the board and make prayers to heaven.\n\n Meantime evening is approaching nearer the slope of\n heaven, and already the priests and their chief Potitius\n were in procession, clad in skins in ritual sort, and bearing 20\n fire in their hands. They renew the solemn feast,\n and bring delicious offerings for a fresh repast, and pile\n the altars with loaded chargers. Then come the Salii to\n sing round about the blazing altars, their temples wreathed\n with boughs of poplar, a company of youths and another 25\n of old men; and these extol in song the glories and deeds\n of Hercules: how in his cradle, by the pressure of his\n young hand he strangled his stepmother\u2019s monstrous\n messengers, the two serpents; how in war that same\n hand dashed to pieces mighty cities, Troy and \u0152chalia; 30\n how he endured those thousand heavy labours, a slave to\n king Eurystheus, by ungentle Juno\u2019s fateful will. \u201cYes,\n thou, unconquered hero, thou slayest the two-formed\n children of the cloud, Hyl\u00e6us and Pholus, thou slayest\n the portent of Crete, and the enormous lion that dwelt 35\n \u2019neath Nemea\u2019s rock. Thou never quailedst at aught in\n bodily shape, no, nor at Typh\u0153us himself, towering high,\n weapons in hand; thy reason failed thee not when Lerna\u2019s\n serpent stood round thee with all her throng of heads.\n Hail to thee, authentic offspring of Jove, fresh ornament\n of the sky! come to us, come to these thine own rites\n with favouring smile and auspicious gait.\u201d Such things\n their songs commemorate; and they crown all with Cacus\u2019 5\n cave and the fiend himself, the fire panting from his lungs.\n The entire grove echoes with their voices, and the hills\n rebound.\n\n The sacrifice over, the whole concourse returns to the\n city. There walked the king, mossed over with years, 10\n keeping at his side \u00c6neas and his son as he moved along,\n and lightening the way with various speech. \u00c6neas admires,\n and turns his quick glance from sight to sight:\n each scene enthralls him; and with eager zest he inquires\n and learns one by one the records of men of old. Then 15\n spoke king Evander, the builder of Rome\u2019s tower-crowned\n hill: \u201cThese woodlands were first inhabited by native\n Fauns and Nymphs, and by a race of men that sprung\n from trunks of trees and hard oaken core; no rule of life,\n no culture had they: they never learnt to yoke the ox, 20\n nor to hive their stores, nor to husband what they got;\n the boughs and the chase supplied their savage sustenance.\n The first change came from Saturn, who arrived from\n skyey Olympus, flying from the arms of Jove, a realmless\n exile. He brought together the race, untamed as they 25\n were and scattered over mountain heights, and gave them\n laws, and chose for the country the name of Latium,\n because he had found it a safe hiding-place. The golden\n age of story was when he was king, so calm and peaceful\n his rule over his people; till gradually there crept in a 30\n race of worse grain and duller hue, and the frenzy of war,\n and the greed of having. Then came the host of Ausonia\n and the Sicanian tribes, and again and again Saturn\u2019s\n land changed its name; then came king after king, savage\n Thybris with his giant bulk, from whom in after days we 35\n Italians called the river Tiber: the authentic name of\n ancient Albula was lost. Myself, an exile from my country,\n while voyaging to the ends of the sea, all-powerful\n Fortune and inevitable Destiny planted here; at my back\n were the awful hests[255] of my mother, the nymph Carmentis,\n and the divine sanction of Apollo.\u201d Scarce had he\n finished, when moving on he points out the altar and\n the Carmental gate, as the Romans call it, their ancient 5\n tribute to the nymph Carmentis, the soothsaying seer, who\n first told of the future greatness of \u00c6neas\u2019 sons and of\n the glories of Pallanteum. Next he points out a mighty\n grove, which fiery Romulus made the Asylum of a later\n day, and embowered by the chill dank rock, the Lupercal, 10\n bearing after Arcadian wont the name of Lyc\u00e6an Pan.\n He shows, moreover, the forest of hallowed Argiletum,\n and appeals to the spot, and recounts the death of Argus,\n once his guest. Thence he leads the way to the Tarpeian\n temple, even the Capitol, now gay with gold, then rough 15\n with untrimmed brushwood. Even in that day the sacred\n terrors of the spot awed the trembling rustics; even then\n they shuddered at the forest and the rock. \u201cThis wood,\u201d\n he says, \u201cthis hill with the shaggy brow, is the home of\n a god of whom we know not; my Arcadians believe that 20\n they have seen there great Jove himself, oft and oft,\n shaking with his right hand the shadowy \u00c6gis[256] and calling\n up the storm. Here, too, in these two towns, with\n their ramparts overthrown, you see the relics and the\n chronicles of bygone ages. This tower was built by father 25\n Janus, that by Saturn; the one\u2019s name Janiculum, the\n other\u2019s Saturnia.\u201d So talking together they came nigh\n the palace where Evander dwells in poverty, and saw\n cattle all about lowing in the Roman forum and Carin\u00e6\u2019s\n luxurious precinct. When they reached the gate, \u201cThis 30\n door,\u201d said the host, \u201cAlcides in his triumph stooped to\n enter; this mansion contained his presence. Nerve yourself,\n my guest, to look down on riches, and make your\n own soul, like his, such as a god would not disdain, and\n take in no churlish sort the welcome of poverty.\u201d He 35\n said, and beneath the slope of his narrow roof ushered in\n the great \u00c6neas, and laid him to rest on a couch of leaves\n and the skin of a Libyan bear.\n\n Down comes the night, and flaps her sable wings over\n the earth. But Venus, distracted, and not idly, with a\n mother\u2019s cares, disturbed by the menaces of the Laurentines\n and the violence of the gathering storm, addresses\n Vulcan, and in the nuptial privacy of their golden chamber 5\n begins her speech, breathing in every tone the love\n that gods feel: \u201cIn old days of war, while the Argive\n kings were desolating Pergamus, their destined prey, and\n ravaging the towers which were doomed to hostile fire,\n no help for the sufferers, no arms of thy resourceful workmanship 10\n did I ask; no, my dearest lord, I chose not to\n task thee and thy efforts to no end, large as was my debt\n to the sons of Priam, and many the tears that I shed for\n \u00c6neas\u2019 cruel agony. Now, by Jove\u2019s commands, he has\n set his foot on Rutulian soil; so, with the past in my 15\n mind, I appear as a suppliant, to ask of his power whom\n I honour most, as a mother may, armour for my son.\n Thee the daughter of Nereus, thee the spouse of Tithonus,\n found accessible to tears. See but what nations are\n mustering, what cities are closing the gate and pointing 20\n the steel against me and the lives I love.\u201d The speech\n was ended, and the goddess is fondling her undecided\n lord on all sides in the soft embrace of her snowy arms.\n Suddenly he caught the wonted fire, the well-known heat\n shot to his vitals and threaded his melting frame, even as 25\n on a day when the fiery rent burst by the thunderclaps\n runs with gleaming flash along the veil of cloud. His\n spouse saw the triumph of her art and felt what beauty\n can do. Then spoke the stern old god, subdued by everlasting\n love: \u201cWhy fetch your excuses from so far? 30\n whither, my queen, has fled your old affiance in me? had\n you then been as anxious, even in those old days it had\n been allowed to give arms to the Trojans; nor was the\n almighty sire nor the destinies unwilling that Troy should\n stand and Priam remain in life for ten years more. And 35\n now, if war is your object and so your purpose holds, all\n the care that it lies within my art to promise, what can\n be wrought out of iron and molten electrum, as far as\n fire can burn and wind blow\u2014cease to show by entreaty\n that you mistrust your power.\u201d This said, he gave the\n embrace she longed for, and falling on the bosom of his\n spouse wooed the calm of slumber in every limb.\n\n Then, soon as rest, first indulged, had driven sleep 5\n away, when flying night had run half her course; just\n when a woman, compelled to support life by spinning,\n even by Pallas\u2019 slender craft, wakes to light the fire that\n slumbered in the embers, adding night to her day\u2019s work,\n and keeps her handmaids labouring long by the blaze, all 10\n that she may preserve her husband\u2019s bed unsullied, and\n bring up his infant sons; even so the lord of fire, at an\n hour not less slothful, rises from his couch of down to\n the toils of the artisan. There rises an island hard by\n the Sicanian coast and \u00c6olian Lipari, towering with fiery 15\n mountains; beneath it thunders a cavern, the den of\n \u00c6tna, blasted out by Cyclop forges; the sound of mighty\n blows echoes on anvils: the smeltings of the Chalybes\n hiss through its depths, and the fire pants from the jaws\n of the furnace; it is the abode of Vulcan, and the land 20\n bears Vulcan\u2019s name. Hither, then, the lord of fire\n descends from heaven\u2019s height. There, in the enormous\n den, the Cyclops were forging the iron, Brontes, and\n Steropes, and Pyracmon, the naked giant. In their hands\n was the rough cast of the thunder-bolt, one of those many 25\n which the great Father showers down on earth from all\n quarters of heaven\u2014part was polished for use, part still\n incomplete. Three spokes of frozen rain, three of watery\n cloud had they put together, three of ruddy flame and\n winged southern wind; and now they were blending with 30\n what they had done the fearful flash, and the noise, and\n the terror, and the fury of untiring fire. In another part\n they were hurrying on for Mars the car and the flying\n wheels, with which he rouses warriors to madness, aye,\n and whole cities; and with emulous zeal were making 35\n bright with golden serpent scales the terrible \u00c6gis, the\n armour of angry Pallas, snakes wreathed together, and\n full on the breast of the goddess the Gorgon herself, her\n neck severed and her eyes rolling. \u201cAway with all this,\u201d\n cries the god; \u201ctake your unfinished tasks elsewhere, you\n Cyclops of \u00c6tna, and give your attention here. Arms\n are wanted for a fiery warrior. Now is the call for power,\n now for swiftness of hand, now for all that art can teach. 5\n Turn delay into despatch.\u201d No more he said; but they\n with speed put their shoulder to the work, sharing it in\n equal parts. Copper flows in streams and golden ore, and\n steel, that knows how to wound, is molten in the huge\n furnace. They set up in outline a mighty shield, itself 10\n singly matched against all the Latian weapons, and tangle\n together seven plates, circle and circle. Some with their\n gasping bellows are taking in and giving out the wind;\n others are dipping the hissing copper in the lake. The\n cave groans under the anvil\u2019s weight. They, one with 15\n another, with all a giant\u2019s strength, are lifting their arms\n in measured cadence, and turning with their griping\n tongs the ore on this side and on that.\n\n While the father of Lemnos[257] makes this despatch on\n the \u00c6olian shores, Evander is roused from his lowly 20\n dwelling by the genial light and the morning songs of\n birds under the eaves. Up rises the old man, and draws\n a tunic over his frame, and puts Tyrrhenian sandals\n round his feet; next he fastens from below to side and\n shoulder a sword from Tegea, flinging back over him a 25\n panther\u2019s hide that drooped from the left. Moreover, two\n guardian dogs go before him from his palace door, and\n attend their master\u2019s steps. So he made his way to the\n lodging of his guest, and sought \u00c6neas\u2019 privacy, their\n discourse of yesterday and the gift then promised fresh 30\n in his heroic soul. \u00c6neas likewise was astir not less early.\n This had his son Pallas, that had Achates walking by his\n side. They meet, and join hand in hand, and sit them\n down in the midst of the mansion, and at last enjoy the\n privilege of mutual talk. The king begins as follows:\u2014 35\n\n \u201cMightiest leader of the Teucrians, whom while heaven\n preserves I shall never own that Troy\u2019s powers are vanquished\n or her realm overturned, we ourselves have but\n small means of martial aid to back our great name; on\n this side we are bounded by the Tuscan river: on that\n our Rutulian foe beleaguers us, and thunders in arms\n around our walls. But I have a mighty nation, a host\n with an imperial heritage, which I am ready to unite with 5\n you\u2014a gleam of safety revealed by unexpected chance.\n It is at the summons of destiny that you bend your steps\n thither. Not far hence, built of ancient stone, is the inhabited\n city of Agylla, where of old the Lydian nation,\n renowned in war, took its seat on Etruscan mountains. 10\n This city, after long and prosperous years, was held by\n king Mezentius, by stress of tyrant rule and the terror of\n the sword. Why should I recount the despot\u2019s dreadful\n murders and all his savage crimes? may the gods preserve 15\n them in mind, and bring them on his own head and\n his family\u2019s! Nay, he would even link together the dead\n and the living, coupling hand with hand and face with\n face\u2014so inventive is the lust of torture\u2014and in the\n slime and poison of that sickening embrace would destroy\n them thus by a lingering dissolution. At last, wearied 20\n by oppression, his subjects in arms besiege the frantic\n monster himself and his palace, slay his retainers, shower\n firebrands on his roof. He, mid the carnage, escapes to\n Rutulian territory, and shelters himself under Turnus\u2019\n friendly power. So all Etruria has risen in righteous 25\n wrath; at once, at the sword\u2019s point, they demand that\n the king be surrendered to their vengeance. Of these\n thousands, \u00c6neas, I will make you general. For along\n the seaboard\u2019s length their ships are swarming and panting\n for the fray, and calling on the trumpet to sound, 30\n while an aged soothsayer is holding them back by his\n fateful utterance: \u2018Chosen warriors of M\u00e6onian land, the\n power and soul of an ancient nation, whom just resentment\n launches against the foe and Mezentius inflames with\n righteous fury, no Italian may take the reins of a race so 35\n proud: choose foreigners to lead you.\u2019 At this the Etruscan\n army settled down on yonder plain, awed by the\n heavenly warning. Tarchon[o] himself has sent me ambassadors\n with the royal crown and sceptre, and given to\n my hands the ensigns of power, bidding me join the camp,\n and assume the Tyrrhene throne. But age, with its enfeebling\n chill and the exhaustion of its long term of years,\n grudges me the honour of command; my day of martial 5\n prowess is past. Fain would I encourage my son to the\n task, but that the blood of a Sabine mother blending with\n mine makes his race half Italian. You, in years and in\n race alike the object of Fate\u2019s indulgence\u2014you, the\n chosen one of Heaven\u2014assume the place that waits 10\n you, gallant general of Teucrians and Italians both. Nay,\n I will give you, too, Pallas here, the hope and solace of\n my age; under your tutelage let him learn to endure\n military service and the war-god\u2019s strenuous labours; let\n your actions be his pattern, and his young admiration be 15\n centred on you. To him I will give two hundred Arcadian\n horsemen, the flower of my chivalry, and Pallas in his\n own name shall give you as many more.\u201d\n\n Scarce had his words been uttered\u2014and the twain\n were holding their eyes in downcast thought, \u00c6neas 20\n Anchises\u2019 son and true Achates, brooding each with his\n own sad heart on many a peril, had not Cythera\u2019s goddess\n sent a sign from the clear sky. For unforeseen, flashed\n from the heaven, comes a glare and a peal, and all around\n seemed crashing down at once, and the clang of the 25\n Tyrrhene trumpet appeared to blare through ether. They\n look up: a second and a third time cracks the enormous\n sound. Armour enveloped in a cloud in a clear quarter\n of the firmament is seen to flash redly in the sunlight and\n to ring as clashed together. The rest were all amazement; 30\n but the Trojan hero recognized the sound, and in\n it the promise of his goddess mother. Then he cries:\n \u201cNay, my host, nay, ask not in sooth what chance these\n wonders portend; it is I that have a call from on high.\n This was the sign that the goddess who gave me birth 35\n foreshowed me that she would send, should the attack of\n war come, while she would bring through the air armour\n from Vulcan for my help. Alas! how vast the carnage\n ready to burst on Laurentum\u2019s wretched sons! what\n vengeance, Turnus, shall be mine from thee! how many\n a warrior\u2019s shield and helm and stalwart frame shalt thou\n toss beneath thy waters, father Tiber! Aye, clamour for\n battle, and break your plighted word!\u201d 5\n\n Thus having said, he rises from his lofty seat, and first\n of all quickens the altars where the Herculean fires were\n smouldering, and with glad heart approaches the hearth-god\n of yesterday, and the small household powers; duly\n they sacrifice chosen sheep, Evander for his part and the 10\n Trojan youth for theirs. Next he moves on to the ships\n and revisits his crew: from whose number he chooses men\n to follow him to the war, eminent in valour: the rest are\n wafted down the stream and float lazily along with the\n current at their back, to bring Ascanius news of his father 15\n and his fortunes. Horses are given to the Teucrians who\n are seeking the Tyrrhene territory, and one is led along,\n reserved for \u00c6neas; a tawny lion\u2019s hide covers it wholly,\n gleaming forth with talons of gold.\n\n At once flies rumour, blazed through the little city, 20\n that the horsemen are marching with speed to the gates\n of the Tyrrhene king. In alarm the matrons redouble\n their vows; fear treads on the heels of danger, and the\n features of the war-god loom larger on the view. Then\n Evander, clasping the hand of his departing son, hangs 25\n about him with tears that never have their fill, and speaks\n like this: \u201cAh! would but Jupiter bring back my bygone\n years, and make me what I was when under Pr\u00e6neste\u2019s\n very walls I struck down the first rank and set a\n conqueror\u2019s torch to piles of shields, and with this my 30\n hand sent down to Tartarus king Erulus, whom at his\n birth his mother Feronia endowed with three lives\u2014fearful\n to tell\u2014and a frame that could thrice bear arms:\n thrice had he to be struck down in death: yet from him\n on that day this hand took all those three lives, and 35\n thrice stripped that armour\u2014never should I, as now, be\n torn, my son, from your loved embrace. Never would\n Mezentius have laid dishonour on a neighbour\u2019s crest,\n dealt with his sword that repeated havoc, and bereaved\n my city of so many of her sons. But you, great powers\n above, and thou, Jupiter, mightiest ruler of the gods,\n have pity, I implore you, on an Arcadian monarch, and\n give ear to a father\u2019s prayer; if your august will, if destiny 5\n has in store for me the safe return of my Pallas, if life\n will make me see him and meet him once more, then I\n pray that I may live; there is no trial I cannot bear to\n outlast. But if thou, dark Fortune, threatenest any unnamed\n calamity, now, oh, now, be it granted me to snap 10\n life\u2019s ruthless thread, while care wears a double face,\n while hope cannot spell the future, while you, darling boy,\n my love and late delight, are still in my arms: nor let\n my ears be pierced by tidings more terrible.\u201d So was the\n father heard to speak at their last parting; his servants 15\n were seen carrying within doors their fallen lord.\n\n And now the cavalry had passed the city\u2019s open gates,\n \u00c6neas among the first and true Achates, and after them\n the other Trojan nobles; Pallas himself the centre of the\n column, conspicuous with gay scarf and figured armour; 20\n even as the morning-star just bathed in the waves of the\n ocean, Venus\u2019 favourite above all the stellar fires, sets in\n a moment on the sky his heavenly countenance, and\n melts the darkness. There are the trembling matrons\n standing on the walls, following with their eyes the cloud 25\n of dust and the gleam of the brass-clad companies. They\n in their armour are moving through the underwood, their\n eye on the nearest path: hark! a shout mounts up, a\n column is formed, and the four-foot beat of the hoof shakes\n the crumbling plain. Near the cool stream of C\u00e6re stands 30\n a vast grove, clothed by hereditary reverence with wide-spread\n sanctity; on all sides it is shut in by the hollows\n of hills, which encompass its dark pine-wood shades.\n Rumour says that the old Pelasgians dedicated it to Silvanus,\n god of the country and the cattle, a grove with a 35\n holiday\u2014the people who once in early times dwelt on\n the Latian frontier. Not far from this Tarchon and the\n Tyrrhenians were encamped in a sheltered place, and from\n the height of the hill their whole army spread already to\n the view, as they pitched at large over the plain. Hither\n come father \u00c6neas and the chosen company of warriors,\n and refresh the weariness of themselves and their steeds.\n\n But Venus had come in her divine beauty through the 5\n dark clouds of heaven with the gifts in her hand, and soon\n as she saw her son far retired in the vale in the privacy of\n the cool stream, she thus accosted him, appearing suddenly\n before him: \u201cSee, here is the present completed by my\n lord\u2019s promised skill: now you will not need to hesitate 10\n to-morrow about daring to the combat the haughty\n Laurentians or fiery Turnus\u2019 self.\u201d So said the lady of\n Cythera, and sought her son\u2019s embrace: the arms she set\n up to glitter under an oak that faced his view. He,\n exulting in the goddess\u2019 gifts, and charmed with their 15\n dazzling beauty, cannot feast his eyes enough as he rolls\n them from point to point, admiring and turning over in\n his hands and arms the helmet with its dread crest, vomiting\n flame, the fateful sword, the stiff brazen corslet, blood-red\n and huge, in hue as when a dark cloud kindles with 20\n sunlight and gleams afar; the polished cuishes,[258] too, of\n electrum and gold smelted oft and oft, and the spear,\n and the shield\u2019s ineffable frame-work. On this was the\n story of Italy and the triumphs of the Romans wrought\n by the Lord of the fire; no stranger he to prophecy nor 25\n ignorant of the time to come: on it was the whole royal\n line of the future from Ascanius onward, and their foughten\n fields in long succession. There, too, he had portrayed\n the mother-wolf stretched in Mars\u2019 green cavern; around\n her teats were the twin boys in play climbing and clinging, 30\n and licking their dam without dread; while she, her lithe\n neck bent back, was caressing them by turns and with her\n tongue shaping their young limbs. Near this he had inserted\n Rome and the lawless rape of the Sabine maidens\n amid the crowded circus, while the great games were in 35\n course, and the sudden rise of a new war between the sons\n of Romulus and ancient Tatius with his austere Cures.\n Afterwards were seen the two kings, the conflict set at rest,\n standing in arms before the altar of Jove with goblets in\n their hands and cementing a treaty with swine\u2019s blood.\n Not far off Mettus had already been torn asunder by the\n chariots driven apart\u2014ah! false Alban, were you but a\n keeper of your word!\u2014and Tullus was dragging the 5\n traitor\u2019s flesh through the woodland, while the bushes were\n sprinkled with the bloody rain. There, too, was Porsenna\n insisting that exiled Tarquin should be taken back and\n leaguering the city with a mighty siege: \u00c6neas\u2019 sons were\n flinging themselves on the sword in freedom\u2019s cause. In 10\n his face might be seen the likeness of wrath, and the likeness\n of menace, that Cocles[259] should have the courage\n to tear down the bridge, that Cloelia should break her\n prison and swim the river. There was Manlius standing\n sentinel on the summit of the Tarpeian fortress in the 15\n temple\u2019s front, holding the height of the Capitol, while\n the Romulean thatch looked fresh and sharp on the palace-roof.\n And there was the silver goose fluttering its wings\n in the gilded cloister, and shrieking that the Gauls were\n at the door. The Gauls were at hand marching among 20\n the brushwood, and had gained the summit sheltered\n by the darkness and the kindly grace of dusky night.\n Golden is their hair and golden their raiment; striped\n cloaks gleam on their shoulders; their milk-white necks\n are twined with gold; each brandishes two Alpine javelins, 25\n his body guarded by the long oval of his shield. There\n he had shown in relief the Salii in their dances and the\n naked Luperci, and the woolly peaks of their caps, and\n the sacred shields which fell from heaven: chaste matrons\n were making solemn progress through the city in their 30\n soft-cushioned cars. At distance from these he introduces\n too the mansions of Tartarus, Pluto\u2019s yawning portals,\n and the torments of crime, and thee, Catiline, poised on\n the beetling rock and quailing at grim Fury-faces: and\n the good in their privacy, with Cato as their lawgiver. 35\n Stretching in its breadth among these swept the semblance\n of the swelling sea, all of gold, but the blue was made to\n foam with whitening billows; and all about it dolphins\n of bright silver in joyous circles were lashing the surface\n with their tails and cutting the tide. In the midst might\n be seen fleets of brazen ships, the naval war of Actium;\n you might remark the whole of Leucate aglow with the\n war-god\u2019s array, and the waves one blaze of gold. On this 5\n side is Augustus C\u00e6sar leading the Italians to conflict,\n with the senate and the people, the home-gods and their\n mighty brethren, standing aloft on the stern: his auspicious\n brows emit twin-born flames, and his ancestral\n star dawns over his head. Elsewhere is Agrippa with the 10\n winds and the gods at his back, towering high as he leads\n his column; his brows gleam with the beaked circle of a\n naval crown, the glorious ornament of war. On that side\n is Antonius with his barbaric powers and the arms of divers\n lands, triumphant from the nations of the dawn-goddess 15\n and the red ocean\u2019s coast, carrying with him Egypt\n and the strength of the East and the utmost parts of Bactria,\n and at his side\u2014shame on the profanation!\u2014his\n Egyptian spouse.[260] All are seen at once in fierce onward\n motion: the whole sea-floor foams up, torn by the backward 20\n pull of the oars and by the three-fanged beaks.\n On to the deep! you would deem that uprooted Cyclades\n were swimming the sea, or that tall hills were meeting hills\n in battle; such the giant effort, with which the warriors\n urge on their tower-crowned ships. From the hand is 25\n scattered a shower of flaming tow and flying steel: the\n plains of Neptune redden with unwonted carnage. In the\n midst of them the queen is cheering on her forces with\n the timbrel of her native land; casting as yet no glance on\n the twin-born snakes that threaten her rear. There are 30\n the portentous gods of all the nations, and Anubis[261] the\n barking monster, brandishing their weapons in the face\n of Neptune and Venus and in the face of Pallas. Midmost\n in the fray storms Mavors,[262] relieved in iron, and fell\n Fury-fiends swooping from the sky; and Discord sweeps 35\n along in the glory of her rent mantle, and at her back\n Bellona with blood-dropping scourge. There was Actium\u2019s\n Apollo, with his eye on the fray, bending his bow from\n above; at whose terror all Egypt and Ind, all Arabia, all\n the sons of Saba[263] were turning the back in flight. The\n queen herself was shown spreading her sails to friendly\n breezes, and just loosing the sheets. On her face the Lord\n of the Fire had written the paleness of foreshadowed 5\n death, as she drove on among corpses before the tide and\n the zephyr; over against her was Nile, his vast body writhing\n in woe, throwing open his bosom, and with his whole\n flowing raiment inviting the vanquished to his green lap\n and his sheltering flood. But C\u00e6sar, entering the walls 10\n of Rome in threefold triumph, was consecrating to the\n gods of Italy a votive tribute of deathless gratitude, three\n hundred mighty fanes the whole city through. The ways\n were ringing with gladness and with games and with plausive\n peal; in every temple thronged a matron company, 15\n in every temple an altar blazed; in front of the altars\n slaughtered bullocks strewed the floor. The hero himself,\n throned on dazzling Ph\u0153bus\u2019 snow-white threshold, is\n telling over the offerings of all the nations and hanging\n them up on the proud temple gates; there in long procession 20\n move the conquered peoples, diverse in tongue, diverse\n no less in garb and in armour. Here had Mulciber portrayed\n the Nomad race and the zoneless sons of Afric:\n here, too, Leleges and Carians and quivered Gelonians:\n Euphrates was flowing with waves subdued already; and 25\n the Morini, furthest of mankind, and Rhine with his crescent\n horn, and tameless Dah\u00e6, and Araxes chafing to be\n bridged. Such sights \u00c6neas scans with wonder on Vulcan\u2019s\n shield, his mother\u2019s gift, and joys in the portraiture\n of things he knows not, as he heaves on his shoulder the 30\n fame and the fate of grandsons yet to be.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK IX\n\n\n While these things are in progress far away, Juno,\n Saturn\u2019s daughter, has sent down Iris from above on an\n errand to Turnus the bold. It chanced that then Turnus\n was sitting in the grove of his sire Pilumnus, deep in the\n hallowed dell. Him then the child[264] of Thaumas bespoke 5\n thus from her rosy lips: \u201cTurnus, what no god would have\n dared to promise to your prayers, lo! the mere lapse of\n time has brought to you unasked. \u00c6neas, leaving behind\n town, comrades, and fleet, is gone to seek the realm of the\n Palatine, the settlement of Evander. Nor is that all: 10\n he has won his way to Corythus\u2019 farthest towns, and is\n arming the Lydian bands, the crowds of country folk. Why\n hesitate? now, now is the moment to call for horse and\n car; fling delay to the winds, and come down on the bewildered\n camp.\u201d So saying, she raised herself aloft on the 15\n poise of her wings, and drew as she fled along the clouds her\n mighty bow. The warrior knew his visitant, lifted his\n two hands to heaven, and pursued her flight with words\n like these: \u201cIris, fair glory of the sky, who has sent thee\n down from heaven to earth on an errand to me? I see 20\n the firmament parting asunder, and the stars reeling about\n the poles. Yes! I follow thy mighty presage, whoe\u2019er\n thou art thus calling me to arms.\u201d With these words he\n went to the river-side, and took up water from the brimming\n flood, calling oft on the gods and burdening heaven 25\n with a multitude of vows.\n\n And now his whole army was in motion along the open\n plain, richly dowered with horses, richly dowered with\n gold and broidered raiment. Messapus[265] marshals the van,\n Tyrrheus\u2019 warrior-sons the rear: Turnus himself, the 30\n general, is in the centre\u2014like Ganges with his seven calm\n streams proudly rising through the silence, or Nile when\n he withdraws from the plain his fertilizing waters and has\n at last subsided into his bed. Suddenly the Teucrians\n look forth on a cloud massed with murky dust, and see\n darkness gathering over the plain. First cries Caicus from 5\n the rampart\u2019s front: \u201cWhat mass have we here, my\n countrymen, rolling towards us, black as night? Quick\n with the steel, bring weapons, man the walls, the enemy\n is upon us, ho!\u201d With loud shouts the Teucrians pour\n themselves through all the gates and through the bulwarks. 10\n For such had been the charge of \u00c6neas, that best of soldiers,\n when going on his way; should aught fall out meantime,\n let them not venture to draw out their lines or try\n the fortune of the field: enough for them to guard camp\n and wall safe behind their earthworks. So now, though 15\n shame and anger prompt to an engagement, they shield\n themselves nevertheless with closed gates in pursuance of\n his bidding, and armed, within the covert of their towers,\n await the foe. Turnus, just as he had galloped on in advance\n of his tardy column, appears unforeseen before the 20\n gate with a chosen following of twenty horse: with a\n Thracian steed to carry him, spotted with white, and a\n golden helm with scarlet crest to guard his head. \u201cNow,\n gallants, which of you will venture with me first against\n the foe? Look there!\u201d he cries, and with a whirl sends 25\n his javelin into the air, the overture of battle, and proudly\n prances over the plain. His friends second him with a\n shout and follow with dreadful cries; they wonder at the\n Teucrians\u2019 sluggish hearts\u2014men-at-arms, not to trust\n themselves to a fair field or fight face to face, but keep 30\n nursing their camp. Enraged, he rides round and round\n the walls, and looks out for an opening where way is none.\n Even as a wolf, lying in wait to surprise a crowded fold,\n whines about the enclosure, exposed to wind and rain, at\n mid of night; the lambs, nestling safe under their mothers, 35\n keep bleating loudly; he, maddened and reckless, gnashes\n his teeth at the prey beyond his reach, tormented by the\n long-gathered rage of hunger and his dry bloodless jaws:\n just so the Rutulian scans wall and camp with kindling\n wrath; grief fires the marrow of his iron bones\u2014how to\n essay an entrance? what way to dash the prisoned Trojans\n from the rampart and fling them forth on level\n ground? Close to the camp\u2019s side was lying the fleet, 5\n shored round by earthworks and by the river; this he\n assails, calling for fire to his exulting mates, and filling his\n hand with a blazing pine, himself all aglow. Driven on\n by Turnus\u2019 presence, they double their efforts: each soldier\n of the band equips himself with his murky torch. See, 10\n they have stripped the hearths: the smoking brand sends\n up a pitchy glare, and the Fire-god wafts clouds of soot\n and flame heaven-high.\n\n What god, ye Muses, shielded the Teucrians from a fire\n so terrible? who warded off from the ships so vast a conflagration? 15\n Tell me; the faith in the tale is old, but its\n fame is evergreen.\n\n In early days, when \u00c6neas in Phrygian Ida was first\n fashioning his fleet and making ready for the high seas,\n the great mother of the gods, they say, the Berecyntian 20\n queen, thus addressed almighty Jove: \u201cGrant, my son,\n to thy mother\u2019s prayer the boon she asks thee on thy conquest\n of Olympus. A pine-forest is mine, endeared by the\n love of many years, a sacred grove on the mountain\u2019s\n height, whither worshippers brought their offerings, bedarkened 25\n with black pitch-trees and trunks of maple:\n these I was fain to give to the youth of Dardany when he\n needed a fleet; now my anxious heart is wrung by disturbing\n fears. Release me from my dread, and let a\n mother\u2019s prayer avail thus much: let them be overcome 30\n by no strain of voyage, no violence of wind; give them\n good of their birth on my sacred hill.\u201d To her replied her\n son, who wields the starry sphere: \u201cO mother, whither\n wouldst thou wrest the course of fate? what askest thou\n for these thy favourites? should vessels framed by mortal 35\n hand have charter of immortality? should \u00c6neas, himself\n assured, meet perils all unsure? What god had ever\n privilege so great? Nay, rather, when their service is\n over and they gain one day the haven of Ausonia, from\n all such as escape the waves and convoy the Dardan chief\n safe to Laurentian soil, I will take away their perishable\n shape, and summon them to the state of goddesses of the\n mighty ocean, in form like Nereus\u2019 children, Doto and 5\n Galatea, when they breast the foaming deep.\u201d He said;\n and by the river of his Stygian brother, by the banks that\n seethe with pitch and are washed by the murky torrent, he\n nodded confirmation, and with his nod made all Olympus\n tremble. 10\n\n So now the promised day was come, and the Destinies\n had fulfilled the time appointed, when Turnus\u2019 lawless\n violence gave warning to the mighty mother to ward off\n the firebrand from her consecrated ships. Now in a moment\n a strange light flashed on the eyes of all, and a great 15\n cloud was seen from the quarter of the dawn-goddess\n running athwart the sky, with the choirs of Ida in its\n train; then came darting through the air a voice of terror,\n thrilling the ranks of Trojan and Rutulian from end to\n end: \u201cBusy not yourselves, ye Teucrians, to defend my 20\n ships, nor take weapons into your hands: Turnus shall\n have leave to burn up the ocean sooner than to consume\n my sacred pines. Go free, my favourites: go and be\n goddesses of the sea: it is the mother\u2019s voice that bids\n you.\u201d And at once each ship snaps her cable from the 25\n bank, and like a dolphin dips her beak and makes for the\n bottom. Then all emerge in maiden forms, a marvel to\n behold, and breast the main, as many as stood a moment\n ago with their brazen prows to the shore.\n\n Amazement seized the Rutulians; terror came on Messapus 30\n himself, confusion on his steeds; even Tiber, the\n river, pauses, murmuring hoarsely, and retraces his seaward\n course. But bold Turnus\u2019 confidence felt no check;\n no, his words are ready to encourage and upbraid: \u201cIt\n is at the Trojans that these portents point: Jove himself 35\n has robbed them of their wonted resource; they wait not\n for Rutulian fire and sword to do the work. Yes, the sea\n is impassable to the Teucrians; hope of flight have they\n none; one half of nature is taken from them; as for earth,\n it is in our hands, thanks to the thousands here standing in\n arms, the tribes of Italy. I care not for the fateful utterances\n of heaven that these Phrygians vaunt, be they\n what they may: fate and Venus have had license enough, 5\n in that the Trojans have set foot on the soil of our rich\n Ausonia. I, too, have a fate of my own, to mow down\n with the sword the guilty nation that has stolen my bride;\n that wrong of theirs comes not home to the Atrid\u00e6 alone,\n nor has Mycen\u00e6 alone the privilege of going to war. But 10\n one destruction is enough for them\u2014aye, had one transgression\n been enough, so that they had henceforth loathed\n the sex well-nigh to a woman. Men who trust in their intervening\n rampart, whom the pause at the trench, those few\n feet of distance from death, inspires with courage. Why, 15\n did they not see their city of Troy sink into the fire, though\n built by the hand of Neptune? But you, my chosen\n mates, who is there ready to hew down the rampart and\n rush with me on their bewildered camp? I need not the\n arms of Vulcan nor a thousand sail for _my_ Trojan war. 20\n Let all Etruria join them in a body. Night alarms, cowardly\n thefts of their guardian image, slaughterings of the\n sentry on the height, they need fear none of these; we will\n not skulk in a horse\u2019s murky womb: in broad day, in the\n sight of all, I stand pledged to put a ring of fire round their 25\n walls. I will not let them fancy they are dealing with\n the Danaans and the Pelasgian chivalry, whom Hector\n kept ten years waiting for their due. Now, since the better\n part of the day is spent, for what remains, gallants, refresh\n yourselves after your good service, and be assured that 30\n battle is getting ready.\u201d\n\n Meantime the charge is given to Messapus to leaguer the\n gates with relays of watchmen, and throw a girdle of fire\n round the ramparts. Twice seven Rutulian chiefs are\n chosen to keep armed observation of the walls: a hundred 35\n warriors attend on each, red with scarlet crests and gleaming\n with gold. They move from place to place and relieve\n one another, and stretched on the grass give wine its fling\n and tilt the brazen bowl. Bright shine the fires: the\n warders speed the wakeful night with sport and game.\n\n The Trojans look forth on the scene from their earthworks,\n as in arms they man the summit; with anxious\n fear they test the gates, and link bridge and bulwark, 5\n their weapons in their hands. First in the work are Mnestheus\n and keen Serestus, whom father \u00c6neas, should\n adverse crisis call for action, left to command the warriors\n and govern affairs at home. The whole army along the\n wall, dividing the danger, keeps guard, each relieving 10\n each at the post assigned.\n\n The warder of the gate was Nisus, a soldier of keenest\n mettle, Hyrtacus\u2019 son, whom Ida the huntress sent to\n attend \u00c6neas, quick with the dart and the flying arrow:\n and at his side Euryalus, than who was none fairer among 15\n \u00c6neas\u2019 children, none that ever donned the arms of Troy,\n a stripling whose unrazored cheeks just showed the first\n bloom of youth. Theirs was a common love: side by side\n they wont[266] to rush into the battle: and even then they were\n keeping watch at the gate in joint duty. Nisus exclaims: 20\n \u201cIs it the gods, Euryalus, that make men\u2019s hearts glow\n thus? or does each one\u2019s ungoverned yearning become his\n god? My heart has long been astir to rush on war or\n other mighty deed, nor will peaceful quiet content it.\n You see the Rutulians there, delivered up to confidence 25\n in the future: their line of lights gleams brokenly: unnerved\n with sleep and wine, yonder they lie: all around is\n still. Listen on, and learn on what I am brooding, and\n what thought is this moment uppermost. \u2018\u00c6neas should\n be recalled\u2019\u2014so cry people and leaders as one man; 30\n \u2018messengers should be sent to tell him the truth.\u2019 If they\n pledge themselves to what I ask for you\u2014for me the fame\n of the deed is sufficient\u2014methinks under the mound\n yonder I could find a way to the city walls of Pallanteum.\u201d\n A thrill of generous ambition struck wonder into Euryalus, 35\n as thus he addressed his glowing friend: \u201cAnd would you\n shrink from taking me with you, Nisus, on this high occasion?\n Am I to send you out alone on such perilous\n errand? It was not thus that my father, the veteran\n Opheltes, reared and bred me among Argive terrors and\n Trojan agonies, nor have such been my doings at your side,\n since I followed our hero \u00c6neas and his desperate fate.\n Here, here, within me is a soul that thinks scorn of happy 5\n sunshine, and deems that the glory at which you aim were\n cheaply bought with life.\u201d \u201cNay,\u201d returns Nisus, \u201ctrust\n me, I had no such fear of you\u2014none such had been just:\n so may I return to you in triumph, by grace of mighty Jove,\n or whosoever now looks down on us with righteous eyes. 10\n But should aught\u2014and a venture like this, you see, has\n a thousand such\u2014should aught sway things amiss, be it\n chance or heaven\u2019s will, I would fain have you spared:\n yours is the meeter age for life. Let me have one to rescue\n me in fight, or redeem me by ransom paid, and so consign 15\n me to the burial all receive: or should Fortune grudge\n even that, to pay me the rites of the absent, and give\n me the adornment of a tomb. Nor let me be the cause of\n grief so terrible to that unhappy parent, who alone of\n many matrons has had a heart to follow you, dear boy, 20\n nor cares for the city of great Acestes.\u201d He replied:\n \u201cSpinning empty pretexts is idle work: there is no change\n or faltering in my resolve. Up and despatch!\u201d At once\n he rouses the guard, who take his place and fulfil their\n time, while he, departing from the post, walks side by side 25\n with Nisus, and they seek the prince together.\n\n All else that breathed on earth were asleep, their load of\n care unbound, their hearts oblivious of toil; the chief\n leaders of the Teucrians, the flower of the host, were holding\n council on the crisis in their realm\u2019s fortune, what they 30\n should do, or who should at length be sent with the news\n to \u00c6neas. There they stand propped on their long spears,\n their shields still in their hands, in the midst of camp and\n plain. At this moment Nisus and Euryalus eagerly crave\n instant admission\u2014the affair is great, say they, and well 35\n worth the pause it claims. Iulus was the first to welcome\n and reassure them, and bid Nisus speak. Then began the\n son of Hyrtacus: \u201cListen, ye sons of Troy, with kindly\n heed, nor let these our proffers be judged by our years.\n The Rutulians, unnerved by sleep and wine, are hushed\n in silence: we have ourselves observed a place for a\n stealthy move, open through the passage of the gate which\n abuts on the sea. The line of fires is broken, and only 5\n dusky smoke rises to the sky: give us but leave to make\n use of fortune, and go in quest of \u00c6neas and the walls of\n Pallanteum, soon shall you see us here again after a mighty\n carnage, laden with spoils. Nor can the way mislead us\n as we go: we have seen in the dimness of the vale the outskirts 10\n of the city while persevering in our hunting, and\n have made acquaintance with the whole river\u2019s course.\u201d\n Then spoke Aletes, weighty with years and ripe of understanding:\n \u201cGods of our fathers, whose constant presence\n watches over Troy, not yet in spite of all do ye purpose to 15\n make an utter end of us Teucrians, when such are the\n spirits and so steadfast the hearts ye breed in our youth.\u201d\n As he said this, he kept embracing the necks and hands of\n both, and bathing his cheeks in floods of tears. \u201cWhat\n guerdons, gallant men, what can I fancy of worth enough 20\n to pay you for glories like these? First and richest of all\n will be the praise of heaven and your own hearts: next\n to these you will receive the rest without fail from good\n \u00c6neas and young Ascanius, who will never forget a service\n so great.\u201d \u201cNay,\u201d cries Ascanius, \u201clet me speak, me, 25\n whose safety is bound up with my sire\u2019s return: by our\n great household gods I adjure you, Nisus, by the deity of\n Assaracus\u2019 house and the shrine of reverend Vesta\u2014all\n my fortune, all my trust, I place in your hands: bring\n back my father, let me see him again; he once restored, 30\n all grief is over. I will give you a pair of goblets wrought\n with silver and rough from the chasing-tool, which my\n father took when he conquered Arisba, a couple of tripods,\n two great talents of gold, and an ancient bowl, Sidonian\n Dido its donor. But if it be our victorious fortune to 35\n conquer Italy and attain the crown, and appoint the lot\n for the booty\u2014you saw the horse which Turnus rode, the\n arms in which he moved all golden\u2014that horse, that\n shield, and the scarlet crest I will set apart from the lot,\n and count it, Nisus, yours already. Moreover, my sire\n shall give you twelve matron captives of choicest beauty,\n male prisoners too, each with his armour, and, to\n crown all, the portion of domain held by king Latinus 5\n himself. But you, whose years are followed at nearer\n distance by my own, revered youth, I take at once to my\n heart, and fold you there, my comrade for whatever betides.\n Never will I seek glory for my own estate apart\n from you: whether I have peace or war on hand, yours 10\n shall be my utmost confidence in deed and in word.\u201d\n To him spoke Euryalus in reply: \u201cNo length of time shall\n find me false to the promise of my bold essay: let but\n fortune speed and not thwart us. But one boon I would\n ask of you beyond all others: I have a mother of Priam\u2019s 15\n ancient house, whom not the land of Ilium, not the city\n of king Acestes, could keep, poor soul, from going with me.\n Her I am now leaving, ignorant of this peril, be it what it\n may, with no word of greeting\u2014Night and your right\n hand are my witnesses\u2014because I could not bear a parent\u2019s 20\n tears. But you, I pray, comfort her need and support\n her lonely age. With this trust in you to bear along\n with me, I shall meet all that happens with a bolder\n spirit.\u201d Touched to the heart, the children of Dardanus\n broke into tears\u2014chief of all the fair Iulus, as the picture 25\n of his own filial love flashed upon his soul. Thus he\n speaks: \u201cAssure yourself that all shall be done that your\n mighty deeds deserve. Yes, she shall be my own mother,\n nought wanting but the name to make her Creusa\u2019s self;\n to have borne you lays up no mean store of gratitude. 30\n Whatever the fortune that attends your endeavour, I\n swear by this my head, by which my father has been wont\n to swear, all that I promise to you in the event of your\n prosperous return, shall remain in its fulness assured to\n your mother and your house.\u201d This he says weeping, and 35\n unbelts from his shoulder a gilded sword wrought with\n rare art by Lycaon of Crete, and fitted for use with a scabbard\n of ivory. To Nisus Mnestheus gives a skin, a lion\u2019s\n shaggy spoils: Aletes, true of heart, makes an exchange\n of helmets. Their arming done they march along; and\n as they go, the whole band of nobles, young and old, escorts\n them to the gate with prayers for their safety. There too\n was fair Iulus, in heart and forethought manlier than his 5\n years, giving them many a charge to carry to his father.\n But the winds scatter all alike, and deliver them cancelled\n to the clouds.\n\n Passing through the gate, they cross the trenches, and\n through the midnight shade make for the hostile camp\u2014destined, 10\n though, first to be the death of many. All about\n the grass they see bodies stretched at length by sleep and\n wine, cars tilted up on the shore, men lying among wheels\n and harness, with armour and pools of wine about them.\n First spoke the son of Hyrtacus: \u201cEuryalus, daring hands 15\n are wanted; the occasion now calls for action; here lies\n our way. Do you keep watch and wide look-out, lest any\n hand be lifted against us from behind; I will lay these\n ranks waste, and give you a broad path to walk in.\u201d So\n saying, he checks his voice, and at once with his tyrannous 20\n sword assails Rhamnes, who, pillowed on a vast pile of\n rugs, was breathing from all his breast the breath of sleep\u2014a\n king himself, and king Turnus\u2019 favourite augur;\n but his augury availed him not to ward off death. Close\n by he surprises three attendants, stretched carelessly 25\n among their weapons, and Remus\u2019 armour-bearer and\n charioteer, catching him as he lay at the horses\u2019 side:\n the steel shears through their drooping necks; then he\n lops the head of their lord, and leaves the trunk gurgling\n and spouting blood, while ground and couch are reeking 30\n with black streams of gore. Lamyrus too, and Lamus,\n and young Serranus, who had played long that night in the\n pride of his beauty, and was lying with the dream-god\u2019s\n hand heavy upon him; happy, had he made his play as\n long as the night, and pushed it into morning. Like a 35\n hungry lion making havoc through a teeming fold\u2014for\n the madness of famine constrains him\u2014he goes mangling\n and dragging along the feeble cattle, dumb with terror,\n and gnashing his bloody teeth. Nor less the carnage\n of Euryalus: he, too, all on fire, storms along, and slays\n on his road a vast and nameless crowd, Fadus and Herbesus,\n and Rh\u0153tus and Abaris\u2014unconscious these:\n Rh\u0153tus was awake and saw it all, but in his fear he 5\n crouched behind a massive bowl; whence, as he rose, the\n conqueror plunged into his fronting breast the length of\n his sword, and drew it back with a torrent of death. The\n dying man vomits forth his crimson life, and disgorges\n mingled wine and blood: the foe pursues his stealthy work. 10\n And now he was making for Messapus\u2019 followers, for there\n he saw the flicker of dying fires, and horses tied and browsing\n at their ease; when thus spoke Nisus in brief, seeing\n him hurried on by passion and excess of slaughter: \u201cForbear\n we now; the daylight, our enemy, is at hand; we 15\n have supped on vengeance to the full; a highway is open\n through the foe.\u201d Many warriors\u2019 arms they leave,\n wrought of solid silver, many bowls and gorgeous coverlets.\n Euryalus lays hand on Rhamnes\u2019 trappings and his belt\n with golden studs, sent by wealthy C\u00e6dicus of old as a 20\n present to Remulus of Tiber, when he fain would make\n him his friend from a distance; he, dying, leaves them to\n his grandson, after whose death the Rutulians won them\n in battle; these he strips off, and fits them to his valiant\n breast, all for nought. Then he puts on Messapus\u2019 shapely 25\n helm, with its graceful crest. They leave the camp, and\n pass into safety.\n\n Meanwhile a troop of horse, sent on from the town of\n Latium, while the rest of the force abides drawn up on the\n field, was on its way with a message to king Turnus, three 30\n hundred, shield-bearers all, with Volscens, their chief.\n They were just nearing the camp, and passing under the\n wall, when at distance they spy the two bending to the\n left, and the helmet, seen in the glimmering twilight,\n betrayed the heedless Euryalus, as the moonbeam flashed 35\n full upon it. The sight fell not on idle eyes. Volscens\n shouts from his band: \u201cHalt, gallants; tell your errand,\n who you are thus armed, and whither you are going.\u201d\n They venture no reply, but hasten the faster to the woods,\n and make the night their friend. The horsemen bar each\n well-known passage right and left and set a guard on every\n outlet. The wood was shagged with thickets and dark\n ilex boughs; impenetrable briars filled it on every side; 5\n through the concealed tracks just gleamed a narrow path.\n Euryalus is hampered by the darkness of the branches,\n and the encumbrance of his booty, and fear makes him miss\n the right line of road. Nisus shoots away: and now in\n his forgetfulness he had escaped the foe, and gained the 10\n region afterwards called Alban from Alba\u2019s name; in\n that day king Latinus had there his stately stalls; when he\n halted, and looked back in vain for the friend he could not\n see. \u201cMy poor Euryalus! where have I left you? what\n way shall I trace you, unthreading all the tangled path of 15\n that treacherous wood?\u201d As he speaks, he scans and\n retraces each step, and wanders through the stillness of\n the brakes. He hears the horses, hears the noise and the\n tokens of pursuit. Pass a few moments, and a shout\n strikes on his ear, and he sees Euryalus, who is in the hands 20\n of the whole crew, the victim of the ground and the night,\n bewildered by the sudden onslaught, hurried along, and\n making a thousand fruitless efforts. What should he do?\n with what force, what arms, can he attempt a rescue?\n should he dash through the thick of their swords with 25\n death before his eyes, and hurry to a glorious end in a shower\n of wounds? Soon, with his arm drawn back, he poises his\n spear-shaft, looking up to the moon in the sky, and thus\n prays aloud: \u201cThou, goddess, be thou present, and befriend\n my endeavour, Latona\u2019s daughter, glory of the 30\n heavens and guardian of the woods: if ever my father\n Hyrtacus brought gift for me to thine altar, if ever my own\n hunting swelled the tribute, if ever I hung an offering from\n thy dome or fastened it on thy hallowed summit, suffer\n me to confound this mass, and guide my weapons through 35\n the air.\u201d This said, with an effort of his whole frame he\n hurled the steel. The flying spear strikes through the\n shades of night, reaches the turned back of Sulmo, there\n snaps short, and pierces the midriff with the broken\n wood. Down he tumbles, disgorging from his breast the\n warm life-torrent that leaves him cold, and long choking\n gasps smite on his sides. They look round this way and\n that: while the same fell arm, nerved by success, is levelling, 5\n see! another weapon from the ear-tip. While all\n is confusion, the spear has passed through Tagus\u2019 two\n temples with whizzing sound, and lies warmly lodged in his\n cloven brain. Volscens storms with fury, yet sees nowhere\n the author of the wound, nor on whom to vent his 10\n rage; \u201cYou, however, shall pay both debts meanwhile\n with your heart\u2019s blood,\u201d cries he; and speaking, rushes\n with drawn sword on Euryalus. Then, indeed, in frantic\n agony, Nisus shouts aloud; no more care had he to hide\n himself in darkness, no more strength to bear grief so 15\n terrible: \u201cMe, me! behold the doer! make me your mark,\n O Rutulians! mine is all the blame; he had no heart, no\n hand for such deeds; this heaven, these stars know that\n it is true; it was but that he loved his unhappy friend too\n well.\u201d Thus he was pleading; but the sword, driven with 20\n the arm\u2019s full force, has pierced the ribs and is rending the\n snowy breast. Down falls Euryalus in death; over his\n beauteous limbs gushes the blood, and his powerless neck\n sinks on his shoulders; as when a purple flower, severed by\n the plough, pines in death, or poppies with faint necks 25\n droop the head, when rain has chanced to weigh them\n down. But Nisus rushes full on the foe, Volscens his one\n object among them all; he cares for none but Volscens:\n the enemy cluster round, and assail him on all sides; none\n the less he holds on his way, whirling his lightning blade, 30\n till at last he lodges it full in the Rutulian\u2019s face, as he\n shrieks for aid, and dying robs his foe of life. Then he\n flung himself on his breathless friend, pierced through\n and through, and there at length slept away in peaceful\n death. 35\n\n Happy pair! if this my song has aught of potency, no\n lapse of days shall efface your names from the memory of\n time, so long as the house of \u00c6neas shall dwell on the\n Capitol\u2019s moveless rock, and a Roman father shall be the\n world\u2019s lord.\n\n The Rutulian conquerors, enriched with spoil and booty,\n were bearing Volscens\u2019 body to the camp with tears in their\n eyes. Nor less loud is the wailing in the camp, when they 5\n find Rhamnes drained of life, and those many chiefs slain\n by a single carnage\u2014Serranus, Numa, and the rest.\n They flock in crowds to the bodies, the warriors yet breathing,\n the place fresh and reeking with slaughter, and the\n streams of gore full and foaming. They pass the spoils 10\n from hand to hand, and recognize Messapus\u2019 gleaming\n helm, and the trappings which it cost such sweat to recover.\n\n Now at last the goddess of the dawn was sprinkling the\n world with new-born light, as she rose from Tithonus\u2019 15\n saffron couch: the sun had streamed in and all was revealed\n by daybreak, when Turnus summons his men to\n arms, himself sheathed in armour; each general musters\n in battle array his brass-mailed bands, and, scattering\n divers speeches, stings them to fury. Nay, more, on 20\n uplifted spears, most piteous sight, they set up the heads,\n and follow them with deafening shouts\u2014the heads of\n Euryalus and Nisus. \u00c6neas\u2019 sturdy family, on the rampart\u2019s\n left side, set the fight in array\u2014for the right is\n flanked by the river\u2014guard the broad trenches and stand 25\n on the lofty towers, deep in sorrow\u2014touched to see those\n lifted human countenances, which to their grief they knew\n so well, dripping with black corrupted gore.\n\n Meantime, Fame spreads her wings and flies with the\n news through the wildered settlement, and reaches the 30\n ears of Euryalus\u2019 mother. At once the vital heat left her\n wretched frame: the shuttle was dashed from her hands,\n and the thread ran back. Forth flies the unhappy dame,\n and with a woman\u2019s piercing shriek, her tresses rent, makes\n madly for the walls and the van of battle, heeding not the 35\n eyes of men, heeding not the peril and the shower of javelins,\n while she fills the heaven with her plaints: \u201cIs it thus,\n Euryalus, that I see you again? have you, the late solace\n of my waning years, had the heart to leave me alone, unpitying?\n nor, when you ventured on such dangerous errand,\n might your wretched mother speak her farewell?\n Alas! on an unknown land you are lying, exposed to the\n ravin[267] of Latium\u2019s dogs and birds; nor have I, your 5\n mother, followed your corpse to the tomb, or closed your\n eyes, or bathed your wounds, shrouding you with the\n robe which I worked so hard to finish day and night, and\n made the loom the medicine of an old wife\u2019s sorrow!\n Where shall I seek you? what land now contains those 10\n severed limbs, that mutilated corpse? is this the sole relic\n of yourself that you bring back to me, my son? is this\n what I followed over land and sea? Pierce me, if you have\n aught of human feeling\u2014shower on me all your darts, ye\n Rutulians, let the sword make me its first meal; or do 15\n thou, great sire of the gods, have mercy, and with thy\n lightning-bolt strike down to Tartarus this hated life,\n since I cannot otherwise end the cruel pain of being.\u201d\n Her wail shook every heart to its centre; a groan of sorrow\n passed through the ranks; their martial prowess flags 20\n and faints. At last, as her agony flames higher, Id\u00e6us\n and Actor, bidden by Ilioneus and the tearful Iulus, lay\n hold of her, and carry in their arms within.\n\n But the trumpet from its brazen throat uttered afar a\n tremendous blare; a shout ensues, and heaven returns the 25\n roar. Quick speed the Volscians, carrying in level line\n their penthouse of shields, and strive to fill the moat and\n pluck down the palisade. Some look about for an access,\n and fain would scale the walls with ladders, where the line\n of defence is thin, and the ring of men, not too closely set, 30\n shows a gleaming interval. The Teucrians, on their part,\n shower missiles of every sort, and repulse the assailants\n with strong poles, taught by a long war\u2019s experience how\n to guard their walls. Stones, too, they kept rolling of fatal\n bulk, in hope to break through the foe\u2019s sheltered ranks, 35\n though beneath so firm a penthouse a soldier may well\n smile at all that can betide. Ay, and it ceases to avail\n them: for where a mighty mass threatens the rampart, the\n Teucrians push forward and roll down an enormous\n weight, which made wide havoc among the Rutulians, and\n burst the joints of their harness. And now the bold\n Rutulians care no longer to wage war in the dark, but aim\n at driving them from the ramparts with a storm of missiles. 5\n In another quarter, terrible to look upon, Mezentius waves\n an Etruscan pine and hurls fire and smoke, while Messapus,\n tamer of the steed, of the race of Neptune, plucks\n down the palisade, and calls for ladders to the\n battlement. 10\n\n Vouchsafe, Calliope and thy heavenly sisterhood, to aid\n me while I sing, what slaughter, what deaths were dealt\n that day in that place by Turnus\u2019 sword, what foes each\n warrior sent down to the grave, and help me to unfold the\n length and breadth of the mighty war. 15\n\n A tower there was, vast to look on from below, with\n lofty bridges, placed on a vantage-ground, which all the\n Italians, with utmost force and utmost strain of might,\n were essaying to storm, while the Trojans, on their side,\n were defending it with stones, and hurling showers of 20\n darts through its narrow eyelets. Turnus the first flung\n a blazing torch and fastened fire on its side; fanned by\n the wind, the flame seized the planks and lodged in the\n consuming doors. The inmates are all in confusion, and\n in vain seek to escape the mischief. While they huddle 25\n together and retire upon the part which the plague has\n spared, in an instant the tower falls heavily down, and the\n firmament thunders with the crash. Half dead they come\n to the ground, the huge fabric following on their backs,\n pierced by their own weapons, their breasts impaled by the 30\n cruel wood. Barely two escaped, Helenor and Lycus\u2014Helenor\n in prime of youth, whom Licymnia the slave had\n borne secretly to the M\u00e6onian king, and had sent to Troy\n in forbidden arms, with the light accoutrement of a\n naked sword, and a shield uncharged by an escutcheon. 35\n Soon as he saw himself with Turnus\u2019 thousands round him,\n the armies of Latium standing on this side and on that,\n like a beast that, hemmed in by the hunters\u2019 close-set ring,\n vents her rage on the darts and flings herself deliberately\n on death, and springs from high on the line of spears, even\n thus the doomed youth rushes on the midst of the foe,\n making for where he sees the darts are thickest. But\n Lycus, far swifter of foot, winds among ranks of foes and 5\n showers of steel and gains the wall, and strives to clutch\n the fabric\u2019s summit and reach the hands of his friends.\n Whom Turnus, following him at once with foot and javelin,\n taunts in victorious tone: \u201cDreamed you, poor fool, that\n you could escape my hands?\u201d and with that he seizes him 10\n as he hangs in air, and pulls him down with a great fragment\n of the wall; just as the bearer of Jove\u2019s thunder\n trusses in his hooked talons a hare or a snow-white swan\n and soars into the sky, or one of Mars\u2019 wolves snatches\n from the fold a lamb which its mother\u2019s bleatings reclaim 15\n in vain. On all sides rises the war-shout. They rush on\n the trenches and fill them with shattered earthworks,\n while others fling brazen firebrands to the roofs. Ilioneus\n with a rock, broken from a mighty mountain, brings\n down Lucetius as he assails the gates and waves his torch. 20\n Liger kills Emathion, Asilas Coryn\u00e6us, one skilled with the\n javelin, one with the arrow that surprises from a distance.\n C\u00e6neus slays Ortygius, Turnus the conqueror C\u00e6neus,\n Turnus Itys and Clonius, Dioxippus and Promolus, and\n Sagaris, and Idas, who was standing on the turret\u2019s top. 25\n Capys kills Privernus: Themilla\u2019s flying spear had grazed\n him first; he, poor fool, dropped his buckler and clapped\n his hand to the wound, so the arrow came on stealthy\n wing, and the hand was pinned to the left side, and the\n inmost seat of breath is rent asunder by the deadly wound. 30\n There stood the son of Arcens in conspicuous armour,\n his scarf embroidered with needlework, in the glory of\n Hiberian purple, fair of form, sent to war by his father\n Arcens, who had reared him in his mother\u2019s grove by the\n streams of Sym\u00e6thus, where stands Palicus\u2019 rich and 35\n gracious altar: flinging his spears aside, Mezentius\n whirled the strained thong of the whizzing sling thrice\n round his head, and with the molten bullet burst in twain\n the forehead of the fronting foe, and stretched him at\n full length on the expanse of sand.\n\n Then first, they say, Ascanius levelled in war his winged\n arrow, used till then to terrify the beasts of chase, and\n laid low by strength of hand the brave Numanus, Remulus 5\n by surname, who had lately won and wedded Turnus\u2019\n younger sister. He was stalking in front of the host,\n vaunting aloud things meet and unmeet to tell, in the\n insolence of new-blown royalty, and venting his pride in\n clamorous tones: \u201cAre ye not ashamed to be imprisoned 10\n yet again in leaguer and rampart, twice-captured Phrygians,\n and to put your walls between you and death? Lo, these\n are the men who demand our wives at the sword\u2019s edge!\n What god, what madness, has driven you to Italy? You\n will not find the Atrid\u00e6 here, nor Ulysses the forger of 15\n speech. A hardy race even from the stock, we bring our\n sons soon as born to the river\u2019s side, and harden them with\n the water\u2019s cruel cold. Our boys spend long days in the\n chase, and weary out the forest; their sport is to rein the\n steed, and level shafts from the bow. Our youth, strong 20\n to labour and schooled by want, subdues the earth with\n the rake, or shakes the city\u2019s walls with battle. All our\n life we ply the steel; with the butt of our spears we belabour\n our cattle; old age, which dulls all else, impairs\n not the force of our hearts or changes our fresh vigour; 25\n the hoary head is clasped by the helmet; our constant\n joy is to bring home new booty and live by rapine. Yours\n are embroidered garments of saffron and gleaming purple;\n sauntering and sloth are your delight; your pleasure is to\n indulge the dance; your tunics have sleeves and your turbans 30\n strings. Phrygian dames in sooth\u2014for Phrygian\n men ye are not\u2014get you to the heights of Dindymus,\n where the pipe utters its two-doored note to your accustomed\n ears. The Id\u00e6an mother\u2019s cymbals, the Berecyntian\n flute, are calling you to the revel; leave arms to 35\n men, and meddle no more with steel.\u201d\n\n Such boasting and such ill-omened talk Ascanius could\n bear no longer; setting his breast to the bow-string of\n horsehair he levelled his dart, and drawing his arms wide\n apart he stood, having first invoked Jove thus in suppliant\n prayer: \u201cJove Almighty, smile on my bold essay; with\n my own hand I will bring to thy temple yearly offerings,\n and will set before thine altar a bullock with gilded brow, 5\n snowy white, rearing his head to the height of his mother\u2019s,\n fit to butt with the horn and spurn up sand with the hoof.\u201d\n The father heard and from a cloudless quarter of the sky\n thundered on the left; at the same instant twanged the\n deadly bow. Forth flies the arrow from the string, whizzing 10\n fearfully, passes through the head of Remulus, and cleaves\n with its point his hollow temples. \u201cGo, make valour the\n sport of your boasting; the twice-captured Phrygians\n answer the Rutulians thus.\u201d So far Ascanius: the Teucrians\n second him with a cry, shout for joy, and mount 15\n heavenward in their exultation. It chanced that then\n in the realm of sky long-haired Apollo was surveying the\n armies of Ausonia and the city, seated on a cloud; and\n thus addressed Iulus in the moment of triumph: \u201cRejoice,\n brave youth, in your new-won laurels; \u2019tis thus 20\n men climb the stars; son of gods that are, sire of gods that\n shall be! Well has Fate ordered that beneath the house\n of Assaracus the wars of the future shall find their end;\n nor can Troy contain your prowess.\u201d So saying he shoots\n down from heaven, parts before him the breathing gales, 25\n and makes for Ascanius. He changes his features to those\n of ancient Butes, who had once been armour-bearer to\n Dardanian Anchises and trusty watcher at the gate;\n thence Ascanius\u2019 sire made him his son\u2019s guardian. Apollo\n moved along, in all things like the aged veteran, the voice, 30\n the colour, the white locks, the fiercely clanking armour;\n and thus he spoke to Iulus\u2019 glowing heart: \u201cSuffice it,\n child of \u00c6neas, that Numanus has met from your darts an\n unrequited death: this your maiden glory great Apollo\n vouchsafes you freely, nor looks with jealousy on weapons 35\n like his own; for the rest abstain from war, as stripling\n should.\u201d So Apollo began, and ere his speech was well\n done parted from mortal eyes, and vanished from sight\n into unsubstantial air. The Dardan chiefs knew the god\n and his divine artillery, and heard his quiver hurtle as he\n fled. So now at Ph\u0153bus\u2019 present instance they check\n Ascanius\u2019 ardour for battle; themselves take their place\n in the combat once more, and fling their lives into the 5\n jaws of danger. All over the walls passes the shout from\n rampart to rampart; they bend their sharp-springing\n bows and hurl their lashed javelins\u2014the ground is all\n strewn with darts; shields and hollow helms ring with\n blow on blow; a savage combat is aroused; fierce as the 10\n rain coming from the west at the setting of the showery\n kid-stars[268] scourges the earth, plenteous as the hail which\n the stormclouds discharge into the sea, when Jove in the\n sullenness of southern blasts whirls the watery tempest and\n bursts the misty chambers of the sky. 15\n\n Pandarus and Bitias, sons of Id\u00e6an Alcanor, brought up\n by I\u00e6ra the wood-nymph in the grove of Jupiter, youths\n tall as the pines and peaks of their birthplace, throw open\n the gate, which the general\u2019s order placed in their charge,\n relying on their good steel, and invite the foe to enter the 20\n town. Themselves within right and left stand before the\n bulwarks, sheathed in iron, the crest waving on their lofty\n heads: even as high in air beside the flowing streams,\n on Padus\u2019[269] banks it may be or by pleasant Athesis,[270] uptower\n two oaks, raising to heaven their unshorn summits 25\n and nodding their lofty crowns. In rush the Rutulians\n when they see the entry clear. In a moment Quercens and\n Aquicolus in his brilliant armour and headlong Tmarus\n and H\u00e6mon, scion of Mars, with all their followers, are\n routed and turned to flight, or on the threshold of the gate 30\n have resigned their lives. At this the wrath of the combatants\n flames yet higher, and the Trojans rally and muster\n in one spot and venture to engage hand to hand and to\n advance farther into the plain.\n\n Turnus, the chief, while venting his rage elsewhere and 35\n scattering ranks of warriors, hears tidings that the foe,\n fevered by the taste of blood, has thrown the gates open.\n He leaves the work he had begun, and stirred with giant\n fury hastens to the Dardan gate and the two haughty\n brethren. Hurling his dart, he first slays Antiphates, who\n happened first to meet him, bastard son of great Sarpedon\n by a Theban mother; the shaft of Italian cornel flies\n through the yielding air, and lodging in the throat goes 5\n deep down into the chest; the wound\u2019s dark pit spouts\n forth a foaming torrent, and the cold steel grows warm\n in the lungs it pierces. Then with strong hand he slays\n Merops and Erymas and then Aphidnus, then Bitias\n with his blazing eyes and his boiling valour\u2014not with a 10\n dart, for to a dart he would not have surrendered his life\u2014no;\n it was a whirled phalaric lance that came hurtling\n fiercely, shot like a thunderbolt, which neither two bulls\u2019\n hides nor a trusty corselet with double golden plait could\n withstand: the massive limbs sink and fall: earth groans, 15\n and the vast buckler thunders on the body. Even thus\n sometimes on Bai\u00e6\u2019s Eub\u0153an coast falls a pile of stone,\n which men compact with mighty blocks and then fling\n into the sea; thus it comes down with protracted headlong\n ruin, and dashing on the shallows settles into its 20\n place; the sea is all disturbed, and the murky sand rises\n to the surface; the crash shakes Prochyta[271] to her depths,\n and Inarime\u2019s[272] rugged bed, laid by Jove\u2019s command upon\n Typh\u0153us.\n\n Now Mars, the lord of arms, inspires the Latians with 25\n strength and courage, and plants his stings deep in their\n bosoms, while among the Teucrians, he sends Flight and\n grisly Terror. They flock from this side and from that,\n now that scope for battle is given, and the warrior-god\n comes down on their souls. When Pandarus saw his 30\n brother\u2019s corpse laid low, and knew the posture of fortune\n and the chance that was swaying the day, with a mighty\n effort he turns the gate on its hinge, pushing with his broad\n shoulders, and leaves outside many of his comrades shut out\n from the camp all in the cruel battle, while others he shuts 35\n in with himself, admitting them as they stream onward\u2014madman,\n to have failed to see the king of the Rutulians in\n the middle of the company storming in, and to have shut\n him wantonly within the walls, like monstrous tiger\n among a herd of helpless cattle! On the instant a strange\n light flashed from the eyes of the foe, and his arms gave a\n fearful clang; on his helm quivers his crest, red as blood,\n and from his shield he darts gleaming lightnings. With 5\n sudden confusion the children of \u00c6neas recognize that\n hated form and those giant limbs. Then forth springs\n mighty Pandarus, and with all the glow of wrath for his\n brother\u2019s death bespeaks him thus: \u201cThis is not the\n bridal palace of Amata, nor is it Ardea that embraces 10\n Turnus in the walls of his fathers; the enemy\u2019s camp is\n before you; all escape is barred.\u201d To him Turnus, smiling\n in quiet mood: \u201cBegin, if you have courage, and engage in\n combat. Priam shall learn from you that here too you\n have found an Achilles.\u201d Thus he: Pandarus, with the 15\n full strain of his power, hurls his spear, rugged with knots\n and unpeeled bark. It was launched on the air; but Saturnian\n Juno turned aside the coming wound, and the\n spear lodged in the gate. \u201cBut this my weapon you\n shall not escape, swayed as it is by my hand\u2019s full force; 20\n he from whom wound and weapon come is too strong for\n that.\u201d So cries Turnus, and rises high upon his lifted\n sword, and cleaves with the steel the forehead in twain full\n between the temples, parting beardless cheek from cheek\n with a ghastly wound. A crash is heard: earth is shaken 25\n by the enormous weight: the unnerved limbs, the arms\n splashed with gore and brain are stretched in death on the\n ground; and the head, shared in equal parts, hangs right\n and left from either shoulder. The routed Trojans fly\n here and there in wildering terror; and had the thought at 30\n once seized the conqueror, to burst the gates by main\n force and give entrance to his friends, that day would have\n ended a war and a nation both. But rage and mad thirst\n for blood drove him in fury on the foe before him. First\n he surprises Phalaris and hamstrings Gyges; plucks forth 35\n spears and hurls them on the backs of the fliers; Juno\n gives supplies of strength and courage. He sends Halys to\n join them and Phegeus, pierced through the shield, and\n cuts down others as they stand unconscious on the walls\n and stir up the battle, Alcander and Halius, and No\u00ebmon\n and Prytanis. As Lynceus moved to meet him and calls\n on his comrades, with a sweep of his arm from the rampart\n on his right he catches him with his whirling sword; swept 5\n off by a single blow hand to hand, the head with the helmet\n on it lay yards away. Next falls Amycus, the ravager of\n the forest brood, than who was never man more skilled\n to anoint the dart and arm the steel with venom, and\n Clytius, son of \u00c6olus, and Cretheus, darling of the Muses, 10\n Cretheus the Muses\u2019 playmate, whose delight was ever in\n minstrelsy and harp, and in stringing notes on the chord;\n songs of chargers and warrior arms and battles were ever on\n his lips.\n\n At last the Teucrian leaders, hearing of the slaughter of 15\n their men, come together to the spot, Mnestheus and keen\n Serestus, when they see their comrades flying in confusion,\n and the foe lodged in the camp. Out cries Mnestheus:\n \u201cWhither now, whither are ye making in flight? what\n further city have ye, what walls beyond? Shall it be said 20\n that a single man, and he too, my countrymen, hemmed in\n on all hands by your ramparts, has spread unavenged\n such havoc through your streets, has sent down to death so\n many of your bravest? As ye think of your unhappy\n country, your ancient gods, your great \u00c6neas, is there no 25\n pity, no shame in your sluggish hearts?\u201d Roused by these\n words they rally and halt in close array. Turnus step by\n step withdraws from the fight, making for the river and\n the part round which the water runs. All the more keenly\n the Teucrians press on him with loud shouts and close their 30\n ranks: as when a company of hunters bears down on a\n savage lion javelin in hand: he, struck with fear, yet fierce\n and glaring angrily, gives ground; wrath and courage\n suffer him not to turn his back, nor yet may he charge,\n though he fain would do so, through the huntsmen and the 35\n spears. Not unlike to him Turnus in doubt retraces his\n lingering footsteps, while his heart boils with rage. Even\n then twice had he dashed on the thick of the foe, twice he\n drives their ranks in huddled flight round the walls; but\n the whole army musters in a body from the camp, nor dares\n Saturnian Juno supply him with strength to oppose them;\n for Jove sent down from the sky celestial Iris, with no\n gentle message for his sister\u2019s ear, if Turnus retire not from 5\n the Teucrians\u2019 lofty ramparts. So now the warrior cannot\n hold his own with shield or sword; such a deluge of darts\n overwhelms him. Round his hollow temples the helmet\n echoes with ceaseless ringing; the solid plates of brass\n give way beneath the stones; the horsehair crest is struck 10\n from his head; his shield\u2019s boss cannot stand the blows;\n faster and faster they hail their spears, the Trojans and\n fiery Mnestheus. Over all his frame flows the sweat and\n trickles in a murky stream, while breathe he cannot; his\n sinking limbs are shaken with feeble panting. At last 15\n with headlong leap he plunged arms and all into the river.\n Tiber with his yellow gulf received the guest, upbore him\n on his buoyant waves, and washing off the stains of carnage,\n restored him in joy to his friends.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK X\n\n\n Meantime the palace of strong Olympus is thrown open,\n and the sire of gods and monarch of men summons a\n council to the starry chamber, whence, throned on high,\n he looks down on the length and breadth of earth, the\n camp of the Dardans and the people of Latium. They 5\n take their seats in the double-gated mansion; he himself\n opens the court: \u201cMighty denizens of heaven, wherefore\n is your judgment turned backward, and whence such discord\n in your unkindly souls? I had forbidden that Italy\n should meet the Teucrians in the shock of war. What 10\n strife is this in defiance of my law? What terror has\n prompted these or those to draw the sword and provoke\n the fight? There shall come a rightful time for combat\u2014no\n need for you to hasten it\u2014when fierce Carthage one\n day shall launch on the hills of Rome mighty ruin and the 15\n opening of Alpine barriers. Then will your rancours be\n free to contend, your hands to plunder and ravage; for the\n present let be, and cheerfully ratify the peace that I have\n willed.\u201d\n\n Thus Jupiter in brief; but not brief was the answer 20\n of golden Venus: \u201cO Father! O eternal sovereignty of\n man and nature! for what else can there be which is left\n us to implore? Seest thou how the Rutulians insult? how\n Turnus is whirled through the battle by his haughty\n coursers, borne on the floodtide of war? No longer are 25\n the Teucrians safe even in the shelter of their walls; within\n the gates, amidst the very mounds of the ramparts combat\n is waged, and the trenches overflow with carnage. \u00c6neas\n is away in his ignorance. Wilt thou never let us have\n respite from siege? Once more the enemy is stooping over 30\n the walls of our infant Troy, with a second army; once\n more Tydeus\u2019 son from his \u00c6tolian Arpi is rising against\n the Teucrians. Ay, my wounds, I ween, are yet in the\n future, and I, thine own offspring, am delaying the destined\n course of a mortal spear. If it is without your leave and 5\n despite your will that the Trojans have won their way to\n Italy, let them expiate the crime and withdraw from them\n thine aid: but if they have but followed those many oracles\n given by powers above and powers underground, how\n can any now be able to reverse thine ordinance and write 10\n anew the page of fate? Why should I remind thee of our\n fleet consumed on Eryx\u2019 shore? why of the monarch of the\n storms and his raving winds stirred up from \u00c6olia, or of\n Iris sent down from the clouds? Now she is even rousing\n the ghosts below\u2014that portion of the world till then was 15\n untried\u2014and on a sudden Allecto is launched on upper\n air, and rages through the Italian cities. It is not for\n empire that I am disquieted; for that we hoped in the past,\n while our star yet shone: let them conquer whom thou\n wouldst have conquer. If there is no country on earth 20\n which thy relentless spouse will allow the Teucrians, I adjure\n thee, father, by the smoking ruins of Troy overthrown,\n let me send away Ascanius safe from the war\u2014let my\n grandson survive in life. \u00c6neas, indeed, may be tossed\n on unknown waters, and follow such course as chance may 25\n give him: _him_ let me have the power to screen and withdraw\n from the horrors of battle. Amathus is mine, and\n lofty Paphos, and high Cythera, and the mansion of Idalia:\n there let him pass his days unwarlike and inglorious. Let\n it be thy will that Carthage shall bow Ausonia beneath 30\n her tyrannous sway; the Tyrian cities need fear no resistance\n from him. What has it advantaged him to have\n escaped the plague of war and fled through the hottest of\n the Argive fires, to have drained to the dregs all those\n dangers by sea and on broad earth, while the Teucrians 35\n are in quest of Latium and a restored Pergamus? Give\n back, great sire, to our wretched nation their Xanthus and\n their Simois, and let the Teucrians enact once more the old\n tragedy of Ilium.\u201d Then outspoke queenly Juno, goaded\n by fierce passion: \u201cWhy force you me to break my deep\n silence, and give forth in words my buried grief? Your\n \u00c6neas\u2014was it any man or god that compelled him to\n draw the sword, and come down as a foe on the Latian 5\n king? Grant that he went to Italy at the instance of fate,\n at the impulse, in truth, of mad Cassandra; was it our\n counsel that he should leave his camp and place his life\n at the mercy of the winds? that he should trust the control\n of battle and his city to a boy\u2014should tamper with 10\n Tyrrhenian loyalty and stir up a quiet nation? What\n god, what cruel tyranny of ours, drove him thither to his\n hurt? is there a trace of Juno here, or of Iris sent down from\n the clouds? Ay, it is foul shame that the Italians should\n throw a belt of flame round the infant Troy\u2014that Turnus 15\n should plant a foot on the soil of his fathers, Turnus, whose\n grandsire was Pilumnus, whose mother the goddess\n Venilia. How call you it for the Trojans to invade\n Latium with their smoking torches, to put their yoke on a\n country that is none of theirs, and harry away its plunder\u2014to 20\n choose at will those whose daughters they would wed,\n and drag the plighted bride from the bosom\u2014to bear\n suppliant tokens in the hand and arm their vessels to the\n teeth? You have power to withdraw \u00c6neas from the\n hands of the Greeks, and offer them clouds and thin winds 25\n for the man they seek\u2014power to turn a fleet of ships into\n a bevy of Nymphs; and is it utterly monstrous for us to\n give the Rutulians a measure of aid in return? \u00c6neas\n is away in ignorance, and in ignorance let him bide away.\n You have your Paphos, your Idalium, your lofty Cythera: 30\n why meddle with a city brimming with war and with ungentle\n hearts? Is it we that are labouring to overturn\n from the foundation your feeble Phrygian fortunes?\n We? or the gallant who brought Greece down on the\n wretched Trojans? What reason was there that Europe 35\n and Asia should stand up to fight, and a league be broken\n by treachery? Did I lead your Dardan leman to take\n Sparta by storm? did I put weapons in his hand, or fan the\n flame of war with the gales of love? Then had there been\n decency in your fears for your friends; now you are rising\n too late with unjust complaints, and flinging idly the language\n of quarrel.\u201d\n\n Such was the appeal of Juno: and the whole body of immortals 5\n murmured assent on this side or on that, like new-born\n gales when they murmur, caught in the forest, and\n roll about mysterious sounds, disclosing to the sailor a\n coming storm. Then begins the almighty sire, whose is\n the chief sovereignty of the universe: at opening of his 10\n mouth the lofty palace of the gods grows still, and earth\n shakes to her foundations; silent is the height of ether; the\n Zephyrs are sunk to rest, and Ocean subdues its waves to\n repose. \u201cTake then to your hearts and engrave there\n these my words: since it may not be that Ausonian and 15\n Teucrian should be united by treaty, and your wranglings\n brook no conclusion, be each man\u2019s fortune to-day what\n it may, be the span of each man\u2019s hope long or short,\n Trojan or Rutulian, I will show favour to neither, whether\n it be by destiny that the Italian leaguer encompasses the 20\n camp, or by Troy\u2019s baneful error and the warnings of hostile\n intelligence. Nor leave I the Rutulians free. Each man\u2019s\n own endeavours shall yield him the harvest of labour or\n fortune. Jove, as king, is alike to all. Destiny shall find\n her own way.\u201d By the river of his Stygian brother, by the 25\n banks that seethe with pitch and are washed by the\n murky torrent, he nodded confirmation, and with his nod\n made all Olympus tremble. So ended their debate.\n Then from his golden throne rises Jove, and the immortals\n gathering round him usher him to his chamber. 30\n\n Meantime the Rutulians press round each and all of the\n gates, eager to slaughter the soldiery and belt the ramparts\n with flame. But \u00c6neas\u2019 army is hemmed within the\n leaguered encampment, without hope of escape. In unavailing\n wretchedness they stand guarding the turret\u2019s 35\n height, and form a thin circle round the walls. Asius son\n of Imbrasus, and Hicetaon\u2019s child Thym\u0153tes, and the two\n Assaraci, and Castor and aged Thymbris are their front\n rank, by their side the two brethren of Sarpedon, Clarus\n and Themon both, come from noble Lycia. There is one\n carrying with the whole strain of his body a mighty rock,\n no small portion of a mountain, Acmon of Lyrnessus, a\n worthy peer of his father Clytius and his brother Menestheus. 5\n Some repel the foe with javelins, some with stones:\n they launch the firebrand, they fit the arrow to the string.\n In the midst is he, Venus\u2019 most rightful care, the royal boy\n of Dardany, his beauteous head uncovered: see him shine\n like a jewel islanded in yellow gold, an ornament for neck 10\n or head, or as gleams ivory set by artist skill in box-wood or\n Orician terebinth[273]: his flowing hair streams over a neck of\n milky white and is gathered up by a ring of ductile gold.\n Thou, too, Ismarus, wast seen by tribes of warriors dealing\n wounds abroad and arming thy arrows with venom, gallant 15\n branch of a Lydian house, from the land whose rich\n soil is broken up by the husbandmen and washed by\n Pactolus\u2019 golden stream. Mnestheus, too, was there, whom\n yesterday\u2019s triumph over Turnus repulsed from the rampart\n exalts to the stars, and Capys, who gives his name to 20\n Campania\u2019s mother city.\n\n So they on this side and on that had waged all day the\n conflict of stubborn war; and now at midnight \u00c6neas\n was ploughing the main. For soon as, leaving Evander,\n he entered the Etruscan camp, accosted the king, and told 25\n him of his name and his race, for what he sues and what\n he offers, explains what arms Mezentius musters on his\n side, and what the excess of Turnus\u2019 violence, warns him\n how little faith man can place in fortune, and seconds\n reasoning by entreaty, without a moment\u2019s pause Tarchon 30\n combines his forces and strikes a truce; and at once, freed\n from the spell of destiny, the Lydian race embarks according\n to heaven\u2019s ordinance, under the charge of a foreign\n leader. First sails the vessel of \u00c6neas, Phrygian lions\n harnessed on the prow; above them Ida spreads her shade, 35\n of happiest augury to exiled Troy. There sits great \u00c6neas\n brooding over the doubtful future of the war: and Pallas,\n close cleaving to his left side, keeps questioning him,\n now of the stars, the road-marks of the shadowy night,\n and now of all that he has borne by land and by sea.\n\n Now, ye goddesses, open wide your Helicon,[274] and stir up\n the powers of song, to tell us what the army now following\n \u00c6neas from the Tuscan shores, equipping its ships for 5\n adventure, and sailing over the sea.\n\n First comes Massicus, cleaving the waters in his brass-sheathed\n Tiger: in his train a band of a thousand warriors,\n who have left the walls of Clusium and the city Cos\u00e6;\n their weapons a sheaf of arrows, light quivers for the 10\n shoulder, and a bow of deadly aim. With him grim\n Abas: his whole band ablaze with gleaming armour,\n his vessel shining with a gilded Apollo. Populonia had\n sent him six hundred of her sons, all versed in war: Ilva\n three hundred, an island rich in the Chalybes\u2019 unexhausted 15\n mines. Third comes Asilas, the great interpreter\n \u2019tween gods and men, at whose bidding are the\n victims\u2019 entrails, the stars of the sky, the tongues of augurial\n birds, and the flame of the prophetic lightning. With\n him hurry a thousand in close array, bristling with spears\u2014subjected 20\n to his command by the town of Pisa, which,\n sprung from Alpheus, took root on Etruscan soil. After\n these is Astur, fairest of form, Astur, proud of his steed\n and his glancing armour. Three hundred follow him, all\n with one loyal soul, from those who dwell in C\u00e6re and in 25\n the plains of Minio, in ancient Pyrgi, and Gravisca\u2019s\n tainted air.\n\n I would not leave thee unsung, bravest chief of the Ligurians,\n Cinyras, or Cupavo with scanty retinue, whose helmet\n is surmounted by plumage of the swan: love was your 30\n joint crime; for love you wear the cognizance of your\n father\u2019s form. For legend tells that Cycnus, all for grief\n over his darling Phaethon, while in the poplar shade and\n the leafage of the brotherless sisters he keeps singing and\n consoling his sad passion by the Muses\u2019 aid, drew over his 35\n form the soft plumage of downy eld, mounting up from\n earth and sending his voice before him to the stars. His\n son, with a band of martial peers sailing at his side,\n propels with his oars the enormous Centaur: the monster\n stands lowering over the water, and threatens the billows\n with a huge rock from his towering eminence, as he ploughs\n the deep sea with the length of his keel.\n\n Great Ocnus too is leading an army from the coasts of his 5\n fathers, Ocnus, son of Manto the prophetess and the Etruscan\n river, who bestowed on thee, Mantua, thy city walls\n and the name of his mother, Mantua rich in ancestral\n glories: but not all her sons of the same blood; three\n races are there, and under each race range four nations: 10\n herself the queen of the nations, her strength from Etruscan\n blood. Hence, too, Mezentius draws against his life\n five hundred unfriendly swords\u2014Mincius, child of Benacus,\n with his gray covering of reeds, ushers into the deep\n their hostile bark. 15\n\n On moves strong Aulestes, lashing the water as he rises\n with the stroke of a hundred oars: the sea spouts foam\n from its upturned surface. His bearer is a huge Triton,\n whose shell strikes terror into the green billows; his\n shaggy front, breasting the water, down to the side bespeaks 20\n the man: the belly ends in a sea monster: under\n the half bestial bosom the wave froths and roars.\n\n So many chosen chiefs were journeying in thirty\n vessels to the succour of Troy, and ploughing with brazen\n beak the expanse of brine. 25\n\n And now the day had withdrawn from the sky, and\n gracious Dian was trampling over the cope of heaven with\n her night-flying steeds: \u00c6neas the while, for care refuses\n slumber to his frame, is seated at his post, himself guiding\n the rudder and trimming the sail\u2014when lo! in the middle 30\n of his voyage he is met by a fair bevy of comrades of his\n own: the Nymphs whom gracious Cybele had invested\n with the deity of the sea, and changed from ships to goddesses,\n were swimming abreast and cleaving the billow,\n a Nymph for each of the brazen prows that erst had 35\n lined the shore. Far off they recognize their king, and\n come dancing round him in state: Cymodoce, their skilfullest\n in speech, swimming up behind, lays her right hand on\n the stern, herself lifted breast high above the water,\n while with her left she paddles in the noiseless wave.\n Then thus she breaks on his wondering ear: \u201cWake you,\n \u00c6neas, seed of the gods? be wakeful still, and let the sail-ropes\n go. We it is you see, pines of Ida from the sacred 5\n summit, Sea-nymphs now, your sometime fleet. When\n the false Rutulian was hot at our backs with fire and sword,\n reluctantly we burst your bonds, and are now in full quest\n of you over the sea. This new shape the great mother gave\n us in her pity, and granted us the state of goddesses and 10\n lives to lead beneath the water. Meantime young Ascanius\n is hemmed in by rampart and trench, with serried\n weapons all around him, and Latians bristling with battle.\n Already the Arcadian horse mixed with the brave Etruscan\n has gained the appointed spot: to bar their way with an 15\n intervening host and cut them off from the camp is\n Turnus\u2019 fixed intent. Rise, and with the earliest approach\n of dawn bid your allies be summoned to arms, and take in\n hand that shield which the Fire-god himself made to\n be invincible and bordered with a marge of gold. The 20\n morrow\u2019s sun, if you will but give credence to my words,\n shall survey mighty heaps of Rutulian carnage.\u201d Her\n speech was done: and as she parted she gave with her\n hand an impulse to the lofty stern, well knowing the due\n measure of force: on it speeds over the wave, fleeter than 25\n dart and wind-swift arrow both. The rest in order mend\n their speed. Wondering he pauses, the great Trojan of\n Anchises\u2019 line, yet cheers his soul with the omen. Then,\n looking to the vault above, he prays in brief: \u201cGracious\n mother of the gods, lady of Ida, whose joy is in Dindymus, 30\n and in turreted cities and harnessed lions at thy\n bridle-rein, be thou now to me the controller of the fight,\n do thou bring the presage nigh, and walk beside the\n Phrygians, mighty goddess, with favouring step.\u201d Thus\n much he said: and meanwhile day was returning at speed, 35\n with its light grown to full strength, and night had vanished\n before it.\n\n First he gives orders to his comrades to obey the\n heavenly token, and nerve their souls for combat, and\n make ready for the fight. And now at last from his\n station on the tall stern he has the Teucrians and his\n camp in view, when on the instant his blazing shield is\n raised high on his left arm. Up goes a shout to heaven 5\n from the Dardans on their ramparts; the gleam of hope\n quickens wrath to fury; they hurl a shower of javelins:\n even as amid dark clouds cranes from Strymon give token,\n sweeping sonorously over the sky, and flying from the\n southern gale with sequacious clamour. But the Rutulian 10\n king and the Ausonian generals wonder at the sight, till,\n looking back, they behold the stems bearing to the shore,\n and the whole water floating on with vessels. There is a\n blaze on that helmet\u2019s summit, and from the crest on\n high streams the flame, and the shield\u2019s golden boss disgorges 15\n mighty fires, even as when on a clear night blood-hued\n comets glare with gloomy red, or as the Sirian blaze,\n that harbinger of drought and sickness to weak mortality,\n breaks into birth and saddens heaven with its ill-boding\n rays. 20\n\n Yet pause was none in bold Turnus\u2019 confidence to forestall\n the landing-place, and beat off the comers from the\n shore. His words are ready at the moment to encourage\n and upbraid: \u201cSee here the occasion you longed for, to\n break through them at the sword\u2019s point. A brave man\u2019s 25\n hand is the War-god\u2019s chosen seat. Now let each remember\n wife and home, recall the mighty deeds that made\n your fathers great. Let us meet them at once at the\n water\u2019s edge, while they are in the hurry of landing, and\n the foot falters in its first tread on shore. Valour has 30\n Fortune for its friend:\u201d So saying, he ponders with himself\n whom to lead to the attack, and to whom he may\n trust the leaguer of the walls.\n\n Meanwhile \u00c6neas is landing his comrades from the tall\n ship-sides by help of bridges. Many of them watch for 35\n the ebb of the failing sea and venture a leap among the\n shallows; others resort to the oars. Tarchon, spying out\n a place on the beach where the waters seethe not nor the\n broken billows roar, but ocean without let glides gently\n up the shore as the tide advances, suddenly turns his\n prows thither, and exhorts his crew: \u201cNow, ye chosen\n band, ply your stout oars, lift the vessels and carry them\n home: cleave with your beaks this land that hates you; 5\n let the keel plough its own furrow. Even from shipwreck\n in a roadstead like this I would not shrink, could I once\n get hold of the soil.\u201d Tarchon having thus said, his crew\n rise on their oars and bear down on the Latian plains with\n vessels all foam, till the beaks have gained the dry land, 10\n and every keel has come scatheless to its rest. Not so\n thy ship, Tarchon: for while dashed on a sandbank it\n totters on the unequal ridge, poised in suspense awhile,\n and buffeting the waves, its sides give way, and its men\n are set down in the midst of the water: broken oars and 15\n floating benches entangle them, and their feet are carried\n back by the ebb of the wave.\n\n No sluggish delay holds Turnus from his work: with\n fiery speed he sweeps his whole army against the Teucrians,\n and plants them in the foe\u2019s face on the shore. The 20\n clarions sound: first dashed \u00c6neas on the rustic ranks, a\n presage of the fight\u2019s fortune, and disarrayed the Latians,\n slaying Theron, who in his giant strength is assailing\n \u00c6neas: piercing through quilted brass and tunic stiff\n with gold the sword devours his unguarded side. Next 25\n he strikes Lycus, who was cut from the womb of his\n dead mother and consecrated to thee, Apollo, because his\n baby life had been suffered to scape the peril of the steel.\n Hard by, as iron Cisseus and gigantic Gyas were laying\n low his host with their clubs, he casts them down in 30\n death: nought availed them; the weapons of Hercules or\n strong hands to wield them, or Melampus their sire,\n Alicides\u2019 constant follower, long as earth found for him\n those grievous tasks. See there, as Pharus is hurling\n forth words without deeds, he flings at him his javelin 35\n and plants it in the bawler\u2019s mouth. Thou, too, Cydon,\n while following with ill-starred quest the blooming Clytius,\n thy latest joy, hadst lain stretched on the ground by the\n Dardan hand, a piteous spectacle, at rest from the passions\n that were ever in thy heart; but thy brethren met\n the foe in close band, the progeny of Phorcus: seven their\n number, seven the darts they throw; some rebound idly\n from shield and helm, some as they grazed the frame were 5\n turned aside by Venus\u2019 gentle power. Quick spoke\n \u00c6neas to true Achates: \u201cGive me store of weapons; not\n one shall my hand hurl in vain against the Rutulians, of\n all that have quivered in Grecian flesh on the plains of\n Troy.\u201d With that he seizes his mighty spear and launches 10\n it: flying on it crashes through the brass of M\u00e6on\u2019s shield\n and rends breastplate and breast at once. Swift comes\n his brother Alcanor and props with his hand the falling\n man: piercing the arm the spear flies onward and holds\n its bloody course, and the dying hand dangles by the 15\n sinews from the shoulder-blade. Then Numitor, snatching\n the javelin from his brother\u2019s body, assails \u00c6neas;\n yet it might not lodge in the enemy\u2019s front, but just\n grazed the thigh of mighty Achates.\n\n Now comes Clausus of Cures in the pride of his youthful 20\n frame, and strikes Dryops from a distance under the\n chin with the strong impact of his stark spear, and piercing\n his throat, robs him even as he speaks of life and\n breath alike: the wounded man strikes the earth with\n his forehead and vomits from his lips clotted blood. 25\n Three, too, from Thrace, of Boreas\u2019 noblest lineage, and\n three sent to battle by Idas their sire and Ismarus their\n country, he lays low by this chance or that. To his side\n runs Halesus and the Auruncan bands; comes to his aid,\n too, the seed of Neptune, steed-famed Messapus. Now 30\n these, now those, strain to win the ground: the struggle is\n on Ausonia\u2019s very threshold. As in the spacious heaven\n jarring winds meet in battle, alike in spirit and in strength,\n winds, storm-clouds, and ocean, neither yields to the\n other: long doubtful hangs the fight; all stand in death 35\n grips, front to front: even such the meeting of the army\n of Troy and the army of Latium: foot is set close to foot,\n and man massed with man.\n\n But in another part of the field, where a torrent had\n scattered wide whirling stones and trees uprooted from its\n banks, soon as Pallas saw his Arcadians, unused to wage\n war on foot, flying before the chase of Latium, in that the\n cragginess of the soil had driven them to discard their 5\n steeds, he tries the one remedy in sore distress, and now\n with prayers, now with bitter speeches, inflames their\n valour: \u201cWhither fly ye, mates? By your gallant deeds\n I conjure you\u2014by your chief Evander\u2019s name and victories\n won at his bidding\u2014by my own promise, now 10\n shooting up in rivalry with my father\u2019s glory\u2014trust not\n to your feet. It is the sword that must hew us a way\n through the foe. Where yonder host of men presses in\n thickest mass is the path by which our noble country is\n calling you and your general Pallas back to her arms. 15\n No deities sit heavy on us: by a mortal foe we are pressed,\n mortals ourselves: we have as many lives, as many hands\n as they. Lo there! the sea hems us in with mighty\n ocean-barrier; earth is closed to our flight: shall the sea\n or Troy be our goal?\u201d This said, he dashes at the midst 20\n of the hostile throng. The first that meets him is Lagus,\n brought to the spot by fates unkind; him, while tugging\n a stone of enormous weight, he pierces with his whirled\n javelin, just where the spine running down the back was\n parting the ribs, and recovers the weapon from its lodgment 25\n among the bones. Nor can Hisbo surprise him in\n the fact, spite of his hopes; for Pallas catches him rushing\n on in blind fury for the pain of his comrade\u2019s death,\n and buries the sword in his distended lungs. Next his\n blow lights on Sthenelus, and Anchemolus of Rh\u0153tus\u2019 30\n ancient line, who dared pollute his stepdame\u2019s couch.\n You, too, twin brethren, fell on those Rutulian plains,\n Larides and Thymber, Daucus\u2019 resemblant offspring, undistinguished\n even by your kin, a sweet perplexity to\n those who bore you: but now Pallas has marked you with 35\n a cruel difference; for you, poor Thymber, have your\n head shorn off by the Evandrian sword; your hand,\n Larides, severed from the arm, is looking in vain for you\n its master; the fingers, half alive, are quivering yet and\n closing again on the steel.\n\n Arcadia\u2019s sons, stung by their chief\u2019s rebuke and gazing\n on his glorious deeds, rush on the foe, strong in the\n armour of mingled rage and shame. Then Pallas strikes 5\n through Rh\u0153tus as he flies past him on his car. So\n much space and respite from his end did Ilus gain; for\n \u2019twas at Ilus he had launched from the distance his stalwart\n spear: Rh\u0153tus comes between and catches it, flying\n from thee, noble Teuthras, and Tyres thy brother; and 10\n tumbled from his car he beats with his dying heel the\n Rutulian plains. Even as when the winds have risen at\n his wish on a summer\u2019s day, a shepherd lets loose his\n scattered flames among the woods, in a moment catching\n all that comes between, the Fire-god\u2019s army in one bristling 15\n line stretches over the broad plains: he from his seat\n beholds the triumphant blaze with a conqueror\u2019s pride:\n even so the valour of thy friends musters from all sides on\n one point to aid thee, Pallas. But Halesus, that fiery\n warrior, moves against their opposing ranks, gathering 20\n himself up into his arms. Ladon he massacres, and\n Pheres, and Demodocus: Strymonius\u2019 right hand, raised\n against his throat, he lops away with his gleaming sword;\n with a stone he strikes the front of Thoas, and has crushed\n the bones mixed with gory brain. Halesus had been 25\n hidden in the woods by his prophetic sire; when the\n old man closed his whitening eyes in death, the Fates\n claimed their victim, and devoted him to Evander\u2019s darts.\n And now Pallas aims at him, after these words of prayer:\n \u201cGrant, Father Tiber, to the flying steel poised in my 30\n hand a prosperous passage through Halesus\u2019 hardy breast;\n thine oak shall have his arms and his warrior spoils.\u201d\n The god gave ear: while Halesus shielded Imaon, he gives\n his own breast in evil hour unarmed to the Arcadian\n lance. 35\n\n But Lausus, himself a mighty portion of the war, suffers\n not his troops to be dismayed by the hero\u2019s dreadful\n carnage: first he slays Abas, who had met him front to\n front, the breakwater and barrier of fight. Down go the\n sons of Arcadia, down go the Etruscans, and ye, too\n Teucrians, whose frames Greece could not destroy. The\n armies clash, their leaders and their powers the same.\n The rear ranks close up the battle; nor weapon nor hand 5\n can be moved for the crowd. Here is Pallas pushing and\n pressing, there Lausus over against him: their years\n scarcely differ; each has a comely form; but Fortune had\n already written that neither should return to his home.\n Yet were they not suffered to meet man to man by great 10\n Olympus\u2019 lord: each has his fate assigned him ere long at\n the hand of a mightier enemy.\n\n Turnus meanwhile is warned by his gracious sister to\n come to Lausus\u2019 aid; and with his flying car he cleaves\n the intervening ranks. Soon as he met his comrades\u2019 15\n eye: \u201cYou may rest from battle now; I alone am coming\n against Pallas. Pallas is my due, and mine alone;\n would that his sire were here to see us fight.\u201d He said;\n and his friends retired from the interdicted space. But\n as the Rutulians withdraw, the young warrior, marvelling 20\n at the haughty command, gazes astonished on Turnus,\n rolls his eyes over that giant frame, and sweeps the whole\n man from afar with fiery glance, and with words like\n these meets the words of the monarch: \u201cI shall soon be\n famous either for kingly trophies won or for an illustrious 25\n death; my sire is equal to either event; a truce to menace.\u201d\n This said, he marches into the middle space; while the\n Arcadians\u2019 blood chills and curdles about their hearts.\n Down from his car leaps Turnus, and addresses himself to\n fight on foot. And as when a lion has seen from a high 30\n watch-tower a bull standing at distance in the field and\n meditating fight, he flies to the spot, even thus looks\n Turnus as he bounds along.\n\n Soon as he judged his foe would be within reach of his\n spear-throw, Pallas begins the combat, in hope that Fortune 35\n may help the venture of unequal powers, and utters\n these words to the mighty heaven: \u201cBy my sire\u2019s hospitality\n and the board where thou satest as a stranger, I\n pray thee, Alcides, stand by me in my great endeavour.\n Let Turnus see me strip the bloody arms from his dying\n frame, and may his glazing eyes endure the sight of\n a conqueror.\u201d Alcides heard the youth, and stifled a\n heavy groan deep down in his breast, and shed forth unavailing 5\n tears. Then the Almighty Father bespeaks\n his son with kindly words: \u201cEach has his fixed day:\n short and irretrievable is the span of all men; but to propagate\n glory by great deeds, this is what worth can do.\n Think of those many sons of gods who fell beneath Troy\u2019s 10\n lofty walls: among whom died even Sarpedon, my own\n offspring. For Turnus, too, the call of his destiny has\n gone forth, and he has reached the term of his allotted\n days.\u201d So he speaks, and turns away his eyes from the\n Rutulian plain. 15\n\n But Pallas with a mighty effort sends forth his spear,\n and plucks from the hollow scabbard his flashing sword.\n On flies the weapon, strikes where the margin of the\n harness rises toward the shoulder, and forcing its way\n through the buckler\u2019s edge, at last even grazed the mighty 20\n frame of Turnus. Then Turnus, long poising his beam\n with its point of sharp steel, hurls it at Pallas, with these\n words: \u201cSee whether our weapon be not the keener.\u201d\n So he: while cleaving those many plates of iron and\n brass, spite of the bull-hides wound oft and oft about, 25\n the point strikes through the shield\u2019s midst with quivering\n impact, and pierces the corselet\u2019s barrier and the\n mighty breast beyond. In vain the youth tears the\n reeking dart from the wound: as it parts, blood and life\n follow on its track. He falls forward on his wound: his 30\n arms resound upon him, and with his bloody jaws in death\n he bites the hostile earth. Standing over him, Turnus\n began: \u201cMen of Arcady, take heed and carry my words\n to Evander: I send back Pallas handled as his sire deserves.\n If there be any honour in a tomb, any solace in 35\n burial, let him take it freely; his welcome of \u00c6neas will\n be costly notwithstanding.\u201d Then with his left foot as\n he spoke, he trod on the dead, tearing away the belt\u2019s\n huge weight and the crime thereon engraved[o]: that band\n of youths slain foully all on one wedding night, and the\n chambers dabbled with blood: Clonus Eurytides had\n chased it on the broad field of gold: and now Turnus\n triumphs in the prize, and exults in his winning. Blind 5\n are the eyes of man\u2019s soul to destiny and doom to be, nor\n knows it to respect the limit, when upborne by prosperous\n fortune! Turnus shall see the day when he will fain\n have paid a high price for Pallas unharmed, when he will\n hate the spoils and the hour he won them! But Pallas\u2019 10\n followers, with many a groan and tear, are bearing off\n their chief on his shield in long procession. Oh, vision of\n sorrow and great glory, soon to meet thy father\u2019s eye!\n this day first gave thee to battle, this day withdraws the\n gift, yet vast are the heaps thou leavest of Rutulian 15\n carnage!\n\n And now not the mere rumour of a blow so dreadful,\n but surer intelligence flies to \u00c6neas, that his army is but\n a hand-breadth\u2019s remove from death\u2014that it is high\n time to succour the routed Teucrians. With his sword he 20\n mows down all that crosses him, and all on fire hews a\n broad pathway through the ranks with the steel, seeking\n thee, Turnus, fresh flushed with slaughter. Pallas, Evander,\n the whole scene stands before his eyes\u2014the board\n where he had first sate as a stranger, the outstretched 25\n hands of fellowship. At once he takes alive four youths\n born of Sulmo, and other four reared by Ufens, that he\n may offer them as victims to the dead, and sprinkle the\n funeral flame with their captive gore. Next he had\n levelled his spear from afar at Magus. Magus deftly runs 30\n beneath, while the quivering spear flies over his head,\n and clasping the enemy\u2019s knees, utters these words of\n suppliance: \u201cBy your dead father\u2019s soul, and the dawning\n promise of Iulus, I pray you spare my poor life for\n my son and my sire. I have a lofty palace: deep in its 35\n vaults lie talents of chased silver; masses of gold are\n mine, wrought and unwrought both. The victory of Troy\n hangs not on my fortunes, nor can a single life make\n difference so great.\u201d He spoke, and \u00c6neas thus makes\n reply: \u201cThose many talents you name of silver and gold,\n keep them for your sons. Turnus was the first to put an\n end to such trading usages of war at the moment when he\n slew Pallas. My sire Anchises\u2019 ghost, and my son Iulus, 5\n speak their thoughts through me.\u201d This said, with his\n left hand he grasps the helmet and drives his sword hilt-deep\n through the suppliant\u2019s back-drawn neck. Hard by\n was H\u00e6monides, priest of Ph\u0153bus and Trivia, his temples\n wreathed with the fillet\u2019s sacred band, glittering all over 10\n with gay raiment and goodly armour. Him he meets,\n drives over the plain, stands over him fallen, sacrifices\n the victim, and whelms him in a mighty shade; the arms\n are stripped and carried off on Serestus\u2019 shoulders, a trophy\n to thee, royal Gradivus. The ranks are rallied by C\u00e6culus, 15\n scion of Vulcan\u2019s stock, and Umbro, who comes from the\n Volscian hills. The Dardan chief puts forth his rage\n against them. Already had he mowed down with his\n sword Anxur\u2019s left hand and the whole orb of the shield\n he bore\u2014that foe, I ween, had uttered a haughty boast, 20\n and deemed that his hand would second his tongue, and\n was swelling in spirit to the stars, with an assured hope\n of gray hairs and length of days\u2014when Tarquitus, in the\n pride of gleaming armour, borne by the nymph Dryope\n to woodland Faunus, crossed his fiery path. Drawing 25\n back his spear, he hampers the corselet and the buckler\u2019s\n weighty mass; then he sweeps to the ground the head,\n as the lips were vainly praying and essaying to say a\n thousand things, and dashing before him the reeking trunk,\n utters thus the fierceness of his heart: \u201cLie there, doughty 30\n warrior! never shall your tender mother give you burial,\n or pile your father\u2019s tomb above your limbs; no, you\n will be left to savage birds, or the river will carry you\n whelmed by its eddies, and hungry fish will lick your\n wounds.\u201d Next he hunts down Ant\u00e6us and Lucas, of 35\n Turnus\u2019 first rank, and gallant Numa, and yellow Camers,\n son of noble Volscens, who was wealthiest in land of\n Ausonia\u2019s children, and reigned over voiceless Amycl\u00e6.\n Even as \u00c6g\u00e6on, who, fable tells, had a hundred arms\n and a hundred hands, and flashed fire through fifty mouths\n from the depths of fifty bosoms, what time against Jove\u2019s\n lightning he thundered on fifty strong shields, and drew\n forth fifty sharp swords, so \u00c6neas slakes his victorious 5\n fury the whole field over, when once his blade had grown\n warm with blood. See! he is advancing against Niph\u00e6us\u2019\n four harnessed steeds, and setting his breast\n against theirs. At once they, soon as they saw his lofty\n stride and his fierce gestures, turn round affrighted, and, 10\n rushing backward, unseat their master and hurry the car\n to the beach. Meanwhile Lucagus forces his way into\n the midst, drawn by two white horses, with Liger his\n brother; but the brother guides the steeds with the rein,\n while Lucagus sweeps fiercely round his naked sword. 15\n \u00c6neas brooked not the fury of their fiery onset, but\n rushed against them, and stood fronting them in his giant\n bulk with threatening spear. To him cried Liger: \u201cThese\n are not Diomede\u2019s steeds you see, nor this Achilles\u2019 chariot,\n nor are these the Phrygian plains; your warfare and 20\n your life shall end here on Italian ground.\u201d So fly abroad\n the random words of frantic Liger. The chief of Troy\n seeks not to meet him with words, but hurls his javelin\n at the foe. Even as Lucagus, bending forward over the\n stroke, pricked on his horses with the steel, and advancing 25\n his left foot prepares himself for fight, the spear\n pierces the last margin of the radiant shield and enters\n the groin at the left: down he falls from the car and\n wallows in death on the plain; while good \u00c6neas bespeaks\n him with words of gall: \u201cSo, Lucagus, it is no 30\n craven flight of your steeds that has played your car false;\n no empty shadow cast by the foe has turned them; no,\n it is you that spring down from the wheels, and leave the\n horses to their fate.\u201d With these words he laid hold of\n the bridles, while the wretched brother, gliding down 35\n from the car, was stretching his recreant hands: \u201cOh, by\n yourself, by the parents that gave such greatness birth,\n spare this poor life, brave hero of Troy, and let prayer\n find compassion.\u201d \u00c6neas cut short his entreaties; \u201cNot\n such were your words a moment ago; die, and forsake\n not your brother, as brother should:\u201d and cleaving the\n bosom with his sword, he laid bare the seat of breath.\n Such were the deaths that the Dardan leader dealt about 5\n the plains, storming along like torrent wave or murky\n tempest. At length the prisoners burst forth and leave\n their camp, the young Ascanius and the soldiery beleaguered\n in vain.\n\n Jupiter meanwhile first addresses Juno: \u201cSister mine 10\n and sweetest wife in one, Venus it is, even as thou didst\n suppose\u2014for thy judgment is never at fault\u2014that upholds\n the powers of the Trojans, not the warriors\u2019 own\n keen right hand and the courageous soul that braves\n every peril.\u201d Juno returned, meekly: \u201cWhy, my fairest 15\n lord, dost thou vex a sick spirit that quails before thy\n cruel speeches? Had my love the force it once had, and\n which should still be its own, this at least thou wouldst\n not deny me, almighty as thou art, the power to withdraw\n Turnus from the fight and preserve him in safety 20\n for Daunus his father. As it is, let him perish, and glut\n the Teucrian vengeance with his righteous blood. Yet\n he draws his name from our lineage, and Pilumnus is his\n grandsire\u2019s grandsire: and often has thy temple been\n loaded with store of offerings from his bounteous hand.\u201d 25\n To whom, in brief reply, the lord of skyey Olympus: \u201cIf\n thy prayer for the doomed youth is respite and breathing\n space from present death, and so thou readest my will,\n bear thou Turnus away in flight, and snatch him from\n the destiny that presses on his heels. Thus far is room 30\n for compliance. But if any deeper favour be hidden\n under these prayers of thine, and thou deemest that the\n war\u2019s whole course can be moved or changed, thou art\n nursing an empty hope.\u201d Juno answered with tears:\n \u201cWhat if thy heart were to grant what thy tongue grudges, 35\n and Turnus\u2019 life were pledged to continue? As it is, a\n heavy doom hangs over his guiltless head, or I am void\n of truth and wandering in delusion. But oh, that I\n might rather be the sport of lying terrors, and thou, who\n canst, lead back thy counsels by a better road!\u201d\n\n This said, from the lofty sky she shot forthwith, driving\n storm before her through the air and girt with the rain-cloud,\n and sought the army of Ilium and the camp of 5\n Laurentum. Then, as goddesses may, she fashions a\n thin, strengthless shadow of hollow cloud in the likeness\n of \u00c6neas, a marvel to the eyes, accoutres it with Dardan\n weapons, and counterfeits the shield and the crest of the\n god-like head, gives it empty words and tones without 10\n soul, and renders to the life the step and the gait: even\n as the shapes that are said to flit when death is past, or\n the dreams that mock the sense of slumber. So the\n phantom strides triumphant in the van, goading the enemy\n with brandished weapons and defiant speech. Turnus 15\n comes on, and hurls from far his hurtling spear; it turns\n its back and retires. Then, when Turnus thought \u00c6neas\n flying in retreat, and snatched in the vehemence of his\n soul at the empty hope: \u201cWhither so fast, \u00c6neas?\u201d\n cries he: \u201cnay, leave not your promised bridal; this 20\n hand shall give you the soil you have sought for the\n ocean over.\u201d So with loud shouts he follows, waving his\n drawn sword, nor sees that the winds are bearing off his\n triumph. It chanced that a ship was standing moored to\n the edge of a lofty rock, its ladder let down, its bridge 25\n ready to cross\u2014the ship which had carried king Osinius\n from the borders of Clusium. Hither, as in haste, the\n semblance of the flying \u00c6neas plunged for shelter. Turnus\n follows as fast, bounds over all obstacles, and springs\n across the high-raised bridge. Scarce had he touched the 30\n prow when Saturn\u2019s daughter breaks the mooring and\n sweeps the sundered ship along the receding flood. \u00c6neas\n meanwhile is claiming the combat with his absent foe,\n and sending down to death many a warrior frame that\n crosses his way. Then the airy phantom seeks shelter no 35\n longer, but soaring aloft blends with the murky atmosphere,\n while Turnus is borne by the wind down the middle\n of the tide. Ignorant of the event, and unthankful for\n escape, he looks back, his hands and his voice addressed\n to the sky: \u201cAlmighty sire! hast thou judged me worthy\n of an infliction like this, and sentenced me to this depth\n of suffering? Whither am I bound? whence have I\n come? what is this flight that is bearing me home, and 5\n what does it make of me? Shall I look again on Laurentum\u2019s\n camp and city? what of that warrior troop who\n followed me and my standard? Are they not those\n whom I left\u2014horror to tell\u2014all of them in the jaws\n of a cruel death\u2014whom I now see scattered in rout, and 10\n hear their groans as they fall? What can I do? what\n lowest depth of earth will yawn for me? Nay, do you,\n ye winds, have compassion\u2014on reef, on rock\u2014see, it\n is I, Turnus, who am fain to plead\u2014dash me this vessel,\n and lodge it on the sandbank\u2019s ruthless shoal, where none 15\n that know my shame, Rutuli or rumour, may find me\n out!\u201d So speaking, he sways in spirit to this side and to\n that: should he for disgrace so foul impale his frenzied\n breast on the sword\u2019s point, and drive the stark blade\n through his ribs, or fling himself into the midst of the 20\n waves, and make by swimming for the winding shore,\n and place himself again among the Teucrian swords?\n Thrice he essayed either way: thrice mighty Juno kept\n him back, and of her great pity withheld the youth from\n action. On he flies, ploughing the deep with wave and 25\n tide to speed him, and is borne safely to the ancient town\n of Daunus his sire.\n\n Prompted meanwhile by Jove, Mezentius, all on fire,\n takes up the war, and charges the triumphant Teucrians.\n The Tyrrhene host flocks to the spot, bending all their 30\n fury, all their showering darts on one, one only man.\n Even as a rock which juts into the mighty deep, exposed\n to the rage of the wind and braving the sea, bears all the\n violence and menace of heaven and ocean, itself unshaken,\n he stands unmoved; now he lays low Hebrus, Dolichaon\u2019s 35\n child, and with him Latagus and craven Palmus: Latagus\n he strikes on the face and front with a stone, a hill\u2019s\n enormous fragment, Palmus he suffers to roll ham-strung\n in his cowardice; their harness he gives to Lausus to\n wear on his shoulders, their crests to adorn his head.\n Euanthes, too, the Phrygian, and Mimas, Paris\u2019 playmate,\n borne by Theano to Amycus his sire, the self-same night\n when Cisseus\u2019 royal daughter, teeming with a firebrand, 5\n gave birth to Paris; he sleeps beneath his father\u2019s walls,\n while Mimas has his rest on Laurentum\u2019s unknown shore.\n Like as the mighty boar driven by fangs of hounds from\n mountain heights, the boar whom pine-crowned Vesulus\n or Laurentum\u2019s pool shelters these many years, pastured 10\n on the reedy jungle, soon as he finds himself among the\n nets, stands at bay, snorting with fury and bristling his\n back; none has the courage to flame forth and come near\n him; at safe distance they press him with their darts\n and their cries; even so of them who hate Mezentius with 15\n a righteous hate, none has the heart to face him with\n drawn steel; with missiles and deafening shouts they\n assail him from afar; while he, undaunted, is pausing\n now here, now there, gnashing his teeth, and shakes off\n the javelins from his buckler\u2019s hide. There was one 20\n Acron from Corythus\u2019 ancient borders, a Grecian wight,\n who had fled forth leaving his nuptials yet to celebrate;\n him, when Mezentius saw at distance scattering the intervening\n ranks, in pride of crimson plumage and the purple\n of his plighted bride, even as oft a famished lion ranging 25\n through high-built stalls\u2014for frantic hunger is his\n prompter\u2014if he chance to mark a flying goat or towering-antlered\n deer, grins with huge delight, sets up his\n mane, and hangs over the rent flesh, while loathly blood\n laves his insatiate jaws\u2014so joyfully springs Mezentius 30\n on the foe\u2019s clustering mass. Down goes ill-starred Acron,\n spurns the blackened ground in the pangs of death, and\n dyes with blood the broken spear. Nor did the chief\n deign to strike down Orodes as he fled, or deal from a\n spear-throw a wound unseen; full in front he meets him, 35\n and engages him as man should man, prevailing not by\n guile but by sheer force of steel. Then with foot and\n lance planted on the back-flung body: \u201cSee, gallants, a\n bulwark of the war has fallen in tall Orodes,\u201d and his\n comrades shout in unison, taking up the triumphal p\u00e6an.\n The dying man returns: \u201cWhoever thou art, thy victorious\n boasting shall not be long or unavenged; for thee,\n too, a like fate is watching, and thou shalt soon lie on 5\n these self-same fields.\u201d Mezentius answers, with hate\n mantling in his smile: \u201cDie now. The sire of gods and\n king of men shall make his account with me.\u201d So saying,\n he drew forth the spear from the body: the heavy rest\n of iron slumber settles down on its eyes, and their beams 10\n are curtained in everlasting night.\n\n C\u00e6dicus slaughters Alcathous, Sacrator Hydaspes, Rapo\n kills Parthenius and Orses of iron frame, Messapus slays\n Clonius and Ericetes, Lycaon\u2019s son, that grovelling on the\n ground by a fall from his unbridled steed, this encountered 15\n foot to foot. Prancing forward came Agis of Lycia; but\n Valerus, no unworthy heir of his grandsire\u2019s prowess,\n hurls him down; Thronius falls by Salius, and Salius by\n Nealces, hero of the javelin and the shaft that surprises\n from far. 20\n\n And now the War-god\u2019s heavy hand was dealing out to\n each equal measures of agony and carnage; alike they\n were slaying, alike falling dead, victors and vanquished\n by turns, flight unthought of both by these and by those.\n The gods in Jove\u2019s palace look pityingly on the idle rage 25\n of the warring hosts\u2014alas, that death-doomed men\n should suffer so terribly! Here Venus sits spectator,\n there over against her Saturnian Juno. Tisiphone, ashy\n pale, is raving among thousands down below. But see!\n Mezentius, shaking his giant spear, is striding into the 30\n field, an angry presence. Think of the stature of Orion,\n as he overtops the billows with his shoulders, when he\n stalks on foot through the very heart of Nereus\u2019 mighty\n depths that part before him, or as carrying an aged ash\n in triumph from the hill-top he plants his tread on the 35\n ground, and hides his head among the clouds above:\n thus it is that Mezentius in enormous bulk shoulders his\n way. \u00c6neas spies him along the length of the battle,\n and makes haste to march against him. He abides undismayed,\n waiting for his gallant foe, and stands like\n column on its base; then, measuring with his eye the\n distance that may suffice for his spear, \u201cNow let my right\n hand, the god of my worship, and the missile dart I am 5\n poising, vouchsafe their aid! I vow that you, my Lausus,\n clad in spoils torn from yonder robber\u2019s carcase, shall\n stand in your own person the trophy of \u00c6neas.\u201d He\n said, and threw from far his hurtling lance: flying onward,\n it glances aside from the shield, and strikes in the 10\n distance noble Antores twixt side and flank, Antores,\n comrade of Hercules, who, sent from Argos, had cloven to\n Evander\u2019s fortunes and sat him down in an Italian home.\n Now he falls, ill-fated, by a wound meant for other, and\n gazes on the sky, and dreams in death of his darling Argos. 15\n Then good \u00c6neas hurls his spear; through the hollow\n disk with its triple plating of brass, through the folds of\n linen and the texture wherein three bulls joined, it won\n its way and lodged low down in the groin, but its force\n held not on. In a moment \u00c6neas, gladdened by the sight 20\n of the Tuscan\u2019s blood, plucks his sword from his thigh\n and presses hotly on his unnerved foe.\n\n Soon as Lausus saw, he gave a heavy groan of tenderness\n for the sire he loved, and tears trickled down his\n face. And here, gallant youth, neither the cruel chance 25\n of thy death, nor thy glorious deeds, if antiquity may\n gain credence for so great a sacrifice, nor thine own most\n worthy memory shall be unsung through fault of mine.\n The father, dragging back his foot, disabled and entangled,\n was quitting the field, his enemy\u2019s spearshaft trailing 30\n from his buckler. Forth dashed the youth and mingled\n in the duel, and even as \u00c6neas was rising with hand and\n body and bringing down a blow from above, met the\n shock of the sword, and gave the swordsman pause; his\n comrades second him with a mighty shout, covering the 35\n father\u2019s retreat as sheltered by his son\u2019s shield he withdraws\n from the fray, hurl a rain of darts, and strive with\n distant missiles to dislodge the foe. \u00c6neas glows with\n anger, and keeps within the covert of his arms. Even as\n on a time when storm-clouds sweep down in a burst of\n hail, every ploughman, every husbandman has fled scattering\n from the field, and the traveller lies hid in a stronghold\n of safety, either some river bank or vault of lofty 5\n rock, while the rain is pelting on the lands, in the hope\n that with the returning sun they may task the day once\n more; even so, stormed on by javelins from all sides,\n \u00c6neas endures the thunder-cloud of war till all its artillery\n be spent, and keeps chiding Lausus and threatening 10\n Lausus: \u201cWhither are you rushing on your death, with\n aims beyond your strength? Your duteous heart blinds\n your reckless valour.\u201d Yet he bates not a jot in his\n frantic onslaught: and now the Dardan leader\u2019s wrath\n surges into fury, and the fatal sisters are gathering up 15\n Lausus\u2019 last thread, for \u00c6neas drives his forceful blade\n sheer through the youth\u2019s body, and buries it wholly\n within him. Pierced is the shield by the edge, the light\n armour he carried so threateningly, and the tunic embroidered\n by his mother with delicate golden thread, and 20\n his bosom is deluged with blood; and anon the life flits\n through the air regretfully to the shades and the body is\n left tenantless. But when the son of Anchises saw the\n look and countenance of the dying\u2014the countenance\n with its strange and varying hues of pallor\u2014heavily he 25\n groaned for pity and stretched forth his hand, and the\n portraiture of filial love stood before his soul. \u201cWhat\n now, hapless boy, what shall the good \u00c6neas give you\n worthy of your merit and of a heart like yours? Let the\n arms wherein you took pride be your own still; yourself 30\n I restore to the company of your ancestors, their shades\n and their ashes, if that be aught to you now. This at\n least, ill-starred as you are, shall solace the sadness of\n your death: it is great \u00c6neas\u2019 hand that brings you low.\u201d\n Then without more ado he chides the slackness of his 35\n comrades, and lifts their young chief from the earth, as\n he lay dabbling his trim locks with gore.\n\n Meanwhile the father at the wave of Tiber\u2019s flood was\n stanching his wounds with water, and giving ease to his\n frame, leaning on a tree\u2019s trunk. His brazen helmet is hanging\n from a distant bough, and his heavy arms are resting\n on the mead. Round him stand his bravest warriors: he,\n sick and panting, is relieving his neck, while his flowing 5\n beard scatters over his bosom: many a question asks he\n about Lausus, many a messenger he sends to call him off\n and convey to him the charge of his grieving sire. But\n Lausus the while was being carried breathless on his shield\n by a train of weeping comrades, a mighty spirit quelled by 10\n a mighty wound. The distant groan told its tale to that\n ill-boding heart. He defiles his gray hairs with a shower\n of dust, stretches his two palms to heaven, and clings to\n the body. \u201cMy son! and was I enthralled by so strong a\n love of life as to suffer you, mine own offspring, to meet the 15\n foeman\u2019s hand in my stead? Are these your wounds\n preserving your sire? is he living through your death?\n Alas! now at length I know the misery of banishment!\n now the iron is driven home! Aye, it was I, my son, that\n stained your name with guilt, driven by the hate I gendered 20\n from the throne and realm of my father! Retribution\n was due to my country and to my subjects\u2019 wrath: would\n that I had let out my forfeit life through all the death-wounds\n they aimed! And now I live on, nor as yet leave\n daylight and humankind\u2014but leave them I will.\u201d So 25\n saying, he raises himself on his halting thigh, and though\n the deep wound makes his strength flag, calls for his war-horse\n with no downcast mien. This was ever his glory\n and his solace: this still carried him victorious from every\n battle-field. He addresses the grieving creature and bespeaks 30\n it thus: \u201cLong, Rh\u00e6bus, have we twain lived, if\n aught be long to those who must die. To-day you shall\n either bear in victory the bloody spoils and head of \u00c6neas\n yonder, and join with me to avenge my Lausus\u2019 sufferings,\n or if our force suffice not to clear the way, we will lie down 35\n together in death: for never, I ween, my gallant one, will\n you stoop to a stranger\u2019s bidding and endure a Teucrian\n lord.\u201d He said, and mounting on its back settled his limbs\n as he was wont, and charged his two hands with pointed\n javelins, his head shining with brass and shaggy with\n horse-hair crest. So he bounded into the midst\u2014his\n heart glowing at once with mighty shame, madness and\n agony commingled. Then with a loud voice he thrice 5\n called on \u00c6neas: aye, and \u00c6neas knew it, and prays in\n ecstasy: \u201cMay the great father of the gods, may royal\n Apollo grant that you come to the encounter!\u201d So\n much said, he marches to meet him with brandished spear.\n The other replies: \u201cWhy terrify me, fellest of foes, now 10\n you have robbed me of my son? this was the only way by\n which you could work my ruin. I fear not death, nor give\n quarter to any deity. Enough: I am coming to die, and\n send you this my present first.\u201d He said, and flung a\n javelin at his enemy: then he sends another and another 15\n to its mark, wheeling round in a vast ring: but the golden\n shield bides the blow. Three times, wheeling from right\n to left, he rode round the foe that faced him, flinging\n darts from his hand: three times the hero of Troy moves\n round, carrying with him a vast grove planted on his 20\n brazen plate. Then, when he begins to tire of the long\n delay and the incessant plucking out of darts, and feels the\n unequal combat press him hard, meditating many things,\n at last he springs from his covert, and hurls his spear full\n between the hollow temples of the warrior-steed. The 25\n gallant beast rears itself upright, lashes the air with its\n heels, and, flinging the rider, falls on and encumbers him,\n and itself bowed to earth presses with its shoulder the prostrate\n chief. Up flies \u00c6neas, plucks forth his sword from\n its scabbard, and bespeaks the fallen: \u201cWhere now is 30\n fierce Mezentius and that his savage vehemence of spirit?\u201d\n To whom the Tuscan, soon as opening his eyes on the light\n he drank in the heaven and regained his sense: \u201cInsulting\n foe, why reproach me and menace me with death? You\n may kill me without crime: I came not to battle to be 35\n spared, nor was that the league which my Lausus ratified\n with you for his father. One boon I ask, in the name of\n that grace, if any there be, which is due to a vanquished\n enemy: suffer my corpse to be interred. The hot hatred\n of my subjects, well I know, is blazing all round me: screen\n me, I pray, from their fury, and vouchsafe me a share in\n the tomb of my son.\u201d So saying, with full resolve he welcomes\n the sword to his throat, and spreads his life over his 5\n armour in broad streams of blood.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XI\n\n\n Meanwhile, the Goddess of Dawn has risen and left the\n ocean. \u00c6neas, though duty presses to find leisure for\n interring his friends, and his mind is still wildered by the\n scene of blood, was paying his vows to heaven as conqueror\n should at the day-star\u2019s rise. A giant oak, lopped all 5\n round of its branches, he sets up on a mound, and arrays\n it in gleaming arms, the royal spoils of Mezentius, a trophy\n to thee, great Lord of War: thereto he attaches the crest\n yet raining blood, the warrior\u2019s weapons notched and\n broken, and the hauberk stricken and pierced by twelve 10\n several wounds: to the left hand he binds the brazen shield,\n and hangs to the neck the ivory-hilted sword. Then he\n begins thus to give charge to his triumphant friends, for\n the whole company of chiefs had gathered to his side:\n \u201cA mighty deed, gallants, is achieved already: dismiss 15\n all fear for the future: see here the spoils, the tyrant\u2019s\n first-fruits: see here Mezentius as my hands have made\n him. Now our march is to the king and the walls of Latium.\n Set the battle in array in your hearts and let hope\n forestall the fray, that no delay may check your ignorance 20\n at the moment when heaven gives leave to pluck up the\n standards and lead forth our chivalry from the camp, no\n coward resolve palsy your steps with fear. Meanwhile,\n consign we to earth the unburied carcases of our friends,\n that solitary honour which is held in account in the pit 25\n of Acheron. Go,\u201d he says, \u201cgrace with the last tribute\n those glorious souls, who have bought for us this our fatherland\n with the price of their blood: and first to Evander\u2019s\n sorrowing town send we Pallas, who, lacking nought of\n manly worth, has been reft by the evil day, and whelmed 30\n in darkness before his time.\u201d\n\n So he says weeping, and returns to his tent-door, where\n the body of breathless Pallas, duly laid out, was being\n watched by Ac\u0153tes the aged, who had in old days been\n armour-bearer to Evander his Arcadian lord, but then in\n an hour less happy was serving as the appointed guardian 5\n of the pupil he loved. Around the corpse were thronging\n the retinue of menials and the Trojan train, and dames\n of Ilion with their hair unbound in mourning fashion.\n But soon as \u00c6neas entered the lofty portal, a mighty\n wail they raise to the stars, smiting on their breasts, and 10\n the royal dwelling groans to its centre with their agony\n of woe. He, when he saw the pillowed head and countenance\n of Pallas in his beauty, and the deep cleft of the\n Ausonian spear in his marble bosom, thus speaks, breaking\n into tears: \u201cCan it be, unhappy boy, that Fortune at the 15\n moment of her triumphant flood-tide has grudged you to\n me, forbidding you to look on my kingdom, and ride back\n victorious to your father\u2019s home? Not such was the parting\n pledge I gave on your behalf to your sire Evander, when,\n clasping me to his heart, he sent me on my way to mighty 20\n empire, and anxiously warned me that the foe was fierce\n and the race we should war with stubborn. And now he\n belike at this very moment in the deep delusion of empty\n hope is making vows to Heaven and piling the altars with\n gifts, while we are following his darling, void of life, and 25\n owing no dues henceforward to any power on high, with\n the vain service of our sorrow. Ill-starred father! your\n eyes shall see what cruel death has made of your son.\n And is this the proud return, the triumph we looked for?\n has my solemn pledge shrunk to this? Yet no beaten 30\n coward shall you see, Evander, chastised with unseemly\n wounds, nor shall the father pray for death to come in its\n terror while the son survives. Ay me! how strong a defender\n is lost to our Ausonian realm, and lost to you, my\n own Iulus!\u201d 35\n\n So having wailed his fill, he gives order to lift and bear\n the poor corpse, and sends a thousand men chosen from\n his whole array to attend the last service of woe, and lend\n their countenance to the father\u2019s tears, a scant solace for\n that mighty sorrow, yet not the less the wretched parent\u2019s\n due. Others, nothing slack, plait the framework of a\n pliant bier with shoots of arbute and oaken twigs, and\n shroud the heaped-up bed with a covering of leaves. 5\n Here place they the youth raised high on his rustic litter,\n even as a flower cropped by maiden\u2019s finger, be it of delicate\n violet or drooping hyacinth, unforsaken as yet of its\n sparkling hue and its graceful outline, though its parent\n earth no longer feeds it or supplies it with strength. Then 10\n brought forth \u00c6neas two garments stiff with gold and purple,\n which Dido had wrought for him in other days with\n her own hands, delighting in the toil, and had streaked\n their webs with threads of gold. Of these the mourner\n spreads one over his youthful friend as a last honour, 15\n and muffles the locks on which the flame must feed: moreover\n he piles in a heap many a spoil from Laurentum\u2019s\n fray, and bids the plunder be carried in long procession.\n The steeds too and weapons he adds of which he had\n stripped the foe. Already had he bound the victims\u2019 20\n hands behind their backs, doomed as a sacrifice to the\n dead man\u2019s spirit, soon to spill their blood over the fire:\n and now he bids the leaders in person carry tree-trunks\n clad with hostile arms, and has the name of an enemy\n attached to each. There is Ac\u0153tes led along, a lorn old 25\n man, marring now his breast with blows, now his face with\n laceration, and anon he throws himself at his full length\n on the ground. They lead too the car, all spattered\n with Rutulian blood. After it the warrior steed, \u00c6thon,\n his trappings laid aside, moves weeping, and bathes his 30\n visage with big round drops. Others carry the spear and\n the helm: for the rest of the harness is Turnus\u2019 prize.\n Then follows a mourning army, the Teucrians, and all the\n Tuscans, and the sons of Arcady with weapons turned\n downward. And now after all the retinue had passed on 35\n in long array, \u00c6neas stayed, and groaning deeply uttered\n one word more: \u201cWe are summoned hence by the same\n fearful destiny of war to shed other tears: I bid you hail\n forever, mightiest Pallas, and forever farewell.\u201d Saying\n this and this only, he turned to the lofty walls again, and\n bent his footsteps campward.\n\n And now appeared the ambassadors from the town of\n Latium, with the coverings of their olive boughs, entreating 5\n an act of grace: the bodies which were lying over the\n plains as the steel had mowed them down they pray him\n to restore, and suffer them to pass under the mounded\n earth: no man wars with the vanquished and with those\n who have left the sun: let him show mercy to men once 10\n known as his hosts and the fathers of his bride. The good\n \u00c6neas hearkens to a prayer that merits no rebuke, grants\n them the boon, and withal bespeaks them thus: \u201cWhat\n undeserved ill chance, men of Latium, has entangled you\n in a war so terrible and made you fly from us your friends? 15\n Ask you peace for the dead, for those on whom the War-god\u2019s\n die has fallen? Nay, I would fain grant it to the\n living too. I were not here had not fate assigned me a\n portion and a home: nor wage I war against your nation:\n it was the king that abandoned our alliance, and sought 20\n shelter rather under Turnus\u2019 banner. Fairer it had been\n that Turnus should have met the death-stroke ye mourn.\n If he seeks to end the war by strength of arm and expel the\n Trojan enemy, duty bade him confront me with weapons\n like mine, and that one should have lived who had earned 25\n life from heaven or his own right hand. Now go and\n kindle the flame beneath your ill-starred townsmen.\u201d\n \u00c6neas\u2019 speech was over: they stood in silent wonder, their\n eyes and countenances steadfastly fixed on each other.\n Then Drances, elder in birth, ever embroiled with the 30\n youthful Turnus by hatred and taunting word, thus speaks\n in reply: \u201cO mighty in fame\u2019s voice, mightier in your own\n brave deeds, hero of Troy, what praise shall I utter to\n match you with the stars? Shall I first admire your sacred\n love of right, or the toils of your hand in war? Ours it 35\n shall be gratefully to report your answer to our native\n town, and should any favouring chance allow, make you\n the friend of king Latinus. Let Turnus look for alliance\n where he may. Nay, it will be our pride to uprear those\n massive walls of destiny, and heave on our shoulders the\n stones of your new Troy.\u201d He spoke, and the rest all\n murmured assent. For twelve days they make truce, and\n with amity to mediate, Trojans and Latians mingled roam 5\n through the forest on the mountain slopes unharming and\n unharmed. The lofty ash rings with the two-edged steel:\n they bring low pines erst uplifted to the sky, nor is there\n pause in cleaving with wedges the oak and fragrant cedar,\n or in carrying ashen trunks in the groaning wains. 10\n\n And now flying Fame, the harbinger of that cruel agony,\n is filling with her tidings the ears of Evander, his palace and\n his city\u2014Fame that but few hours back was proclaiming\n Pallas the conqueror of Latium. Forth stream the Arcadians\n to the gates, with funeral torches in ancient fashion, 15\n snatched up hurriedly; the road gleams with the long\n line of fire, which parts the breath of fields on either hand.\n To meet them comes the train of Phrygians, and joins the\n wailing company. Soon as the matrons saw them pass\n under the shadow of the houses, they set the mourning city 20\n ablaze with their shrieks. But Evander\u2014no force can\n hold him back; he rushes into the midst: there as they\n lay down the bier he has flung himself upon Pallas, and is\n clinging to him with tears and groans, till choking grief\n at last lets speech find her way: \u201cNo, my Pallas! this was 25\n not your promise to your sire, to trust yourself with caution\n in the War-god\u2019s savage hands. I knew what a spell\n there lay in the young dawn of a soldier\u2019s glory, the enrapturing\n pride of the first day of battle. Alas for the\n ill-starred first-fruits of youth, the cruel foretaste of the 30\n coming war! alas for those my vows and prayers, that\n found no audience with any of the gods! alas too for thee,\n my blessed spouse, happy as thou art in the death that\n spared thee not for this heavy sorrow! while I, living on,\n have triumphed over my destiny, that I might survive in 35\n solitary fatherhood. Had I but followed the friendly\n standards of Troy, and fallen whelmed by Rutulian javelins!\n had I rendered my own life up, so that this funeral\n train should have borne _me_ home, and not my Pallas!\n Nor yet would I blame you, men of Troy, nor the treaty\n we made, nor the hands we plighted in friendship; it is\n but the portion ordained long ago as fitting for my gray\n hairs. If it was written that my son should die ere his 5\n time, it shall be well that he fell after slaying his Volscian\n thousands, while leading a Teucrian army to the gates of\n Latium. Nay, my Pallas, I would wish for you no\n worthier funeral than that accorded to you by \u00c6neas\n the good and his noble Phrygians, by the Tyrrhene leaders, 10\n and the whole Tyrrhene host. Each bears you a mighty\n trophy whom your right hand sends down to death. And\n you, too, proud Turnus, would be standing at this moment,\n a giant trunk hung round with armour, had your age been\n but as his, the vigour of your years the same. But why 15\n should misery like mine hold back the Teucrians from the\n battle? Go, and remember to bear my message to your\n king. If I still drag the wheels of my hated life now my\n Pallas is slain, it is because of your right hand, which owes\n the debt of Turnus\u2019 life to son and sire, yourself being witness. 20\n This is the one remaining niche for your valour and\n your fortune to fill. I ask not for triumph to gild my life:\n that thought were crime: I ask but for tidings that I\n may bear to my son down in the spectral world.\u201d\n\n Meantime the Goddess of Dawn had lifted on high her 25\n kindly light for suffering mortality, recalling them to task\n and toil. Already father \u00c6neas, already Tarchon, have\n set up their funeral piles along the winding shore. Hither\n each man brings the body of friend or kinsman as the rites\n of his sires command; and as the murky flames are applied 30\n below, darkness veils the heights of heaven in gloom.\n Thrice they ran their courses round the lighted pyres,\n sheathed in shining armour; thrice they circled on their\n steeds the mournful funeral flame, and uttered the voice\n of wailing. Sprinkled is the earth with their tears, 35\n sprinkled is the harness. Upsoars to heaven at once the\n shout of warriors and the blare of trumpets. Others\n fling upon the fire plunder torn from the Latian slain,\n helms and shapely swords and bridle-reins and glowing\n wheels; some bring in offering the things the dead men\n wore, their own shields and the weapons that sped so ill.\n Many carcases of oxen are sacrificed round the piles:\n bristly swine and cattle harried from the country round are 5\n made to bleed into the flame. Then along the whole line\n of coast they gaze on their burning friends, and keep\n sentry over the half-quenched fire-bed, nor let themselves\n be torn away till dewy night rolls round the sky with its\n garniture of blazing stars. 10\n\n With like zeal the ill-starred Latians in a different quarter\n set up countless piles; of the multitude of corpses\n some they bury in the earth, some they lift up and carry\n off to neighbour districts, and send them home to the city;\n the rest, a mighty mass of promiscuous carnage, they burn 15\n uncounted and unhonoured; and thereon the plains\n through their length and breadth gleam with the thickening\n rivalry of funeral fires. The third morrow had withdrawn\n the chill shadows from the sky: the mourners were\n levelling the piles of ashes and sweeping the mingled bones 20\n from the hearths, and heaping over them mounds of earth\n where the heat yet lingers. But within the walls, in the\n city of Latium\u2019s wealthy king, the wailing is pre\u00ebminent,\n and largest the portion of that long agony. Here are\n mothers and their sons\u2019 wretched brides, here are sisters\u2019 25\n bosoms racked with sorrow and love, and children orphaned\n of their parents, calling down curses on the terrible\n war and on Turnus\u2019 bridal rites; he, he himself, they cry,\n should try the issue with arms and the cold steel, who\n claims for himself the Italian crown and the honours of 30\n sovereignty. Fell Drances casts his weight into the scale,\n and bears witness that Turnus alone is challenged by the\n foe, Turnus alone defied to combat. Against them many\n a judgment is ranged in various phrase on Turnus\u2019 side,\n and the queen\u2019s august name lends him its shadow; many 35\n an applauding voice upholds the warrior by help of the\n trophies he has won.\n\n Amid all this ferment, when the blaze of popular turmoil\n is at its height, see, as a crowning blow, comes back the\n sorrowing embassy with tidings from Diomede\u2019s mighty\n town: the cost of all their labours has gained them nought:\n gifts and gold and earnest prayers are alike in vain: the\n Latians must look for arms elsewhere, or sue for peace 5\n from the Trojan chief. King Latinus himself is crushed\n to earth by the weight of agony. The wrath of the gods,\n the fresh-made graves before his eyes, tell him plainly that\n \u00c6neas is the man of destiny, borne on by heaven\u2019s manifest\n will. So he summons by royal mandate a mighty 10\n council, the chiefs of his nation, and gathers them within\n his lofty doors. They have mustered from all sides, and\n are streaming to the palace through the crowded streets.\n In the midst Latinus takes his seat, at once eldest in years\n and first in kingly state, with a brow that knows not joy. 15\n Hereupon he bids the envoys returned from the \u00c6tolian\n town to report the answers they bear, and bids them repeat\n each point in order. Silence is proclaimed, and Venulus,\n obeying the mandate, begins to speak:\n\n \u201cTownsmen, we have looked on Diomede and his Argive 20\n encampment: the journey is overpast, and every chance\n surmounted, and we have touched the hand by which the\n realm of Ilion fell. We found him raising his city of Argyripa,\n the namesake of his ancestral people, in the land of\n Iapygian Garganus which his sword had won. Soon as 25\n the presence was gained and liberty of speech accorded, we\n proffer our gifts, inform him of our name and country,\n who is our invader, and what cause has led us to Arpi.[275]\n He listened, and returned as follows with untroubled mien:\n \u2018O children of fortune, subjects of Saturn\u2019s reign, men of 30\n old Ausonia, what caprice of chance disturbs you in your\n repose, and bids you provoke a war ye know not? Know\n that all of us, whose steel profaned the sanctity of Ilion\u2019s\n soil\u2014I pass the hardships of war, drained to the dregs\n under those lofty ramparts, the brave hearts which that 35\n fatal Simois covers\u2014yea, all of us the wide world over\n have paid the dues of our trespass in agonies unutterable,\n a company that might have wrung pity even from Priam:\n witness Minerva\u2019s baleful star, and the crags of Eub\u0153a,\n and Caphereus the avenger. Discharged from that warfare,\n wandering outcasts on diverse shores, Menelaus,\n Atreus\u2019 son, is journeying in banishment even to the pillars\n of Proteus[276]; Ulysses has looked upon \u00c6tna and her Cyclop 5\n brood. Need I tell of Neoptolemus\u2019 portioned realms,\n of Idomeneus\u2019 dismantled home, of Locrian settlers on\n a Libyan coast? Even the monarch[277] of Mycen\u00e6, the\n leader of the great Grecian name, met death on his very\n threshold at the hand of his atrocious spouse; Asia fell 10\n before him, but the adulterer rose in her room. Cruel gods,\n that would not have me restored to the hearth-fires of my\n home, to see once more the wife of my longing and my own\n fair Calydon! Nay, even my flight is dogged by portents\n of dreadful view; my comrades torn from me are winging 15\n the air and haunting the stream as birds\u2014alas that the\n followers of my fortunes should suffer so!\u2014and making\n the rocks ring with the shrieks of their sorrow. Such was\n the fate I had to look for even from that day when with\n my frantic steel I assailed the flesh of immortals, and impiously 20\n wounded Venus\u2019 sacred hand. Nay, nay, urge\n me no longer to a war like this. Since Pergamus fell, my\n fightings with Troy are ended; I have no thought, no joy,\n for the evils of the past. As for the gifts which you bring\n me from your home, carry them rather to \u00c6neas. I tell 25\n you, I have stood against the fury of his weapon, and joined\n hand to hand with him in battle; trust one who knows\n how strong is his onset as he rises on the shield, how\n fierce the whirlwind of his hurtling lance. Had Ida\u2019s\n soil borne but two other so valiant, Dardanus would have 30\n marched in his turn to the gates of Inachus, and the tears\n of Greece would be flowing for a destiny reversed. All\n those years of lingering at the walls of stubborn Troy, it\n was Hector\u2019s and \u00c6neas\u2019 hand that clogged the wheels of\n Grecian victory, and delayed her coming till the tenth 35\n campaign had begun. High in courage were both, high\n in the glory of martial prowess; but piety gave _him_ the\n pre\u00ebminence. Join hand to hand in treaty, if so you may;\n but see that your arms bide not the shock of his.\u2019 Thus,\n gracious sire, have you heard at once the king\u2019s reply,\n and the judgment he passed on this our mighty war.\u201d\n\n The envoys had scarcely finished when a diverse murmur\n runs along the quivering lips of the sons of Ausonia, as, 5\n when rapid streams are checked by rocks in their course,\n confused sounds rise from the imprisoned torrent, and\n neighbouring banks re\u00ebcho with the babbling of the waves.\n Soon as their passions were allayed, and their chafed countenances\n settled in calm, the monarch, first invoking 10\n heaven, begins from his lofty throne:\n\n \u201cTo have taken your judgment, Latians, ere this on the\n state of the common-weal, would have been my pleasure,\n and our truer interest, rather than summon a council at a\n crisis like this, when the foe has sat down before our walls. 15\n A grievous war, my countrymen, we are waging with the\n seed of heaven, a nation unsubdued, whom no battles\n overtire, nor even in defeat can they be made to drop the\n sword. For any hope ye have cherished in the alliance of\n \u00c6tolian arms, resign it forever. Each is his own hope; 20\n and how slender is this ye may see for yourselves. As\n to all beside, with what utter ruin it is stricken is palpable\n to the sight of your eyes, to the touch of your hands. I\n throw the blame on none: manly worth has done the utmost\n it could: all the sinews of the realm have been strained 25\n in the contest. Now then I will set forth what is the judgment\n of my wavering mind, and show you it in few words,\n if ye will lend me your attention. There is an ancient\n territory of mine bordering on the Tuscan river, extending\n lengthwise to the west, even beyond the Sicanian frontier; 30\n Auruncans and Rutulians are its tillers, subduing with the\n ploughshare its stubborn hills, and pasturing their flocks\n on the rugged slopes. Let this whole district, with the\n lofty mountain and its belt of pines, be our friendly gift\n to the Teucrians; let us name equal terms of alliance, and 35\n invite them to share our kingdom; let them settle here, if\n their passion is so strong, and build them a city. But if\n they have a mind to compass other lands and another\n nation, and are free to quit our soil, let us build twenty ships\n of Italian timber, or more if they have men to fill them:\n there is the wood ready felled by the river side; let themselves\n prescribe the size and the number; let us provide\n brass, and hands, and naval trim. Moreover, to convey 5\n our proffers and ratify the league, I would have an embassy\n of a hundred Latians of the first rank sent with peaceful\n branches in their hands, carrying also presents, gold and\n ivory, each a talent\u2019s weight, and the chair and striped\n robe that are badges of our royalty. Give free counsel 10\n and help to support a fainting commonwealth.\u201d\n\n Then Drances, hostile as ever, whom the martial fame\n of Turnus was ever goading with the bitter stings of sidelong\n envy, rich, and prodigal of his riches, a doughty\n warrior with the tongue, but a feeble hand in the heat of 15\n battle, esteemed no mean adviser in debate, and powerful\n in the arts of faction: his mother\u2019s noble blood made proud\n a lineage which on his father\u2019s side was counted obscure:\u2014he\n rises, and with words like these piles and heaps anger\n high: 20\n\n \u201cA matter obscure to none, and needing no voice of ours\n to make it plain is this that you propound, gracious king.\n All own that they know what is the bearing of the state\u2019s\n fortune; but their tongues can only mutter. Let him\n accord freedom of speech, and bate his angry blasts, to 25\n whose ill-omened leadership and inauspicious temper\u2014aye,\n I _will_ speak, let him threaten me with duel and death\n as he may\u2014we owe it that so many of our army\u2019s stars\n have set before our eyes, and the whole city is sunk in\n mourning, while he is making his essay of the Trojan camp, 30\n with flight always in reserve, and scaring heaven with the\n din of his arms. One gift there is over and above that\n long catalogue which you would have us send and promise\n to the Dardans: add but this to them, most excellent\n sovereign, nor let any man\u2019s violence prevent you from 35\n bestowing your daughter in the fulness of a father\u2019s right\n on a noble son-in-law and a worthy alliance, and basing\n the peace we seek on a covenant which shall last forever.\n Nay, if the reign of terror is so absolute over our minds\n and hearts, let us go straight to him with our adjurations\n and ask for grace at his own hands\u2014ask him to yield, and\n allow king and country to exercise their rights. Why\n fling your wretched countrymen again and again into 5\n danger\u2019s throat, you, the head and wellspring of the ills\n which Latium has to bear? There is no hope from war;\n peace we ask of you, one and all\u2014yes, Turnus, peace,\n and the one surety that can make peace sacred. See,\n first of all I, whom you give out to be your enemy\u2014and 10\n I care not though I be\u2014come and throw myself at your\n feet. Pity those of your own kin, bring down your\n pride, and retire as beaten man should. Routed we are;\n we have looked on corpses enough, and have left leagues\n enough of land unpeopled. Or if glory stirs you, if you 15\n can call up into your breast the courage needed, if the\n dowry of a palace lies so near your heart, be bold for once,\n and advance with bosom manned to meet the foe. What!\n that Turnus may have the blessing of a queenly bride, are\n we, poor paltry lives, a herd unburied and unwept, to lie 20\n weltering on the plain? It is your turn: if you have any\n strength, any touch of the War-god of your sires, look him\n in the face who sends you his challenge.\u201d\n\n At these words Turnus\u2019 violence blazed out: heaving a\n groan, he vents from the bottom of his heart such utterance 25\n as this: \u201cCopious, Drances, ever is your stream of\n speech in the hour when war is calling for hands; when the\n senate is summoned, you are first in the field. Yet we\n want not men to fill our court with talk, that big talk\n which you hurl from a safe vantage-ground, while the rampart 30\n keeps off the foe and the moat is not foaming with\n carnage. Go on pealing your eloquence, as your wont is:\n let Drances brand Turnus with cowardice, for it is Drances\u2019\n hand that has piled those very heaps of Teucrian slaughter,\n and is planting the fields all over with its trophies. What 35\n is the power of glowing valour, experience may show\n you: enemies in sooth are not far to seek: they are standing\n all about the walls. Well, are we marching to the\n encounter? why so slow? will you never lodge the War-god\n better than in that windy tongue, those flying feet?\n What? beaten? I? who, foulest of slanderers, will justly\n brand me as beaten, that shall look on Tiber still swelling\n with Ilion\u2019s best blood, on Evander\u2019s whole house prostrate 5\n root and branch, and his Arcadians stripped naked of their\n armour? It was no beaten arm that Bitias and giant\n Pandarus found in me, or the thousand that I sent to\n death in a single day with my conquering hand, shut up\n within their walls, pent in by the rampart of the foe. No 10\n hope from war? Croak your bodings, madman, in the\n ears of the Dardan and of your own fortunes. Ay, go\n on without cease, throwing all into measureless panic,\n heightening the prowess of a nation twice conquered already,\n and dwarfing no less the arms of your king. See, 15\n now the lords of the Myrmidons[278] are quaking at the martial\n deeds of Phrygia, Tydeus\u2019 son, Thessalian Achilles,\n and the rest, and river Aufidus is in full retreat from the\n Hadrian sea. Or listen when the trickster in his villany\n feigns himself too weak to face a quarrel with me, and 20\n points his charges with the sting of terror. Never, I\n promise you, shall you lose such life as yours by hand of\n mine\u2014be troubled no longer\u2014let it dwell with you and\n retain its home in that congenial breast. Now, gracious\n sire, I return to you and the august matter that asks our 25\n counsel. If you have no hope beyond in aught our arms\n can do, if we are so wholly forlorn, destroyed root and\n branch by one reverse, and our star can never rise again,\n then pray we for peace and stretch craven hands in suppliance.\n Yet, oh, had we but one spark of the worth that 30\n once was ours, that man I would esteem blest beyond\n others in his service and princely of soul, who, sooner than\n look on aught like this, has lain down in death and once\n for all bitten the dust. But if we have still store of power,\n and a harvest of youth yet unreaped, if there are cities 35\n and nations of Italy yet to come to our aid, if the Trojans\n as well as we have won their glory at much bloodshed\u2019s\n cost\u2014for they too have their deaths\u2014the hurricane has\n swept over all alike\u2014why do we merely falter on the\n threshold? why are we seized with shivering ere the\n trumpet blows? Many a man\u2019s weal has been restored\n by time and the changeful struggles of shifting days: many\n a man has Fortune, fair and foul by turns, made her sport 5\n and then once more placed on a rock. Grant that we shall\n have no help from the \u00c6tolian and his Arpi: but we shall\n from Messapus, and the blest Tolumnius, and all the\n leaders that those many nations have sent us; nor small\n shall be the glory which will wait on the flower of Latium 10\n and the Laurentine land. Ay, and we have Camilla,[279] of\n the noble Volscian race, with a band of horsemen at her\n back and troops gleaming with brass. If it is I alone that\n the Teucrians challenge to the fight, and such is your will,\n and my life is indeed the standing obstacle to the good of 15\n all, Victory has not heretofore fled with such loathing from\n my hands that I should refuse to make my venture for a\n hope so glorious. No, I will confront him boldly, though he\n should prove great as Achilles, and don harness like his, the\n work of Vulcan\u2019s art. To you and to my royal father-in-law 20\n have I here devoted this my life, I, Turnus, second in\n valour to none that went before me. \u2018For me alone \u00c6neas\n calls.\u2019 Vouchsafe that he may so call! nor let Drances\n in my stead, if the issue be Heaven\u2019s vengeance, forfeit\n his life, or, if it be prowess and glory, bear that prize 25\n away!\u201d\n\n So were these contending over matters of doubtful debate:\n \u00c6neas was moving his army from camp to field.\n See, there runs a messenger from end to end of the palace\n amid wild confusion, and fills the town with a mighty 30\n terror, how that in marching array the Trojans and the\n Tuscan force are sweeping down from Tiber\u2019s stream\n over all the plain. In an instant the minds of the people\n are confounded, their bosoms shaken to the core, their\n passions goaded by no gentle stings. They clutch at arms, 35\n clamour for arms: arms are the young men\u2019s cry: the\n weeping fathers moan and mutter. And now a mighty\n din, blended of discordant voices, soars up to the skies,\n even as when haply flocks of birds have settled down in a\n lofty grove, or on the fishy stream of Padusa hoarse swans\n make a noise along the babbling waters, \u201cAy, good citizens,\u201d\n cries Turnus, seizing on his moment, \u201cassemble\n your council and sit praising peace; they are rushing on 5\n the realm sword in hand.\u201d Without further speech he\n dashed away and issued swiftly from the lofty gate.\n \u201cYou, Volusus,\u201d he cries, \u201cbid the Volscian squadrons arm,\n and lead out the Rutulians. You, Messapus, and you,\n Coras[280] and your brother, spread the horse in battle array 10\n over the breadth of the plain. Let some guard the inlets\n of the city and man the towers; the rest attack with me in\n the quarter for which I give the word.\u201d At once there is\n a rush to the ramparts from every part of the city: king\n Latinus leaves the council and the high debate unfinished, 15\n and wildered with the unhappy time, adjourns to another\n day, ofttimes blaming himself that he welcomed not with\n open arms \u00c6neas the Dardan, and bestowed on the city\n a husband for the daughter of Latium. Others dig\n trenches before the gates or shoulder stones and stakes. 20\n The hoarse trumpet gives its deathful warning for battle.\n The walls are hemmed by a motley ring of matrons and\n boys: the call of the last struggle rings in each one\u2019s ear.\n Moreover the queen among a vast train of Latian mothers\n is drawn to the temple, even to Pallas\u2019 tower on the height, 25\n with presents in her hand, and at her side the maid Lavinia,\n cause of this cruel woe, her beauteous eyes cast down.\n The matrons enter the temple and make it steam with\n incense, and pour from the august threshold their plaints\n of sorrow: \u201cLady of arms, mistress of the war, Tritonian[o] 30\n maiden, stretch forth thy hand and break the spear of the\n Phrygian freebooter, lay him prostrate on the ground,\n and leave him to grovel under our lofty portals.\u201d Turnus\n with emulous fury arms himself for the battle. And now\n he has donned his ruddy corslet, and is bristling with 35\n brazen scales; his calves have been sheathed in gold, his\n temples yet bare, and his sword had been girded to his\n side, and he shines as he runs all golden from the steep\n of the citadel, bounding high with courage, and in hope\n already forestalls the foe: even as when a horse, bursting\n his tether, escapes from the stall, free at last and master\n of the open champaign,[281] either wends where the herds of\n mares pasture, or wont to bathe in the well-known river 5\n darts forth and neighs with head tossed on high in wanton\n frolic, while his mane plays loosely about neck and shoulders.\n His path Camilla crosses, a Volscian army at her\n back, and dismounts from her horse at the gate with\n queenly gesture; the whole band follow her lead, quit 10\n their horses, and alight to earth, while she bespeaks him\n thus: \u201cTurnus, if the brave may feel faith in themselves,\n I promise boldly to confront the cavalry of Troy and\n singly ride to meet the Tyrrhene horse. Let me essay\n the first hazard of the combat; do you on foot remain by 15\n the walls and be the city\u2019s guard.\u201d Turnus replies, gazing\n steadfastly on the dreadful maid: \u201cO maiden, glory\n of Italy, what thanks shall I strive to speak or render?\n but seeing that soul of yours soars above all, partake the\n toil with me. \u00c6neas, as rumour and missioned spies tell 20\n me for truth, has cunningly sent on his light-armed cavalry\n to scour the plain, while he, surmounting the lonely\n steeps of the hill, is marching townward. I meditate a\n stratagem of war in that woodland gorge, to beset the\n narrow thoroughfare with an armed band. Do you in 25\n battle array receive the Tuscan horse. With you will\n be keen Messapus, and the Latian cavalry, and Tiburtus\u2019\n troop: take your share of a general\u2019s charge.\u201d This said,\n he exhorts Messapus and the federate leaders with like\n words to the fight, and advances to meet the enemy. 30\n A glen there is, narrow and winding, suited for ambush\n and stratagems of arms, pent in on both sides by a mountain-wall\n black with dense foliage; a scant pathway leads\n to it, with straitened gorge and jealous inlet. Above it\n on the mountain\u2019s watch-tower height lies a concealed 35\n table-land, a post of sheltered privacy, whether one be\n minded to face the battle right and left, or, standing on\n the slope, to roll down enormous stones. Hither repairs\n the warrior along the well-known road: he has occupied\n the spot and sat him down in the treacherous forest.\n\n Meantime, in the mansions above Latona\u2019s daughter\n was addressing Opis the swift, a maiden comrade of her\n sacred train, and was uttering these words in tones of 5\n sorrow: \u201cAh, maiden, Camilla is on her way to the ruthless\n war; in vain she girds herself with the arms of our\n sisterhood, dear to me that she is beyond all beside: for\n no new tenderness this that has come on Diana, nor sudden\n the spell wherewith it stirs her heart. When Metabus, 10\n exiled for the hate which tyranny genders, was parting\n from Privernum, his ancient city, as he fled from the heart\n of the combat, he bore away his infant child to share his\n banishment, and varying Casmilla, her mother\u2019s name,\n called her Camilla. The father, carrying her in his bosom, 15\n was making for the long mountain slopes of the solitary\n woods, while bitter javelins were showering all around him,\n and the Volscians with circling soldiery hovering about:\n when lo! intercepting his flight was Amasenus, brimming\n and foaming over its banks, so vast a deluge of rain had 20\n burst from the clouds. Preparing to plunge in, he is\n checked by tenderness for his child, and fears for the precious\n load. At last, as he pondered over every course,\n he hit suddenly on this resolve. There was a huge weapon,\n which he chanced to be carrying in his stalwart hand 25\n as warriors use, sturdy with knots and seasoned timber:\n to it he fastens his daughter, enclosed in the cork-tree\u2019s\n forest bark, and binds her neatly round the middle\n of the shaft; then, poising it in a giant\u2019s grasp, he thus\n exclaims to heaven: \u2018Gracious lady, dweller in the woods, 30\n Latona\u2019s maiden daughter, I vow to thy service this my\n child: thine are the first weapons that she wields as she\n flies from the foe through air to thy protection. Receive,\n I conjure thee, as thine own her whom I now entrust to the\n uncertain gale.\u2019 He said, and, drawing back his arm, 35\n hurled the javelin: loud roared the waves, while over the\n furious stream fled poor Camilla on the hurtling dart.\n But Metabus, pressed closer and closer by the numerous\n band, leaps into the river, and in triumph plucks from the\n grassy bank his offering to Trivia, the javelin and the maid.\n No cities opened to him house or stronghold, for his wild\n nature had never brooked submission: among the shepherds\u2019\n lonely mountains he passed his days. There in the 5\n woods, among beasts\u2019 savage lairs, he reared his daughter\n on milk from the breast of an untamed mare, squeezing\n the udder into her tender lips. And soon as the child\n first stood on her feet, he armed her hands with a pointed\n javelin, and hung from her baby shoulder a quiver and a 10\n bow. For the golden brooch in her hair, for the long\n sweeping mantle, there hang from her head adown her\n back a tiger\u2019s spoils. Even then she launched with tiny\n hand her childish missiles, swung round her head the sling\u2019s\n well-turned thong, and brought down a crane from Strymon 15\n or a snow-white swan. Many a mother in Tyrrhene\n town has wooed her for her son in vain: with no thought\n but for Dian, she cherishes in unsullied purity her love for\n the hunter\u2019s and the maiden\u2019s life. Would she had never\n been pressed for warfare like this, essaying to strike a blow 20\n at the Teucrians: so had she still been my darling and a\n sister of my train. But come, since cruel destiny is darkening\n round her, glide down, fair nymph, from the sky,\n and repair to the Latian frontier, where now in an evil hour\n the tearful battle is joining. Take these arms, and draw 25\n from the quiver an avenging shaft: therewith let the foe,\n whoever he be, Trojan or Italian, that shall profane with\n the stroke of death that sacred person, make to me in like\n manner the atonement of his blood. Afterwards in the\n hollow of a cloud I will bear off the body of my lost favourite 30\n undespoiled of its arms, and lay her down in her\n own land.\u201d Thus she: and Opis hurtled downward through\n the buoyant air, a black whirlwind enswathing her form.\n\n But the Trojan band meanwhile is nearing the walls\n with the Etruscan chiefs and the whole array of cavalry, 35\n marshalled into companies. Steeds are prancing and\n neighing the whole champaign over, and chafing against\n the drawn bridle as they face hither and thither: the field,\n all iron, bristles far and wide with spears, and the plains\n are ablaze with arms reared on high. Likewise Messapus\n on the other side and the swift-paced Latians, and Coras\n and his brother, and maid Camilla\u2019s force appear in the\n plain against them, couching the lance in their backdrawn 5\n hands and brandishing the javelin: and the onset of warriors\n and the neighing of steeds begin to wax hot. And\n now each army had halted within a spear-throw of the\n other: with a sudden shout they dash forward, and put\n spurs to their fiery steeds: missiles are showered from all 10\n sides in a moment, thick as snow-flakes, and heaven is\n curtained with the shade. Instantly Tyrrhenus and fierce\n Aconteus charge each other spear in hand, and foremost\n of all crash together with sound as of thunder, so that the\n chest of either steed is burst against his fellow\u2019s; Aconteus, 15\n flung off like the levinbolt or a stone hurled from an engine,\n tumbles headlong in the distance, and scatters his life in\n air. At once the line of battle is broken, and the Latians,\n turned to flight, sling their shields behind them and set\n their horses\u2019 heads cityward. The Trojans give them 20\n chase: Asilas in the van leads their bands. And now\n they were nearing the gates, when the Latians in turn set\n up a shout, and turn their chargers\u2019 limber necks; the\n others fly, and retreat far away at full speed. As when\n the sea, advancing with its tide that ebbs and flows, one 25\n while sweeps towards the land, deluges the rocks with a\n shower of spray, and sprinkles the sandy margin with the\n contents of its bosom, one while flees in hasty retreat,\n dragging back into the gulf the recaptured stones, and\n with ebbing waters leaves the shore. Twice the Tuscans 30\n drove the Rutulians in rout to their walls; twice, repulsed,\n they look behind as they sling their shields backward.\n But when in the shock of a third encounter the entire\n armies grapple each other, and man has singled out man,\n then in truth upsoar the groans of the dying, and arms and 35\n bodies and death-stricken horses blended with human\n carnage welter in pools of gore: and a savage combat is\n aroused. Orsilochus hurls a spear at Remulus\u2019 horse\u2014for\n the rider he feared to encounter\u2014and leaves the steel\n lodged under the ear. Maddened by the blow, the beast\n rears erect, and, uplifting its breast, flings its legs on high\n in the uncontrolled agony of the wound: Remulus unseated\n rolls on earth, Catillus dismounts Iollas, and likewise 5\n Herminius, giant in courage, and giant too in stature\n and girth: his bare head streams with yellow locks, and\n his shoulders also are bare: wounds have no terrors for\n him, so vast the surface he offers to the weapon. Through\n his broad shoulders comes the quivering spear, and bows 10\n the impaled hero double with anguish. Black streams\n of gore gush on all sides: the combatants spread slaughter\n with the steel, and rush on glorious death through a storm\n of wounds.\n\n But Camilla, with a quiver at her back, and one breast 15\n put forth for the combat, leaps for joy like an Amazon in\n the midst of carnage: now she scatters thick volleys of\n quivering javelins, now her arm whirls unwearied the\n massy two-edged axe: while from her shoulder sounds the\n golden bow, the artillery of Dian. Nay, if ever she be 20\n beaten back and retreating rearward, she turns her bow\n and aims shafts in her flight. Around her are her chosen\n comrades, maid Larina, and Tulla, and Tarpeia, wielding\n the brazen-helved hatchet, daughters of Italy, whom\n glorious Camilla herself chose to be her joy and pride, able 25\n to deal alike with peace and war: even as the Amazons\n of Thrace when they thunder over the streams of Therm\u014ddon\n and battle with her blazoned arms, encompassing\n Hippolyte, or when Penthesilea, the War-god\u2019s darling,\n is careering to and fro in her chariot, and the woman 30\n army, amid a hubbub of shrill cries, are leaping in ecstasy\n and shaking their moony shields. Who first, who last,\n fierce maiden, is unhorsed by your dart? How many stalwart\n bodies lay you low in death? The first was Eun\u0113us,\n Clytius\u2019 son, whose unguarded breast as he stood fronting 35\n her she pierces with her long pine-wood spear. Down he\n goes, disgorging streams of blood, closes his teeth on the\n gory soil, and dying writhes upon his wound. Then\n Liris, and Pagasus on his body: while that, flung from\n his stabbed charger, is gathering up the reins, and this is\n coming to the rescue and stretching his unarmed hand to\n his falling comrade, they are overthrown in one headlong\n ruin. To these she adds Amastrus, son of Hippotas: 5\n then, pressing on the rout, pursues with her spear-throw\n Tereus, and Harpalycus, and Demophoon, and Chromis:\n for every dart she launched from her maiden hand there\n fell a Phrygian warrior. In the distance rides Ornytus\n accoutred strangely in hunter fashion on an Iapygian 10\n steed: a hide stripped from a bullock swathes his broad\n shoulders in the combat, his head is sheltered by a wolf\u2019s\n huge grinning mouth and jaws with the white teeth projecting,\n and a rustic pike arms his hand: he goes whirling\n through the ranks, his whole head overtopping them. 15\n Him she catches, an easy task when the hosts are entangled\n in rout, pierces him through, and thus bespeaks the\n fallen in the fierceness of her spirit: \u201cTuscan, you thought\n yourself still chasing beasts in the forest, but the day is\n come which shall refute the vaunts of your nation by a 20\n woman\u2019s weapons. Yet no slight glory shall you carry\n down to your fathers\u2019 shades, that you have fallen by the\n dart of Camilla.\u201d Next follow Orsilochus and Butes, two\n of the hugest frames of Troy: Butes she speared behind\n \u2019twixt corslet and helm, where the sitter\u2019s neck is seen 25\n gleaming, and the shield is hanging from the left arm:\n Orsilochus, as she pretends to fly and wheels round in a\n mighty ring, she baffles by ever circling inwards, and chases\n him that chases her: at last, rising to the stroke, she brings\n down on the wretch again and again, spite of all his prayers, 30\n her massy battle-axe that rives armour and bone: the\n brain spouts over the face through the ghastly wound.\n Now there stumbles upon her, and pauses in terror at the\n sudden apparition, the warrior son of Aunus, dweller on\n the Apennine, not the meanest of Liguria\u2019s children while 35\n Fate prospered his trickery. He, when he sees no speed\n of flight can escape the combat, or avoid the onset of the\n dreadful queen, essaying to gain his base end by policy\n and stratagem, thus begins: \u201cWhat great glory is it\n after all, if you, a woman, trust your mettled steed? Put\n away the chance of flight, and dare to meet me hand to\n hand on equal ground, and gird you for battle on foot:\n soon shall you see which of us gains honour from this 5\n windy boasting.\u201d He said: but she, all on fire, stung with\n bitter grief, gives her horse to her comrade, and stands\n ready to meet him in arms, fearless though on foot, with\n naked sword and maiden shield. But the youth, deeming\n that his wiles had sped, darts away without more ado, 10\n and turning his bridle, rides off in flight, and wearies his\n beast with the strokes of his iron heel. \u201cFalse Ligurian,\n vainly puffed up with overweening fancies, to no end have\n you tried your sire\u2019s slippery craft, nor shall your lying\n bring you safe to Aunus the liar.\u201d So cries the maiden, 15\n and with lightning-like pace crosses at full speed the horse\u2019s\n path, and seizing the reins, fronts and encounters him,\n and gluts her vengeance with his hated blood: easily as a\n hawk, the bird of augury, darting from a lofty rock, comes\n up with a dove high in the clouds, holds her in his gripe, 20\n and with crooked talons tears out her heart, while gore and\n plucked feathers come tumbling from the sky.\n\n But no blind spectator of the scene is sitting throned on\n high Olympus, even the father of men and gods. The sire\n urges Tarchon the Tuscan to the ruthless fray, and goads 25\n him to wrath by no gentle stings. So among heaps of\n carnage and yielding bands Tarchon goes riding, and\n rouses the cavalry with words of diverse purport, calling\n each by his name, and gives the beaten new strength for\n battle. \u201cWhat terror, O ye Tuscan hearts that will not 30\n feel, that will still be sluggish, what strange cowardice has\n come on you? To what end is this steel, these idle weapons\n our right hands bear? But slow ye are not to hear the\n call of love, or when the wry-necked fife gives the word for\n the Bacchic dance: ay, there is your passion, there your 35\n delight, till the favouring seer announce the sacrificial\n feast, and the fat victim invite you to the tall trees of the\n grove.\u201d So saying, he spurs his steed into the midst,\n ready for the death he brings to others, and charges in\n fury on Venulus, snatches the foe from his horse, folds his\n arms round him, and carries him on his saddle before him\n with wild and violent speed. Upsoars a shout to heaven,\n and every Latian eye is turned to the scene. Over the 5\n plain like lightning flies Tarchon, bearing the warrior\n and his arms. Then from the top of the chiefs own spear\n he breaks off the point, and feels for an unguarded part\n where to plant the deadly blow: the foe, struggling, keeps\n off Tarchon\u2019s hand from his throat, and repels force with 10\n force. As when the golden eagle soaring on high carries\n a serpent he has caught, trussing it in his claws, and adhering\n with his taloned gripe; the wounded reptile writhes\n its spiral coils, stiffens with erected scales, and hisses from\n its mouth, surging and swelling; the eagle, undismayed, 15\n plies it despite its struggles with his hooked beak, while\n his pinions beat the air: even thus Tarchon carries his\n prize in triumph from the bands of Tibur\u2019s folk. Following\n their chief\u2019s auspicious lead, the sons of M\u00e6onia charge\n the foe. Then Arruns, the man of fate, compasses swift 20\n Camilla about, dart in hand, with many a forestalling wile,\n and tries what chance may be readiest. Wherever the\n fiery maid dashes into the midst of the battle, Arruns\n threads his way after her, and scans her steps in silence:\n wherever she returns in triumph, escaping safely from the 25\n foe, that way the youth turns his swift and stealthy rein;\n now makes proof of this approach, now of that, and traverses\n the whole circle, and shakes with relentless malice\n his inevitable lance. It chanced that one Chloreus, sacred\n to Cybele and once her priest, was shining conspicuous 30\n from afar in Phrygian armour, urging on a foaming charger,\n whose covering was a skin adorned with golden clasp and\n brazen scales set plume-wise. He, in the blaze of foreign\n purple, was launching Gortynian shafts from a Lycian bow;\n golden was the bow that rang from his shoulder, golden the 35\n helm on his sacred head; his saffron scarf with its rustling\n gauzy folds was gathered up by a golden brooch, and his\n tunic and his hose decked with barbaric broidery. He it\n was that the maiden, eager, it may be, to fasten on the\n temple-gate the arms of Troy, or to flaunt herself in the\n golden spoil, singled out from all the battle, and was following\n with a hunter\u2019s blind devotion, raging recklessly\n through the ranks, enkindled with a woman\u2019s love for prey 5\n and plunder; when at length, seizing his opportunity,\n Arruns awakes his dart from its ambush, and thus prays\n aloud to heaven: \u201cGreatest of gods, Apollo, guardian of\n divine Soracte, whom we are the first to worship, for whom\n the pine-tree glow is fed by heaps of wood, while ourselves, 10\n thy votaries, strong in our piety, walk through the flame\n over living embers, grant, all-powerful sire, that my arms\n may wipe this scandal away. I seek no plunder or spoil,\n no trophy for the conquest of a maid; the rest of my deeds\n shall secure my fame; let but this terrible fiend fall vanquished 15\n by wound of mine, I will return to the cities of my\n fathers an unhonoured man.\u201d Ph\u0153bus heard, and vouchsafed\n in his heart that half the vow should speed, while\n half he scattered among the flying breezes: to strike and\n slay Camilla with sudden death-wound, so much he grants 20\n the suppliant: to return and meet the eyes of his noble\n fatherland, this he allows not; the gusts of air turned the\n accents into wind. So when the spear, launched from the\n hand, was heard along the sky, each keen Volscian mind\n flew to one centre, every Volscian eye was bent on the 25\n queen. She alone had no thought for wind or sound or\n weapon sweeping down from heaven, till the spear had\n made its passage and lodged beneath her protruded breast,\n and deeply driven, drank her maiden blood. Her comrades\n run together in alarm, and support their falling mistress. 30\n Arruns, more terrified than all, flies away, half joy,\n half fear, nor puts further confidence in his lance, nor dares\n to meet the darts of the maiden. Even as the caitiff\n wolf, ere the weapons of vengeance can follow him, has\n fled at once to the pathless privacy of the mountain steep, 35\n on slaying a shepherd or mighty bullock, conscious of his\n daring deed, and drawing back his quivering tail with\n lithe action has clapped it to his belly and made for the\n woods, in like manner Arruns all wildered has stolen away\n from sight, and contented to escape has plunged into the\n thick of the battle. With dying hand the maiden pulls\n at the spear; but the steely point stands lodged among the\n bones at the ribs in the deep wound it made. Drained of 5\n blood, she sinks to earth; sink, too, her death-chilled eyes;\n her once bright bloom has left her face. Then at her last\n gasp she accosts Acca, one of her maiden train, who beyond\n the rest was Camilla\u2019s friend and shared her thoughts,\n and speaks on this wise; \u201cThus far, sister Acca, has 10\n strength been given me: now the cruel wound overcomes\n me; and all around me grows dim and dark. Haste and\n carry Turnus my dying charge, to take my place in the\n battle and keep off the Trojans from the town. And now\n farewell.\u201d As she spoke she dropped the bridle, swimming 15\n down to earth with no willing act. Then as the death-chill\n grows she gradually discumbers herself of the entire weight\n of the body, droops her unstrung neck and her head on\n which fate has seized, quitting too her armour, and her\n soul, resenting its lot, flies groaningly to the shades. Then 20\n indeed, rising unmeasured, the uproar strikes the golden\n stars: Camilla overthrown, the fight waxes fiercer: on\n they rush thickening, at once the whole force of the Teucrians,\n and the Tyrrhene leaders, and Evander\u2019s Arcad\n cavalry. 25\n\n But Trivia\u2019s sentinel Opis has long been seated high on\n the mountain top, an undismayed spectator of the combat.\n And when far off, deep among the din of raging\n warriors, she spied Camilla shent by ruthless death, she\n groaned, and fetched these words from the bottom of her 30\n breast: \u201cPoor maiden! too, too cruel the penalty you\n have paid for provoking the Teucrians to battle. Nought\n has it bestead you at your need to have served Dian in the\n forest, and carried on your shoulder the shafts of our sisterhood.\n Yet not unhonoured has your queen left you even 35\n here in death\u2019s extremity; nor shall this your end be without\n its glory in the world, nor yourself bear the ignominy\n of the unrevenged; for he, whoever he be, whose wound\n has profaned your person, shall atone it by the death he\n has earned.\u201d Under the lofty mountain\u2019s shade there\n stood a vast mound of earth, the tomb of Dercennus, an\n old Laurentine king, shrouded with dark ilex: here the\n beauteous goddess first alights with a rapid bound, and 5\n spies out Arruns from the barrow\u2019s height. Soon as she\n saw him gleaming in his armour, and swelling with vanity,\n \u201cWhy stray from the path?\u201d cries she; \u201cturn your feet\n hitherward! come hither to your death, and receive\n Camilla\u2019s guerdon! Alack! and are you too to be slain 10\n by the shafts of Dian?\u201d She said, and with the skill of\n Thracian maiden drew a swift arrow from her gilded quiver,\n bent the bow with deadly aim, and drew it far apart, till\n the arching ends met together, and with her two hands\n she touched, the barb of steel with her left, her breast with 15\n her right and the bowstring. Forthwith the hurtling of\n the shaft and the rush of the breeze reached Arruns\u2019 ear\n at the moment the steel lodged in his body. Him gasping\n and groaning his last his comrades leave unthinking in the\n unmarked dust of the plain: Opis spreads her wings, and 20\n is borne to skyey Olympus.\n\n First flies, its mistress lost, Camilla\u2019s light-armed company;\n fly the Rutules in rout, flies keen Atinas; leaders\n in disarray and troops in devastation make for shelter,\n turn round, and gallop to the walls. None can sustain 25\n in combat the Teucrians\u2019 deadly onset or resist the stream;\n they throw their unstrung bows on their unnerved\n shoulders, and the hoof of four-foot steeds shakes the\n crumbling plain. On rolls to the ramparts a cloud of dust,\n thick and murky; and the matrons from their sentry-posts, 30\n smiting on their breasts, raise a shriek as women\n wont to the stars of heaven. Who first pour at speed\n through the open gates are whelmed by a multitude of\n foemen that blends its crowd with theirs; they scape not\n the agony of death, but on the very threshold, with their 35\n native walls around them, in the sanctuary of home, they\n breathe away their lives. Some close the gates: they dare\n not give ingress to their friends nor take them within the\n walls, implore as they may: and a piteous carnage ensues,\n these guarding the approach sword in hand, those rushing\n on the sword\u2019s point. Some, borne on by the deluge,\n stream headlong into the moat; some in blind agony,\n spurring their horses, charge as with battering-rams the 5\n portals and their stubborn barriers. Nay, the very matrons\n on the walls in the intensity of the struggle, prompted\n by true patriot spirit at sight of Camilla, fling darts from\n their quivering hands, and make hard oak-stakes and\n seared truncheons do the work of steel, hot and headlong, 10\n and fain would be the first to die for their city.\n\n Meantime the cruel news floods Turnus\u2019 ears in his forest-ambush,\n as Acca tells the warrior her tale of mighty terror:\n the Volscian ranks destroyed, Camilla slain, the enemy\n coming on like a torrent, sweeping all before their victorious 15\n onslaught, the alarm already wafted to the walls.\n He, all on fire (for even such is Jove\u2019s stern requirement),\n quits his post on the hills, leaves the impregnable forest.\n Scarce had he passed from their sight and occupied the\n plain, when father \u00c6neas, entering the unguarded pass, 20\n scales the hill-top, and issues through the shadowy wood.\n So the two rivals march cityward at full speed, each with\n all his army, nor long is the intervening distance; at the\n same moment \u00c6neas looked far over the plains all smoking\n with dust, and saw the host of Laurentum, and Turnus was 25\n aware of fell \u00c6neas in battle array, and heard the onward\n tramp of feet and the neighing of steeds. Instantly they\n were for closing in fight and throwing for the stake of combat;\n but the time was come for reddening Ph\u0153bus to bathe\n his wearied team in the Hiberian flood, and bring back 30\n night on the steps of retreating day. So they encamp\n before the city, and make their ramparts strong.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XII\n\n\n When Turnus sees that the War-god\u2019s enmity has\n broken the spirit of Latium, that men are beginning to\n claim his promise, and make him the mark of their eyes,\n he bursts at once into fury unappeasable, and swells his\n pride to the height. As in Punic land, when the hunters 5\n have wounded him deep in the breast, the lion at last rouses\n himself to fight, tosses with fierce joy his mane from his\n neck, snaps fearlessly the brigand\u2019s spear in the wound,\n and roars from his gory mouth: even so, Turnus once\n kindled, his vehemence grows each moment. Then he 10\n addresses the king, and dashes hotly into speech: \u201cTurnus\n stops not the way: \u00c6neas and his cowards have no plea\n for retracting their challenge or disowning their plighted\n word; I meet the combat; bring the sacred things, good\n father, and solemnize the truce. Either will I with my own 15\n right hand send the Dardan down to Tartarus, the runaway\n from Asia\u2014let the Latians sit by and see\u2014and\n with my single weapon refute the slander of a nation; or\n let the vanquished own their master and Lavinia be the\n conqueror\u2019s bride.\u201d 20\n\n With calm dignity of soul the king makes answer:\n \u201cGallant youth, the greater your impetuous valour, the\n more watchful must needs be my foresight, the more\n anxious my scrutiny of all that may happen. You have\n your father Daunus\u2019 kingdom, you have many a town 25\n won by your own sword: I that speak have gold and a\n heart to give it; in Latium and Laurentum\u2019s land are other\n unwedded maidens, of no unworthy lineage. Suffer me\n without disguise to give voice to these unwelcome sayings,\n and take home what I speak further: I was forbidden by 30\n Fate to give my daughter to any of her early suitors;\n so sang gods and men alike. Conquered by my love for\n you, conquered by the ties of kindred and the sorrow of\n my weeping queen, I set all pledges at naught, I snatched\n the bride from her plighted husband. I drew the unhallowed 5\n sword. From that fatal day you see what troubles,\n what wars are let loose upon me; you know the weight of\n the sufferings which _you_ are the first to feel. Twice vanquished\n in a mighty conflict, we scarce protect by our bulwarks\n the hopes of Italy: Tiber\u2019s waters are yet steaming 10\n with our blood, and the spacious plains are whitened by\n our bones. Whither am I drifting again and again?\n what madness turns my brain? If on the death of Turnus\n I am ready to welcome these new allies, why should I not\n end the strife while he lives and is safe? What will our 15\n Rutulian kinsmen say, what the rest of Italy, if\u2014may\n Fortune forefend the omen!\u2014I give you up to death,\n you, a suitor for my alliance, for my daughter\u2019s hand?\n Think of the uncertainties of war; have pity on your aged\n sire, now biding forlornly far away in his Ardean home!\u201d 20\n\n These words abate not Turnus\u2019 vehemence a whit: it\n starts up fiercer, more virulent for the healing hand.\n Soon as he can find utterance, he thus begins: \u201cThe care\n you take for my sake, best of fathers, lay down for my\n sake, I beg, and suffer me to pledge my life for my honour. 25\n My hand, too, can scatter darts and fling steel with no\n feeble force; my blows, too, fetch blood. He will not have\n his goddess-mother within call, to hide her craven son in an\n unmanly cloud, and conceal herself by help of treacherous\n shadows.\u201d 30\n\n But the queen, appalled by the new hazard of the combat,\n was all in tears, clinging to her fiery son-in-law with\n the convulsive grasp of death: \u201cTurnus, by these my\n tears, by any regard you cherish for Amata\u2014you are\n now our only hope, our only solace in our forlorn old age\u2014the 35\n honour and power of the king are in your hands;\n on you, its one pillar, the whole house leans. I ask but\n this\u2014forbear to cross swords with the Teucrians. Whatever\n chance waits on you in this unhappy combat, waits\n on me, too, my Turnus; along with you I shall leave the\n hated light, nor see in \u00c6neas my son-in-law and my\n conqueror.\u201d\n\n As Lavinia heard her mother\u2019s voice, her glowing cheeks 5\n were bathed in tears; a deep blush kindled a fire, and shot\n over her flushing face. As when a man has stained Indian\n ivory with blood-red purple, or like a bed of lilies and roses\n mixed: such hues were seen on the maiden\u2019s countenance.\n He, bewildered with passion, fixes his eyes upon her: the 10\n sight makes him burn the more for battle, and thus he\n addresses Amata in brief: \u201cLet me not have tears nor\n aught so ominous, dear mother, as my escort to the iron\n battle; Turnus is not free to postpone the call of death.\n Go, Idmon, and bear the Phrygian despot a message that 15\n will like him not: Soon as the goddess of to-morrow\u2019s\n dawn shall fire the sky with the glow of her chariot, let\n him not spur the Teucrians against the Rutulians; let\n Teucrian and Rutulian sheath their swords, while we\n twain with our own life-blood decide the war. Let 20\n Lavinia\u2019s hand be sought and won in yonder field.\u201d\n\n So he spoke, and rushed back within doors: he calls for\n his steeds, and joys to look on them snorting and neighing\u2014the\n steeds which Orithyia gave as a present to Pilumnus,\n to surpass the snows in whiteness, the winds in speed. 25\n Round them stand the bustling charioteers, patting their\n chests with hollow palms and combing their maned necks.\n Next he throws round his shoulders his hauberk, stiff\n with scales of gold and dazzling orichalc,[282] and adjusts to\n his wear the sword, the shield, and the cones of the crimson 30\n crest\u2014that sword the Fire-god\u2019s own hand had made for\n his father Daunus, and tempered it glowing in the Stygian\n wave. Lastly, the spear which was standing in the\n palace-hall, propped by a mighty column, the spoil of\n Auruncan Actor, he seizes forcefully, sturdy as it is, 35\n and shakes till it quivers, crying aloud: \u201cNow, my good\n spear, that hast never failed my call, now is the time;\n once wast thou swayed by giant Actor, now by Turnus:\n grant that I may lay low the emasculate Phrygian, strip\n and rend his hauberk by strength of hand, and soil in the\n dust those ringlets curled with hot iron and moist with\n myrrh.\u201d So he rages, fury-driven: sparks flash from the\n furnace of his countenance, lightnings dart from his 5\n fiery eyes; as when a bull in view of a fight raises fearful\n bellowing, and calls up rage into his horns by butting against\n a tree\u2019s trunk, challenges the wind with his blows, and\n spurns the flying sand in prelude for the fray.\n\n With equal fierceness \u00c6neas, clad in his mother\u2019s 10\n armour, sharpens valour\u2019s edge, and lashes his heart with\n wrath, joying that proffered truce should end the war.\n Then he calms his comrades\u2019 fear and the grief of Iulus,\n talking of destiny, and sends envoys with an answer to the\n Latian king, to name the conditions of peace. 15\n\n Scarce had the next morrow begun to sprinkle the\n mountain-tops with light, at the time when the sun\u2019s\n steeds first come up from the deep and breathe flakes of\n radiance from their upturned nostrils, when Rutulians\n and Teucrians were at work, measuring out lists for combat 20\n under the ramparts of the mighty town, with hearths\n in the midst, and altars of turf for their common gods.\n Others were carrying fire and spring water, begirt with\n aprons, vervain[283] wreaths on their brows. Forth moves\n the Ausonian army, bands with lifted javelins issuing 25\n from the crowded gates. From yonder quarters pours the\n Trojan and Tuscan force, with the arms of their several\n countries, harnessed as if summoned by the War-god\u2019s\n bloody fray. In the midst of either squadrons the generals\n flash along, glorious in gold and purple, Mnestheus, 30\n Assaracus\u2019 seed, and Asilas the brave, and Messapus,\n tamer of horses, the progeny of Neptune. At a given\n signal each army retreats within its confines; spears are\n fixed in the ground, and bucklers rested at ease. Matrons\n in yearning eagerness, and unarmed masses, and tottering 35\n old men, fill turret and roof, or stand by the lofty portals.\n\n But Juno, from the top of the mount now styled Alban\u2014in\n those days it had no name, nor glory, nor honour\u2014was\n looking in prospect on the plain, the two armies,\n Trojan and Laurentine, and the Latian town. At once\n she addressed Turnus\u2019 sister, a goddess herself, who presides\n over the pool and the brawling stream\u2014such dignity\n Jove, the king of heaven, solemnly made hers in return for 5\n violated maidenhood: \u201cSweet Nymph, glory of the rivers,\n favourite of my heart, you know how I have preferred you\n to all Latium\u2019s daughters who have climbed the odious bed\n of our great Master and have gladly given you a seat in the\n sky; and now, Juturna, learn from me your sorrow, for 10\n which I am not to blame. So long as Fortune seemed\n favourable and Fate allowed Latium to prosper, I spread\n my shield over Turnus and these your walls: now I see\n the youth engaged with a destiny mightier than his own,\n and the day of doom and the power of the enemy are at 15\n hand. I cannot look on the combat, nor on the league\n that ushers it in. If you have the nerve to dare aught for\n your brother, go on; it is a sister\u2019s part: perhaps the downtrodden\n have a better lot in store.\u201d Ere she had well\n ended Juturna\u2019s tears sprang forth, and thrice and again 20\n her hand smote on her lovely breast. \u201cNo time for tears,\u201d\n cries Saturn\u2019s daughter: \u201cquick, and if any way there be,\n snatch your brother from death: or at least revive the war\u2014and\n mar the treaty while yet on their lips. Remember,\n I warrant the attempt.\u201d With such advice she left her 25\n wavering in purpose and staggering under the cruel blow.\n\n Meantime the monarchs appear, the stately form of the\n Latian king riding in a four-horse car, his brows gleaming\n with a circle of twelve gilded rays, the cognizance of the Sun\n his grandsire: Turnus is drawn by a snow-white pair, two 30\n spears with broad iron points quivering in his hands. Then\n comes father \u00c6neas, the parent stock of the Roman tree,\n blazing with his starry shield and celestial armour, and at\n his side Ascanius, the second hope of mighty Rome, both\n issuing from their camp: while a priest in stainless robe 35\n has brought the young of a bristly boar and an unclipped\n sheep of two years old, and placed the victims by the\n blazing altar. They, turning their eyes to the rising sun,\n offer the salted barley, score with the steel the brows of the\n cattle, and make libations from their chargers. Then\n thus prays good \u00c6neas, his sword drawn in his hand:\n \u201cLet the Sun above and the Earth beneath witness my invocation, 5\n this very Earth for which I have had the heart\n to endure so much, and the almighty Sire, and thou, his\n goddess-bride, Saturn\u2019s daughter, now\u2014may I hope it?\u2014now\n at last made gracious: thou, too, glorious Mars,\n whose princely nod controls every battle: Springs also\n and Rivers I invoke, all the majesty of the sky, all the 10\n deities of the purple deep: if chance award the victory\n to Turnus the Ausonian, reason claims that the vanquished\n shall retire to Evander\u2019s town: Iulus shall quit the land,\n nor shall \u00c6neas\u2019 children in after-days draw the sword again,\n or threaten this realm with war. But should conquest 15\n vouchsafe to us the smiles of the battle-field, as I rather\n deem, and pray that Heaven will rather grant, I will not bid\n the Italians be subject to Troy, nor ask I the crown for\n myself: no, let the two great nations, one unconquered as\n the other, join on equal terms in an everlasting federation. 20\n The gods and their ritual shall be my gift: let my good\n father-in-law still wield the sword and the lawful rights of\n empire: the Teucrians shall raise me a city, and Lavinia\n shall give it her name.\u201d Thus first \u00c6neas: the Latian\n king follows, with eyes lifted to heaven, and right hand 25\n stretched to the stars: \u201cI swear as you swore, \u00c6neas,\n by Land and Ocean and Lights above, Latona\u2019s twofold\n offspring, and two-faced Janus, the potency of the gods\n below and the shrine of relentless Pluto: and let the\n Father too give ear, who ratifies covenants with thunder. 30\n My hand is on the altars; I adjure the fires and powers\n that part us: so far as rests with Italy, no length of time\n shall break this bond of friendship, let things issue as they\n may: no violence shall make me swerve in will, not though\n deluge and chaos come again, ruining the earth into the 35\n water and crushing down heaven into Tartarus: even\n as this sceptre\u201d\u2014for a sceptre chanced to be in his hand\u2014\u201cshall\n never more burgeon with light foliage into branch\n or shade, now that once cut down in the woods it is orphaned\n of that which gave it life, and has resigned to the\n axe its leaves and its sprays\u2014once a tree, now the workman\u2019s\n hand has cased it with seemly brass, and given it to\n be wielded by Latium\u2019s elders.\u201d With words like these 5\n were they ratifying the treaty, all the nobles looking on.\n Then, as the rite ordains, they cut the throats of the\n hallowed\u2019 victims into the fire, flay the yet breathing flesh,\n and pile the altars with laden chargers.\n\n But the Rutulians have long been thinking the combat 10\n unequal: their bosoms are swayed by rival emotions,\n all the more, the nearer they observe the ill-matched\n champions. Turnus aids the feeling by the quietness of\n his step and the downcast reverential look which he turns\n on the altar, his wan cheeks, and the pallor of his youthful 15\n frame. Soon as his sister Juturna heard such whispers\n spreading, and saw the hearts of the multitude wavering\n to and fro, she plunges among the ranks, taking the form\n of Camers, great in ancestral dignity, great in the name of\n his father\u2019s worth, and himself a valiant warrior\u2014plunges 20\n among the ranks, knowing well what she would have, and\n scatters her sayings abroad in words like these: \u201cBlush\n ye not, Rutulians, with souls such as yours, to make one a\n sacrifice for all? are we not equal to our foes in strength or\n in numbers? See, here is their whole army, Trojan 25\n and Arcadian, aye, and that fated band of Eturia, which\n seeks Turnus\u2019 life. Though but half of us should engage,\n each would scarce have an enemy to fight with. He, no\n doubt, will rise on the wings of fame to the gods for whose\n altars he gives himself to die, and will live in the mouths 30\n of men: we, stripped of our country, shall be the slaves of\n haughty masters, we, I say, now seated passively on the\n ground.\u201d By such words the flame is fanned more and\n more in those young warrior hearts, and murmurs run\n from rank to rank: not Rutulian alone, but Laurentian and 35\n Latian are changed men. They who a short while since\n were hoping for their own repose and their state\u2019s prosperity,\n now burn for arms, would have the treaty undone,\n and pity Turnus\u2019 cruel fate. And now Juturna gives them\n one thing more, even a sign from heaven, no spell so potent\n to work on Italian minds and make them dupes of the\n marvel. Flying through the ruddy sky, Jove\u2019s golden\n bird was chasing the river fowl, a winged noisy multitude, 5\n when suddenly swooping on the water he carries off in\n his tyrant claws a stately swan. The Italians are all\n attention, when lo! the whole mass of birds face about with\n a scream, marvellous to see, their wings darkening the air,\n and in dense cloud press on their enemy, till overborne by 10\n sheer weight he gives way, drops the booty from his talons\n into the river, flying aloft, and vanishes in the distant sky.\n Oh, then the Rutulians welcome the omen with a shout and\n spread their hands on high; and first of all cries the augur\n Tolumnius. \u201cHere, here is the thing I have prayed for so 15\n often. I embrace it, I own the hand of Heaven. Follow\n me\u2014yes, me\u2014and seize your weapons, my poor countrymen,\n whom the felon stranger is scaring with battle, as if\n ye were feeble birds, and ravaging your coasts. He too\n will turn to flight and sail far away on the deep. Close 20\n your ranks with one accord, and rally round the prince\n of whom the battle robs you.\u201d He spoke, and running forward\n hurls his dart full at the enemy: the hurtling cornel\n sounds, and cuts the air on no doubtful errand. A deafening\n shout follows on the act, the ranks are confused, 25\n and men\u2019s hearts stirred with mad bewilderment. On flew\n the spear, just where nine goodly brethren chanced to\n stand facing it, all born of one true Tuscan mother to\n Gylippus the Arcadian. One of these just at the waist\n where the quilted belt chafes against the belly and the 30\n buckle presses the sides\u2014a youth of goodly form and\n clad in refulgent armour\u2014it strikes through the ribs\n and lays him grovelling on the yellow sand. But his\n brothers, a gallant company and stung by grief, draw their\n swords or seize their javelins, and charge in headlong fury. 35\n To meet them rush the Laurentian columns: while from\n their side surge forth in a flood Trojans and Agyllans and\n Arcadians with inlaid harness. All are possessed by one\n passion, to try the issue with the steel. The altars are\n stripped bare: through the whole sky drives a flickering\n storm of weapons and an iron sleet comes thick: bowls\n and hearths are carried away. King Latinus flies, bearing\n away his gods in discomfiture, the truce unratified. 5\n Others rein the chariot or vault on horseback, with swords\n ready drawn.\n\n Messapus, all on fire to annul the treaty, spurs his horse\n full on the Tuscan Aulestes, a king and wearing kingly\n cognizance: he draws quickly back, and gets entangled 10\n in piteous sort with the altars that meet him behind,\n falling on them head and shoulders. Up flashes Messapus\n spear in hand, and towering on horseback brings down on\n him the massy beam in the midst of his prayers, and delivers\n himself thus: \u201cHe is sped: here is a better victim for the 15\n mighty gods.\u201d The Italians cluster round, and strip the\n yet warm body. As Ebusus comes up and aims a blow,\n Coryn\u00e6us meets him with a brand half-burnt from the\n altar and dashes the fire in his face: his long beard burst\n into a blaze and made a smell of burning hair: the enemy 20\n presses on, grasps in his left hand the locks of the wildered\n man and with the impact of his knee pins him to earth;\n then buries the stark falchion in his side. Podalirius\n gives chase to Alsus the shepherd as he rushed in the first\n rank through a shower of darts, and hangs over him with 25\n naked sword: he, swinging back his axe, splits full in front\n the foe\u2019s forehead and chin, and splashes his arms right\n and left with the blood. The heavy rest of iron slumber\n settles down on the dying eyes, and their beams are curtained\n in everlasting night. 30\n\n But good \u00c6neas, his head bare, was stretching forth\n his unarmed hand and shouting to his men: \u201cWhither are\n you driving? what is this sudden outburst of strife? Oh,\n curb your passions! the truce is stricken, and all the terms\n arranged: none but I has a right to engage: give way to 35\n me and have done with alarm: my sword shall ratify the\n treaty: this sacrifice has put Turnus in my power.\u201d\n While he is crying thus and uttering words like these, lo!\n full at the chief flies a hurtling arrow, none knew by\n what hand launched, by what wind wafted, who graced\n the Rutulians so highly, chance or deity: the glory of the\n proud achievement was lost, nor was any known to boast\n of having wounded \u00c6neas. 5\n\n Soon as Turnus sees \u00c6neas retiring from the battle,\n and the Trojan leaders in confusion, he glows with swift\n access of hope, calls for horses and armour, bounds like a\n conqueror into the chariot, and takes the reins in hand.\n Many a heroic frame he slaughters as he whirls along, many 10\n he tumbles and leaves to live or die, crushes whole ranks\n by the onset of his car, or plucks forth spears and hurls\n them at the fliers. Just as storming along by Hebrus\u2019 icy\n flood gore-stained Mars smites on his shield, and stirring\n battle lets loose his fiery steeds: they fly over the plains 15\n faster than winds southern or western: Thrace groans to\n her extremity under the beat of their hoofs: around him\n circle the frowns of black-visaged Terror, and the powers\n of Wrath and Treachery, liege followers of the god: with\n like eagerness through the thickest of the battle Turnus 20\n whirls his straining horses, trampling in piteous sort on the\n slaughtered foe: the flying hoof spirts gory dew, and blood\n and sand are kneaded in a mass. Sthenelus he has slain\n already, and Thamyris and Pholus, these hand to hand,\n that from a distance: a distant death, too, has found the 25\n Imbrasid\u00e6, Glaucus and Lades, trained in Lycia by\n Imbrasus their sire, and by him harnessed alike, warriors\n who could stand and fight or outride the winds. In another\n part of the field Eumedes is riding through the fray, the\n gallant son of ancient Dolon, with the name of his grandsire, 30\n the heart and hand of his sire, who of old, offering\n to spy out the Danaan camp, dared to ask Achilles\u2019\n chariot as his guerdon; far other guerdon was it with\n which Diomed requited his daring, and his hopes are set on\n Achilles\u2019 steeds no longer. Marking him at distance along 35\n the plain, Turnus first sends after him a flying spear\n through the intervening space, then stops the car and dismounts,\n comes on the wretch gasping and laid low, and\n setting his foot on his neck, wrests the sword from his hand,\n bathes it flashing deep in his throat, and thus accompanies\n the blow: \u201cLie there, Trojan, and measure the Hesperian\n soil you came to invade: such are their guerdons who\n draw their swords on me; so build they up their city.\u201d 5\n Then with a spear throw he sends Asbutes to join the dead.\n Chloreus and Sybaris and Dares and Thersilochus, Thym\u0153tes\n too, thrown off by a restiff horse. As when the\n blast of Thracian Boreas roars on the deep \u00c6gean and\n drives the billows to the shore, wherever the winds push 10\n on, the clouds scurry over the sky, so when Turnus cleaves\n his path, the ranks give way, the armies turn in rout; the\n motion bears him along, and the gale which blows on the\n car tosses his flickering crest. Phegeus, indignant at his\n overweening onset, meets the car and grasping the bridle 15\n wrenches aside the foaming jaws of the impetuous steeds.\n While he is dragged along clinging to the yoke, the broad\n spear-head reaches his unguarded breast, cleaves the two-plated\n corslet, and tastes the surface of the flesh. Yet he,\n his shield before him, kept fronting and threatening the 20\n foe, and protecting himself with his drawn sword, when\n the wheel careering onward strikes and flings him on the\n ground, and Turnus with a sweep of his blade between\n the bottom of the helmet and the breastplate\u2019s topmost\n rim has lopped the head and left the trunk to welter. 25\n\n While Turnus thus is dealing havoc over the field,\n Mnestheus, true Achates, and Ascanius have helped \u00c6neas\n to the camp, all bleeding, and staying his halting steps\n by the help of a spear. There he frets and struggles to\n pull out the broken shaft, and calls for help the readiest 30\n way, bidding them enlarge the wound with a broad sword,\n cut the weapon\u2019s lodgment to the bottom, and send him\n to combat again. And now at his side was Iapis, son of\n Iasus, dearest of mankind to Ph\u0153bus, he to whom the\n god in his passionate fondness would fain have given his 35\n own function, his own hand\u2019s cunning, the augur\u2019s insight,\n the lyre, the weapons of archery; but he, wishing\n to lengthen out the span of his bed-rid sire, chose rather\n to know the virtue of simples and the laws of the healing\n art, and to practise in silence an unambitious craft.\n There stood \u00c6neas, fretting impatiently, propped on his\n massy spear, with a warrior concourse about him, and\n Iulus all in tears, yet himself unmoved by their sorrow. 5\n The aged leech, his garments swathed round him in\n P\u00e6on\u2019s fashion, is plying busily the healing hand and\n Ph\u0153bus\u2019 sovereign remedies all to no end, all to no end\n pulling at the dart and griping the steel with the pincer.\n No Fortune guides the course of skill, no patron Ph\u0153bus 10\n lends his aid; and meanwhile the fierce alarms of the field\n grow louder and louder, and the mischief is nearer at\n hand. They see dust-clouds propping the sky, the horsemen\n gallop in, darts fall thick in the midst of the camp,\n and heavenward mounts the cruel din of warriors battling 15\n or falling in the stern affray:\u2014when, lo! Venus, struck\n to the heart by her son\u2019s undeserved suffering, with a\n mother\u2019s care plucks dittany[284] from Cretan Ida, a plant\n with downy leaves and a purple flower: wild goats know\n that simple well, if the flying arrow should lodge in their 20\n flesh. Veiled by a dim cloud, the goddess brings it down;\n with it she impregnates the spring water gleaming in the\n caldron, imparting unseen powers, and sprinkles ambrosia\u2019s[285]\n healthful juice and fragrant panacea. The old\n man rinsed the wound with the water so transformed, all 25\n unwitting, and in a moment all pain was fled from the\n frame, and the blood was stanched in the wound. The\n arrow obeys the hand, and falls unforced, and strength is\n restored as before. \u201cQuick! give the warrior his arms!\n why so tardy?\u201d cries Iapis, himself the first to stir up 30\n the martial spirit. \u201cNo human aid has done this, no\n power of leech-craft; it is not my hand, \u00c6neas, that\n restores you; a mightier power than man\u2019s is at work,\n sending you back to mightier deeds.\u201d The chief, greedy\n for the fight, has cased his legs in gold, chafing at delay 35\n and brandishing his spear. Soon as the shield is fitted\n to his side, the cuirass to his back, he clasps Ascanius to\n his mailed breast, and kissing his lips through the helmet\n addresses him thus: \u201cLearn valour from me, my son,\n and genuine hardihood, success from others. To-day it is\n my hand that shall shield you in war and lead you through\n the walks of honour; be it your care, when your age has\n ripened into manhood, to bear the past in mind, seek 5\n patterns among those of your own blood, and be stirred\n to action by \u00c6neas your sire and Hector your uncle.\u201d\n\n So having said, he passed towering through the gate,\n a huge spear quivering in his hand: Antheus and Mnestheus\n close their ranks and rush forth, and the whole 10\n multitude streams from the empty camp. The field is\n clouded by blinding dust, and earth throbs and shudders\n with the tramp of feet. Turnus saw them coming towards\n him from their battlements, the Ausonians saw, and a\n cold shudder ran through their vitals: first before all the 15\n Latians Juturna heard and knew the sound and shrank\n back in terror. As a storm-cloud bursting through the\n sky sweeps down to earth along the main: hapless husbandmen\n know it ere it comes, and shudder at heart;\n yes, it will bring havoc to their trees, devastation to their 20\n crops, will lay all low far and wide; the winds fly before\n it and waft the sound to the shore: with as strong a rush\n the Rh\u0153teian chief sweeps his army full on the foe; they\n close in firm masses and form severally at his side. Thymbr\u00e6us\u2019\n sword cuts down mighty Osiris, Mnestheus slays 25\n Archetius, Achates Epulo, and Gyas Ufens; falls too the\n augur Tolumnius, the first to fling his javelin at the\n enemy. The din mounts to the sky, and the Rutulians\n routed in turn fly through the plains in a whirlwind of\n dust. The hero himself neither stoops to slaughter the 30\n flying nor encounter such as would fain meet him foot to\n foot, weapon in hand: Turnus alone he tracks winding\n through the thick darkness, him alone he challenges to\n combat. The terror struck Juturna\u2019s manly mind: she\n plucks from his seat Metiscus, Turnus\u2019 charioteer, as he 35\n drives the horses, and leaves him fallen at distance behind\n the car: herself takes his place and handles the\n flowing rein, assuming all that Metiscus had, voice and\n person and armour. Like a black swallow that flies\n through the house of some wealthy man and traverses\n the lofty hail, in quest of scraps of food for her twittering\n nestlings; now she is heard in the empty cloisters, now\n about the watertanks; so drives Juturna through the 5\n thick of the foe, and flies on rapid wheel from spot to\n spot, now here, now there she gives a glimpse of her victorious\n brother, yet never lets him stop and fight, but\n whirls far away in the distance. \u00c6neas for his part\n winds through sinuous paths in hope to meet him, tracks 10\n his steps, and shouts to him aloud across the weltering\n ranks. Oft as he spies out the foe and tries by running\n to match the horses\u2019 winged speed, each time Juturna\n wheels the car aside. What can he do? he tosses in aimless\n ebb and flow, thoughts distracting his mind this 15\n way and that:\u2014when lo! Messapus, with sudden movement,\n happening to carry two limber spear-shafts tipped\n with steel, levels one at him and flings it true to its mark.\n \u00c6neas stopped and gathered his arms about him, sinking\n on his knee; yet the fierce spear took the top of the 20\n helmet and struck the crest from the cone. Then at last\n his wrath mounts high; and under the duresse of treachery,\n as he sees the steeds and chariot whirling away from him,\n after many an appeal to Jove and the altars of the violated\n league, he falls on the ranks before him, and fanned 25\n to dreadful vengeance by the War-god\u2019s breath, lets loose\n a carnage cruel and unsparing, and flings the reins on the\n neck of his passion.\n\n And now what god will tell me all those horrors and\n relate for me in verse the several scenes of slaughter, the 30\n deaths of the leaders whom Turnus here, the Trojan hero\n there, is chasing over the plain? Was it thy will, great\n Jove, that nations destined in time to come to everlasting\n amity should first clash in such dread turmoil? \u00c6neas\n confronted by Rutulian Sucro[o] (that combat first brought 35\n the Trojan onset to a stand) after brief delay catches him\n on the side and drives his stubborn sword death\u2019s nearest\n way through the ribs that fence the bosom. Turnus in\n foot-encounter slays Amycus, whose horse had thrown\n him, and his brother Diores, striking one with the spear\n ere he came up, the other with the swordblade, lops the\n heads of both, hangs them from his car, and carries them\n dripping with blood. That sends down Talos to death 5\n and Tanais and brave Cethegus, those at one onslaught,\n and hapless Onytes, of the house of Echion, brought forth\n by Peridia: that kills the brethren who came from\n Apollo\u2019s land of Lycia, and young Men\u0153tes the Arcadian,\n who shrunk from war in vain; he plied his craft and lived 10\n in poverty by the fishy waters of Lerna, a stranger to the\n halls of the great; and his father tilled land for hire.\n Like two fires launched from different quarters on a dry\n forest with bushes of crackling bay, or as when two foaming\n rivers pouring from lofty heights crash along and run 15\n towards the ocean, each ploughing his own wild channel:\n with no less fury rush through the fight \u00c6neas and\n Turnus both: now, now the wrath is boiling within them:\n their unconquered bosoms swell to bursting: they throw\n their whole force on the wounds they deal. This with 20\n the whirl and the blow of a mighty rock dashes Murranus\n headlong from his car to the ground, Murranus who had\n ever on his tongue the ancient names of sires and grandsires\n and a lineage stretching through the series of Latium\u2019s\n kings: the wheels throw forward the fallen man under the 25\n reins and yoke, and he is crushed by the quick hoof-beat\n of the steeds that mind not their lord. That meets\n Hyllus as he rushed on in vehement fury, and hurls a\n javelin at his gold-bound brows: the spear pierced the\n helmet and stood fixed in the brain. Nor did your 30\n prowess, Cretheus, bravest of Greeks, deliver you from\n Turnus, nor did the gods Cupencus worshipped shield\n him from the onset of \u00c6neas: his bosom met the steel,\n and the check of the brazen buckler stood the wretch in\n small stead. You, too, great \u00c6olus, the Laurentian 35\n plains looked on in death, spreading your frame abroad\n over their surface: fallen are you, whom the Argive bands\n could never overthrow, nor Achilles the destroyer of\n Priam\u2019s realm: here was your fatal goal: a princely\n home under Ida\u2019s shade: at Lyrnesus a princely hope, in\n Laurentian soil a sepulchre. The two armies are in hot\n conflict: all the Latians, all the sons of Dardanus, Mnestheus, 5\n and keen Serestus, and Messapus tamer of the steed,\n and brave Asilas, the Tuscan band, and Evander\u2019s Arcad\n cavalry, each man for himself straining every nerve: no\n stint, no stay; they strive with giant tension.\n\n And now \u00c6neas had a thought inspired by his beauteous\n mother, to march to the walls, throw his force 10\n rapidly on the town, and stun the Latians with a sudden\n blow. Tracking Turnus through the ranks he swept his\n eyes round and round, and beholds the city enjoying\n respite from all that furious war, and lying in unchallenged\n repose. At once his mind is fired with the vision of a 15\n grander battle: Mnestheus he summons and Sergestus\n and brave Serestus, the first in command, and mounts an\n eminence round which the rest of the Teucrian army\n gathers in close ranks, not laying shield or dart aside.\n Standing on the tall mound, he thus bespeaks them: 20\n \u201cLet nothing stay my orders; the hand of Jove is here;\n nor let any move slower because the enterprise is sudden.\n The town, the cause of the war, the royal home of the\n Latian king, unless they submit the yoke and confess\n themselves vanquished, I will overthrow this day, and lay 25\n its smoking turrets level with the ground. What? am I\n to wait till Turnus choose to bide the combat, and once\n conquered, meet me a second time? This, my men, is\n the well-spring, this the head and front of the monstrous\n war. Bring torches with speed, and reclaim the treaty 30\n fire in hand.\u201d He said, and all with emulous spirit of\n union close their ranks and stream to the walls in compact\n mass. Scaling ladders and brands are produced\n suddenly and in a moment. Some run to the several\n gates and slay those stationed there: some hurl the steel 35\n and overshadow the sky with javelins. \u00c6neas himself\n among the foremost lifts up his hand under the city wall,\n loudly upbraids the king, and calls the gods to witness\n that he is once more forced into battle, the Italians twice\n his foes, the second treaty broken like the first. Strife\n arises among the wildered citizens: some are for throwing\n open the town and unbarring the gates to the Dardans:\n nay, they even drag the monarch to the ramparts: others 5\n draw the sword and prepare to guard the walls: as when\n a countryman has tracked out bees concealed in a cavernous\n rock and filled their hiding-place with pungent smoke,\n they in alarm for the common wealth flit about their\n waxen realm and stir themselves to wrath by vehement 10\n buzzing: the murky smell winds from chamber to chamber:\n a dull blind noise fills the cavern: vapours ascend\n into the void of air.\n\n Yet another stroke fell on Latium\u2019s wearied sons,\n shaking with its agony the city to her foundations. When 15\n the queen from her palace saw the enemy draw near, the\n walls assailed, flames flying roofward, the Rutulian army,\n the soldiers of Turnus nowhere in sight, she deemed, poor\n wretch, her warrior slain in the combat, and maddened\n with the access of grief, cries aloud that she alone is the 20\n guilty cause, the fountainhead of all this evil; and flinging\n out wild words in the fury of her frenzied anguish,\n rends with desperate hand her purple raiment, and fastens\n from a lofty beam the noose of hideous death. Soon as\n Latium\u2019s wretched dames knew the blow that had fallen, 25\n her daughter Lavinia is first to rend yellow hair and\n roseate cheek, and the rest about her ran as wildly: the\n palace re-echoes their wail. The miserable story spreads\n through the town: every heart sinks: there goes the old\n king with garments rent, all confounded by his consort\u2019s 30\n death and his city\u2019s ruin: he soils his hoary locks with\n showers of unseemly dust, and oft and oft upbraids himself\n that he embraced not sooner \u00c6neas the Dardan nor\n took him for son-in-law of his own free will.\n\n Turnus, meantime, is plying the war far away on the 35\n plain, following here and there a straggler with abated\n zeal, himself and his steeds alike less buoyant. The air\n wafted to him the confused din, inspiring unknown terror,\n and on his quickened ears smote the sound of the city\u2019s\n turmoil and the noise not of joy. \u201cAlas! what is this\n mighty agony that shakes the walls? what these loud\n shouts pouring from this quarter and that?\u201d So he cries,\n and drawing his bridle halts bewildered. His sister, just 5\n as she stood in guise of Metiscus the driver, guiding car,\n horse, and reins, thus meets his question: \u201cProceed we\n still, Turnus, to chase the Trojans, where victory\u2019s dawn\n shows us the way: others there are whose hands can\n guard the city: \u00c6neas bears down on the Italians and 10\n stirs up the battle: let us send havoc as cruel among his\n Teucrians: so shall your slain be as many and your martial\n fame as high.\u201d Turnus answered: \u201cSister, I both\n knew you long since, when at first you artfully disturbed\n the truce and flung yourself into our quarrel, and now 15\n you vainly hide the goddess from my eyes. But tell me\n by whose will you are sent from Olympus to cope with\n toils like this? Is it that you may look on the cruel end\n of your hapless brother? For what can I do? what\n chance is there left to give me hope of safety? With my 20\n own eyes I saw Murranus die, his giant frame laid low\n by a giant wound: he called me by name, he, than whom\n I had no dearer friend. Dead, too, is ill-starred Ufens,\n all because he would not see me disgraced: his body and\n his arms are the Teucrians\u2019 prize. Am I to let the nation\u2019s 25\n homes be razed to the ground, the one drop that was\n wanting to the cup, and not rather with my own right\n hand give Drances\u2019 words the lie? Shall I turn my back?\n shall this land see Turnus flying? is death after all so\n bitter? Be gracious to me, gentle powers of the grave, 30\n since the gods above are against me! Yes, I will come\n down to you a stainless spirit, guiltless of that base charge,\n worthy in all my acts of my great forefathers.\u201d\n\n Scarce had he spoken, when lo! there flies through the\n midst of the foe, on a foaming steed, Saces, with an arrow 35\n full in his face: up he spurs, imploring Turnus by name:\n \u201cTurnus, our last hope is in you: have compassion on\n your army. \u00c6neas thunders with sword and spear, and\n threatens that he will level in dust and give to destruction\n the Italians\u2019 topmost battlements: even now brands\n are flying to the roofs. Every Latian face, every eye\n turns to you: the king himself mutters in doubt whom\n to call his son-in-law, to whose alliance to incline. Nay, 5\n more, your fastest friend the queen is dead by her own\n hand, scared and driven out of life. Only Messapus and\n keen Atinas are at the gates to uphold our forces. About\n them are closed ranks, and an iron harvest of naked\n blades: you are rolling your car over a field from which 10\n war has ebbed.\u201d Turnus stood still with silent dull regard,\n wildered by the thoughts that crowd on his mind:\n deep shame, grief and madness, frenzy-goaded passion\n and conscious wrath all surging at once. Soon as the\n shadows parted and light came back to his intelligence, 15\n he darted his blazing eyes cityward with restless vehemence,\n and looked back from his car to the wide-stretching\n town. Lo! there was a cone of fire spreading from story\n to story and flaring to heaven: the flame was devouring\n the turret which he had built himself of planks welded 20\n together, put wheels beneath it, and furnished it with\n lofty bridges. \u201cFate is too strong for me, sister, too\n strong: hold me back no longer: we needs must follow\n where Heaven and cruel Fortune are calling us. Yes, I\n _will_ meet \u00c6neas: I will endure the full bitterness of 25\n death: no more, my love, shall you see me disgraced:\n suffer me first to have my hour of madness.\u201d He said,\n and in a moment leapt to the ground, rushes on through\n foes, through javelins, leaves his sister to her sorrow, and\n dashes at full speed through the intervening ranks. Even 30\n as from a mountain\u2019s top down comes a rock headlong,\n torn off by the wind, or washed down by vehement rain,\n or loosened by the lapse of creeping years; down the steep\n it crashes with giant impulse, that reckless stone, bounding\n over the ground and rolling along with it trees, herds, 35\n and men: so, dashing the ranks apart, rushes Turnus to\n the city walls, where the earth is wet with plashy blood,\n and the gale hurtles with spears: he beckons with his\n hand, and cries with a mighty voice: \u201cHave done, ye\n Rutulians! ye Latians, hold back your darts! whatever\n Fortune brings she brings to me: \u2019tis juster far that I in\n your stead should singly expiate the treaty\u2019s breach and\n try the issue of the steel.\u201d All at the word part from the 5\n midst, and leave him a clear space.\n\n But father \u00c6neas, hearing Turnus\u2019 name, quits his\n hold on the walls and the battlements that crown them,\n flings delay to the winds and breaks off the work of war,\n steps high in triumph, and makes his arms peal dread 10\n thunder: vast as Athos, vast as Eryx, vast as father\n Apennine himself, when he roars with his quivering holms[286]\n and lifts his snowy crest exultingly to the sky. All turn\n their eyes with eager contention. Rutulians, Trojans, and\n Italians, those alike who were manning the towers and 15\n those whose battering-rams were assailing the foundations.\n All unbrace their armour. Latinus himself stands amazed\n to see two men so mighty, born in climes so distant each\n from each, thus met together to try the steel\u2019s issue. At\n once, when a space is cleared on the plain, first hurling 20\n their spears, they advance with swift onset, and dash into\n the combat with shield and ringing harness. Earth groans\n beneath them; their swords hail blow on blow: chance\n and valour mingle pell-mell. As when on mighty Sila or\n Taburnus\u2019 summit two bulls, lowering their brows for 25\n combat, engage fiercely: the herdsmen retreat in dread:\n the cattle all stand dumb with terror, the heifers wait in\n suspense who is to be the monarch of the woodland,\n whom the herds are to follow henceforth: they each in\n turn give furious blows, push and lodge their horns, and 30\n bathe neck and shoulders with streams of blood: the\n sound makes the forest bellow again: with no less fury\n \u00c6neas the Trojan, and the Daunian chief clash shield on\n shield: the enormous din fills the firmament. Jupiter\n himself holds aloft his scales poised and level, and lays 35\n therein the destinies of the two, to see whom the struggle\n dooms, and whose the weight that death bears down.\n Forth darts Turnus, deeming it safe, rises with his whole\n frame on the uplifted sword, and strikes, Trojans and\n eager Latians shout aloud: both armies gaze expectant.\n But the faithless sword snaps in twain and fails its fiery\n lord midway in the stroke, unless flight should come to\n his aid. Off he flies swifter than the wind, seeing an unknown 5\n hilt in his defenceless hand. Men say that in his\n headlong haste, when first he was mounting the car harnessed\n for battle, he left behind his father\u2019s falchion and\n snatched up the steel of Metiscus, his charioteer: so long\n as the Teucrians fled straggling before him, the weapon 10\n did good service; soon as it came to the divine Vulcanian\n armour, the mortal blade, like brittle ice, flew asunder at\n the stroke: the fragments sparkle on the yellow sand.\n So now in his distraction Turnus flies here and there\n over the plain, weaving vague circles in this place and in 15\n that: for the Trojans have closed in circle about him,\n and here is a spreading marsh, there lofty ramparts to\n bar the way.\n\n Nor is \u00c6neas wanting, though at times the arrow\n wound slackens his knees and robs them of their power 20\n to run: no, he follows on, and presses upon the flier foot\n for foot: as when a hound has got a stag pent in by a\n river, or hedged about by the terror of crimson plumage,\n and chases him running and barking: the stag, frighted\n by the snare and the steep bank, doubles a thousand times: 25\n the keen Umbrian clings open-mouthed to his skirts, all\n but seizes him, and as though in act to seize, snaps his\n teeth, and is baffled to find nothing in their gripe. Then,\n if ever, uprises a shout, echoing along bank and marsh,\n and heaven rings again with the noise. Turnus, even as 30\n he flies, calls fiercely on the Rutulians, addressing by\n name, and clamors for his well-known sword. \u00c6neas,\n for his part, threatens death and instant destruction,\n should any come near, and terrifies his trembling foes,\n swearing that he will raze their city to the ground, and 35\n presses on in spite of his wound. Five times they circle\n round, five times they retrace the circle: for no trivial\n prize is at stake, no guerdon of a game: the contest is\n for Turnus\u2019 life, for his very heart\u2019s blood. It chanced\n that there had stood there a wild olive with its bitter\n leaves, sacred to Faunus, a tree in old days reverenced by\n seamen, where when saved from ocean they used to fasten\n their offerings to the Laurentian god and hang up their 5\n votive garments: but the unrespecting Trojans had lately\n lopped the hallowed trunk, that the lists might be clear\n for combat. There was lodged \u00c6neas\u2019 spear: thither its\n force had carried it, and was now holding it fast in the\n unyielding root. The Dardan chief bent over it, fain to 10\n wrench forth the steel that his weapon may catch whom\n his foot cannot overtake. Then cried Turnus in the\n moment of frenzied agony: \u201cHave mercy, I conjure thee,\n good Faunus, and thou, most gracious earth, hold fast\n the steel if I have ever reverenced your sanctities, which 15\n \u00c6neas\u2019 crew for their part have caused battle to desecrate.\u201d\n He said, nor were his vows unanswered by heavenly aid.\n Hard as he struggled, long as he lingered over the stubborn\n stock, by no force could \u00c6neas make the wood unclose\n its fangs. While he strains with keen insistence, the 20\n Daunian goddess, resuming the guise of charioteer Metiscus,\n runs forward and restores to her brother his sword.\n Then Venus, resenting the freedom taken by the presumptuous\n Nymph, came nigh, and plucks the weapon\n from the depth of the root. And now towering high, 25\n with restored weapons and recruited force, this in strong\n reliance on his sword, that fiercely waving his spear tall\n as he, the two stand front to front in the breath-draining\n conflict of war.\n\n Meanwhile the king of almighty Olympus accosts Juno, 30\n as from a golden cloud she gazes on the battle: \u201cWhere\n is this to end, fair spouse? what last stroke have you in\n store? you know yourself, by your own confession, that\n \u00c6neas has his place assured in heaven among Italia\u2019s\n native gods, that destiny is making him a ladder to the 35\n stars. What plan you now? what hope keeps you seated\n on those chilly clouds? was it right that mortal wound\n should harm a god, or that Turnus\u2014for what power\n could Juturna have apart from you?\u2014should receive\n back his lost sword and the vanquished should feel new\n forces? At length have done, and let my prayers bow\n your will. Let this mighty sorrow cease to devour you\n in silence: let me hear sounds of sullen disquiet less often 5\n from your lovely lips. The barrier has been reached.\n To toss the Trojans over land and sea, to kindle an unhallowed\n war, to plunge a home in mourning, to blend a\n dirge with the bridal song, this it has been yours to do:\n all further action I forbid.\u201d So spake Jupiter: and so in 10\n return Saturn\u2019s daughter with downcast look: \u201cEven\n because I knew, great Jove, that such was your pleasure,\n have I withdrawn against my will from Turnus and from\n earth: else you would not see me now in the solitude of\n my airy throne, exposed to all that comes, meet or unmeet: 15\n armed with firebrands, I should stand in the very\n line of battle, and force the Teucrians into the hands of\n their foes. As for Juturna, I counselled her, I own, to\n succour her wretched brother, and warranted an unusual\n venture where life was at stake: but nought was said of 20\n aiming the shaft or bending the bow: I swear by the inexpiable\n fountain-head of Styx, the one sanction that\n binds us powers above. And now I yield indeed, and\n quit this odious struggle. Yet there is a boon I would\n ask, a boon which destiny forefends not. I ask it for 25\n the sake of Latium, for the dignity of your own people:\n when at last peace shall be ratified with a happy bridal,\n for happy let it be: when bonds of treaty shall be knit\n at last, let it not be thy will that the native Latians\n should change their ancient name, become Trojans or 30\n take the Teucrian style: let not them alter their language\n or their garb. Let there be Latium still: let there be\n centuries of Alban kings: let there be a Roman stock,\n strong with the strength of Italian manhood: but let\n Troy be fallen as she is, name and nation alike.\u201d The 35\n Father of men and nature answered with a smile: \u201cAye,\n you are Jove\u2019s own sister, the other branch of Saturn\u2019s\n line; such billows of passion surge in your bosom! but\n come,\u2014let this ineffectual frenzy give way: I grant your\n wish, and submit myself in willing obedience. The\n Ausonians shall keep their native tongue, their native\n customs: the name shall remain as it is: the Teucrians\n shall merge in the nation they join\u2014that and no more: 5\n their rites and worship shall be my gift: all shall be Latians\n and speak the Latian tongue. The race that shall arise\n from this admixture of Ausonian blood shall transcend in\n piety earth and heaven itself, nor shall any nation pay\n you such honours as they.\u201d Juno nodded assent, and 10\n turned her sullenness to pleasure; meanwhile she departs\n from the sky, and quits the cloud where she sat.\n\n This done, the sire meditates a further resolve, and\n prepares to part Juturna from her brother\u2019s side. There\n are two fiends known as the Furies, whom with Tartarean 25\n Meg\u00e6ra dismal Night brought forth at one and the same\n birth, wreathing them alike with coiling serpents, and\n equipping them with wings that fan the air. They are\n seen beside Jove\u2019s throne, at the threshold of his angry\n sovereignty, goading frail mortality with stings of terror, 20\n oft as the monarch of the gods girds himself to send forth\n disease and frightful death, or appals guilty towns with\n war. One of these Jove sped with haste from heaven\u2019s\n summit, and bade her confront Juturna in token of his\n will. Forth she flies, borne earthward on the blast of a 25\n whirlwind. Swift as the arrow from the string cleaves\n the cloud, sent forth by Parthian\u2014Parthian or Cydonian\u2014tipped\n with fell poison\u2019s gall, the dealer of a wound\n incurable, and skims the flying vapours hurtling and unforeseen,\n so went the Daughter of Night and made her 30\n way to earth. Soon as she sees the forces of Troy and\n the army of Turnus, she huddles herself suddenly into the\n shape of a puny bird, which oft on tombstone or lonely\n roof sitting by night screams restlessly through the gloom;\n in this disguise the fiend again and again flies flapping in 35\n Turnus\u2019 face, and beats with her wings on his shield. A\n strange chilly terror unknits his frame, his hair stands\n shudderingly erect, and his utterance cleaves to his jaws.\n But when Juturna knew from far the rustling of those\n Fury pinions, she rends, hapless maid, her dishevelled\n tresses, marring, in all a sister\u2019s agony, her face with her\n nails, her breast with her clenched hands: \u201cWhat now,\n my Turnus, can your sister avail? what more remains for 5\n an obdurate wretch like me? by what expedient can I\n lengthen your span? can I face a portent like this? At\n last, at last I quit the field. Cease to appal my fluttering\n soul, ye birds of ill omen: I know the flapping of your\n wings and its deathful noise; nor fail I to read great 10\n Jove\u2019s tyrannic will. Is this his recompense for lost virginity?\n why gave he me life to last for ever? why was\n the law of death annulled? else might I end this moment\n the tale of my sorrows, and travel to the shades hand in\n hand with my poor brother. Can immortality, can aught 15\n that I have to boast give me joy without him? Oh, that\n earth would but yawn deep enough, and send me down,\n goddess though I be, to the powers of the grave!\u201d So\n saying, she shrouded her head in her azure robe, with many\n a groan, and vanished beneath the river of her deity. 20\n\n \u00c6neas presses on, front to front, shaking his massy,\n tree-like spear, and thus speaks in the fierceness of his\n spirit: \u201cWhat is to be the next delay? why does Turnus\n still hang back? ours is no contest of speed, but of stern\n soldiership, hand to hand. Take all disguises you can; 25\n muster all your powers of courage or of skill: mount on\n wing, if you list, to the stars aloft, or hide in the cavernous\n depth of earth.\u201d Shaking his head, he replied: \u201cI quail\n not at your fiery words, insulting foe: it is Heaven that\n makes me quail, and Jove my enemy.\u201d No more he 30\n spoke: but, sweeping his eyes round, espies a huge stone,\n a stone ancient and huge, which chanced to be lying on\n the plain, set as some field\u2019s boundary, to forefend disputes\n of ownership: scarce could twelve picked men lift\n it on their shoulders, such puny frames as earth produces 35\n now-a-days: he caught it up with hurried grasp and\n flung it at his foe, rising as he threw, and running rapidly,\n as hero might. And yet all the while he knows not that\n he is running or moving, lifting up or stirring the enormous\n stone: his knees totter under him, and his blood\n chills and freezes: and so the mass from the warrior\u2019s\n hand, whirled through the empty void, passed not through\n all the space between nor carried home the blow. Even 5\n as in dreams, at night, when heavy slumber has weighed\n down the eyes, we seem vainly wishing to make eager\n progress forward and midway in the effort fail helplessly;\n our tongue has no power, our wonted strength stands not\n our frames in stead, nor do words or utterance come at 10\n our call: so it is with Turnus: whatever means his valour\n tries, the fell fiend bars them of their issue. And now\n confused images whirl through his brain: he looks to his\n Rutulians and to the city, and falters with dread, and\n quails at the threatening spear: how to escape he knows 15\n not, nor how to front the foe, nor sees he anywhere his\n car or the sister who drives it.\n\n Full in that shrinking face \u00c6neas shakes his fatal\n weapon, taking aim with his eye, and with an effort of\n his whole frame hurls it forth. Never stone flung from 20\n engine of siege roars so loud, never peal so rending follows\n the thunderbolt. On flies the spear like dark whirlwind\n with fell destruction on its wing, pierces the edge of the\n corslet, and the outermost circle of the seven-fold shield,\n and with a rush cleaves through the thigh. Down with 25\n his knee doubled under him comes Turnus to earth, all\n his length prostrated by the blow. Up start the Rutulians,\n groaning as one man: the whole mountain round\n rebellows, and the depths of the forest send back the\n sound far and wide. He in lowly suppliance lifts up eye 30\n and entreating hand: \u201cIt is my due,\u201d he cries, \u201cand I\n ask not to be spared it: take what fortune gives you.\n Yet, if you _can_ feel for a parent\u2019s misery\u2014your father,\n Anchises was once in like plight\u2014have mercy on Daunus\u2019\n hoary hairs, and let me, or if you choose my breathless 35\n body, be restored to my kin. You are conqueror: the\n Ausonians have seen my conquered hands outstretched:\n the royal bride is yours: let hatred be pressed no further.\u201d\n \u00c6neas stood still, a fiery warrior, his eyes rolling, and\n checked his hand: and those suppliant words were working\n more and more on his faltering purpose, when, alas!\n the ill-starred belt was seen high on the shoulder, and\n light flashed from the well-known studs\u2014the belt of 5\n young Pallas, whom Turnus conquered and struck down\n to earth, and bore on his breast the badge of triumphant\n enmity. Soon as his eyes caught the spoil and drank in\n the recollection of that cruel grief, kindled into madness\n and terrible in his wrath: \u201cWhat, with my friend\u2019s 10\n trophies upon you, would you escape my hand? It is\n Pallas, Pallas, who with this blow makes you his victim,\n and gluts his vengeance with your accursed blood.\u201d\n With these words, fierce as flame, he plunged the steel into\n the breast that lay before him. That other\u2019s frame grows 15\n chill and motionless, and the soul,[287] resenting its lot, flies\n groaningly to the shades.\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n\n[A] \u201cLike footsteps upon wool.\u201d\u2014Tennyson, _\u0152none_.\n\n[B] Mr. Conington has missed a line, which may be rendered thus: \u201cwho\nknowest the divine will of Apollo\u2014his tripods and his laurels.\u201d\u2014[E. S. S.]\n\n[C] Another line omitted in the translation:\u2014\u201chuge as Greek shield or\nsun-god\u2019s torch.\u201d\u2014[E. S. S.]\n\n[D] A caret in the Ms. notes the omission of _Urbis opus_: \u201cA city in\nitself.\u201d\u2014[E. S. S.]\n\n[E] Three lines omitted in the Ms.: \u201cThen on Mount Eryx, towering to the\nstars, is reared a temple to Idalian Venus, and for Anchises\u2019 tomb a\npriest appointed, with dedication of broad-acred grove.\u201d\u2014[E. S. S.]\n\n[F] For the omitted lines Conington\u2019s verses are inserted.\u2014[E. S. S.]\n\n\n\n\nNOTES\n\n\nBOOK I\n\n[1] 1:1. =Arms and the man I sing.= Compare the following opening lines\nof great epics:\u2014\n\n \u201cO goddess, sing the wrath of Peleus\u2019 son,\n Achilles; sing the deadly wrath that brought\n Woes numberless upon the Greeks.\u201d\n\n \u2014_Iliad_, Bryant\u2019s Trans.\n\n \u201cTell me, O muse, of that sagacious man\n Who, having overthrown the sacred town\n Of Ilium, wandered far and visited\n The capitals of many nations, learned\n The customs of their dwellers, and endured\n Great sufferings on the deep.\u201d\n\n \u2014HOMER, _Odyssey_.\n\n \u201cOf love and ladies, knights and arms, I sing,\n Of courtesies and many a daring feat.\u201d\n\n \u2014ARIOSTO, _Orlando Furioso_.\n\n \u201cI sing the pious arms and chief, who freed\n The Sepulchre of Christ from thrall profane;\n Much did he toil in thought and much in deed,\n Much in the glorious enterprise sustain.\u201d\n\n \u2014TASSO, _Jerusalem Delivered_.\n\n \u201cOf man\u2019s first disobedience, and the fruit\n Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste\n Brought death into the world, and all our woe,\n ...\n Sing, heavenly muse.\u201d\n\n \u2014MILTON, _Paradise Lost_.\n\n \u201cI, who erewhile the happy garden sung,\n By one man\u2019s disobedience lost, now sing\n Recovered Paradise to all mankind,\n By one man\u2019s firm obedience.\u201d\n\n \u2014MILTON, _Paradise Regained_.\n\n[2] 1:1. =Troy.= A city in northwest Asia Minor where the famous Trojan\nwar took place.\n\n[3] 1:3. =Latian.= The broad plain near the mouth of the Tiber, in Italy.\n\n[4] 1:5. =Juno.= Queen of the gods; wife and sister of Jupiter.\n\n[5] 1:5. =Much.=\n\n \u201cMuch there he suffered,\n And many perilles past in forreine landes,\n To save his people sad from victours vengefull handes,\u201d\n\n \u2014SPENSER, _Faerie Queene_.\n\n[6] 1:8. =Alba.= Alba Longa, a long ridge some fifteen miles southeast of\nRome. The successors of \u00c6neas reigned there until the founding of Rome.\n\n[7] 1:10. =Muse.= One of the nine Muses. Greek and Latin poets often\nprofess to be merely the mouthpiece of the Muses.\n\n[8] 1:14. =Hate.=\n\n \u201cAnd in soft bosoms dwell such mighty rage?\u201d\n\n \u2014POPE, _Rape of the Lock_.\n\n \u201cIn heavenly spirits could such perverseness dwell?\u201d\n\n \u2014MILTON, _Paradise Lost_.\n\n[9] 1:17. =Tyre.= Carthage was sprung from Tyre, an old and prosperous\ncity on the coast of Ph\u0153nicia. The founders of Carthage and their\ndescendants are termed indifferently by Virgil Ph\u0153nicians, Sidonians,\nP\u0153ni, or Tyrians.\n\n[10] 1:19. =War\u2019s.=\n\n \u201cAn old and haughty nation proud in arms.\u201d\n\n \u2014MILTON, _Comus_.\n\n[11] 1:21. =Samos.= A large island off the west coast of Asia Minor. Here\nwere the most ancient temple and worship of Juno, here she was nurtured,\nand here she was married to Jupiter.\n\n[12] 1:28. =Libya.= North Africa.\n\n[13] 2:1. =Fate\u2019s.=\n\n \u201cThose three fatall Sisters, whose sad hands\n Doo weave the direful threads of destinie\n And in their wrath brake off the vitall bands.\u201d\n\n \u2014SPENSER, _Daphna\u00efda_.\n\n \u201cComes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears\n And slits the thin-spun life.\u201d\n\n \u2014MILTON, _Lycidas_.\n\n \u201cSad Clotho held the rocke [distaff], the whiles the thrid\n By griesly Lachesis was spun with paine,\n That cruell Atropos eftsoones undid,\n With cursed knife cutting the twist in twaine.\u201d\n\n \u2014SPENSER, _Faerie Queene_.\n\n[14] 2:1. =Saturn.= An ancient Italian god of agriculture, identified\nlater with the Greek god Cronos.\n\n[15] 2:3. =Argos.= A city of Argolis in the Peloponnesus. One of Juno\u2019s\nfavorite cities. Juno\u2019s love for Argos played the same part in the Trojan\nwar as her regard for Carthage plays in the _\u00c6neid_. It is used here\npoetically for the name of the people, _i.e._ = Greeks.\n\n[16] 2:6. =Paris.= A son of Priam, king of Troy, who eloped with Helen\nand caused the Trojan war. The judgment was the award of the golden\napple, prize of beauty, to Venus as against Juno and Minerva.\n\n \u201cHere eke that famous golden apple grew,\n The which emongest the gods, false Ate threw;\n For which th\u2019 Id\u00e6an Ladies disagreed,\n Till partiall Paris dempt it Venus dew,\n And had of her fayre Helen for his meed.\u201d\n\n \u2014SPENSER, _Faerie Queene_.\n\nIn Tennyson\u2019s _\u0152none_, Juno offers\u2014\n\n \u201cfrom all neighbor crowns\n Alliance and allegiance till thy hand\n Fail from the sceptre-staff.\u201d\n\nAnd Minerva\u2014\n\n \u201cSelf-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control.\u201d\n\nBut Venus\u2014\n\n \u201cI promise thee\n The fairest and most loving wife in Greece.\u201d\n\n[17] 2:9. =Ganymede.= A Trojan prince; was carried off to Olympus by\nJupiter\u2019s eagle. He was made cup-bearer to the gods in place of Hebe,\ndaughter of Juno.\n\n \u201cAnd godlike Ganymede, most beautiful\n Of men; the gods beheld and caught him up\n To heaven, so beautiful was he, to pour\n The wine to Jove, and ever dwell with them.\u201d\n\n \u2014HOMER, _Iliad_.\n\n \u201cflushed Ganymede, his rosy thigh\n Half-buried in the Eagle\u2019s down,\n Sole as a flying star shot thro\u2019 the sky\n Above the pillar\u2019d town.\u201d\n\n \u2014TENNYSON, _Palace of Art_.\n\n[18] 2:10. =Danaan.= Greek. Danaus, an ancient city of Argos. Conington\ntransliterates various proper names, such as Argives, Ach\u00e6ans,\nPelasgians, all meaning Greeks. Vergil uses the originals now to secure\nvariety, now to meet the metrical requirement.\n\n[19] 2:11. =Achilles.= Son of Peleus, king of Thessaly, and Thetis, a sea\nnymph, chief champion of the Greeks before Troy.\n\n[20] 2:22. =Teucrians.= Teucer, an ancient king of Troy; he came to Troy\nfrom Crete. He was father-in-law of Dardanus, and is often called founder\nof the Trojans.\n\n[21] 2:23. =Pallas.= Epithet of the Greek goddess Athena. Sometimes\nidentified with the Latin goddess of wisdom, Minerva.\n\n[22] 2:26. =Ajax.= O\u00efleus\u2019 son. Had, on the night Troy was taken,\nassaulted Priam\u2019s daughter Cassandra, who had taken refuge in Minerva\u2019s\ntemple.\n\n[23] 2:27. =Jove.= Jupiter, chief of the Olympian gods. Son of Cronos\nor Saturnus. He is father omnipotent, father of gods, and king of men.\nThe lightning and the thunderbolt, fashioned for him by Vulcan, are his\nweapons. The eagle is his messenger. Apparently Jupiter, the Sky-father,\nis the personification of the sky. Cicero quotes Ennius as follows: \u201cThis\nshining vault on high which all men call upon in prayer as Jupiter.\u201d\n\n[24] 2:30. =Rock\u2019s.=\n\n \u201ccaught in a fierce tempest shall be hurled\n Each on his rock transfixed, the sport and prey\n Of rocking whirlwinds.\u201d\n\n \u2014MILTON, _Paradise Lost_.\n\n[25] 2:38. =\u00c6olia.= Home of the winds,\u2014=Lipara=. One of the \u00c6olian\nislands north of Sicily.\n\n[26] 2:38. =Cavern.=\n\n \u201cIn a cavern under is fettered the thunder,\n It struggles and howls by fits.\u201d\n\n \u2014SHELLEY, _The Cloud_.\n\n[27] 2:38. =\u00c6olus.= King of the winds.\n\n[28] 3:2. =Bond.=\n\n \u201cAnd wild winds bound within their cell.\u201d\n\n \u2014TENNYSON, _Mariana_.\n\n[29] 3:19. =Tyrrhene sea.= Also Tuscan sea; the part of the Mediterranean\nwhich extended from Liguria to Sicily.\n\n[30] 3:19. =Ilion.= Troy.\n\n[31] 3:30. =Bidding.=\n\n \u201cFather eternal, thine is to decree;\n Mine, both in heaven and earth, to do thy will.\u201d\n\n \u2014MILTON, _Paradise Lost_.\n\n[32] 3:36. =Rush forth.=\n\n \u201cNor slept the winds\n Within their stormy caves, but rushed abroad\n From the four hinges of the world, and fell\n On the vexed wilderness.\u201d\n\n \u2014MILTON, _Paradise Lost_.\n\n \u201cWith howling sound, high carnival to keep,\n And in wild uproar all embroil both land and deep.\u201d\n\n \u2014TASSO, _Jerusalem Delivered_.\n\n \u201cThen forth it breakes, and with his furious blast\n Confounds both land and seas, and skyes doth overcast.\u201d\n\n \u2014SPENSER, _Faerie Queene_.\n\n[33] 3:38. =Fall.=\n\n \u201cThe winds, as at their hour of birth,\n Leaning upon the ridged sea.\u201d\n\n \u2014TENNYSON.\n\n[34] 4:5. =Daylight.=\n\n \u201cAnd tosse the deepes, and teare the firmament,\n And all the world confound with wide uprore.\u201d\n\n \u2014SPENSER, _Faerie Queene_.\n\n \u201cThe clouds their gloomy veil above them strain,\n Nor suffer sun or star to cheer the view.\n ...\n While aye descending night, with deeper shade,\n The vext and fearful billows overlayed.\u201d\n\n \u2014ARIOSTO, _Orlando Furioso_.\n\n[35] 4:9. =\u00c6neas.= Son of Venus and Anchises, hero of the _\u00c6neid_.\n\n[36] 4:9. =Chilled.=\n\n \u201cHis bold \u00c6neas on like billows tossed\n In a tall ship, and all his country lost\n Dissolves with fear; and, both his hands upheld,\n Proclaims them happy when the Greeks had quelled\n In honorable fight.\u201d\n\n \u2014WALLER, _Of the Dangers his Majesty Escaped_.\n\n[37] 4:12. =Thrice.=\n\n \u201cThrice happy, four times happy, they who fell\n On Troy\u2019s wide field warring for Atreus\u2019 sons:\n O, had I met my fate and perished there.\u201d\n\n \u2014HOMER, _Odyssey_.\n\n[38] 4:14. =Tydeus\u2019 son.= Diomedes, with whom \u00c6neas had fought in single\ncombat and been saved by direct intervention of Venus.\n\n[39] 4:16. =Hector.= Son of Priam, king of Troy, and Hecuba. Hector was\nthe bravest champion of Troy, and was slain by Achilles.\n\n[40] 4:17. =\u00c6acides.= A descendant of \u00c6acus (king of \u00c6gina and father of\nPeleus). Virgil applies the name to (1) Achilles, (2) Pyrrhus, son of\nAchilles, (3) Perseus, king of Macedonia.\n\n[41] 4:18. =Sarpedon.= Son of Jupiter, and king of the Lycians; an ally\nof Troy slain by Patroclus, friend of Achilles.\n\n[42] 4:18. =Simois.= The famous river that flows by Troy.\n\n \u201cAnd Simo\u00efs, in whose bed lay many shields\n And helms and bodies of slain demigods.\u201d\n\n \u2014HOMER, _Iliad_.\n\n[43] 4:23. =Stars.= Hyperbole; cf.\u2014\n\n \u201cThe chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds;\n The wind-shaked surge, with high and monstrous mane,\n Seems to cast water on the burning Bear\n And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole.\u201d\n\n \u2014SHAKESPEARE, _Othello_.\n\n[44] 4:26. =Crest.=\n\n \u201cNow quivering o\u2019er the topmost waves she rides\n While deep beneath the enormous gulf divides:\n Now launching headlong down the horrid vale,\n Becalmed she hears no more the howling gale.\u201d\n\n \u2014FALCONER, _Shipwreck_.\n\n[45] 4:33. =Syrtes.= Two shallow bays on the north coast of Africa\ndistinguished as Major and Minor,\u2014dangerous to navigation.\n\n[46] 5:8. =Side-jointings.=\n\n \u201cThe chinks suck destruction. The heavy dead hulk\n On the living sea rolls an inanimate bulk.\u201d\n\n \u2014SHELLEY, _Vision of the Sea_.\n\n \u201cThe sides convulsive shook on groaning beams,\n And, rent with labour, yawn\u2019d their pitchy seams.\u201d\n\n \u2014FALCONER, _Shipwreck_.\n\n[47] 5:11. =Neptune.= God of the sea,\u2014brother of Juno.\n\n[48] 5:22. =Confound.=\n\n \u201cI heard the wrack,\n As earth and sky would mingle.\u201d\n\n \u2014MILTON, _Paradise Lost_.\n\n \u201cWhile oft in whirls the mad tornado flies,\n Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies.\u201d\n\n \u2014GOLDSMITH, _Deserted Village_.\n\n[49] 5:29. =Eurus.= The east wind. It is the poet\u2019s way to single out one\nwind and use it as general word for winds. One example of the use of the\nspecific for the generic.\n\n[50] 5:33. =Routs.=\n\n \u201cThou frownest, and old \u00c6olus thy foe\n Skulks to his cavern, \u2019mid the gruff complaint\n Of all his rebel tempests. Dark clouds faint\n When, from thy diadem, a silver gleam\n Slants over blue dominion.\u201d\n\n \u2014KEATS, _Endymion_.\n\n[51] 5:34. =Cymotho\u00eb and Triton.= Lesser sea deities.\n\n \u201cFrom thy dead lips a clearer note is born\n Than ever Triton blew from wreath\u00e8d horn.\u201d\n\n \u2014HOLMES, _Chambered Nautilus_.\n\n[52] 5:37. =Trident.=\n\n \u201cIt seem\u2019d as there the British Neptune stood,\n With all his hosts of waters at command,\n Beneath them to submit th\u2019 officious flood;\n And with his trident shov\u2019d them off the sand.\u201d\n\n \u2014DRYDEN, _Annus Mirabilis_.\n\n[53] 6:4. =Weapon.=\n\n \u201cRage prompted them at length, and found them arms\n Against such hellish mischief fit to oppose.\u201d\n\n \u2014MILTON, _Paradise Lost_.\n\n[54] 6:15. =Haven.=\n\n \u201cIt was a still\n And calmy bay, on the one side sheltered\n With the brode shadow of an hoarie hill;\n On th\u2019 other side an high rock towred still,\n That twixt them both a pleasaunt port they made,\n And did like an halfe theatre fulfill.\u201d\n\n \u2014SPENSER, _Faerie Queene_.\n\n \u201cAnd overhead upgrew\n Insuperable height of loftiest shade,\n Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm,\n A sylvan scene, and as the ranks ascend\n Shade above shade, a woody theatre\n Of stateliest view.\u201d\n\n \u2014MILTON, _Paradise Lost_.\n\n \u201cIts uplands sloping deck the mountain\u2019s side,\n Woods over woods in gay theatric pride.\u201d\n\n \u2014GOLDSMITH, _Traveller_.\n\n \u201cIn one they find a lone sequestered place,\n Where, to a crescent curved, the shore extends\n Two moony horns, that in their sweep embrace\n A spacious bay,\u2014a rock the port defends;\n Inward it fronts, and broad to ocean bends\n Its back, whereon each dashing billow dies,\n When the wind rises and the storm descends;\n While here and there two lofty crags arise,\n Whose towers, far out at sea, salute the sailor\u2019s eyes.\n Safe sleep the silent seas beneath; above,\n Black arching woods o\u2019ershade the circled scene:\n Within, a grotto opens, in the grove,\n Pleasant with flowers, with moss, with ivies green,\n And waters warbling in the depths unseen;\n Needed nor twisted rope nor anchor there\n For weary ships.\u201d\n\n \u2014TASSO, _Jerusalem Delivered_.\n\n[55] 6:25. =Cable.=\n\n \u201cAnd there is a safe haven where no need\n Of cable is; no anchor there is cast,\n Nor hawsers fastened to the strand.\u201d\n\n \u2014HOMER, _Odyssey_.\n\n[56] 7:3. =Biremes.= Ships having two tiers of oars.\n\n[57] 7:23. =Scylla.= A sea-monster, residing in a cave in certain rocks,\nalso called Scylla, between Italy and Sicily. The upper part of this\nmonster resembled a lovely woman. About the waist was a circle of dogs or\nwolves; below was the tail of a dolphin. The wolves reach out and seize\npassing ships and drag them on the rocks. Virgil\u2019s Scylla is adopted by\nMilton as a description of one of the monsters guarding the gates of Hell.\n\n[58] 7:25. =Cyclops.= Certain giants of cannibal nature who dwelt in\nSicily near \u00c6tna. They had a single large round eye in the middle of the\nforehead.\n\n[59] 7:27. =Remembered.=\n\n \u201cA time will come, not distantly descried,\n When to remember ev\u2019ry past dismay\n Will be no less a pleasure than a pride;\n Hold then courageous on, and keep, I pray,\n Your noble hearts in cheer for that victorious day.\u201d\n\n \u2014TASSO, _Jerusalem Delivered_.\n\n[60] 7:33. =Heart-sick.=\n\n \u201cSo spoke the apostate angel, though in pain,\n Vaunting aloud, but racked with deep despair.\u201d\n\n \u2014MILTON, _Paradise Lost_.\n\n[61] 8:15. =Ether.=\n\n \u201cNow had the Almighty Father from above,\n From the pure empyrean where he sits\n High throned above all highth, bent down his eye,\n His own works and their works at once to view.\u201d\n\n \u2014MILTON, _Paradise Lost_.\n\n[62] 8:26. =Barred.=\n\n \u201cIn vain\u2014for rude adversity\u2019s command\n Still, on the margin, of each famous land,\n With unrelenting ire his steps opposed,\n And every gate of hope against him closed.\u201d\n\n \u2014FALCONER, _Shipwreck_.\n\n[63] 8:37. =Antenor.= Nephew of Priam. After the capture of Troy, he\nsailed up the Adriatic Sea, established a new people called the Veneti,\nand founded Patavium (Padua).\n\n[64] 9:8. =Arms.=\n\n \u201cAnd in thy tempul I wol my banur hong,\n And all the armes of my companye.\u201d\n\n \u2014CHAUCER, _Knight\u2019s Tale_.\n\n \u201cIn my heart\u2019s temple I suspend to thee\n These votive wreaths of withered memory.\u201d\n\n \u2014SHELLEY, _Epipsychidion_.\n\n[65] 9:13. =Piety.=\n\n \u201cFalse Jupiter, rewardst thou virtue so?\n What, is not piety exempt from woe?\u201d\n\n \u2014MARLOWE AND NASH, _Dido_.\n\n[66] 9:18. =Cythera.= An island south of Laconia, near which, the\ntradition is, Venus rose from the foam of the sea.\n\n[67] 9:20. =Lavinium.= A city of Latium, represented as founded by \u00c6neas\nand named by him for his wife Lavinia, daughter of King Latinus. It was\nLatinus\u2019 promise of Lavinia to \u00c6neas that caused the wars of the last six\nbooks of the \u00c6neid.\n\n[68] 9:29. =Rutulians.= A Volscian people whose chief city was Antium.\nThey with their King Turnus were the chief antagonists of \u00c6neas when he\nwas trying to settle in Italy.\n\n[69] 9:30. =Ascanius.= Son of \u00c6neas.\n\n[70] 9:36. =Hector\u2019s.=\n\n \u201cThere in stout Hector\u2019s race three hundred years\n The Roman sceptre royal shall remain.\u201d\n\n \u2014MARLOWE AND NASH, _Dido_.\n\n[71] 10:11. =Assaracus.= A Trojan king of Phrygia; he was grandfather of\nAnchises, hence the expression \u201chouse of Assaracus\u201d means the descendants\nof \u00c6neas. And as the Julian clan was thought to be derived from Iulus,\n\u00c6neas\u2019 son, this included Julius C\u00e6sar and his adopted son Augustus.\n\n[72] 10:11. =Phthia.= A city and district in Thessaly, Greece, over\nwhich, it is said, Achilles ruled.\n\n[73] 10:12. =Mycen\u00e6.= A famous city ruled by Agamemnon, in the Morea\n(southern Greece).\n\n[74] 10:12. =Argos.= A city of Argolis, in the Peloponnesus. One of\nJuno\u2019s favorite cities. So fate wills that the descendants of the Trojans\nshall take vengeance for the destruction of Troy on the descendants of\nthe great Greek leaders.\n\n[75] 10:15. =Stars.=\n\n \u201cHe shall ascend\n The throne hereditary, and bound his reign\n With Earth\u2019s wide bounds, his glory with the heavens.\u201d\n\n \u2014MILTON, _Paradise Lost_.\n\n[76] 10:19. =War.=\n\n \u201cAll loved virtue, no man was affray\u2019d\n Of force, ne fraud in wight was to be found:\n No warre was known, no dreadfull trompets sound;\n Peace universall rayn\u2019d mongst men and beasts.\u201d\n\n \u2014SPENSER, _Faerie Queene_.\n\n \u201cNo war, or battle\u2019s sound\n Was heard the world around;\n The idle spear and shield were high up hung;\n The hook\u00e8d chariot stood,\n Unstained with hostile blood;\n The trumpet spake not to the arm\u00e8d throng,\n And kings sat still with awful eye,\n As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by.\u201d\n\n \u2014MILTON, _Hymn on Nativity_.\n\n[77] 10:20. =Vesta.= Goddess of the hearth.\n\n[78] 10:20. =Quirinus.= Name given to Romulus after he was translated\nfrom earth to heaven. Romulus, the legendary founder of Rome. Cicero\ntells us that after his translation, Romulus appeared on the Quirinal\nHill and stated that his name as god was Quirinus, and gave instructions\nthat a temple should be erected to him on that hill\u2014hence the name of the\nhill and the palace, once home of the popes, now of the monarchs of Italy.\n\n[79] 10:26. =Son of Maia.= Mercury, swift-winged messenger of the gods.\n\n \u201cThe Sonne of Maia, soone as he receiv\u2019d\n That word, streight with his azure wings he cleav\u2019d\n The liquid clowdes, and lucid firmament;\n Ne staid, till that he came with steep descent\n Unto the place where his prescript did showe.\u201d\n\n \u2014SPENSER, _Mother Hubbard\u2019s Tale_.\n\n[80] 10:28. =Dido.= Daughter of Belus, king of Tyre; widow of Sych\u00e6us.\nAccording to story, she led the Ph\u0153nician colony to Carthage.\n\n[81] 10:33. =Punic.= Carthaginian. So the three Punic wars of Rome\nagainst Carthage.\n\n[82] 11:17. =Ho.=\n\n \u201cHo, young men! saw you, as you came,\n Any of all my sisters wandering here,\n Having a quiver girded to her side,\n And clothed in a spotted leopard\u2019s skin?\u201d\n\n \u2014MARLOWE AND NASH, _Dido_.\n\n[83] 11:26. =Goddess.=\n\n \u201cMost sure, the goddess\n On whom these airs attend! Vouchsafe my prayer\n May know if you remain upon this island.\u201d\n\n \u2014SHAKESPEARE, _Tempest_.\n\n[84] 11:27. =Ph\u0153bus\u2019 sister.= Diana, sister of Ph\u0153bus Apollo.\n\n[85] 12:1. =Agenor.= Twin brother of Belus and founder of Sidon, from\nwhom Dido was descended.\n\n[86] 12:18. =Hope.=\n\n \u201cPoor girl! put on thy stifling widow\u2019s weed,\n And \u2019scape at once from Hope\u2019s accursed bands,\n To-day thou wilt not see him, nor to-morrow,\n And the next day will be a day of sorrow.\u201d\n\n \u2014KEATS, _Isabella_.\n\n[87] 12:33. =Woman.= \u201cDux femina facti,\u201d\u2014motto on the medal in 1588, in\nhonor of Elizabeth\u2019s victories over the Spanish Armada. Cf. Kingsley\u2019s\n_Westward Ho!_\n\n[88] 12:36. =Byrsa.= A word which in the Carthaginian language meant\ncitadel, but sounded like a Greek word meaning bull\u2019s hide. From this\nconfusion, apparently, arose the story that Dido cut a bull\u2019s hide into\nvery thin strings and so encompassed much ground for her new city.\n\n[89] 13:24. =Breath of life.=\n\n \u201cSo drew mankind in vain _the vital air_,\n Unformed, unfriended by those kindly cares,\n That health and vigor to the soul impart.\u201d\n\n \u2014GRAY, _Education and Government_.\n\n[90] 13:31. =Jove.=\n\n \u201cThe bird of Jove, stooped from his airy tour.\n Two birds of gayest plume before him drove.\u201d\n\n \u2014MILTON, _Paradise Lost_.\n\n[91] 13:36. =Wings.=\n\n \u201cAround, around in ceaseless circles wheeling\n With clang of wings and scream, the eagle sailed.\u201d\n\n \u2014SHELLEY, _The Revolt of Islam_.\n\n \u201cWhilst with their clang the air resounds.\u201d\n\n \u2014WORDSWORTH, _Excursion_.\n\n[92] 14:6. =Walk.=\n\n \u201cIn gliding state she wins her easy way.\u201d\n\n \u2014GRAY, _Progress of Poesy_.\n\n[93] 14:18. =Paphos.= A city in Cyprus.\n\n[94] 14:20. =Sab\u00e6an incense.= Arabian frankincense.\n\n \u201cSabean odoures, from the spicy shore\n Of Arabie the blest.\u201d\n\n \u2014MILTON, _Paradise Lost_.\n\n[95] 14:37. =Bees.=\n\n \u201cAll hands employ\u2019d the royal work grows warm:\n Like labouring bees on a long summer\u2019s day.\n Some sound the trumpet for the rest to swarm,\n And some on bells of tasted lilies play;\n With glewy wax some new foundation lay\n Of virgin combs, which from the roof are hung;\n Some arm\u2019d within doors upon duty stay,\n Or tend the sick, or educate the young.\u201d\n\n \u2014DRYDEN, _Annus Mirabilis_.\n\n[96] 15:18. =Sidon.= Tyre and Sidon were the chief cities of Ph\u0153nicia.\nAdjectives formed from them are used interchangeably with Ph\u0153nician and\nCarthaginian for the sake of variety or to meet metrical requirements.\n\n[97] 15:37. =Tears.=\n\n \u201cYet tears to human suffering are due;\n And mortal hopes defeated and o\u2019erthrown\n Are mourned by man.\u201d\n\n \u2014WORDSWORTH, _Laodamia_.\n\n \u201cThe Virgilian cry,\n The sense of tears in mortal things.\u201d\n\n \u2014MATTHEW ARNOLD, _Geist\u2019s Grave_.\n\n \u201cThou majestic in thy sadness at the doubtful doom of human kind.\u201d\n\n \u2014TENNYSON.\n\n[98] 16:4. =Pergamus.= Troy.\n\n[99] 16:12. =Xanthus.= A river near Troy.\n\n[100] 16:13. =Troilus.= Shakespeare\u2019s _Troilus_ draws plot from Chaucer.\n\n[101] 16:19. =Pallas.= Minerva, goddess of wisdom, friend of the Greeks.\n\n[102] 16:32. =Memnon.= Leader of the \u00c6thiopian allies of Troy. Was son of\nTithonus and Aurora.\n\n[103] 16:33. =Penthesilea.= Queen of the Amazons who fought for Troy.\nAchilles slew both Memnon and Penthesilea.\n\n[104] 17:6. =Diana.=\n\n \u201cSuch as Diana by the sandy shore\n Of swift Eurotas, or on Cynthus greene,\n Where all the nymphs have her unwares forlore [left],\n Wandreth alone with bow and arrowes keene,\n To seeke her game.\u201d\n\n \u2014SPENSER, _Faerie Queene_.\n\n[105] 17:9. =Latona.= Mother of Apollo and Diana. The type of perfect\nmother love.\n\n[106] 18:10. =Orion.= A hunter famous in ancient myth, armed with belt\nand sword, translated to the heavens as a constellation, thought to bring\nstorms.\n\n[107] 19:36. =Shone.=\n\n \u201cWhen sea-born Venus guided o\u2019er\n Her warrior to the Punic shore,\n Around that radiant head she threw\n In deep\u2019ning clouds ambrosial dew:\n But when the Tyrian queen drew near,\n The light pour\u2019d round him fresh and clear.\u201d\n\n \u2014LANDOR.\n\n \u201cNot great \u00c6neas stood in plainer day,\n When, the dark mantling mist dissolved away,\n He to the Tyrians showed his sudden face,\n Shining with all his goddess mother\u2019s grace:\n For she herself had made his countenance bright,\n Breathed honor on his eyes, and her own purple light.\u201d\n\n \u2014DRYDEN, _Britannia Rediviva_.\n\n[108] 20:4. =Enchased.=\n\n \u201cLike to a golden border did appeare,\n Framed in goldsmithes forge with cunning hand.\u201d\n\n \u2014SPENSER, _Faerie Queene_.\n\n[109] 21:9. =Learning.=\n\n \u201cWho by the art of known and feeling sorrows,\n Are pregnant to good pity.\u201d\n\n \u2014SHAKESPEARE, _King Lear_.\n\n \u201cWhat sorrow wast thou had\u2019st her know,\n And from her own she learned to melt at others\u2019 woe.\u201d\n\n \u2014GRAY, _Hymn to Adversity_.\n\n[110] 21:30. =Acanthus.= A plant now called bear\u2019s-foot, or\nbear\u2019s-breech; grows in southern Europe, Asia Minor, and India. Its leaf\nwas a common form in embroidery and sculpture, and is well known from\nits use in the Corinthian capital.\n\n[111] 21:31. =Helen.= Most beautiful of women, daughter of Jupiter and\nLeda, was wife of Menelaus of Sparta. She was carried off by Paris as\nVenus\u2019 reward to him for his decision in her favor in the question of the\nGolden Apple. This breach of hospitality by Paris was the cause of the\nTrojan war.\n\n[112] 22:1. =Cupid.= Son of Venus; god of love.\n\n[113] 22:10. =Typh\u0153an.= Thunderbolts of Jove, called Typh\u0153an because they\nslew the giant Typh\u0153us at the time of the great fight for the throne of\nheaven between Jupiter and the Olympian gods and \u201cthe earth-born Titan\nbrood.\u201d\n\n \u201cPh\u0153bus resigns his darts, and Jove\n His thunder to the god of love.\u201d\n\n \u2014DENHAM, _Friendship_.\n\n[114] 22:38. =Poison.=\n\n \u201cThrough her bones the false instilled fire\n Did spred it selfe and venime close inspire.\u201d\n\n \u2014SPENSER, _Faerie Queene_.\n\n[115] 23:4. =Slumber.=\n\n \u201cShe sent the gentle sleep from Heaven\n That slid into my soul.\u201d\n\n \u2014COLERIDGE, _Ancient Mariner_.\n\n[116] 23:29. =Gazing.=\n\n \u201cAnd her eyes on all my motions with a mute observance hung.\u201d\n\n \u2014TENNYSON, _Locksley Hall_.\n\n[117] 23:35. =Lap.=\n\n \u201cBut both Dione honored they and Cupid,\n That as her mother, this one as her son,\n And said that he had sat in Dido\u2019s lap.\u201d\n\n \u2014DANTE, _Paradiso_.\n\n[118] 24:6. =Lamps.=\n\n \u201cAs heaven with stars, the roof with jewels glows,\n And ever-living lamps depend in rows.\u201d\n\n \u2014POPE, _Temple of Fame_.\n\n[119] 24:15. =Bacchus.= Son of Jupiter and Semele, god of wine, and, by\nmetonymy, used to mean wine. (Name of god for his realm, as Vulcan for\nfire, etc.).\n\n \u201cNor the coy maid, half willing to be prest,\n Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest.\u201d\n\n \u2014GOLDSMITH, _Deserted Village_.\n\n[120] 24:25. =Atlas.= A king of Mauretania; father of the Pleiades; he\nsupported the heavens on his shoulders. He was skilled in astronomy.\nPersonification of Mount Atlas.\n\n[121] 24:25. =Song.=\n\n \u201cHe sung the secret seeds of Nature\u2019s frame:\n How seas, and earth, and air, and active flame,\n Fell through the mighty void, and in their fall\n Were blindly gathered in this goodly ball.\n The tender soil, then stiff\u2019ning by degrees,\n Shut from the bounded earth, the bounding seas.\n Then earth and ocean various forms disclose;\n And a new sun to the new world arose;\n And mists, condensed to clouds, obscure the sky,\n And clouds, dissolved, the thirsty ground supply.\n The rising trees the lofty mountains grace;\n The lofty mountains feed the savage race,\n Yet few, and strangers, in th\u2019 unpeopled place.\n From thence the birth of man the song pursued,\n And how the world was lost, and how renewed.\u201d\n\n \u2014DRYDEN, Translation of Ecl. VI. Cf. \u00c6n. VI.\n\n\nBOOK II\n\n[122] 26:8. =Myrmidons or the Dolopes.= The soldiers of Achilles, who was\nthe fiercest of the Greeks.\n\n[123] 26:9. =Ulysses.= King of \u201cIthaca\u2019s rocky isle,\u201d husband of\n\u201cfaithful Penelope.\u201d His wanderings are the subject of Homer\u2019s _Odyssey_.\nHomer\u2019s stock epithet is \u201cthe very crafty.\u201d\n\n[124] 27:18. =Laocoon.= A priest of Apollo appointed to act as priest of\nNeptune. The famous group of Laocoon and his two sons in the coils of\nthe twin serpents, of the Pergamenian type of sculpture, was discovered\nin the baths of the Emperor Titus, and stands in the Belvidere of the\nVatican Museum.\n\n[125] 29:8. =Calchas.= Priest of the Greeks.\n\n[126] 29:14. =Sons of Atreus.= Agamemnon, king of Mycen\u00e6,\ncommander-in-chief of the Greeks, and his brother Menelaus of Sparta,\nformer husband of Helen.\n\n[127] 29:27. =Ph\u0153bus.= Apollo, god of prophecy.\n\n[128] 31:16. =Palladium.= Statue of Pallas, the Greek goddess identified\nby the Romans with Minerva, goddess of wisdom, of household arts, and of\nwar. Also called Tritonia.\n\n[129] 32:7. =Pelops.= Son of Tantalus and father of Atreus. He was served\nup as food for the gods by his father, restored to life by Jupiter,\nand furnished with an ivory shoulder in place of the one eaten at the\nbanquet. He gained control of the Peloponnesus, or Morea, which was named\nfor him. The use here, another case of the specific for the generic, is\nin place of Greece itself.\n\n[130] 33:27. =Cassandra.= Daughter of Priam and Hecuba. Priestess of\nApollo. When she offended Apollo, he could not take back the prophetic\npower which he had given her, but he decreed that her prophecies should\nnever be believed.\n\n[131] 34:17. =Hector.= Of this passage F\u00e9nelon wrote, \u201cCan one read this\npassage without being moved?\u201d Ch\u00e2teaubriand called the scene \u201ca kind of\nepitome of Virgil\u2019s genius.\u201d\n\n[132] 35:9. =Vesta.= So \u00c6neas is to be apostle to the heathen. Even the\nearly Christians reverenced the vestal sisters, prototype of church\nsisterhoods. The institution known as the Vestal Virgins was the purest\nelement of the Roman religion; even emperors intrusted their last wills\nto their sacred keeping as the most inviolable of safeguards. Their\nconvent has recently been excavated near the Roman Forum.\n\n[133] 38:36. =Nereus.= A sea-god, father of the Nereids.\n\n[134] 40:3. =Andromache.= Daughter of King E\u00ebtion, wife of Hector, the\neldest son of Priam and the most famous warrior of the Trojans, finally\nslain by Achilles and dragged around the walls of Troy.\n\n[135] 40:17. =Pyrrhus.= Son of Achilles. Also called Neoptolemus. After\nfighting in the Trojan war, he founded a kingdom in Epirus.\n\n[136] 41:17. =Hecuba.= Chief wife of Priam. She really was the mother of\nnineteen children. Poetic license treats her as the queen mother of all\nPriam\u2019s fifty daughters-in-law and fifty daughters, and finally includes\nthem all under the term daughters-in-law.\n\n[137] 43:13. =Creusa.= Wife of \u00c6neas and mother of Ascanius or Iulus.\n\n[138] 43:21. =Tyndareus.= Father of Helen.\n\n[139] 46:2. =Flame.= In this passage Virgil makes Anchises refer to a\nprevious capture of Troy by the Greek hero Hercules, at which time King\nLaomedon was slain; and, secondly, to Jupiter\u2019s punishment of Anchises\nhimself for boasting of the love of Venus. Jupiter crippled him by a\nthunderbolt.\n\n\nBOOK III\n\nThe time covers about six years. It begins with events immediately\nfollowing the fall of Troy, June, B.C. 1184.\n\n[140] 51:7. =Antandros.= A city on the southern side of Mount Ida, near\nTroy.\n\n[141] 51:19. =Lycurgus.= An early king of Thrace who stoutly opposed the\nintroduction of the rites of Bacchus into his realm, was blinded and\nafterward destroyed by Jupiter. The present king was Polymnestor, who had\nmarried Priam\u2019s daughter Ilione.\n\n[142] 51:24. =\u00c6nead\u00e6.= Literally, descendants of \u00c6neas, translated by\nConington in Book I, line 157, as \u201cthe family of \u00c6neas.\u201d Really used to\nmean the \u201chousehold\u201d of \u00c6neas, or followers of \u00c6neas, nation of \u00c6neas. So\nGreek artists of the early time called themselves D\u00e6dalides, or followers\nof D\u00e6dalus. One is reminded of the tale of Jacob with his \u201chousehold\u201d\nmeeting Esau with his \u201chousehold.\u201d Indeed, the Romans themselves were\nsometimes called Romulides, followers of Romulus.\n\n[143] 51:25. =Dione.= Mother of Venus.\n\n[144] 52:13. =Gradivus.= Mars, god of war, who decides the issue of all\nbattles, and goes forth to war with giant strides. Gradivus is derived\nfrom a Latin word meaning to march, Mars was father of Romulus and Remus\nby Rhea Sylvia.\n\n[145] 53:11. =Manes.= The souls of the dead, also the spirit or shade of\na single person.\n\n[146] 53:16. =Farewell call.= The cry _val\u0113_, made three times at the\nfuneral pyre as a final farewell to the dead.\n\n[147] 53:35. =Thymbra.= A city near Troy having a famous temple of Apollo.\n\n[148] 64:35. =Gnossus.= A common name for Crete, from one of its towns.\n\n[149] 55:4. =Idomeneus.= A king of Crete, leader of the Cretan forces\nagainst Troy. On his return to Crete, in accordance with a vow, he\nsacrificed his son to the gods. Because of the pestilence that followed\nthis act, the Cretans banished Idomeneus.\n\n[150] 56:17. =Hesperia.= Land of the evening star, or western land,\nItaly. Also called Ausonia.\n\n[151] 56:25. =Corythus.= Legendary ancestor of the Trojans.\n\n[152] 56:26. =Dicte.= A mountain in the eastern part of Crete.\n\n[153] 57:32. =Cel\u00e6no.= Queen of the Harpies, which were foul winged\nmonsters described as daughters of Electra and Oceanus.\n\n[154] 57:33. =Phineus.= King of Salmydessus in Thrace. He put out the\neyes of his son, and so was himself blinded by the gods, and the Harpies\nwere sent to torment him by carrying off or defiling all his food. The\nhouse of Phineus was shut to the Harpies when they were driven off by the\nArgonauts.\n\n[155] 59:5. =Tables.= Not so dreadful a portent as it seemed. See page\n153.\n\n[156] 59:18. =Zacynthos.= The island Zante.\n\n[157] 59:29. =Actium.= Actium is introduced here because of the\nepoch-making battle of Actium between Augustus and Antony, and the fact\nthat Augustus, after the victory, initiated games there.\n\n[158] 60:5. =Ph\u00e6acian.= The island Corfu.\n\n[159] 61:4. =Daughter.= Polyxene, sacrificed at the tomb of Achilles.\n\n[160] 61:11. =Hermione.= Granddaughter of Leda, daughter of Menelaus and\nHelen; had been betrothed in Menelaus\u2019 absence to Orestes. Menelaus, not\nknowing this, gave her to Pyrrhus Neoptolemus, Achilles\u2019 son.\n\n[161] 61:36. =Sc\u00e6an gate.= Famous gate of Troy.\n\n[162] 63:4. =Circe.= The famous sorceress, who by her magic cake turned\nmen into animals. She was called \u00c6\u00e6an, from \u00c6a, a city in Colchis, in\nAsia Minor, famous for its magic. Circe came from Colchis. Her island is\nfabled to have become a promontory of Latium.\n\n[163] 64:5. =Scylla and Charybdis.= Whirlpools, bordering the straits of\nMessina, dangerous to the ancient navigator. This is the description of\nScylla used by Milton in describing one of the guardians of the gate of\nHell.\n\n[164] 64:15. =Trinacrian.= Sicilian. The word is of Greek origin, and\nsignifies triangular, referring to the contour of Sicily. Pachynus itself\nwas the southeastern point of Sicily, the modern Capo di Passaro.\n\n[165] 66:8. =Astyanax.= Son of Hector and Andromache, who perished in the\nsack of Troy.\n\n[166] 67:8. =Aurora.= Goddess of the dawn. Wife of Tithonus.\n\n[167] 68:32. =Enceladus.= One of the giants who was defeated by Jupiter\nand imprisoned in a burning cave beneath Mount \u00c6tna. See Longfellow\u2019s\n_Enceladus_.\n\n \u201cUnder Mount Etna he lies,\n It is slumber, it is not death;\n For he struggles at times to arise,\n And above him the lurid skies\n Are hot with his fiery breath.\u201d\n\nAll this region, as has been newly shown by the late terrible earthquake,\nis peculiarly subject to seismic disturbances.\n\n[168] 72:17. =Arethusa.= According to fable, pursued by Alpheus,\nriver-god of Elis in Greece, was turned into a subterranean river, still\npursued by the river-god under the \u00c6gean until she emerged harmoniously\nblent with her pursuer in the famous fountain of Ortygia. Shelley uses\nthe legend as follows in his _Arethusa_:\u2014\n\n \u201cAnd now from their fountains\n In Enna\u2019s mountains,\n Down one vale where the morning basks,\n Like friends once parted\n Grown single-hearted,\n They ply their watery tasks.\n At sunrise they leap\n From their cradles steep\n In the cave of the shelving hill;\n At noontide they flow\n Through the woods below\n And the meadows of asphodel;\n And at night they sleep\n In the rocking deep\n Beneath the Ortygian shore:\u2014\n Like spirits that lie\n In the azure sky\n Where they love but live no more.\u201d\n\n\nBOOK IV\n\nThis portion of the _\u00c6neid_ was written when the memory of Antony and\nCleopatra was still fresh, and many traits of royal, imperious Dido seem\nsuggestive of the Egyptian queen. Cf. Shakespeare\u2019s _Cleopatra_, and\nChaucer\u2019s _Legend of Good Women_.\n\n[169] 74:8. =Dawn-goddess.= Aurora, with Ph\u0153bus\u2019 torch. Apollo is\nconstantly identified with the sun-god.\n\n[170] 75:3. =Erebus.= God of darkness, son of Chaos and brother of Night.\nSynonymous with darkness, especially that of the underworld.\n\n[171] 76:5. =Ly\u00e6us.= Bacchus. As the god that makes men unbend and frees\nthem from care, he is called Father Ly\u00e6us.\n\n[172] 78:9. =Hymen.= God of marriage.\n\n[173] 79:24. =Fame.= Cf. Bacon, _Fragment of an Essay of Fame_. \u201cThe\npoets make Fame a monster. They describe her in part finely and\nelegantly, and in part gravely and sententiously. They say, look how many\nfeathers she hath, so many eyes she hath underneath; so many tongues; so\nmany voices; she pricks up so many ears. This is a flourish; there follow\nexcellent parables; as that she gathereth strength in going; that she\ngoeth upon the ground, and yet hideth her head in the clouds, that in the\nday-time she sitteth in a watch-tower, and flieth most by night; that she\nmingleth things done with things not yet done, and that she is a terror\nto great cities.\u201d\n\n[174] 79:31. =C\u0153us.= One of the Titans; was father of Latona.\n\n[175] 80:34. =M\u00e6onian cap.= M\u00e6onia, part of Lydia, Asia Minor. Since\nLydia and Phrygia were adjacent, M\u00e6onian = Phrygian = Trojan.\n\n[176] 81:15. =The laws.= Rome, the world\u2019s lawgiver.\n\n[177] 83:18. =M\u00e6nad.= M\u00e6nads, or Bacchantes, women worshipping Bacchus in\nwild and orgiastic fashion in the woods or on mountain slopes of Cith\u00e6ron.\n\n[178] 84:19. =Elissa.= Dido.\n\n[179] 84:31. =Grynean.= Refers to oracle of Apollo at Gryneum.\n\n[180] 89:29. =Hecate.= Diana, moon-goddess, is identified with Hecate,\nalso moon-goddess. As goddess of cross-roads, Hecate was called Trivia,\nand is represented by three statues standing back to back. Hecate is\nespecially a goddess of the underworld and of witchcraft.\n\n[181] 90:28. =Laomedon.= The father of Priam. He was notorious for his\ntrickery and broken promises. Hence Trojans in a derogatory, scornful\nsense were termed race of Laomedon.\n\n[182] 91:38. =Tithonus.= Son of Laomedon, husband of Aurora.\n\n[183] 95:10. =Iris.= Goddess of the rainbow, the messenger of Juno.\n\n[184] 95:14. =Proserpine.= Daughter of Ceres, wife of Pluto, and hence\nqueen of underworld.\n\n\nBOOK V\n\n\u00c6neas sees the flames of Dido\u2019s pyre and guesses their meaning. In\nSicily, he institutes funeral games to Anchises. Compare funeral games\nof Patroclus in 23d book of _Iliad_. The contest of the ships and the\nequestrian exhibition are wholly original, however. The burning of the\nfleet was part of an old Trojan legend.\n\n[185] 99:8. =Acheron\u2019s prison.= The underworld.\n\n[186] 99:14. =Phaethon.= The sun-god.\n\n[187] 99:23. =Talent.= A weight, not coin, of silver or gold. The Attic\nsilver talent was worth over $1000.\n\n[188] 103:2. =Feel that they are thought strong.= The translation here\nis poor, the correct rendering being, \u201cThey can, because they think they\ncan.\u201d Virgil\u2019s is a classical expression of the power of belief.\n\n[189] 103:12. =Portunus=, a god of harbors, is here associated with the\nother divinities of the deep.\n\n[190] 103:24. =The royal boy.= Ganymede, a favorite subject of art.\n\n[191] 106:38. =Amycus.= A famous boxer of Bebrycii killed by Pollux.\n\n[192] 107:35. =Eryx.= A Sicilian king, son of Venus; was killed by\nHercules in a boxing contest.\n\n[193] 113:8. =Labyrinth in Crete.= The Labyrinth, a maze built by D\u00e6dalus\nfor King Minos at Gnossus in Crete to contain the Minotaur.\n\n[194] 113:25. =Solemn.= Sacred festival, required each year.\n\n[195] 117:20. =Dis.= Ruler of the underworld, variously called Orcus,\nAcheron, Erebus, Avernus. Dis, or Pluto, brother of Jupiter, is called\nJupiter Stygius.\n\n[196] 117:22. =Tartarus.= The abode of the wicked in the underworld.\n\n[197] 117:24. =Elysium.= The abode of the good in the underworld.\n\n[198] 120:11. =Glaucus.= A prophetic sea-god, said to be completely\nincrusted by \u201cshellfish, seaweed, and stones,\u201d so that he is used by\nPlato (_Rep._ X, p. 116) as the image of a soul incrusted with sin.\n\n[199] 120:12. =Ino\u2019s Pal\u00e6mon.= Ino with his son Pal\u00e6mon were transformed\ninto sea divinities. The following names are of sea divinities.\n\n[200] 121:7. =Lethe.= A river of the underworld whose waters bring\nforgetfulness. Styx. The main river in the underworld.\n\n[201] 121:17. =Sirens\u2019 isle.= The Sirens were monsters with heads of\nwomen and bodies of birds who dwelt on some rocks off the Campanian\ncoast, by the bay of Naples. Their sweet singing enticed mariners on to\nthe rocks to be destroyed.\n\n[202] 121:24. =Naked corpse.= Burial thought essential to spirit\u2019s peace.\n\n\nBOOK VI\n\nVisit of \u00c6neas to Anchises in the world of the dead. Much of the\nphilosophy is Stoic pantheism. The theory of the vision appears to\ninclude the Pythagorean doctrine of metempsychosis. Ulysses in _Odyssey_,\nBook XI, visited the world of shades.\n\n[203] 122:11. =Sibyl.= Through the Cum\u00e6an Sibyl, De\u00efphobe, as the guide\nof \u00c6neas through the lower world, Virgil exalts the use of the Sibylline\nBooks in the Roman religion. It is interesting to note that the position\ngiven the Sibyl, as guide of \u00c6neas, Dante in turn gives to Virgil as his\nown guide in the lower world.\n\n[204] 122:24. =Sons of Cecrops.= The Athenians yearly surrendered seven\nyouths and seven maidens to be sent to Crete to be devoured by the\nMinotaur, because the Athenians, through envy of his success in the\npublic games, had murdered Androgeus, son of Minos, king of Crete, and\nMinos had made this the condition of peace.\n\n[205] 122:31. =The edifice= is the Labyrinth, in which the Minotaur was\nconfined.\n\n[206] 123:5. =Icarus.= Son of D\u00e6dalus, who sought to escape with his\nfather from Crete, but flew so near the sun that the wax by which his\nwings were fastened on was melted, and he fell and perished in the sea\ncalled from his name Icarian.\n\n[207] 123:35. =Dardan.= Trojan. The Trojans are called by Virgil\nsometimes descendants of Dardanus, sometimes of Laomedon, sometimes of\nAnchises, again of \u00c6neas, now Teucrians, and now Phrygians.\n\n[208] 123:36. =\u00c6acides.= A patronymic, applied by Virgil, now to\nAchilles, as here, now to Pyrrhus Neoptolemus, meaning descendant of\n\u00c6acus.\n\n[209] 124:35. =Dorian.= Greek.\n\n[210] 125:36. =Alcides.= Hercules.\n\n[211] 126:10. =Cocytus.= A river of the underworld.\n\n[212] 127:29. =Fissile.= Easy to split.\n\n[213] 129:19. =Aornos.= Greek word, meaning without birds.\n\n[214] 129:28. =Furies.= The Furies were the goddesses of Vengeance, named\nAllecto, Meg\u00e6ra, and Tisiphon\u00eb.\n\n[215] 130:31. =Briareus.= Giant, son of Earth.\n\n[216] 130:31. =Lerna.= A lake and marsh near Argos in Greece. Here dwelt\nthe Hydra, a nine-headed monster, whose breath was poisonous. Hercules\nfinally slew it. Possibly an idealized tradition of the draining of the\nmarsh Lerna.\n\n[217] 130:32. =Chim\u00e6ra.= A fabulous monster which breathed forth fire.\nIn front it was a lion, in the hinder part a dragon, and in the middle a\ngoat. The monster was slain by Bellerophon.\n\n[218] 130:33. =Gorgons.= Three mythical women of Libya, having some\nresemblance to the Furies. The chief was Medusa, slain by Perseus. Her\nhead with serpent hair was placed in the shield or \u00c6gis of Jove and\nMinerva.\n\n[219] 134:31. =Cerberus.= Three-headed dog that guarded the entrance to\nthe underworld.\n\n[220] 136:10. =Minos.= King of Crete; after death became one of the\njudges in the underworld.\n\n[221] 136:19. =Marpessa.= The mountain in Paros which contained the\nfamous marble quarries, Marpesian, Parian.\n\n[222] 138:12. =\u00c6olus.= Ulysses was descended from \u00c6olus.\n\n[223] 140:20. =Ixion.= Ixion was father of Pirithous, king of the\nLapith\u00e6. Examples of men who have incurred the wrath of the gods.\n\n[224] 141:31. =Priest.= Orpheus. Legendary poet and musician. \u2019Twas he\nwho so charmed Proserpine that she allowed him to lead forth from the\nlower world his wife Eurydice.\n\n[225] 142:9. =Eridanus.= A river issuing from the underworld,\nvariously identified by ancient writers with the Po, the Rhine, or the\nRhone,\u2014usually with the Po.\n\n[226] 143:26. =Lethe.= Quaffing its waters brought forgetfulness. See\npage 144.\n\n[227] 146:1. =Berecyntian mother.= Cybele, a Phrygian goddess, worshipped\nas mother of the gods. So called from Berecyntus, a mountain in Phrygia,\nsacred to Cybele.\n\n[228] 146:37. =Fasces.= The bundles of rods from which an axe protruded,\ncarried by the lictor before certain magistrates when they appeared in\npublic. Symbol of authority.\n\n[229] 147:5. =Drusi.= A Roman family mentioned here in compliment to\ntheir descendent Livia, wife of Augustus.\n\n[230] 147:5. =Decii.= The Decii, father, son, and grandson, solemnly\ndevoted themselves to death, each to win a doubtful battle, in the wars\nof the Latins, of the Samnites, and of Pyrrhus respectively.\n\n[231] 147:5. =Torquatus.= (T. Manlius) won his title (with a gold\nneck-chain) by slaying a gigantic Gaul.\n\n[232] 147:6. =Camillus=, returning from banishment, drove back the\nvictorious Gauls, winning back the captured standards.\n\n[233] 147:12. =Father-in-law and son-in-law.= C\u00e6sar and Pompey.\n\n[234] 147:30. =Fabii.= Quintus Fabius wore out the strength of Hannibal,\nconstantly refusing to be drawn into a pitched battle. Hence \u201cFabian\npolicy\u201d means delay.\n\n[235] 148:10. =Quirinus.= Romulus.\n\n[236] 149:7. =Laurentian.= Laurentum, a town on the coast of Latium, a\ncity of King Latinus.\n\n[237] 149:14. =Gate of ivory.=\n\n \u201cA recent writer has reminded us that dreams after midnight\n were accounted true both by the Greeks and the Romans. Hence\n he concluded that Virgil, in making \u00c6neas issue by the gate\n of false dreams, is indicating that \u00c6neas comes forth from\n the underworld before midnight. As to the time of \u00c6neas\u2019 stay\n in the lower world see lines 255, 535-539. He is in the land\n of the shades from dawn until nearly midnight.\u201d\u2014KNAPP.\n\n \u201cBy those who think this book a symbolic exhibition of certain\n mysteries, the legend of the Gate, with the dismissal of \u00c6neas\n from the ivory one, is considered a warning that the language\n may not be taken literally, or understood except by the\n initiated.\u201d\u2014GREENOUGH.\n\n \u201cAnchises conducts \u00c6neas and the Sibyl to the ivory gate as\n the one which affords the easiest and quickest ascent to the\n upper world. They are thus saved the toil of ascending by the\n way they came, which, according to the words of the Sibyl, 128,\n 129, would have been a work of great labor.\u201d\u2014FRIEZE.\n\n\nBOOK VII\n\nArrival of \u00c6neas in Latium and commencement of hostilities between the\nLatins and Trojans.\n\n[238] 150:1. =Caieta.= \u00c6neas buries his nurse on a promontory of Latium\nwhich he called after her\u2014now called Gaeta.\n\n[239] 151:8. =Erato.= Name of one of the Muses.\n\n[240] 151:14. =Tyrrhenian.= The Tyrrheni were a people of Asia who had\nsettled in Etruria, a district north of Italy. Hence used synonymously\nfor Etrurian, Tuscan\u2014Italian. \u0152notrian is still another term.\n\n[241] 151:29. =Turnus.= Son of Daunus and the nymph Venilia, was king\nof the Rutulians, a people of Latium. He led the Italian forces against\n\u00c6neas, but was at last slain by \u00c6neas in single combat, as described in\nthe last of Book XII.\n\n[242] 153:19. =The eating of tables= was foretold by the Harpy and\nAnchises, in Book III, page 59.\n\n[243] 159:19. =Bellona.= Goddess of war and bloodshed, an old Italian\ndeity\u2014sister of Mars.\n\n[244] 159:26. =Allecto.= One of the Furies. Her sisters were Meg\u00e6ra and\nTisiphon\u00eb.\n\n[245] 160:11. =Amata.= Queen of Latium, wife of King Latinus.\n\n[246] 165:15-17. =Trivia\u2019s lake= (= Diana\u2019s), =Nar=, =Veline=.\n\n \u201cThe lake of Diana on the Alban Mount, far to the southeast of\n the Tiber, and the Nar and Velinus far to the northeast, i.e.\n the whole country around heard the sound. The lake of Diana is\n now called Lake Nemi, near Ariccia, 15 miles south of Rome. The\n river Nar runs between Umbria and the Sabine country, and falls\n into the Tiber. The lake Velinus was produced by the overflow\n of the river Velinus and was led into the Nar by a channel cut\n through a ledge of rock by the consul M. Curius Denatus, B.C.\n 270. This produced the celebrated fall of Terni.\u201d\u2014FRIEZE.\n\n[247] 168:7. =Janus.= An Italian god of beginnings and\ngateways\u2014two-headed, since gates fall two ways. Is especially the\nguardian of the gates of the temple of war.\n\n[248] 168:10. =Gabine cincture.= A peculiar way of adjusting the toga.\n\n[249] 169:6 to 175:18. For this portion, omitted in the prose version, we\nuse Conington\u2019s verse translation.\n\n\nBOOK VIII\n\nAlliance of \u00c6neas and Evander. Vulcan makes a shield for \u00c6neas.\n\n[250] 179:9. =Amphitryon\u2019s child.= Hercules\u2014the stepson of Amphitryon.\n\n[251] 180:12. =Maia.= Daughter of Atlas.\n\n[252] 181:3. =Pheneus.= A town of Arcadia.\n\n[253] 182:8. =Geryon.= A giant monster of Gades (Cadiz) in Spain, the\nkeeper of beautiful cattle. He was slain by Hercules, who took the cattle\nacross the Alps to the valley of the Tiber.\n\n[254] 182:36. =Tiryns.= In Argolis, the early home of Hercules.\n\n[255] 186:2. =Hests.= Commands.\n\n[256] 186:22. =\u00c6gis.= Famous shield of Jupiter (worn also by Minerva),\nbearing in the centre the baneful head of the Gorgon Medusa. The \u00c6gis\nwhen shaken wrought terror and dismay on the wearer\u2019s foes. The shaking\nwas accompanied by thunder and lightning\u2014thus the \u00c6gis was the symbol of\nthe whirlwind that drives the storm-cloud.\n\n[257] 189:19. =Lemnos.= An island in the \u00c6gean Sea, the home of Vulcan.\n\n[258] 194:21. =Cuishes.= Greaves, or leg coverings.\n\n[259] 198:12. =Cocles.= Horatius. See Macaulay\u2019s _Lays of Ancient Rome_.\n\n[260] 196:19. =Egyptian spouse.= Cleopatra.\n\n[261] 196:31. =Anubis.= An Egyptian god, with a dog\u2019s head.\n\n[262] 196:34. =Mavors.= Mars.\n\n[263] 197:2. =Saba.= In Arabia.\n\n\nBOOK IX\n\nThe attack of Turnus on the Trojan camp.\n\n[264] 198:5. =Child.= Iris.\n\n[265] 198:29. =Messapus.= A Tyrrhenian chief whose followers are from\nFescennium and other places on the right bank of the Tiber. See Book VII.\n\n[266] 203:19. =Wont.= Were wont.\n\n[267] 212:5. =Ravin.= Ravages.\n\n[268] 217:12. =Kid-stars.= The Kids were two stars in the hand of Auriga,\nthe setting of which in December was attended with heavy rains.\n\n[269] 217:24. =Padus.= The Po.\n\n[270] 217:24. =Athesis.= A river in northern Italy, now the Adige.\n\n[271] 218:22. =Prochyta.= A small island off the west of Campania, near\nthe promontory of Micenum.\n\n[272] 218:23. =Inarime.= An island off the Campanian coast, now Ischia.\n\n\nBOOK X\n\nCouncil of the gods.\n\n[273] 226:12. =Terebinth.= Turpentine tree.\n\n[274] 227:3. =Helicon.= A mountain of B\u0153otia sacred to Apollo and the\nMuses.\n\n\nBOOK XI\n\nFuneral honors to the dead. The truce broken by renewal of hostilities.\n\n[275] 257:27. =Arpi.= A town of Apulia.\n\n[276] 268:5. =The pillars of Proteus= are the island of Pharos and the\ncoast of Egypt, whither Menelaus was driven.\n\n[277] 258:8. =Monarch of Mycen\u00e6.= Agamemnon.\n\n[278] 262:16. =Myrmidons.= See page 325.\n\n[279] 263:11. =Camilla.= A warrior princess of the Volsci.\n\n[280] 264:10. =Coras.= See page 170.\n\n[281] 265:4. =Champaign.= Plain.\n\n\nBOOK XII\n\nFinal conflict between \u00c6neas and Turnus.\n\n[282] 279:29. =Orichalc.= Copper.\n\n[283] 280:24. =Vervain.= Verbena, leafy twig, sacred bough (of laurel,\nolive, myrtle, or cypress).\n\n[284] 288:18. =Dittany.= Herb growing on Mount Dicte in Crete.\n\n[285] 288:24. =Ambrosia.= Sustenance of immortal life, food of the gods,\nas nectar is their drink.\n\n[286] 296:12. =Holms.= Oaks, holm-oak, \u201cgreat scarlet oak.\u201d\n\n[287] 303:16. =Soul.= Cf. the Emperor Hadrian\u2019s _Address to his Soul_,\ntranslated by Byron, Prior, Pope, Merivale, Carnarvon, etc.\n\n \u201cSoul of mine, pretty one, flitting one,\n Guest and partner of my clay,\n Whither wilt thou hie away,\u2014\n Pallid one, rigid one, naked one\u2014\n Never to play again, never to play?\u201d\n\n \u2014MERIVALE.\n\n \u201cYes, thou goest, Spirit\u2014yes,\n In thy paleness, nakedness\u2014\n Mirth is banished,\n Jest hath vanished\n Into gloom and dreariness.\u201d\n\n \u2014CARNARVON.\n\n \u201cWee wan\u2019erin\u2019 winsome elf, my saul,\n Thou\u2019s made this clay long hoose an\u2019 hall,\n But whar, oh whar art now to dwall,\n Thy bield now bare?\n Gaun\u2019 flickterin\u2019 feckless, shiverin\u2019 caul,\n Nae cantrips mair.\u201d\n\n=Transcriber\u2019s Note:= Endnotes indicated by [o] are missing.\n\n\n\n\n\nINDEX TO NOTES\n\n\n Acanthus, 322.\n\n Acheron\u2019s prison, 333.\n\n Achilles, 309.\n\n Actium, 329.\n\n \u00c6acides, 311, 335.\n\n \u00c6gis, 340.\n\n \u00c6nead\u00e6, 327.\n\n \u00c6neas, 311.\n\n \u00c6olia, 309.\n\n \u00c6olus, 310, 336.\n\n Agenor, 319.\n\n Ajax, 309.\n\n Alba, 306.\n\n Alcides, 335.\n\n Allecto, 339.\n\n Amata, 339.\n\n Ambrosia, 342.\n\n Amphitryon\u2019s child, 340.\n\n Amycus, 333.\n\n Andromache, 326.\n\n Antandros, 327.\n\n Antenor, 316.\n\n Anubis, 340.\n\n Aornos, 335.\n\n Arethusa, 330.\n\n Argos, 307, 317.\n\n ARIOSTO, 305, 311.\n\n Arms, 305, 316.\n\n ARNOLD (Matthew), 321.\n\n Arpi, 342.\n\n Ascanius, 317.\n\n Assaracus, 317.\n\n Astyanax, 329.\n\n Athesis, 341.\n\n Atlas, 324.\n\n Atreus, sons of, 325.\n\n Aurora, 330.\n\n\n Bacchus, 324.\n\n BACON, 331.\n\n Barred, 316.\n\n Bees, 320.\n\n Bellona, 339.\n\n Berecyntian mother, 337.\n\n Bidding, 310.\n\n Biremes, 315.\n\n Bond, 310.\n\n Breath of life, 319.\n\n Briareus, 336.\n\n Byrsa, 319.\n\n\n Cable, 315.\n\n Caieta, 338.\n\n Calchas, 325.\n\n Camilla, 342.\n\n Camillus, 337.\n\n CARNARVON, 343.\n\n Cassandra, 326.\n\n Cavern, 309.\n\n Cecrops, sons of, 335.\n\n Cel\u00e6no, 328.\n\n Cerberus, 336.\n\n Champaign, 342.\n\n CHAUCER, 316.\n\n Child, 341.\n\n Chilled, 311.\n\n Chim\u00e6ra, 336.\n\n Circe, 329.\n\n Cocles, 340.\n\n Cocytus, 335.\n\n C\u0153us, 332.\n\n COLERIDGE, 323.\n\n Confound, 312.\n\n CONINGTON (verse), 339.\n\n Coras, 342.\n\n Corythus, 328.\n\n Crest, 312.\n\n Creusa, 326.\n\n Cuishes, 340.\n\n Cupid, 323.\n\n Cyclops, 315.\n\n Cymotho\u00eb and Triton, 313.\n\n Cythera, 316.\n\n\n Danaan, 308.\n\n DANTE, 324.\n\n Dardan, 335.\n\n Daughter, 329.\n\n Dawn-goddess, 331.\n\n Daylight, 310.\n\n Decii, 337.\n\n DENHAM, 323.\n\n Diana, 321.\n\n Dicte, 328.\n\n Dido, 318.\n\n Dione, 327.\n\n Dis, 333.\n\n Dittany, 342.\n\n Dorian, 335.\n\n Drusi, 337.\n\n DRYDEN, 313, 320, 322, 324.\n\n\n Eating of tables, 329, 339.\n\n Edifice, 335.\n\n Egyptian spouse, 340.\n\n Elissa, 332.\n\n Elysium, 334.\n\n Enceladus, 330.\n\n Enchased, 322.\n\n Erato, 338.\n\n Erebus, 331.\n\n Eridanus, 337.\n\n Eryx, 333.\n\n Ether, 315.\n\n Eurus, 313.\n\n\n Fabii, 337.\n\n FALCONER, 312, 316.\n\n Fate\u2019s, 307.\n\n Fall, 310.\n\n Fame, 331.\n\n Farewell call, 328.\n\n Fasces, 337.\n\n Father-in-law and Son-in-law, 337.\n\n Feel that they are thought strong, 333.\n\n Fissile, 335.\n\n Flame, 327.\n\n FRIEZE, 338.\n\n Furies, 336.\n\n\n Gabine cincture, 339.\n\n Ganymede, 308.\n\n Gate of ivory, 338.\n\n Gazing, 323.\n\n Geryon, 340.\n\n Glaucus, 334.\n\n Gnossus, 328.\n\n Goddess, 319.\n\n GOLDSMITH, 313, 314, 324.\n\n Gorgons, 336.\n\n Gradivus, 327.\n\n GRAY, 319, 320, 322.\n\n GREENOUGH, 338.\n\n Grynean, 332.\n\n\n Hate, 306.\n\n Haven, 314.\n\n Heart-sick, 315.\n\n Hecate, 332.\n\n Hector, 311, 317, 326.\n\n Hecuba, 326.\n\n Helen, 323.\n\n Helicon, 341.\n\n Hermione, 329.\n\n Hesperia, 328.\n\n Hests, 340.\n\n Ho, 318-319.\n\n HOLMES, 313.\n\n Holms, 342.\n\n HOMER, 305, 308, 311, 312, 315.\n\n Hope, 319.\n\n Hymen, 331.\n\n\n Icarus, 335.\n\n Idomeneus, 328.\n\n Ilion, 310.\n\n Inarime, 341.\n\n Ino\u2019s Pal\u00e6mon, 334.\n\n Iris, 332.\n\n Ixion, 336.\n\n\n Janus, 339.\n\n Jove, 309, 320.\n\n Juno, 306.\n\n\n KEATS, 313, 319.\n\n Kid-stars, 341.\n\n KNAPP, 338.\n\n\n Labyrinth in Crete, 333.\n\n Lamps, 324.\n\n LANDOR, 322.\n\n Laocoon, 325.\n\n Laomedon, 332.\n\n Lap, 323.\n\n Latian, 306.\n\n Latona, 321.\n\n Laurentian, 337.\n\n Lavinium, 316.\n\n Laws, 332.\n\n Learning, 322.\n\n Lemnos, 340.\n\n Lerna, 336.\n\n Lethe, 334, 337.\n\n Libya, 307.\n\n LONGFELLOW, 330.\n\n Ly\u00e6us, 331.\n\n Lycurgus, 327.\n\n\n M\u00e6nad, 332.\n\n M\u00e6onian cap, 332.\n\n Maia, 318, 340.\n\n Manes, 328.\n\n MARLOWE, 316, 317, 319.\n\n Marpessa, 336.\n\n Mavors, 341.\n\n Memnon, 321.\n\n MERIVALE, 343.\n\n Messapus, 341.\n\n MILTON, 305, 306, 307, 309, 310, 313, 314, 315, 317, 318, 320.\n\n Minos, 336.\n\n Monarch of Mycen\u00e6, 342.\n\n Much, 306.\n\n Muse, 306.\n\n Mycen\u00e6, 317, 342.\n\n Myrmidons, 325, 342.\n\n\n Naked Corpse, 334.\n\n NASH, 316, 317, 319.\n\n Neptune, 312.\n\n Nereus, 326.\n\n\n Orichalc, 342.\n\n Orion, 322.\n\n\n Padus, 341.\n\n Palladium, 325.\n\n Pallas, 309, 321.\n\n Paphos, 320.\n\n Paris, 307.\n\n Pelops, 325.\n\n Penthesilea, 321.\n\n Pergamus, 321.\n\n Ph\u00e6acian, 329.\n\n Phaethon, 333.\n\n Pheneus, 340.\n\n Phineus, 328.\n\n Ph\u0153bus, 325.\n\n Ph\u0153bus\u2019 sister, 319.\n\n Phthia, 317.\n\n Piety, 316.\n\n Proteus, pillars of, 342.\n\n Poison, 323.\n\n POPE, 306, 324.\n\n Portunus, 333.\n\n Priest, 336.\n\n Prochyta, 341.\n\n Proserpine, 332.\n\n Punic, 318.\n\n Pyrrhus, 326.\n\n\n Quirinus, 318, 337.\n\n\n Ravin, 341.\n\n Remembered, 315.\n\n Rock\u2019s, 309.\n\n Routs, 313.\n\n Royal boy, 333.\n\n Rush forth, 310.\n\n Rutulians, 316.\n\n\n Saba, 341.\n\n Sab\u00e6an incense, 320.\n\n Samos, 307.\n\n Sarpedon, 312.\n\n Saturn, 307.\n\n Sc\u00e6an gate, 329.\n\n Scylla, 315.\n\n Scylla and Charybdis, 329.\n\n SHAKESPEARE, 312, 319, 322.\n\n SHELLEY, 309, 312, 316, 320, 330.\n\n Shone, 322.\n\n Side-jointings, 312.\n\n Sibyl, 334.\n\n Sidon, 320.\n\n Simois, 312.\n\n Sirens\u2019 isle, 334.\n\n Slumber, 323.\n\n Solemn, 333.\n\n Song, 324.\n\n Soul, 342.\n\n SPENSER, 306, 307, 308, 310, 314, 317, 318, 321, 322, 323.\n\n Stars, 312, 317.\n\n Styx, 334.\n\n Syrtes, 312.\n\n\n Talent, 333.\n\n Tartarus, 334.\n\n TASSO, 305, 310, 314, 315.\n\n Tears, 321.\n\n TENNYSON, 308, 310, 321, 323.\n\n Terebinth, 341.\n\n Teucrians, 309.\n\n Thrice, 311.\n\n Thymbra, 328.\n\n Tiryns, 340.\n\n Tithonus, 332.\n\n Torquatus, 337.\n\n Trident, 313.\n\n Trinacrian, 329.\n\n Trivia\u2019s lake, 339.\n\n Troilus, 321.\n\n Troy, 306.\n\n Turnus, 339.\n\n Tydeus\u2019 son, 311.\n\n Tyndareus, 327.\n\n Typh\u0153an, 323.\n\n Tyre, 306.\n\n Tyrrhene Sea, 310.\n\n Tyrrhenian, 338.\n\n\n Ulysses, 325.\n\n\n Vervain, 342.\n\n Vesta, 318, 326.\n\n\n Walk, 320.\n\n WALLER, 311.\n\n War, 307, 317.\n\n Weapon, 313.\n\n Wings, 320.\n\n Woman, 319.\n\n Wont, 341.\n\n WORDSWORTH, 320, 321.\n\n\n Xanthus, 321.\n\n\n Zacynthos, 329.\n\n Printed in the United States of America.","title":"The \u00c6neid of Virgil translated into English prose","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":127861}