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diff --git a/228-0.txt b/228-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e16890e --- /dev/null +++ b/228-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14492 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 228 *** + + + + + THE AENEID + + + by Virgil + + Translated by John Dryden + + Contents + + BOOK I + + BOOK II + + BOOK III + + BOOK IV + + BOOK V + + BOOK VI + + BOOK VII + + BOOK VIII + + BOOK IX + + BOOK X + + BOOK XI + + BOOK XII + + + + + BOOK I + + THE ARGUMENT. + + + The Trojans, after a seven years’ voyage, set sail for Italy, but + are overtaken by a dreadful storm, which Aeolus raises at the + request of Juno. The tempest sinks one, and scatters the rest. + Neptune drives off the winds, and calms the sea. Aeneas, with his + own ship and six more, arrives safe at an African port. Venus + complains to Jupiter of her son’s misfortunes. Jupiter comforts + her, and sends Mercury to procure him a kind reception among the + Carthaginians. Aeneas, going out to discover the country, meets + his mother in the shape of a huntress, who conveys him in a cloud + to Carthage, where he sees his friends whom he thought lost, and + receives a kind entertainment from the queen. Dido, by device of + Venus, begins to have a passion for him, and, after some + discourse with him, desires the history of his adventures since + the siege of Troy, which is the subject of the two following + books. + + + Arms, and the man I sing, who, forc’d by fate, + And haughty Juno’s unrelenting hate, + Expell’d and exil’d, left the Trojan shore. + Long labours, both by sea and land, he bore, + And in the doubtful war, before he won + The Latian realm, and built the destin’d town; + His banish’d gods restor’d to rites divine, + And settled sure succession in his line, + From whence the race of Alban fathers come, + And the long glories of majestic Rome. + O Muse! the causes and the crimes relate; + What goddess was provok’d, and whence her hate; + For what offence the Queen of Heav’n began + To persecute so brave, so just a man; + Involv’d his anxious life in endless cares, + Expos’d to wants, and hurried into wars! + Can heav’nly minds such high resentment show, + Or exercise their spite in human woe? + + Against the Tiber’s mouth, but far away, + An ancient town was seated on the sea; + A Tyrian colony; the people made + Stout for the war, and studious of their trade: + Carthage the name; belov’d by Juno more + Than her own Argos, or the Samian shore. + Here stood her chariot; here, if Heav’n were kind, + The seat of awful empire she design’d. + Yet she had heard an ancient rumour fly, + (Long cited by the people of the sky,) + That times to come should see the Trojan race + Her Carthage ruin, and her tow’rs deface; + Nor thus confin’d, the yoke of sov’reign sway + Should on the necks of all the nations lay. + She ponder’d this, and fear’d it was in fate; + Nor could forget the war she wag’d of late + For conqu’ring Greece against the Trojan state. + Besides, long causes working in her mind, + And secret seeds of envy, lay behind; + Deep graven in her heart the doom remain’d + Of partial Paris, and her form disdain’d; + The grace bestow’d on ravish’d Ganymed, + Electra’s glories, and her injur’d bed. + Each was a cause alone; and all combin’d + To kindle vengeance in her haughty mind. + For this, far distant from the Latian coast + She drove the remnants of the Trojan host; + And sev’n long years th’ unhappy wand’ring train + Were toss’d by storms, and scatter’d thro’ the main. + Such time, such toil, requir’d the Roman name, + Such length of labour for so vast a frame. + + Now scarce the Trojan fleet, with sails and oars, + Had left behind the fair Sicilian shores, + Ent’ring with cheerful shouts the wat’ry reign, + And plowing frothy furrows in the main; + When, lab’ring still with endless discontent, + The Queen of Heav’n did thus her fury vent: + + “Then am I vanquish’d? must I yield?” said she, + “And must the Trojans reign in Italy? + So Fate will have it, and Jove adds his force; + Nor can my pow’r divert their happy course. + Could angry Pallas, with revengeful spleen, + The Grecian navy burn, and drown the men? + She, for the fault of one offending foe, + The bolts of Jove himself presum’d to throw: + With whirlwinds from beneath she toss’d the ship, + And bare expos’d the bosom of the deep; + Then, as an eagle gripes the trembling game, + The wretch, yet hissing with her father’s flame, + She strongly seiz’d, and with a burning wound + Transfix’d, and naked, on a rock she bound. + But I, who walk in awful state above, + The majesty of heav’n, the sister wife of Jove, + For length of years my fruitless force employ + Against the thin remains of ruin’d Troy! + What nations now to Juno’s pow’r will pray, + Or off’rings on my slighted altars lay?” + + Thus rag’d the goddess; and, with fury fraught. + The restless regions of the storms she sought, + Where, in a spacious cave of living stone, + The tyrant Aeolus, from his airy throne, + With pow’r imperial curbs the struggling winds, + And sounding tempests in dark prisons binds. + This way and that th’ impatient captives tend, + And, pressing for release, the mountains rend. + High in his hall th’ undaunted monarch stands, + And shakes his scepter, and their rage commands; + Which did he not, their unresisted sway + Would sweep the world before them in their way; + Earth, air, and seas thro’ empty space would roll, + And heav’n would fly before the driving soul. + In fear of this, the Father of the Gods + Confin’d their fury to those dark abodes, + And lock’d ’em safe within, oppress’d with mountain loads; + Impos’d a king, with arbitrary sway, + To loose their fetters, or their force allay. + To whom the suppliant queen her pray’rs address’d, + And thus the tenor of her suit express’d: + + “O Aeolus! for to thee the King of Heav’n + The pow’r of tempests and of winds has giv’n; + Thy force alone their fury can restrain, + And smooth the waves, or swell the troubled main. + A race of wand’ring slaves, abhorr’d by me, + With prosp’rous passage cut the Tuscan sea; + To fruitful Italy their course they steer, + And for their vanquish’d gods design new temples there. + Raise all thy winds; with night involve the skies; + Sink or disperse my fatal enemies. + Twice sev’n, the charming daughters of the main, + Around my person wait, and bear my train: + Succeed my wish, and second my design; + The fairest, Deiopeia, shall be thine, + And make thee father of a happy line.” + + To this the god: “’Tis yours, O queen, to will + The work which duty binds me to fulfil. + These airy kingdoms, and this wide command, + Are all the presents of your bounteous hand: + Yours is my sov’reign’s grace; and, as your guest, + I sit with gods at their celestial feast; + Raise tempests at your pleasure, or subdue; + Dispose of empire, which I hold from you.” + + He said, and hurl’d against the mountain side + His quiv’ring spear, and all the god applied. + The raging winds rush thro’ the hollow wound, + And dance aloft in air, and skim along the ground; + Then, settling on the sea, the surges sweep, + Raise liquid mountains, and disclose the deep. + South, East, and West with mix’d confusion roar, + And roll the foaming billows to the shore. + The cables crack; the sailors’ fearful cries + Ascend; and sable night involves the skies; + And heav’n itself is ravish’d from their eyes. + Loud peals of thunder from the poles ensue; + Then flashing fires the transient light renew; + The face of things a frightful image bears, + And present death in various forms appears. + Struck with unusual fright, the Trojan chief, + With lifted hands and eyes, invokes relief; + And, “Thrice and four times happy those,” he cried, + “That under Ilian walls before their parents died! + Tydides, bravest of the Grecian train! + Why could not I by that strong arm be slain, + And lie by noble Hector on the plain, + Or great Sarpedon, in those bloody fields + Where Simois rolls the bodies and the shields + Of heroes, whose dismember’d hands yet bear + The dart aloft, and clench the pointed spear!” + + Thus while the pious prince his fate bewails, + Fierce Boreas drove against his flying sails, + And rent the sheets; the raging billows rise, + And mount the tossing vessels to the skies: + Nor can the shiv’ring oars sustain the blow; + The galley gives her side, and turns her prow; + While those astern, descending down the steep, + Thro’ gaping waves behold the boiling deep. + Three ships were hurried by the southern blast, + And on the secret shelves with fury cast. + Those hidden rocks th’ Ausonian sailors knew: + They call’d them Altars, when they rose in view, + And show’d their spacious backs above the flood. + Three more fierce Eurus, in his angry mood, + Dash’d on the shallows of the moving sand, + And in mid ocean left them moor’d a-land. + Orontes’ bark, that bore the Lycian crew, + (A horrid sight!) ev’n in the hero’s view, + From stem to stern by waves was overborne: + The trembling pilot, from his rudder torn, + Was headlong hurl’d; thrice round the ship was toss’d, + Then bulg’d at once, and in the deep was lost; + And here and there above the waves were seen + Arms, pictures, precious goods, and floating men. + The stoutest vessel to the storm gave way, + And suck’d thro’ loosen’d planks the rushing sea. + Ilioneus was her chief: Alethes old, + Achates faithful, Abas young and bold, + Endur’d not less; their ships, with gaping seams, + Admit the deluge of the briny streams. + + Meantime imperial Neptune heard the sound + Of raging billows breaking on the ground. + Displeas’d, and fearing for his wat’ry reign, + He rear’d his awful head above the main, + Serene in majesty; then roll’d his eyes + Around the space of earth, and seas, and skies. + He saw the Trojan fleet dispers’d, distress’d, + By stormy winds and wintry heav’n oppress’d. + Full well the god his sister’s envy knew, + And what her aims and what her arts pursue. + He summon’d Eurus and the western blast, + And first an angry glance on both he cast; + Then thus rebuk’d: “Audacious winds! from whence + This bold attempt, this rebel insolence? + Is it for you to ravage seas and land, + Unauthoriz’d by my supreme command? + To raise such mountains on the troubled main? + Whom I—but first ’tis fit the billows to restrain; + And then you shall be taught obedience to my reign. + Hence! to your lord my royal mandate bear, + The realms of ocean and the fields of air + Are mine, not his. By fatal lot to me + The liquid empire fell, and trident of the sea. + His pow’r to hollow caverns is confin’d: + There let him reign, the jailer of the wind, + With hoarse commands his breathing subjects call, + And boast and bluster in his empty hall.” + He spoke; and, while he spoke, he smooth’d the sea, + Dispell’d the darkness, and restor’d the day. + Cymothoe, Triton, and the sea-green train + Of beauteous nymphs, the daughters of the main, + Clear from the rocks the vessels with their hands: + The god himself with ready trident stands, + And opes the deep, and spreads the moving sands; + Then heaves them off the shoals. Where’er he guides + His finny coursers and in triumph rides, + The waves unruffle and the sea subsides. + As, when in tumults rise th’ ignoble crowd, + Mad are their motions, and their tongues are loud; + And stones and brands in rattling volleys fly, + And all the rustic arms that fury can supply: + If then some grave and pious man appear, + They hush their noise, and lend a list’ning ear; + He soothes with sober words their angry mood, + And quenches their innate desire of blood: + So, when the Father of the Flood appears, + And o’er the seas his sov’reign trident rears, + Their fury falls: he skims the liquid plains, + High on his chariot, and, with loosen’d reins, + Majestic moves along, and awful peace maintains. + The weary Trojans ply their shatter’d oars + To nearest land, and make the Libyan shores. + + Within a long recess there lies a bay: + An island shades it from the rolling sea, + And forms a port secure for ships to ride; + Broke by the jutting land, on either side, + In double streams the briny waters glide. + Betwixt two rows of rocks a sylvan scene + Appears above, and groves for ever green: + A grot is form’d beneath, with mossy seats, + To rest the Nereids, and exclude the heats. + Down thro’ the crannies of the living walls + The crystal streams descend in murm’ring falls: + No haulsers need to bind the vessels here, + Nor bearded anchors; for no storms they fear. + Sev’n ships within this happy harbour meet, + The thin remainders of the scatter’d fleet. + The Trojans, worn with toils, and spent with woes, + Leap on the welcome land, and seek their wish’d repose. + + First, good Achates, with repeated strokes + Of clashing flints, their hidden fire provokes: + Short flame succeeds; a bed of wither’d leaves + The dying sparkles in their fall receives: + Caught into life, in fiery fumes they rise, + And, fed with stronger food, invade the skies. + The Trojans, dropping wet, or stand around + The cheerful blaze, or lie along the ground: + Some dry their corn, infected with the brine, + Then grind with marbles, and prepare to dine. + Aeneas climbs the mountain’s airy brow, + And takes a prospect of the seas below, + If Capys thence, or Antheus he could spy, + Or see the streamers of Caicus fly. + No vessels were in view; but, on the plain, + Three beamy stags command a lordly train + Of branching heads: the more ignoble throng + Attend their stately steps, and slowly graze along. + He stood; and, while secure they fed below, + He took the quiver and the trusty bow + Achates us’d to bear: the leaders first + He laid along, and then the vulgar pierc’d; + Nor ceas’d his arrows, till the shady plain + Sev’n mighty bodies with their blood distain. + For the sev’n ships he made an equal share, + And to the port return’d, triumphant from the war. + The jars of gen’rous wine (Acestes’ gift, + When his Trinacrian shores the navy left) + He set abroach, and for the feast prepar’d, + In equal portions with the ven’son shar’d. + Thus while he dealt it round, the pious chief + With cheerful words allay’d the common grief: + “Endure, and conquer! Jove will soon dispose + To future good our past and present woes. + With me, the rocks of Scylla you have tried; + Th’ inhuman Cyclops and his den defied. + What greater ills hereafter can you bear? + Resume your courage and dismiss your care, + An hour will come, with pleasure to relate + Your sorrows past, as benefits of Fate. + Thro’ various hazards and events, we move + To Latium and the realms foredoom’d by Jove. + Call’d to the seat (the promise of the skies) + Where Trojan kingdoms once again may rise, + Endure the hardships of your present state; + Live, and reserve yourselves for better fate.” + + These words he spoke, but spoke not from his heart; + His outward smiles conceal’d his inward smart. + The jolly crew, unmindful of the past, + The quarry share, their plenteous dinner haste. + Some strip the skin; some portion out the spoil; + The limbs, yet trembling, in the caldrons boil; + Some on the fire the reeking entrails broil. + Stretch’d on the grassy turf, at ease they dine, + Restore their strength with meat, and cheer their souls with + wine. + Their hunger thus appeas’d, their care attends + The doubtful fortune of their absent friends: + Alternate hopes and fears their minds possess, + Whether to deem ’em dead, or in distress. + Above the rest, Aeneas mourns the fate + Of brave Orontes, and th’ uncertain state + Of Gyas, Lycus, and of Amycus. + The day, but not their sorrows, ended thus. + + When, from aloft, almighty Jove surveys + Earth, air, and shores, and navigable seas, + At length on Libyan realms he fix’d his eyes: + Whom, pond’ring thus on human miseries, + When Venus saw, she with a lowly look, + Not free from tears, her heav’nly sire bespoke: + + “O King of Gods and Men! whose awful hand + Disperses thunder on the seas and land, + Disposing all with absolute command; + How could my pious son thy pow’r incense? + Or what, alas! is vanish’d Troy’s offence? + Our hope of Italy not only lost, + On various seas by various tempests toss’d, + But shut from ev’ry shore, and barr’d from ev’ry coast. + You promis’d once, a progeny divine + Of Romans, rising from the Trojan line, + In after times should hold the world in awe, + And to the land and ocean give the law. + How is your doom revers’d, which eas’d my care + When Troy was ruin’d in that cruel war? + Then fates to fates I could oppose; but now, + When Fortune still pursues her former blow, + What can I hope? What worse can still succeed? + What end of labours has your will decreed? + Antenor, from the midst of Grecian hosts, + Could pass secure, and pierce th’ Illyrian coasts, + Where, rolling down the steep, Timavus raves + And thro’ nine channels disembogues his waves. + At length he founded Padua’s happy seat, + And gave his Trojans a secure retreat; + There fix’d their arms, and there renew’d their name, + And there in quiet rules, and crown’d with fame. + But we, descended from your sacred line, + Entitled to your heav’n and rites divine, + Are banish’d earth; and, for the wrath of one, + Remov’d from Latium and the promis’d throne. + Are these our scepters? these our due rewards? + And is it thus that Jove his plighted faith regards?” + + To whom the Father of th’ immortal race, + Smiling with that serene indulgent face, + With which he drives the clouds and clears the skies, + First gave a holy kiss; then thus replies: + + “Daughter, dismiss thy fears; to thy desire + The fates of thine are fix’d, and stand entire. + Thou shalt behold thy wish’d Lavinian walls; + And, ripe for heav’n, when fate Aeneas calls, + Then shalt thou bear him up, sublime, to me: + No councils have revers’d my firm decree. + And, lest new fears disturb thy happy state, + Know, I have search’d the mystic rolls of Fate: + Thy son (nor is th’ appointed season far) + In Italy shall wage successful war, + Shall tame fierce nations in the bloody field, + And sov’reign laws impose, and cities build, + Till, after ev’ry foe subdued, the sun + Thrice thro’ the signs his annual race shall run: + This is his time prefix’d. Ascanius then, + Now call’d Iulus, shall begin his reign. + He thirty rolling years the crown shall wear, + Then from Lavinium shall the seat transfer, + And, with hard labour, Alba Longa build. + The throne with his succession shall be fill’d + Three hundred circuits more: then shall be seen + Ilia the fair, a priestess and a queen, + Who, full of Mars, in time, with kindly throes, + Shall at a birth two goodly boys disclose. + The royal babes a tawny wolf shall drain: + Then Romulus his grandsire’s throne shall gain, + Of martial tow’rs the founder shall become, + The people Romans call, the city Rome. + To them no bounds of empire I assign, + Nor term of years to their immortal line. + Ev’n haughty Juno, who, with endless broils, + Earth, seas, and heav’n, and Jove himself turmoils; + At length aton’d, her friendly pow’r shall join, + To cherish and advance the Trojan line. + The subject world shall Rome’s dominion own, + And, prostrate, shall adore the nation of the gown. + An age is ripening in revolving fate + When Troy shall overturn the Grecian state, + And sweet revenge her conqu’ring sons shall call, + To crush the people that conspir’d her fall. + Then Caesar from the Julian stock shall rise, + Whose empire ocean, and whose fame the skies + Alone shall bound; whom, fraught with eastern spoils, + Our heav’n, the just reward of human toils, + Securely shall repay with rites divine; + And incense shall ascend before his sacred shrine. + Then dire debate and impious war shall cease, + And the stern age be soften’d into peace: + Then banish’d Faith shall once again return, + And Vestal fires in hallow’d temples burn; + And Remus with Quirinus shall sustain + The righteous laws, and fraud and force restrain. + Janus himself before his fane shall wait, + And keep the dreadful issues of his gate, + With bolts and iron bars: within remains + Imprison’d Fury, bound in brazen chains; + High on a trophy rais’d, of useless arms, + He sits, and threats the world with vain alarms.” + + He said, and sent Cyllenius with command + To free the ports, and ope the Punic land + To Trojan guests; lest, ignorant of fate, + The queen might force them from her town and state. + Down from the steep of heav’n Cyllenius flies, + And cleaves with all his wings the yielding skies. + Soon on the Libyan shore descends the god, + Performs his message, and displays his rod: + The surly murmurs of the people cease; + And, as the fates requir’d, they give the peace: + The queen herself suspends the rigid laws, + The Trojans pities, and protects their cause. + + Meantime, in shades of night Aeneas lies: + Care seiz’d his soul, and sleep forsook his eyes. + But, when the sun restor’d the cheerful day, + He rose, the coast and country to survey, + Anxious and eager to discover more. + It look’d a wild uncultivated shore; + But, whether humankind, or beasts alone + Possess’d the new-found region, was unknown. + Beneath a ledge of rocks his fleet he hides: + Tall trees surround the mountain’s shady sides; + The bending brow above a safe retreat provides. + Arm’d with two pointed darts, he leaves his friends, + And true Achates on his steps attends. + Lo! in the deep recesses of the wood, + Before his eyes his goddess mother stood: + A huntress in her habit and her mien; + Her dress a maid, her air confess’d a queen. + Bare were her knees, and knots her garments bind; + Loose was her hair, and wanton’d in the wind; + Her hand sustain’d a bow; her quiver hung behind. + She seem’d a virgin of the Spartan blood: + With such array Harpalyce bestrode + Her Thracian courser and outstripp’d the rapid flood. + “Ho, strangers! have you lately seen,” she said, + “One of my sisters, like myself array’d, + Who cross’d the lawn, or in the forest stray’d? + A painted quiver at her back she bore; + Varied with spots, a lynx’s hide she wore; + And at full cry pursued the tusky boar.” + + Thus Venus: thus her son replied again: + “None of your sisters have we heard or seen, + O virgin! or what other name you bear + Above that style; O more than mortal fair! + Your voice and mien celestial birth betray! + If, as you seem, the sister of the day, + Or one at least of chaste Diana’s train, + Let not an humble suppliant sue in vain; + But tell a stranger, long in tempests toss’d, + What earth we tread, and who commands the coast? + Then on your name shall wretched mortals call, + And offer’d victims at your altars fall.” + “I dare not,” she replied, “assume the name + Of goddess, or celestial honours claim: + For Tyrian virgins bows and quivers bear, + And purple buskins o’er their ankles wear. + Know, gentle youth, in Libyan lands you are: + A people rude in peace, and rough in war. + The rising city, which from far you see, + Is Carthage, and a Tyrian colony. + Phoenician Dido rules the growing state, + Who fled from Tyre, to shun her brother’s hate. + Great were her wrongs, her story full of fate; + Which I will sum in short. Sichaeus, known + For wealth, and brother to the Punic throne, + Possess’d fair Dido’s bed; and either heart + At once was wounded with an equal dart. + Her father gave her, yet a spotless maid; + Pygmalion then the Tyrian scepter sway’d: + One who condemn’d divine and human laws. + Then strife ensued, and cursed gold the cause. + The monarch, blinded with desire of wealth, + With steel invades his brother’s life by stealth; + Before the sacred altar made him bleed, + And long from her conceal’d the cruel deed. + Some tale, some new pretence, he daily coin’d, + To soothe his sister, and delude her mind. + At length, in dead of night, the ghost appears + Of her unhappy lord: the spectre stares, + And, with erected eyes, his bloody bosom bares. + The cruel altars and his fate he tells, + And the dire secret of his house reveals, + Then warns the widow, with her household gods, + To seek a refuge in remote abodes. + Last, to support her in so long a way, + He shows her where his hidden treasure lay. + Admonish’d thus, and seiz’d with mortal fright, + The queen provides companions of her flight: + They meet, and all combine to leave the state, + Who hate the tyrant, or who fear his hate. + They seize a fleet, which ready rigg’d they find; + Nor is Pygmalion’s treasure left behind. + The vessels, heavy laden, put to sea + With prosp’rous winds; a woman leads the way. + I know not, if by stress of weather driv’n, + Or was their fatal course dispos’d by Heav’n; + At last they landed, where from far your eyes + May view the turrets of new Carthage rise; + There bought a space of ground, which Byrsa call’d, + From the bull’s hide, they first inclos’d, and wall’d. + But whence are you? what country claims your birth? + What seek you, strangers, on our Libyan earth?” + + To whom, with sorrow streaming from his eyes, + And deeply sighing, thus her son replies: + “Could you with patience hear, or I relate, + O nymph, the tedious annals of our fate! + Thro’ such a train of woes if I should run, + The day would sooner than the tale be done! + From ancient Troy, by force expell’d, we came, + If you by chance have heard the Trojan name. + On various seas by various tempests toss’d, + At length we landed on your Libyan coast. + The good Aeneas am I call’d, a name, + While Fortune favour’d, not unknown to fame. + My household gods, companions of my woes, + With pious care I rescued from our foes. + To fruitful Italy my course was bent; + And from the King of Heav’n is my descent. + With twice ten sail I cross’d the Phrygian sea; + Fate and my mother goddess led my way. + Scarce sev’n, the thin remainders of my fleet, + From storms preserv’d, within your harbour meet. + Myself distress’d, an exile, and unknown, + Debarr’d from Europe, and from Asia thrown, + In Libyan deserts wander thus alone.” + + His tender parent could no longer bear; + But, interposing, sought to soothe his care. + “Whoe’er you are, not unbelov’d by Heav’n, + Since on our friendly shore your ships are driv’n: + Have courage: to the gods permit the rest, + And to the queen expose your just request. + Now take this earnest of success, for more: + Your scatter’d fleet is join’d upon the shore; + The winds are chang’d, your friends from danger free; + Or I renounce my skill in augury. + Twelve swans behold in beauteous order move, + And stoop with closing pinions from above; + Whom late the bird of Jove had driv’n along, + And thro’ the clouds pursued the scatt’ring throng: + Now, all united in a goodly team, + They skim the ground, and seek the quiet stream. + As they, with joy returning, clap their wings, + And ride the circuit of the skies in rings; + Not otherwise your ships, and ev’ry friend, + Already hold the port, or with swift sails descend. + No more advice is needful; but pursue + The path before you, and the town in view.” + + Thus having said, she turn’d, and made appear + Her neck refulgent, and dishevel’d hair, + Which, flowing from her shoulders, reach’d the ground. + And widely spread ambrosial scents around: + In length of train descends her sweeping gown; + And, by her graceful walk, the Queen of Love is known. + The prince pursued the parting deity + With words like these: “Ah! whither do you fly? + Unkind and cruel! to deceive your son + In borrow’d shapes, and his embrace to shun; + Never to bless my sight, but thus unknown; + And still to speak in accents not your own.” + Against the goddess these complaints he made, + But took the path, and her commands obey’d. + They march, obscure; for Venus kindly shrouds + With mists their persons, and involves in clouds, + That, thus unseen, their passage none might stay, + Or force to tell the causes of their way. + This part perform’d, the goddess flies sublime + To visit Paphos and her native clime; + Where garlands, ever green and ever fair, + With vows are offer’d, and with solemn pray’r: + A hundred altars in her temple smoke; + A thousand bleeding hearts her pow’r invoke. + + They climb the next ascent, and, looking down, + Now at a nearer distance view the town. + The prince with wonder sees the stately tow’rs, + Which late were huts and shepherds’ homely bow’rs, + The gates and streets; and hears, from ev’ry part, + The noise and busy concourse of the mart. + The toiling Tyrians on each other call + To ply their labour: some extend the wall; + Some build the citadel; the brawny throng + Or dig, or push unwieldly stones along. + Some for their dwellings choose a spot of ground, + Which, first design’d, with ditches they surround. + Some laws ordain; and some attend the choice + Of holy senates, and elect by voice. + Here some design a mole, while others there + Lay deep foundations for a theatre; + From marble quarries mighty columns hew, + For ornaments of scenes, and future view. + Such is their toil, and such their busy pains, + As exercise the bees in flow’ry plains, + When winter past, and summer scarce begun, + Invites them forth to labour in the sun; + Some lead their youth abroad, while some condense + Their liquid store, and some in cells dispense; + Some at the gate stand ready to receive + The golden burthen, and their friends relieve; + All with united force, combine to drive + The lazy drones from the laborious hive: + With envy stung, they view each other’s deeds; + The fragrant work with diligence proceeds. + “Thrice happy you, whose walls already rise!” + Aeneas said, and view’d, with lifted eyes, + Their lofty tow’rs; then, ent’ring at the gate, + Conceal’d in clouds (prodigious to relate) + He mix’d, unmark’d, among the busy throng, + Borne by the tide, and pass’d unseen along. + + Full in the centre of the town there stood, + Thick set with trees, a venerable wood. + The Tyrians, landing near this holy ground, + And digging here, a prosp’rous omen found: + From under earth a courser’s head they drew, + Their growth and future fortune to foreshew. + This fated sign their foundress Juno gave, + Of a soil fruitful, and a people brave. + Sidonian Dido here with solemn state + Did Juno’s temple build, and consecrate, + Enrich’d with gifts, and with a golden shrine; + But more the goddess made the place divine. + On brazen steps the marble threshold rose, + And brazen plates the cedar beams inclose: + The rafters are with brazen cov’rings crown’d; + The lofty doors on brazen hinges sound. + What first Aeneas in this place beheld, + Reviv’d his courage, and his fear expell’d. + For while, expecting there the queen, he rais’d + His wond’ring eyes, and round the temple gaz’d, + Admir’d the fortune of the rising town, + The striving artists, and their arts’ renown; + He saw, in order painted on the wall, + Whatever did unhappy Troy befall: + The wars that fame around the world had blown, + All to the life, and ev’ry leader known. + There Agamemnon, Priam here, he spies, + And fierce Achilles, who both kings defies. + He stopp’d, and weeping said: “O friend! ev’n here + The monuments of Trojan woes appear! + Our known disasters fill ev’n foreign lands: + See there, where old unhappy Priam stands! + Ev’n the mute walls relate the warrior’s fame, + And Trojan griefs the Tyrians’ pity claim.” + He said, his tears a ready passage find, + Devouring what he saw so well design’d, + And with an empty picture fed his mind: + For there he saw the fainting Grecians yield, + And here the trembling Trojans quit the field, + Pursued by fierce Achilles thro’ the plain, + On his high chariot driving o’er the slain. + The tents of Rhesus next, his grief renew, + By their white sails betray’d to nightly view; + And wakeful Diomede, whose cruel sword + The sentries slew, nor spar’d their slumb’ring lord, + Then took the fiery steeds, ere yet the food + Of Troy they taste, or drink the Xanthian flood. + Elsewhere he saw where Troilus defied + Achilles, and unequal combat tried; + Then, where the boy disarm’d, with loosen’d reins, + Was by his horses hurried o’er the plains, + Hung by the neck and hair, and dragg’d around: + The hostile spear, yet sticking in his wound, + With tracks of blood inscrib’d the dusty ground. + Meantime the Trojan dames, oppress’d with woe, + To Pallas’ fane in long procession go, + In hopes to reconcile their heav’nly foe. + They weep, they beat their breasts, they rend their hair, + And rich embroider’d vests for presents bear; + But the stern goddess stands unmov’d with pray’r. + Thrice round the Trojan walls Achilles drew + The corpse of Hector, whom in fight he slew. + Here Priam sues; and there, for sums of gold, + The lifeless body of his son is sold. + So sad an object, and so well express’d, + Drew sighs and groans from the griev’d hero’s breast, + To see the figure of his lifeless friend, + And his old sire his helpless hand extend. + Himself he saw amidst the Grecian train, + Mix’d in the bloody battle on the plain; + And swarthy Memnon in his arms he knew, + His pompous ensigns, and his Indian crew. + Penthisilea there, with haughty grace, + Leads to the wars an Amazonian race: + In their right hands a pointed dart they wield; + The left, for ward, sustains the lunar shield. + Athwart her breast a golden belt she throws, + Amidst the press alone provokes a thousand foes, + And dares her maiden arms to manly force oppose. + + Thus while the Trojan prince employs his eyes, + Fix’d on the walls with wonder and surprise, + The beauteous Dido, with a num’rous train + And pomp of guards, ascends the sacred fane. + Such on Eurotas’ banks, or Cynthus’ height, + Diana seems; and so she charms the sight, + When in the dance the graceful goddess leads + The choir of nymphs, and overtops their heads: + Known by her quiver, and her lofty mien, + She walks majestic, and she looks their queen; + Latona sees her shine above the rest, + And feeds with secret joy her silent breast. + Such Dido was; with such becoming state, + Amidst the crowd, she walks serenely great. + Their labour to her future sway she speeds, + And passing with a gracious glance proceeds; + Then mounts the throne, high plac’d before the shrine: + In crowds around, the swarming people join. + She takes petitions, and dispenses laws, + Hears and determines ev’ry private cause; + Their tasks in equal portions she divides, + And, where unequal, there by lots decides. + Another way by chance Aeneas bends + His eyes, and unexpected sees his friends, + Antheus, Sergestus grave, Cloanthus strong, + And at their backs a mighty Trojan throng, + Whom late the tempest on the billows toss’d, + And widely scatter’d on another coast. + The prince, unseen, surpris’d with wonder stands, + And longs, with joyful haste, to join their hands; + But, doubtful of the wish’d event, he stays, + And from the hollow cloud his friends surveys, + Impatient till they told their present state, + And where they left their ships, and what their fate, + And why they came, and what was their request; + For these were sent, commission’d by the rest, + To sue for leave to land their sickly men, + And gain admission to the gracious queen. + Ent’ring, with cries they fill’d the holy fane; + Then thus, with lowly voice, Ilioneus began: + + “O Queen! indulg’d by favour of the gods + To found an empire in these new abodes, + To build a town, with statutes to restrain + The wild inhabitants beneath thy reign, + We wretched Trojans, toss’d on ev’ry shore, + From sea to sea, thy clemency implore. + Forbid the fires our shipping to deface! + Receive th’ unhappy fugitives to grace, + And spare the remnant of a pious race! + We come not with design of wasteful prey, + To drive the country, force the swains away: + Nor such our strength, nor such is our desire; + The vanquish’d dare not to such thoughts aspire. + A land there is, Hesperia nam’d of old; + The soil is fruitful, and the men are bold + Th’ Oenotrians held it once, by common fame + Now call’d Italia, from the leader’s name. + To that sweet region was our voyage bent, + When winds and ev’ry warring element + Disturb’d our course, and, far from sight of land, + Cast our torn vessels on the moving sand: + The sea came on; the South, with mighty roar, + Dispers’d and dash’d the rest upon the rocky shore. + Those few you see escap’d the storm, and fear, + Unless you interpose, a shipwreck here. + What men, what monsters, what inhuman race, + What laws, what barb’rous customs of the place, + Shut up a desert shore to drowning men, + And drive us to the cruel seas again? + If our hard fortune no compassion draws, + Nor hospitable rights, nor human laws, + The gods are just, and will revenge our cause. + Aeneas was our prince: a juster lord, + Or nobler warrior, never drew a sword; + Observant of the right, religious of his word. + If yet he lives, and draws this vital air, + Nor we, his friends, of safety shall despair; + Nor you, great queen, these offices repent, + Which he will equal, and perhaps augment. + We want not cities, nor Sicilian coasts, + Where King Acestes Trojan lineage boasts. + Permit our ships a shelter on your shores, + Refitted from your woods with planks and oars, + That, if our prince be safe, we may renew + Our destin’d course, and Italy pursue. + But if, O best of men, the Fates ordain + That thou art swallow’d in the Libyan main, + And if our young Iulus be no more, + Dismiss our navy from your friendly shore, + That we to good Acestes may return, + And with our friends our common losses mourn.” + Thus spoke Ilioneus: the Trojan crew + With cries and clamours his request renew. + + The modest queen a while, with downcast eyes, + Ponder’d the speech; then briefly thus replies: + “Trojans, dismiss your fears; my cruel fate, + And doubts attending an unsettled state, + Force me to guard my coast from foreign foes. + Who has not heard the story of your woes, + The name and fortune of your native place, + The fame and valour of the Phrygian race? + We Tyrians are not so devoid of sense, + Nor so remote from Phoebus’ influence. + Whether to Latian shores your course is bent, + Or, driv’n by tempests from your first intent, + You seek the good Acestes’ government, + Your men shall be receiv’d, your fleet repair’d, + And sail, with ships of convoy for your guard: + Or, would you stay, and join your friendly pow’rs + To raise and to defend the Tyrian tow’rs, + My wealth, my city, and myself are yours. + And would to Heav’n, the Storm, you felt, would bring + On Carthaginian coasts your wand’ring king. + My people shall, by my command, explore + The ports and creeks of ev’ry winding shore, + And towns, and wilds, and shady woods, in quest + Of so renown’d and so desir’d a guest.” + + Rais’d in his mind the Trojan hero stood, + And long’d to break from out his ambient cloud: + Achates found it, and thus urg’d his way: + “From whence, O goddess-born, this long delay? + What more can you desire, your welcome sure, + Your fleet in safety, and your friends secure? + One only wants; and him we saw in vain + Oppose the Storm, and swallow’d in the main. + Orontes in his fate our forfeit paid; + The rest agrees with what your mother said.” + Scarce had he spoken, when the cloud gave way, + The mists flew upward and dissolv’d in day. + + The Trojan chief appear’d in open sight, + August in visage, and serenely bright. + His mother goddess, with her hands divine, + Had form’d his curling locks, and made his temples shine, + And giv’n his rolling eyes a sparkling grace, + And breath’d a youthful vigour on his face; + Like polish’d ivory, beauteous to behold, + Or Parian marble, when enchas’d in gold: + Thus radiant from the circling cloud he broke, + And thus with manly modesty he spoke: + + “He whom you seek am I; by tempests toss’d, + And sav’d from shipwreck on your Libyan coast; + Presenting, gracious queen, before your throne, + A prince that owes his life to you alone. + Fair majesty, the refuge and redress + Of those whom fate pursues, and wants oppress, + You, who your pious offices employ + To save the relics of abandon’d Troy; + Receive the shipwreck’d on your friendly shore, + With hospitable rites relieve the poor; + Associate in your town a wand’ring train, + And strangers in your palace entertain: + What thanks can wretched fugitives return, + Who, scatter’d thro’ the world, in exile mourn? + The gods, if gods to goodness are inclin’d; + If acts of mercy touch their heav’nly mind, + And, more than all the gods, your gen’rous heart. + Conscious of worth, requite its own desert! + In you this age is happy, and this earth, + And parents more than mortal gave you birth. + While rolling rivers into seas shall run, + And round the space of heav’n the radiant sun; + While trees the mountain tops with shades supply, + Your honour, name, and praise shall never die. + Whate’er abode my fortune has assign’d, + Your image shall be present in my mind.” + Thus having said, he turn’d with pious haste, + And joyful his expecting friends embrac’d: + With his right hand Ilioneus was grac’d, + Serestus with his left; then to his breast + Cloanthus and the noble Gyas press’d; + And so by turns descended to the rest. + + The Tyrian queen stood fix’d upon his face, + Pleas’d with his motions, ravish’d with his grace; + Admir’d his fortunes, more admir’d the man; + Then recollected stood, and thus began: + “What fate, O goddess-born; what angry pow’rs + Have cast you shipwreck’d on our barren shores? + Are you the great Aeneas, known to fame, + Who from celestial seed your lineage claim? + + The same Aeneas whom fair Venus bore + To fam’d Anchises on th’ Idaean shore? + It calls into my mind, tho’ then a child, + When Teucer came, from Salamis exil’d, + And sought my father’s aid, to be restor’d: + My father Belus then with fire and sword + Invaded Cyprus, made the region bare, + And, conqu’ring, finish’d the successful war. + From him the Trojan siege I understood, + The Grecian chiefs, and your illustrious blood. + Your foe himself the Dardan valour prais’d, + And his own ancestry from Trojans rais’d. + Enter, my noble guest, and you shall find, + If not a costly welcome, yet a kind: + For I myself, like you, have been distress’d, + Till Heav’n afforded me this place of rest; + Like you, an alien in a land unknown, + I learn to pity woes so like my own.” + She said, and to the palace led her guest; + Then offer’d incense, and proclaim’d a feast. + Nor yet less careful for her absent friends, + Twice ten fat oxen to the ships she sends; + Besides a hundred boars, a hundred lambs, + With bleating cries, attend their milky dams; + And jars of gen’rous wine and spacious bowls + She gives, to cheer the sailors’ drooping souls. + Now purple hangings clothe the palace walls, + And sumptuous feasts are made in splendid halls: + On Tyrian carpets, richly wrought, they dine; + With loads of massy plate the sideboards shine, + And antique vases, all of gold emboss’d + (The gold itself inferior to the cost), + Of curious work, where on the sides were seen + The fights and figures of illustrious men, + From their first founder to the present queen. + + The good Aeneas, whose paternal care + Iulus’ absence could no longer bear, + Dispatch’d Achates to the ships in haste, + To give a glad relation of the past, + And, fraught with precious gifts, to bring the boy, + Snatch’d from the ruins of unhappy Troy: + A robe of tissue, stiff with golden wire; + An upper vest, once Helen’s rich attire, + From Argos by the fam’d adultress brought, + With golden flow’rs and winding foliage wrought, + Her mother Leda’s present, when she came + To ruin Troy and set the world on flame; + The scepter Priam’s eldest daughter bore, + Her orient necklace, and the crown she wore + Of double texture, glorious to behold, + One order set with gems, and one with gold. + Instructed thus, the wise Achates goes, + And in his diligence his duty shows. + + But Venus, anxious for her son’s affairs, + New counsels tries, and new designs prepares: + That Cupid should assume the shape and face + Of sweet Ascanius, and the sprightly grace; + Should bring the presents, in her nephew’s stead, + And in Eliza’s veins the gentle poison shed: + For much she fear’d the Tyrians, double-tongued, + And knew the town to Juno’s care belong’d. + These thoughts by night her golden slumbers broke, + And thus alarm’d, to winged Love she spoke: + “My son, my strength, whose mighty pow’r alone + Controls the Thund’rer on his awful throne, + To thee thy much-afflicted mother flies, + And on thy succour and thy faith relies. + Thou know’st, my son, how Jove’s revengeful wife, + By force and fraud, attempts thy brother’s life; + And often hast thou mourn’d with me his pains. + Him Dido now with blandishment detains; + But I suspect the town where Juno reigns. + For this ’tis needful to prevent her art, + And fire with love the proud Phoenician’s heart: + A love so violent, so strong, so sure, + As neither age can change, nor art can cure. + How this may be perform’d, now take my mind: + Ascanius by his father is design’d + To come, with presents laden, from the port, + To gratify the queen, and gain the court. + I mean to plunge the boy in pleasing sleep, + And, ravish’d, in Idalian bow’rs to keep, + Or high Cythera, that the sweet deceit + May pass unseen, and none prevent the cheat. + Take thou his form and shape. I beg the grace + But only for a night’s revolving space: + Thyself a boy, assume a boy’s dissembled face; + That when, amidst the fervour of the feast, + The Tyrian hugs and fonds thee on her breast, + And with sweet kisses in her arms constrains, + Thou may’st infuse thy venom in her veins.” + The God of Love obeys, and sets aside + His bow and quiver, and his plumy pride; + He walks Iulus in his mother’s sight, + And in the sweet resemblance takes delight. + + The goddess then to young Ascanius flies, + And in a pleasing slumber seals his eyes: + Lull’d in her lap, amidst a train of Loves, + She gently bears him to her blissful groves, + Then with a wreath of myrtle crowns his head, + And softly lays him on a flow’ry bed. + Cupid meantime assum’d his form and face, + Foll’wing Achates with a shorter pace, + And brought the gifts. The queen already sate + Amidst the Trojan lords, in shining state, + High on a golden bed: her princely guest + Was next her side; in order sate the rest. + Then canisters with bread are heap’d on high; + Th’ attendants water for their hands supply, + And, having wash’d, with silken towels dry. + Next fifty handmaids in long order bore + The censers, and with fumes the gods adore: + Then youths, and virgins twice as many, join + To place the dishes, and to serve the wine. + The Tyrian train, admitted to the feast, + Approach, and on the painted couches rest. + All on the Trojan gifts with wonder gaze, + But view the beauteous boy with more amaze, + His rosy-colour’d cheeks, his radiant eyes, + His motions, voice, and shape, and all the god’s disguise; + Nor pass unprais’d the vest and veil divine, + Which wand’ring foliage and rich flow’rs entwine. + But, far above the rest, the royal dame, + (Already doom’d to love’s disastrous flame,) + With eyes insatiate, and tumultuous joy, + Beholds the presents, and admires the boy. + The guileful god about the hero long, + With children’s play, and false embraces, hung; + Then sought the queen: she took him to her arms + With greedy pleasure, and devour’d his charms. + Unhappy Dido little thought what guest, + How dire a god, she drew so near her breast; + But he, not mindless of his mother’s pray’r, + Works in the pliant bosom of the fair, + And moulds her heart anew, and blots her former care. + The dead is to the living love resign’d; + And all Aeneas enters in her mind. + + Now, when the rage of hunger was appeas’d, + The meat remov’d, and ev’ry guest was pleas’d, + The golden bowls with sparkling wine are crown’d, + And thro’ the palace cheerful cries resound. + From gilded roofs depending lamps display + Nocturnal beams, that emulate the day. + A golden bowl, that shone with gems divine, + The queen commanded to be crown’d with wine: + The bowl that Belus us’d, and all the Tyrian line. + Then, silence thro’ the hall proclaim’d, she spoke: + “O hospitable Jove! we thus invoke, + With solemn rites, thy sacred name and pow’r; + Bless to both nations this auspicious hour! + So may the Trojan and the Tyrian line + In lasting concord from this day combine. + Thou, Bacchus, god of joys and friendly cheer, + And gracious Juno, both be present here! + And you, my lords of Tyre, your vows address + To Heav’n with mine, to ratify the peace.” + The goblet then she took, with nectar crown’d + (Sprinkling the first libations on the ground,) + And rais’d it to her mouth with sober grace; + Then, sipping, offer’d to the next in place. + ’Twas Bitias whom she call’d, a thirsty soul; + He took the challenge, and embrac’d the bowl, + With pleasure swill’d the gold, nor ceas’d to draw, + Till he the bottom of the brimmer saw. + The goblet goes around: Iopas brought + His golden lyre, and sung what ancient Atlas taught: + The various labours of the wand’ring moon, + And whence proceed th’ eclipses of the sun; + Th’ original of men and beasts; and whence + The rains arise, and fires their warmth dispense, + And fix’d and erring stars dispose their influence; + What shakes the solid earth; what cause delays + The summer nights and shortens winter days. + With peals of shouts the Tyrians praise the song: + Those peals are echo’d by the Trojan throng. + Th’ unhappy queen with talk prolong’d the night, + And drank large draughts of love with vast delight; + Of Priam much enquir’d, of Hector more; + Then ask’d what arms the swarthy Memnon wore, + What troops he landed on the Trojan shore; + The steeds of Diomede varied the discourse, + And fierce Achilles, with his matchless force; + At length, as fate and her ill stars requir’d, + To hear the series of the war desir’d. + “Relate at large, my godlike guest,” she said, + “The Grecian stratagems, the town betray’d: + The fatal issue of so long a war, + Your flight, your wand’rings, and your woes, declare; + For, since on ev’ry sea, on ev’ry coast, + Your men have been distress’d, your navy toss’d, + Sev’n times the sun has either tropic view’d, + The winter banish’d, and the spring renew’d.” + + + + BOOK II + + THE ARGUMENT. + + + Aeneas relates how the city of Troy was taken, after a ten years’ + siege, by the treachery of Sinon, and the stratagem of a wooden + horse. He declares the fixed resolution he had taken not to + survive the ruin of his country, and the various adventures he + met with in defence of it. At last, having been before advised by + Hector’s ghost, and now by the appearance of his mother Venus, he + is prevailed upon to leave the town, and settle his household + gods in another country. In order to this, he carries off his + father on his shoulders, and leads his little son by the hand, + his wife following behind. When he comes to the place appointed + for the general rendezvous, he finds a great confluence of + people, but misses his wife, whose ghost afterwards appears to + him, and tells him the land which was designed for him. + + + All were attentive to the godlike man, + When from his lofty couch he thus began: + “Great queen, what you command me to relate + Renews the sad remembrance of our fate: + An empire from its old foundations rent, + And ev’ry woe the Trojans underwent; + A peopled city made a desert place; + All that I saw, and part of which I was: + Not ev’n the hardest of our foes could hear, + Nor stern Ulysses tell without a tear. + And now the latter watch of wasting night, + And setting stars, to kindly rest invite; + But, since you take such int’rest in our woe, + And Troy’s disastrous end desire to know, + I will restrain my tears, and briefly tell + What in our last and fatal night befell. + + “By destiny compell’d, and in despair, + The Greeks grew weary of the tedious war, + And by Minerva’s aid a fabric rear’d, + Which like a steed of monstrous height appear’d: + The sides were plank’d with pine; they feign’d it made + For their return, and this the vow they paid. + Thus they pretend, but in the hollow side + Selected numbers of their soldiers hide: + With inward arms the dire machine they load, + And iron bowels stuff the dark abode. + In sight of Troy lies Tenedos, an isle + (While Fortune did on Priam’s empire smile) + Renown’d for wealth; but, since, a faithless bay, + Where ships expos’d to wind and weather lay. + There was their fleet conceal’d. We thought, for Greece + Their sails were hoisted, and our fears release. + The Trojans, coop’d within their walls so long, + Unbar their gates, and issue in a throng, + Like swarming bees, and with delight survey + The camp deserted, where the Grecians lay: + The quarters of the sev’ral chiefs they show’d; + Here Phoenix, here Achilles, made abode; + Here join’d the battles; there the navy rode. + Part on the pile their wond’ring eyes employ: + The pile by Pallas rais’d to ruin Troy. + Thymoetes first (’tis doubtful whether hir’d, + Or so the Trojan destiny requir’d) + Mov’d that the ramparts might be broken down, + To lodge the monster fabric in the town. + But Capys, and the rest of sounder mind, + The fatal present to the flames designed, + Or to the wat’ry deep; at least to bore + The hollow sides, and hidden frauds explore. + The giddy vulgar, as their fancies guide, + With noise say nothing, and in parts divide. + Laocoon, follow’d by a num’rous crowd, + Ran from the fort, and cried, from far, aloud: + ‘O wretched countrymen! what fury reigns? + What more than madness has possess’d your brains? + Think you the Grecians from your coasts are gone? + And are Ulysses’ arts no better known? + This hollow fabric either must inclose, + Within its blind recess, our secret foes; + Or ’tis an engine rais’d above the town, + T’ o’erlook the walls, and then to batter down. + Somewhat is sure design’d, by fraud or force: + Trust not their presents, nor admit the horse.’ + Thus having said, against the steed he threw + His forceful spear, which, hissing as it flew, + Pierc’d thro’ the yielding planks of jointed wood, + And trembling in the hollow belly stood. + The sides, transpierc’d, return a rattling sound, + And groans of Greeks inclos’d come issuing thro’ the wound + And, had not Heav’n the fall of Troy design’d, + Or had not men been fated to be blind, + Enough was said and done t’inspire a better mind. + Then had our lances pierc’d the treach’rous wood, + And Ilian tow’rs and Priam’s empire stood. + Meantime, with shouts, the Trojan shepherds bring + A captive Greek, in bands, before the king; + Taken to take; who made himself their prey, + T’ impose on their belief, and Troy betray; + Fix’d on his aim, and obstinately bent + To die undaunted, or to circumvent. + About the captive, tides of Trojans flow; + All press to see, and some insult the foe. + Now hear how well the Greeks their wiles disguis’d; + Behold a nation in a man compris’d. + Trembling the miscreant stood, unarm’d and bound; + He star’d, and roll’d his haggard eyes around, + Then said: ‘Alas! what earth remains, what sea + Is open to receive unhappy me? + What fate a wretched fugitive attends, + Scorn’d by my foes, abandon’d by my friends?’ + He said, and sigh’d, and cast a rueful eye: + Our pity kindles, and our passions die. + We cheer the youth to make his own defence, + And freely tell us what he was, and whence: + What news he could impart, we long to know, + And what to credit from a captive foe. + + “His fear at length dismiss’d, he said: ‘Whate’er + My fate ordains, my words shall be sincere: + I neither can nor dare my birth disclaim; + Greece is my country, Sinon is my name. + Tho’ plung’d by Fortune’s pow’r in misery, + ’Tis not in Fortune’s pow’r to make me lie. + If any chance has hither brought the name + Of Palamedes, not unknown to fame, + Who suffer’d from the malice of the times, + Accus’d and sentenc’d for pretended crimes, + Because these fatal wars he would prevent; + Whose death the wretched Greeks too late lament; + Me, then a boy, my father, poor and bare + Of other means, committed to his care, + His kinsman and companion in the war. + While Fortune favour’d, while his arms support + The cause, and rul’d the counsels, of the court, + I made some figure there; nor was my name + Obscure, nor I without my share of fame. + But when Ulysses, with fallacious arts, + Had made impression in the people’s hearts, + And forg’d a treason in my patron’s name + (I speak of things too far divulg’d by fame), + My kinsman fell. Then I, without support, + In private mourn’d his loss, and left the court. + Mad as I was, I could not bear his fate + With silent grief, but loudly blam’d the state, + And curs’d the direful author of my woes. + ’Twas told again; and hence my ruin rose. + I threaten’d, if indulgent Heav’n once more + Would land me safely on my native shore, + His death with double vengeance to restore. + This mov’d the murderer’s hate; and soon ensued + Th’ effects of malice from a man so proud. + Ambiguous rumours thro’ the camp he spread, + And sought, by treason, my devoted head; + New crimes invented; left unturn’d no stone, + To make my guilt appear, and hide his own; + Till Calchas was by force and threat’ning wrought: + But why—why dwell I on that anxious thought? + If on my nation just revenge you seek, + And ’tis t’ appear a foe, t’ appear a Greek; + Already you my name and country know; + Assuage your thirst of blood, and strike the blow: + My death will both the kingly brothers please, + And set insatiate Ithacus at ease.’ + This fair unfinish’d tale, these broken starts, + Rais’d expectations in our longing hearts: + Unknowing as we were in Grecian arts. + His former trembling once again renew’d, + With acted fear, the villain thus pursued: + + “‘Long had the Grecians (tir’d with fruitless care, + And wearied with an unsuccessful war) + Resolv’d to raise the siege, and leave the town; + And, had the gods permitted, they had gone; + But oft the wintry seas and southern winds + Withstood their passage home, and chang’d their minds. + Portents and prodigies their souls amaz’d; + But most, when this stupendous pile was rais’d: + Then flaming meteors, hung in air, were seen, + And thunders rattled thro’ a sky serene. + Dismay’d, and fearful of some dire event, + Eurypylus t’ enquire their fate was sent. + He from the gods this dreadful answer brought: + + “O Grecians, when the Trojan shores you sought, + Your passage with a virgin’s blood was bought: + So must your safe return be bought again, + And Grecian blood once more atone the main.” + The spreading rumour round the people ran; + All fear’d, and each believ’d himself the man. + Ulysses took th’ advantage of their fright; + Call’d Calchas, and produc’d in open sight: + Then bade him name the wretch, ordain’d by fate + The public victim, to redeem the state. + Already some presag’d the dire event, + And saw what sacrifice Ulysses meant. + For twice five days the good old seer withstood + Th’ intended treason, and was dumb to blood, + Till, tir’d, with endless clamours and pursuit + Of Ithacus, he stood no longer mute; + But, as it was agreed, pronounc’d that I + Was destin’d by the wrathful gods to die. + All prais’d the sentence, pleas’d the storm should fall + On one alone, whose fury threaten’d all. + The dismal day was come; the priests prepare + Their leaven’d cakes, and fillets for my hair. + I follow’d nature’s laws, and must avow + I broke my bonds and fled the fatal blow. + Hid in a weedy lake all night I lay, + Secure of safety when they sail’d away. + But now what further hopes for me remain, + To see my friends, or native soil, again; + My tender infants, or my careful sire, + Whom they returning will to death require; + Will perpetrate on them their first design, + And take the forfeit of their heads for mine? + Which, O! if pity mortal minds can move, + If there be faith below, or gods above, + If innocence and truth can claim desert, + Ye Trojans, from an injur’d wretch avert.’ + + “False tears true pity move; the king commands + To loose his fetters, and unbind his hands: + Then adds these friendly words: ‘Dismiss thy fears; + Forget the Greeks; be mine as thou wert theirs. + But truly tell, was it for force or guile, + Or some religious end, you rais’d the pile?’ + Thus said the king. He, full of fraudful arts, + This well-invented tale for truth imparts: + ‘Ye lamps of heav’n!’ he said, and lifted high + His hands now free, ‘thou venerable sky! + Inviolable pow’rs, ador’d with dread! + Ye fatal fillets, that once bound this head! + Ye sacred altars, from whose flames I fled! + Be all of you adjur’d; and grant I may, + Without a crime, th’ ungrateful Greeks betray, + Reveal the secrets of the guilty state, + And justly punish whom I justly hate! + But you, O king, preserve the faith you gave, + If I, to save myself, your empire save. + The Grecian hopes, and all th’ attempts they made, + Were only founded on Minerva’s aid. + But from the time when impious Diomede, + And false Ulysses, that inventive head, + Her fatal image from the temple drew, + The sleeping guardians of the castle slew, + Her virgin statue with their bloody hands + Polluted, and profan’d her holy bands; + From thence the tide of fortune left their shore, + And ebb’d much faster than it flow’d before: + Their courage languish’d, as their hopes decay’d; + And Pallas, now averse, refus’d her aid. + Nor did the goddess doubtfully declare + Her alter’d mind and alienated care. + When first her fatal image touch’d the ground, + She sternly cast her glaring eyes around, + That sparkled as they roll’d, and seem’d to threat: + Her heav’nly limbs distill’d a briny sweat. + Thrice from the ground she leap’d, was seen to wield + Her brandish’d lance, and shake her horrid shield. + Then Calchas bade our host for flight + And hope no conquest from the tedious war, + Till first they sail’d for Greece; with pray’rs besought + Her injur’d pow’r, and better omens brought. + And now their navy plows the wat’ry main, + Yet soon expect it on your shores again, + With Pallas pleas’d; as Calchas did ordain. + But first, to reconcile the blue-ey’d maid + For her stol’n statue and her tow’r betray’d, + Warn’d by the seer, to her offended name + We rais’d and dedicate this wondrous frame, + So lofty, lest thro’ your forbidden gates + It pass, and intercept our better fates: + For, once admitted there, our hopes are lost; + And Troy may then a new Palladium boast; + For so religion and the gods ordain, + That, if you violate with hands profane + Minerva’s gift, your town in flames shall burn, + (Which omen, O ye gods, on Grecia turn!) + But if it climb, with your assisting hands, + The Trojan walls, and in the city stands; + Then Troy shall Argos and Mycenae burn, + And the reverse of fate on us return.’ + + “With such deceits he gain’d their easy hearts, + Too prone to credit his perfidious arts. + What Diomede, nor Thetis’ greater son, + A thousand ships, nor ten years’ siege, had done: + False tears and fawning words the city won. + + “A greater omen, and of worse portent, + Did our unwary minds with fear torment, + Concurring to produce the dire event. + Laocoon, Neptune’s priest by lot that year, + With solemn pomp then sacrific’d a steer; + When, dreadful to behold, from sea we spied + Two serpents, rank’d abreast, the seas divide, + And smoothly sweep along the swelling tide. + Their flaming crests above the waves they show; + Their bellies seem to burn the seas below; + Their speckled tails advance to steer their course, + And on the sounding shore the flying billows force. + And now the strand, and now the plain they held; + Their ardent eyes with bloody streaks were fill’d; + Their nimble tongues they brandish’d as they came, + And lick’d their hissing jaws, that sputter’d flame. + We fled amaz’d; their destin’d way they take, + And to Laocoon and his children make; + And first around the tender boys they wind, + Then with their sharpen’d fangs their limbs and bodies grind. + The wretched father, running to their aid + With pious haste, but vain, they next invade; + Twice round his waist their winding volumes roll’d; + And twice about his gasping throat they fold. + The priest thus doubly chok’d, their crests divide, + And tow’ring o’er his head in triumph ride. + With both his hands he labours at the knots; + His holy fillets the blue venom blots; + His roaring fills the flitting air around. + Thus, when an ox receives a glancing wound, + He breaks his bands, the fatal altar flies, + And with loud bellowings breaks the yielding skies. + Their tasks perform’d, the serpents quit their prey, + And to the tow’r of Pallas make their way: + Couch’d at her feet, they lie protected there + By her large buckler and protended spear. + Amazement seizes all; the gen’ral cry + Proclaims Laocoon justly doom’d to die, + Whose hand the will of Pallas had withstood, + And dared to violate the sacred wood. + All vote t’ admit the steed, that vows be paid + And incense offer’d to th’ offended maid. + A spacious breach is made; the town lies bare; + Some hoisting levers, some the wheels prepare + And fasten to the horse’s feet; the rest + With cables haul along th’ unwieldly beast. + Each on his fellow for assistance calls; + At length the fatal fabric mounts the walls, + Big with destruction. Boys with chaplets crown’d, + And choirs of virgins, sing and dance around. + Thus rais’d aloft, and then descending down, + It enters o’er our heads, and threats the town. + O sacred city, built by hands divine! + O valiant heroes of the Trojan line! + Four times he struck: as oft the clashing sound + Of arms was heard, and inward groans rebound. + Yet, mad with zeal, and blinded with our fate, + We haul along the horse in solemn state; + Then place the dire portent within the tow’r. + Cassandra cried, and curs’d th’ unhappy hour; + Foretold our fate; but, by the god’s decree, + All heard, and none believ’d the prophecy. + With branches we the fanes adorn, and waste, + In jollity, the day ordain’d to be the last. + Meantime the rapid heav’ns roll’d down the light, + And on the shaded ocean rush’d the night; + Our men, secure, nor guards nor sentries held, + But easy sleep their weary limbs compell’d. + The Grecians had embark’d their naval pow’rs + From Tenedos, and sought our well-known shores, + Safe under covert of the silent night, + And guided by th’ imperial galley’s light; + When Sinon, favour’d by the partial gods, + Unlock’d the horse, and op’d his dark abodes; + Restor’d to vital air our hidden foes, + Who joyful from their long confinement rose. + Tysander bold, and Sthenelus their guide, + And dire Ulysses down the cable slide: + Then Thoas, Athamas, and Pyrrhus haste; + Nor was the Podalirian hero last, + Nor injur’d Menelaus, nor the fam’d + Epeus, who the fatal engine fram’d. + A nameless crowd succeed; their forces join + T’ invade the town, oppress’d with sleep and wine. + Those few they find awake first meet their fate; + Then to their fellows they unbar the gate. + + “’Twas in the dead of night, when sleep repairs + Our bodies worn with toils, our minds with cares, + When Hector’s ghost before my sight appears: + A bloody shroud he seem’d, and bath’d in tears; + Such as he was, when, by Pelides slain, + Thessalian coursers dragg’d him o’er the plain. + Swoln were his feet, as when the thongs were thrust + Thro’ the bor’d holes; his body black with dust; + Unlike that Hector who return’d from toils + Of war, triumphant, in Aeacian spoils, + Or him who made the fainting Greeks retire, + And launch’d against their navy Phrygian fire. + His hair and beard stood stiffen’d with his gore; + And all the wounds he for his country bore + Now stream’d afresh, and with new purple ran. + I wept to see the visionary man, + And, while my trance continued, thus began: + ‘O light of Trojans, and support of Troy, + Thy father’s champion, and thy country’s joy! + O, long expected by thy friends! from whence + Art thou so late return’d for our defence? + Do we behold thee, wearied as we are + With length of labours, and with toils of war? + After so many fun’rals of thy own + Art thou restor’d to thy declining town? + But say, what wounds are these? What new disgrace + Deforms the manly features of thy face?’ + + “To this the spectre no reply did frame, + But answer’d to the cause for which he came, + And, groaning from the bottom of his breast, + This warning in these mournful words express’d: + ‘O goddess-born! escape, by timely flight, + The flames and horrors of this fatal night. + The foes already have possess’d the wall; + Troy nods from high, and totters to her fall. + Enough is paid to Priam’s royal name, + More than enough to duty and to fame. + If by a mortal hand my father’s throne + Could be defended, ’twas by mine alone. + Now Troy to thee commends her future state, + And gives her gods companions of thy fate: + From their assistance walls expect, + Which, wand’ring long, at last thou shalt erect.’ + He said, and brought me, from their blest abodes, + The venerable statues of the gods, + With ancient Vesta from the sacred choir, + The wreaths and relics of th’ immortal fire. + + “Now peals of shouts come thund’ring from afar, + Cries, threats, and loud laments, and mingled war: + The noise approaches, tho’ our palace stood + Aloof from streets, encompass’d with a wood. + Louder, and yet more loud, I hear th’ alarms + Of human cries distinct, and clashing arms. + Fear broke my slumbers; I no longer stay, + But mount the terrace, thence the town survey, + And hearken what the frightful sounds convey. + Thus, when a flood of fire by wind is borne, + Crackling it rolls, and mows the standing corn; + Or deluges, descending on the plains, + Sweep o’er the yellow ear, destroy the pains + Of lab’ring oxen and the peasant’s gains; + Unroot the forest oaks, and bear away + Flocks, folds, and trees, and undistinguish’d prey: + The shepherd climbs the cliff, and sees from far + The wasteful ravage of the wat’ry war. + Then Hector’s faith was manifestly clear’d, + And Grecian frauds in open light appear’d. + The palace of Deiphobus ascends + In smoky flames, and catches on his friends. + Ucalegon burns next: the seas are bright + With splendour not their own, and shine with Trojan light. + New clamours and new clangours now arise, + The sound of trumpets mix’d with fighting cries. + With frenzy seiz’d, I run to meet th’ alarms, + Resolv’d on death, resolv’d to die in arms, + But first to gather friends, with them t’ oppose + If fortune favour’d, and repel the foes; + Spurr’d by my courage, by my country fir’d, + With sense of honour and revenge inspir’d. + + “Pantheus, Apollo’s priest, a sacred name, + Had scap’d the Grecian swords, and pass’d the flame: + With relics loaden, to my doors he fled, + And by the hand his tender grandson led. + ‘What hope, O Pantheus? whither can we run? + Where make a stand? and what may yet be done?’ + Scarce had I said, when Pantheus, with a groan: + ‘Troy is no more, and Ilium was a town! + The fatal day, th’ appointed hour, is come, + When wrathful Jove’s irrevocable doom + Transfers the Trojan state to Grecian hands. + The fire consumes the town, the foe commands; + And armed hosts, an unexpected force, + Break from the bowels of the fatal horse. + Within the gates, proud Sinon throws about + The flames; and foes for entrance press without, + With thousand others, whom I fear to name, + More than from Argos or Mycenae came. + To sev’ral posts their parties they divide; + Some block the narrow streets, some scour the wide: + The bold they kill, th’ unwary they surprise; + Who fights finds death, and death finds him who flies. + The warders of the gate but scarce maintain + Th’ unequal combat, and resist in vain.’ + + “I heard; and Heav’n, that well-born souls inspires, + Prompts me thro’ lifted swords and rising fires + To run where clashing arms and clamour calls, + And rush undaunted to defend the walls. + Ripheus and Iph’itas by my side engage, + For valour one renown’d, and one for age. + Dymas and Hypanis by moonlight knew + My motions and my mien, and to my party drew; + With young Coroebus, who by love was led + To win renown and fair Cassandra’s bed, + And lately brought his troops to Priam’s aid, + Forewarn’d in vain by the prophetic maid. + Whom when I saw resolv’d in arms to fall, + And that one spirit animated all: + ‘Brave souls!’ said I, ‘but brave, alas! in vain: + Come, finish what our cruel fates ordain. + You see the desp’rate state of our affairs, + And heav’n’s protecting pow’rs are deaf to pray’rs. + The passive gods behold the Greeks defile + Their temples, and abandon to the spoil + Their own abodes: we, feeble few, conspire + To save a sinking town, involv’d in fire. + Then let us fall, but fall amidst our foes: + Despair of life the means of living shows.’ + So bold a speech incourag’d their desire + Of death, and added fuel to their fire. + + “As hungry wolves, with raging appetite, + Scour thro’ the fields, nor fear the stormy night; + Their whelps at home expect the promis’d food, + And long to temper their dry chaps in blood: + So rush’d we forth at once; resolv’d to die, + Resolv’d, in death, the last extremes to try. + We leave the narrow lanes behind, and dare + Th’ unequal combat in the public square: + Night was our friend; our leader was despair. + What tongue can tell the slaughter of that night? + What eyes can weep the sorrows and affright? + An ancient and imperial city falls: + The streets are fill’d with frequent funerals; + Houses and holy temples float in blood, + And hostile nations make a common flood. + Not only Trojans fall; but, in their turn, + The vanquish’d triumph, and the victors mourn. + Ours take new courage from despair and night: + Confus’d the fortune is, confus’d the fight. + All parts resound with tumults, plaints, and fears; + And grisly Death in sundry shapes appears. + Androgeos fell among us, with his band, + Who thought us Grecians newly come to land. + ‘From whence,’ said he, ‘my friends, this long delay? + You loiter, while the spoils are borne away: + Our ships are laden with the Trojan store; + And you, like truants, come too late ashore.’ + He said, but soon corrected his mistake, + Found, by the doubtful answers which we make: + Amaz’d, he would have shunn’d th’ unequal fight; + But we, more num’rous, intercept his flight. + As when some peasant, in a bushy brake, + Has with unwary footing press’d a snake; + He starts aside, astonish’d, when he spies + His rising crest, blue neck, and rolling eyes; + So from our arms surpris’d Androgeos flies. + In vain; for him and his we compass’d round, + Possess’d with fear, unknowing of the ground, + And of their lives an easy conquest found. + Thus Fortune on our first endeavor smil’d. + Coroebus then, with youthful hopes beguil’d, + Swoln with success, and a daring mind, + This new invention fatally design’d. + ‘My friends,’ said he, ‘since Fortune shows the way, + ’Tis fit we should th’ auspicious guide obey. + For what has she these Grecian arms bestow’d, + But their destruction, and the Trojans’ good? + Then change we shields, and their devices bear: + Let fraud supply the want of force in war. + They find us arms.’ This said, himself he dress’d + In dead Androgeos’ spoils, his upper vest, + His painted buckler, and his plumy crest. + Thus Ripheus, Dymas, all the Trojan train, + Lay down their own attire, and strip the slain. + Mix’d with the Greeks, we go with ill presage, + Flatter’d with hopes to glut our greedy rage; + Unknown, assaulting whom we blindly meet, + And strew with Grecian carcasses the street. + Thus while their straggling parties we defeat, + Some to the shore and safer ships retreat; + And some, oppress’d with more ignoble fear, + Remount the hollow horse, and pant in secret there. + + “But, ah! what use of valour can be made, + When heav’n’s propitious pow’rs refuse their aid! + Behold the royal prophetess, the fair + Cassandra, dragg’d by her dishevel’d hair, + Whom not Minerva’s shrine, nor sacred bands, + In safety could protect from sacrilegious hands: + On heav’n she cast her eyes, she sigh’d, she cried, + (’Twas all she could) her tender arms were tied. + So sad a sight Coroebus could not bear; + But, fir’d with rage, distracted with despair, + Amid the barb’rous ravishers he flew: + Our leader’s rash example we pursue. + But storms of stones, from the proud temple’s height, + Pour down, and on our batter’d helms alight: + We from our friends receiv’d this fatal blow, + Who thought us Grecians, as we seem’d in show. + They aim at the mistaken crests, from high; + And ours beneath the pond’rous ruin lie. + Then, mov’d with anger and disdain, to see + Their troops dispers’d, the royal virgin free, + The Grecians rally, and their pow’rs unite, + With fury charge us, and renew the fight. + The brother kings with Ajax join their force, + And the whole squadron of Thessalian horse. + + “Thus, when the rival winds their quarrel try, + Contending for the kingdom of the sky, + South, east, and west, on airy coursers borne; + The whirlwind gathers, and the woods are torn: + Then Nereus strikes the deep; the billows rise, + And, mix’d with ooze and sand, pollute the skies. + The troops we squander’d first again appear + From several quarters, and enclose the rear. + They first observe, and to the rest betray, + Our diff’rent speech; our borrow’d arms survey. + Oppress’d with odds, we fall; Coroebus first, + At Pallas’ altar, by Peneleus pierc’d. + Then Ripheus follow’d, in th’ unequal fight; + Just of his word, observant of the right: + Heav’n thought not so. Dymas their fate attends, + With Hypanis, mistaken by their friends. + Nor, Pantheus, thee, thy mitre, nor the bands + Of awful Phoebus, sav’d from impious hands. + Ye Trojan flames, your testimony bear, + What I perform’d, and what I suffer’d there; + No sword avoiding in the fatal strife, + Expos’d to death, and prodigal of life; + Witness, ye heavens! I live not by my fault: + I strove to have deserv’d the death I sought. + But, when I could not fight, and would have died, + Borne off to distance by the growing tide, + Old Iphitus and I were hurried thence, + With Pelias wounded, and without defence. + New clamours from th’ invested palace ring: + We run to die, or disengage the king. + So hot th’ assault, so high the tumult rose, + While ours defend, and while the Greeks oppose + As all the Dardan and Argolic race + Had been contracted in that narrow space; + Or as all Ilium else were void of fear, + And tumult, war, and slaughter, only there. + Their targets in a tortoise cast, the foes, + Secure advancing, to the turrets rose: + Some mount the scaling ladders; some, more bold, + Swerve upwards, and by posts and pillars hold; + Their left hand gripes their bucklers in th’ ascent, + While with their right they seize the battlement. + From their demolish’d tow’rs the Trojans throw + Huge heaps of stones, that, falling, crush the foe; + And heavy beams and rafters from the sides + (Such arms their last necessity provides) + And gilded roofs, come tumbling from on high, + The marks of state and ancient royalty. + The guards below, fix’d in the pass, attend + The charge undaunted, and the gate defend. + Renew’d in courage with recover’d breath, + A second time we ran to tempt our death, + To clear the palace from the foe, succeed + The weary living, and revenge the dead. + + “A postern door, yet unobserv’d and free, + Join’d by the length of a blind gallery, + To the king’s closet led: a way well known + To Hector’s wife, while Priam held the throne, + Thro’ which she brought Astyanax, unseen, + To cheer his grandsire and his grandsire’s queen. + Thro’ this we pass, and mount the tow’r, from whence + With unavailing arms the Trojans make defence. + From this the trembling king had oft descried + The Grecian camp, and saw their navy ride. + Beams from its lofty height with swords we hew, + Then, wrenching with our hands, th’ assault renew; + And, where the rafters on the columns meet, + We push them headlong with our arms and feet. + The lightning flies not swifter than the fall, + Nor thunder louder than the ruin’d wall: + Down goes the top at once; the Greeks beneath + Are piecemeal torn, or pounded into death. + Yet more succeed, and more to death are sent; + We cease not from above, nor they below relent. + Before the gate stood Pyrrhus, threat’ning loud, + With glitt’ring arms conspicuous in the crowd. + So shines, renew’d in youth, the crested snake, + Who slept the winter in a thorny brake, + And, casting off his slough when spring returns, + Now looks aloft, and with new glory burns; + Restor’d with poisonous herbs, his ardent sides + Reflect the sun; and rais’d on spires he rides; + High o’er the grass, hissing he rolls along, + And brandishes by fits his forky tongue. + Proud Periphas, and fierce Automedon, + His father’s charioteer, together run + To force the gate; the Scyrian infantry + Rush on in crowds, and the barr’d passage free. + Ent’ring the court, with shouts the skies they rend; + And flaming firebrands to the roofs ascend. + Himself, among the foremost, deals his blows, + And with his ax repeated strokes bestows + On the strong doors; then all their shoulders ply, + Till from the posts the brazen hinges fly. + He hews apace; the double bars at length + Yield to his ax and unresisted strength. + A mighty breach is made: the rooms conceal’d + Appear, and all the palace is reveal’d; + The halls of audience, and of public state, + And where the lonely queen in secret sate. + Arm’d soldiers now by trembling maids are seen, + With not a door, and scarce a space, between. + The house is fill’d with loud laments and cries, + And shrieks of women rend the vaulted skies; + The fearful matrons run from place to place, + And kiss the thresholds, and the posts embrace. + The fatal work inhuman Pyrrhus plies, + And all his father sparkles in his eyes; + Nor bars, nor fighting guards, his force sustain: + The bars are broken, and the guards are slain. + In rush the Greeks, and all the apartments fill; + Those few defendants whom they find, they kill. + Not with so fierce a rage the foaming flood + Roars, when he finds his rapid course withstood; + Bears down the dams with unresisted sway, + And sweeps the cattle and the cots away. + These eyes beheld him when he march’d between + The brother kings: I saw th’ unhappy queen, + The hundred wives, and where old Priam stood, + To stain his hallow’d altar with his brood. + The fifty nuptial beds (such hopes had he, + So large a promise, of a progeny), + The posts, of plated gold, and hung with spoils, + Fell the reward of the proud victor’s toils. + Where’er the raging fire had left a space, + The Grecians enter and possess the place. + + “Perhaps you may of Priam’s fate enquire. + He, when he saw his regal town on fire, + His ruin’d palace, and his ent’ring foes, + On ev’ry side inevitable woes, + In arms, disus’d, invests his limbs, decay’d, + Like them, with age; a late and useless aid. + His feeble shoulders scarce the weight sustain; + Loaded, not arm’d, he creeps along with pain, + Despairing of success, ambitious to be slain! + Uncover’d but by heav’n, there stood in view + An altar; near the hearth a laurel grew, + Dodder’d with age, whose boughs encompass round + The household gods, and shade the holy ground. + Here Hecuba, with all her helpless train + Of dames, for shelter sought, but sought in vain. + Driv’n like a flock of doves along the sky, + Their images they hug, and to their altars fly. + The Queen, when she beheld her trembling lord, + And hanging by his side a heavy sword, + ‘What rage,’ she cried, ‘has seiz’d my husband’s mind? + What arms are these, and to what use design’d? + These times want other aids! Were Hector here, + Ev’n Hector now in vain, like Priam, would appear. + With us, one common shelter thou shalt find, + Or in one common fate with us be join’d.’ + She said, and with a last salute embrac’d + The poor old man, and by the laurel plac’d. + Behold! Polites, one of Priam’s sons, + Pursued by Pyrrhus, there for safety runs. + Thro’ swords and foes, amaz’d and hurt, he flies + Thro’ empty courts and open galleries. + Him Pyrrhus, urging with his lance, pursues, + And often reaches, and his thrusts renews. + The youth, transfix’d, with lamentable cries, + Expires before his wretched parent’s eyes: + Whom gasping at his feet when Priam saw, + The fear of death gave place to nature’s law; + And, shaking more with anger than with age, + ‘The gods,’ said he, ‘requite thy brutal rage! + As sure they will, barbarian, sure they must, + If there be gods in heav’n, and gods be just: + Who tak’st in wrongs an insolent delight; + With a son’s death t’ infect a father’s sight. + Not he, whom thou and lying fame conspire + To call thee his; not he, thy vaunted sire, + Thus us’d my wretched age: the gods he fear’d, + The laws of nature and of nations heard. + He cheer’d my sorrows, and, for sums of gold, + The bloodless carcass of my Hector sold; + Pitied the woes a parent underwent, + And sent me back in safety from his tent.’ + + “This said, his feeble hand a javelin threw, + Which, flutt’ring, seem’d to loiter as it flew: + Just, and but barely, to the mark it held, + And faintly tinkled on the brazen shield. + + “Then Pyrrhus thus: ‘Go thou from me to fate, + And to my father my foul deeds relate. + Now die!’ With that he dragg’d the trembling sire, + Slidd’ring thro’ clotter’d blood and holy mire, + (The mingled paste his murder’d son had made,) + Haul’d from beneath the violated shade, + And on the sacred pile the royal victim laid. + His right hand held his bloody falchion bare, + His left he twisted in his hoary hair; + Then, with a speeding thrust, his heart he found: + The lukewarm blood came rushing thro’ the wound, + And sanguine streams distain’d the sacred ground. + Thus Priam fell, and shar’d one common fate + With Troy in ashes, and his ruin’d state: + He, who the scepter of all Asia sway’d, + Whom monarchs like domestic slaves obey’d. + On the bleak shore now lies th’ abandon’d king, + A headless carcass, and a nameless thing. + + “Then, not before, I felt my curdled blood + Congeal with fear, my hair with horror stood: + My father’s image fill’d my pious mind, + Lest equal years might equal fortune find. + Again I thought on my forsaken wife, + And trembled for my son’s abandon’d life. + I look’d about, but found myself alone, + Deserted at my need! My friends were gone. + Some spent with toil, some with despair oppress’d, + Leap’d headlong from the heights; the flames consum’d the rest. + Thus, wand’ring in my way, without a guide, + The graceless Helen in the porch I spied + Of Vesta’s temple; there she lurk’d alone; + Muffled she sate, and, what she could, unknown: + But, by the flames that cast their blaze around, + That common bane of Greece and Troy I found. + For Ilium burnt, she dreads the Trojan sword; + More dreads the vengeance of her injur’d lord; + Ev’n by those gods who refug’d her abhorr’d. + Trembling with rage, the strumpet I regard, + Resolv’d to give her guilt the due reward: + ‘Shall she triumphant sail before the wind, + And leave in flames unhappy Troy behind? + Shall she her kingdom and her friends review, + In state attended with a captive crew, + While unreveng’d the good old Priam falls, + And Grecian fires consume the Trojan walls? + For this the Phrygian fields and Xanthian flood + Were swell’d with bodies, and were drunk with blood? + ’Tis true, a soldier can small honour gain, + And boast no conquest, from a woman slain: + Yet shall the fact not pass without applause, + Of vengeance taken in so just a cause; + The punish’d crime shall set my soul at ease, + And murm’ring manes of my friends appease.’ + Thus while I rave, a gleam of pleasing light + Spread o’er the place; and, shining heav’nly bright, + My mother stood reveal’d before my sight + Never so radiant did her eyes appear; + Not her own star confess’d a light so clear: + Great in her charms, as when on gods above + She looks, and breathes herself into their love. + She held my hand, the destin’d blow to break; + Then from her rosy lips began to speak: + ‘My son, from whence this madness, this neglect + Of my commands, and those whom I protect? + Why this unmanly rage? Recall to mind + Whom you forsake, what pledges leave behind. + Look if your helpless father yet survive, + Or if Ascanius or Creusa live. + Around your house the greedy Grecians err; + And these had perish’d in the nightly war, + But for my presence and protecting care. + Not Helen’s face, nor Paris, was in fault; + But by the gods was this destruction brought. + Now cast your eyes around, while I dissolve + The mists and films that mortal eyes involve, + Purge from your sight the dross, and make you see + The shape of each avenging deity. + Enlighten’d thus, my just commands fulfil, + Nor fear obedience to your mother’s will. + Where yon disorder’d heap of ruin lies, + Stones rent from stones; where clouds of dust arise, + Amid that smother Neptune holds his place, + Below the wall’s foundation drives his mace, + And heaves the building from the solid base. + Look where, in arms, imperial Juno stands + Full in the Scaean gate, with loud commands, + Urging on shore the tardy Grecian bands. + See! Pallas, of her snaky buckler proud, + Bestrides the tow’r, refulgent thro’ the cloud: + See! Jove new courage to the foe supplies, + And arms against the town the partial deities. + Haste hence, my son; this fruitless labour end: + Haste, where your trembling spouse and sire attend: + Haste; and a mother’s care your passage shall befriend.’ + She said, and swiftly vanish’d from my sight, + Obscure in clouds and gloomy shades of night. + I look’d, I listen’d; dreadful sounds I hear; + And the dire forms of hostile gods appear. + Troy sunk in flames I saw, nor could prevent; + And Ilium from its old foundations rent; + Rent like a mountain ash, which dar’d the winds, + And stood the sturdy strokes of lab’ring hinds. + About the roots the cruel ax resounds; + The stumps are pierc’d with oft-repeated wounds: + The war is felt on high; the nodding crown + Now threats a fall, and throws the leafy honours down. + To their united force it yields, tho’ late, + And mourns with mortal groans th’ approaching fate: + The roots no more their upper load sustain; + But down she falls, and spreads a ruin thro’ the plain. + + “Descending thence, I scape thro’ foes and fire: + Before the goddess, foes and flames retire. + Arriv’d at home, he, for whose only sake, + Or most for his, such toils I undertake, + The good Anchises, whom, by timely flight, + I purpos’d to secure on Ida’s height, + Refus’d the journey, resolute to die + And add his fun’rals to the fate of Troy, + Rather than exile and old age sustain. + ‘Go you, whose blood runs warm in ev’ry vein. + Had Heav’n decreed that I should life enjoy, + Heav’n had decreed to save unhappy Troy. + ’Tis, sure, enough, if not too much, for one, + Twice to have seen our Ilium overthrown. + Make haste to save the poor remaining crew, + And give this useless corpse a long adieu. + These weak old hands suffice to stop my breath; + At least the pitying foes will aid my death, + To take my spoils, and leave my body bare: + As for my sepulcher, let Heav’n take care. + ’Tis long since I, for my celestial wife + Loath’d by the gods, have dragg’d a ling’ring life; + Since ev’ry hour and moment I expire, + Blasted from heav’n by Jove’s avenging fire.’ + This oft repeated, he stood fix’d to die: + Myself, my wife, my son, my family, + Intreat, pray, beg, and raise a doleful cry. + ‘What, will he still persist, on death resolve, + And in his ruin all his house involve!’ + He still persists his reasons to maintain; + Our pray’rs, our tears, our loud laments, are vain. + + “Urg’d by despair, again I go to try + The fate of arms, resolv’d in fight to die: + ‘What hope remains, but what my death must give? + Can I, without so dear a father, live? + You term it prudence, what I baseness call: + Could such a word from such a parent fall? + If Fortune please, and so the gods ordain, + That nothing should of ruin’d Troy remain, + And you conspire with Fortune to be slain, + The way to death is wide, th’ approaches near: + For soon relentless Pyrrhus will appear, + Reeking with Priam’s blood: the wretch who slew + The son (inhuman) in the father’s view, + And then the sire himself to the dire altar drew. + O goddess mother, give me back to Fate; + Your gift was undesir’d, and came too late! + Did you, for this, unhappy me convey + Thro’ foes and fires, to see my house a prey? + Shall I my father, wife, and son behold, + Welt’ring in blood, each other’s arms infold? + Haste! gird my sword, tho’ spent and overcome: + ’Tis the last summons to receive our doom. + I hear thee, Fate; and I obey thy call! + Not unreveng’d the foe shall see my fall. + Restore me to the yet unfinish’d fight: + My death is wanting to conclude the night.’ + Arm’d once again, my glitt’ring sword I wield, + While th’ other hand sustains my weighty shield, + And forth I rush to seek th’ abandon’d field. + I went; but sad Creusa stopp’d my way, + And cross the threshold in my passage lay, + Embrac’d my knees, and, when I would have gone, + Shew’d me my feeble sire and tender son: + ‘If death be your design, at least,’ said she, + ‘Take us along to share your destiny. + If any farther hopes in arms remain, + This place, these pledges of your love, maintain. + To whom do you expose your father’s life, + Your son’s, and mine, your now forgotten wife!’ + While thus she fills the house with clam’rous cries, + Our hearing is diverted by our eyes: + For, while I held my son, in the short space + Betwixt our kisses and our last embrace; + Strange to relate, from young Iulus’ head + A lambent flame arose, which gently spread + Around his brows, and on his temples fed. + Amaz’d, with running water we prepare + To quench the sacred fire, and slake his hair; + But old Anchises, vers’d in omens, rear’d + His hands to heav’n, and this request preferr’d: + ‘If any vows, almighty Jove, can bend + Thy will; if piety can pray’rs commend, + Confirm the glad presage which thou art pleas’d to send.’ + Scarce had he said, when, on our left, we hear + A peal of rattling thunder roll in air: + There shot a streaming lamp along the sky, + Which on the winged lightning seem’d to fly; + From o’er the roof the blaze began to move, + And, trailing, vanish’d in th’ Idaean grove. + It swept a path in heav’n, and shone a guide, + Then in a steaming stench of sulphur died. + + “The good old man with suppliant hands implor’d + The gods’ protection, and their star ador’d. + ‘Now, now,’ said he, ‘my son, no more delay! + I yield, I follow where Heav’n shews the way. + Keep, O my country gods, our dwelling place, + And guard this relic of the Trojan race, + This tender child! These omens are your own, + And you can yet restore the ruin’d town. + At least accomplish what your signs foreshow: + I stand resign’d, and am prepar’d to go.’ + + “He said. The crackling flames appear on high. + And driving sparkles dance along the sky. + With Vulcan’s rage the rising winds conspire, + And near our palace roll the flood of fire. + ‘Haste, my dear father, (’tis no time to wait,) + And load my shoulders with a willing freight. + Whate’er befalls, your life shall be my care; + One death, or one deliv’rance, we will share. + My hand shall lead our little son; and you, + My faithful consort, shall our steps pursue. + Next, you, my servants, heed my strict commands: + Without the walls a ruin’d temple stands, + To Ceres hallow’d once; a cypress nigh + Shoots up her venerable head on high, + By long religion kept; there bend your feet, + And in divided parties let us meet. + Our country gods, the relics, and the bands, + Hold you, my father, in your guiltless hands: + In me ’tis impious holy things to bear, + Red as I am with slaughter, new from war, + Till in some living stream I cleanse the guilt + Of dire debate, and blood in battle spilt.’ + Thus, ord’ring all that prudence could provide, + I clothe my shoulders with a lion’s hide + And yellow spoils; then, on my bending back, + The welcome load of my dear father take; + While on my better hand Ascanius hung, + And with unequal paces tripp’d along. + Creusa kept behind; by choice we stray + Thro’ ev’ry dark and ev’ry devious way. + I, who so bold and dauntless just before, + The Grecian darts and shock of lances bore, + At ev’ry shadow now am seiz’d with fear, + Not for myself, but for the charge I bear; + Till, near the ruin’d gate arriv’d at last, + Secure, and deeming all the danger past, + A frightful noise of trampling feet we hear. + My father, looking thro’ the shades, with fear, + Cried out: ‘Haste, haste, my son, the foes are nigh; + Their swords and shining armour I descry.’ + Some hostile god, for some unknown offence, + Had sure bereft my mind of better sense; + For, while thro’ winding ways I took my flight, + And sought the shelter of the gloomy night, + Alas! I lost Creusa: hard to tell + If by her fatal destiny she fell, + Or weary sate, or wander’d with affright; + But she was lost for ever to my sight. + I knew not, or reflected, till I meet + My friends, at Ceres’ now deserted seat. + We met: not one was wanting; only she + Deceiv’d her friends, her son, and wretched me. + + “What mad expressions did my tongue refuse! + Whom did I not, of gods or men, accuse! + This was the fatal blow, that pain’d me more + Than all I felt from ruin’d Troy before. + Stung with my loss, and raving with despair, + Abandoning my now forgotten care, + Of counsel, comfort, and of hope bereft, + My sire, my son, my country gods I left. + In shining armour once again I sheathe + My limbs, not feeling wounds, nor fearing death. + Then headlong to the burning walls I run, + And seek the danger I was forc’d to shun. + I tread my former tracks; thro’ night explore + Each passage, ev’ry street I cross’d before. + All things were full of horror and affright, + And dreadful ev’n the silence of the night. + Then to my father’s house I make repair, + With some small glimpse of hope to find her there. + Instead of her, the cruel Greeks I met; + The house was fill’d with foes, with flames beset. + Driv’n on the wings of winds, whole sheets of fire, + Thro’ air transported, to the roofs aspire. + From thence to Priam’s palace I resort, + And search the citadel and desert court. + Then, unobserv’d, I pass by Juno’s church: + A guard of Grecians had possess’d the porch; + There Phoenix and Ulysses watch the prey, + And thither all the wealth of Troy convey: + The spoils which they from ransack’d houses brought, + And golden bowls from burning altars caught, + The tables of the gods, the purple vests, + The people’s treasure, and the pomp of priests. + A rank of wretched youths, with pinion’d hands, + And captive matrons, in long order stands. + Then, with ungovern’d madness, I proclaim, + Thro’ all the silent street, Creusa’s name: + Creusa still I call; at length she hears, + And sudden thro’ the shades of night appears. + Appears, no more Creusa, nor my wife, + But a pale spectre, larger than the life. + Aghast, astonish’d, and struck dumb with fear, + I stood; like bristles rose my stiffen’d hair. + Then thus the ghost began to soothe my grief + ‘Nor tears, nor cries, can give the dead relief. + Desist, my much-lov’d lord, t’ indulge your pain; + You bear no more than what the gods ordain. + My fates permit me not from hence to fly; + Nor he, the great controller of the sky. + Long wand’ring ways for you the pow’rs decree; + On land hard labours, and a length of sea. + Then, after many painful years are past, + On Latium’s happy shore you shall be cast, + Where gentle Tiber from his bed beholds + The flow’ry meadows, and the feeding folds. + There end your toils; and there your fates provide + A quiet kingdom, and a royal bride: + There fortune shall the Trojan line restore, + And you for lost Creusa weep no more. + Fear not that I shall watch, with servile shame, + Th’ imperious looks of some proud Grecian dame; + Or, stooping to the victor’s lust, disgrace + My goddess mother, or my royal race. + And now, farewell! The parent of the gods + Restrains my fleeting soul in her abodes: + I trust our common issue to your care.’ + She said, and gliding pass’d unseen in air. + I strove to speak: but horror tied my tongue; + And thrice about her neck my arms I flung, + And, thrice deceiv’d, on vain embraces hung. + Light as an empty dream at break of day, + Or as a blast of wind, she rush’d away. + + “Thus having pass’d the night in fruitless pain, + I to my longing friends return again, + Amaz’d th’ augmented number to behold, + Of men and matrons mix’d, of young and old; + A wretched exil’d crew together brought, + With arms appointed, and with treasure fraught, + Resolv’d, and willing, under my command, + To run all hazards both of sea and land. + The Morn began, from Ida, to display + Her rosy cheeks; and Phosphor led the day: + Before the gates the Grecians took their post, + And all pretence of late relief was lost. + I yield to Fate, unwillingly retire, + And, loaded, up the hill convey my sire.” + + + + BOOK III + + THE ARGUMENT. + + + Aeneas proceeds in his relation: he gives an account of the fleet + with which he sailed, and the success of his first voyage to + Thrace. From thence he directs his course to Delos and asks the + oracle what place the gods had appointed for his habitation. By a + mistake of the oracle’s answer, he settles in Crete. His + household gods give him the true sense of the oracle in a dream. + He follows their advice, and makes the best of his way for Italy. + He is cast on several shores, and meets with very surprising + adventures, till at length he lands on Sicily, where his father + Anchises dies. This is the place which he was sailing from, when + the tempest rose, and threw him upon the Carthaginian coast. + + + When Heav’n had overturn’d the Trojan state + And Priam’s throne, by too severe a fate; + When ruin’d Troy became the Grecians’ prey, + And Ilium’s lofty tow’rs in ashes lay; + Warn’d by celestial omens, we retreat, + To seek in foreign lands a happier seat. + Near old Antandros, and at Ida’s foot, + The timber of the sacred groves we cut, + And build our fleet; uncertain yet to find + What place the gods for our repose assign’d. + Friends daily flock; and scarce the kindly spring + Began to clothe the ground, and birds to sing, + When old Anchises summon’d all to sea: + The crew my father and the Fates obey. + With sighs and tears I leave my native shore, + And empty fields, where Ilium stood before. + My sire, my son, our less and greater gods, + All sail at once, and cleave the briny floods. + + “Against our coast appears a spacious land, + Which once the fierce Lycurgus did command, + Thracia the name; the people bold in war; + Vast are their fields, and tillage is their care, + A hospitable realm while Fate was kind, + With Troy in friendship and religion join’d. + I land; with luckless omens, then adore + Their gods, and draw a line along the shore; + I lay the deep foundations of a wall, + And Aenos, nam’d from me, the city call. + To Dionaean Venus vows are paid, + And all the pow’rs that rising labours aid; + A bull on Jove’s imperial altar laid. + Not far, a rising hillock stood in view; + Sharp myrtles on the sides, and cornels grew. + There, while I went to crop the sylvan scenes, + And shade our altar with their leafy greens, + I pull’d a plant; with horror I relate + A prodigy so strange and full of fate. + The rooted fibers rose, and from the wound + Black bloody drops distill’d upon the ground. + Mute and amaz’d, my hair with terror stood; + Fear shrunk my sinews, and congeal’d my blood. + Mann’d once again, another plant I try: + That other gush’d with the same sanguine dye. + Then, fearing guilt for some offence unknown, + With pray’rs and vows the Dryads I atone, + With all the sisters of the woods, and most + The God of Arms, who rules the Thracian coast, + That they, or he, these omens would avert, + Release our fears, and better signs impart. + Clear’d, as I thought, and fully fix’d at length + To learn the cause, I tugged with all my strength: + I bent my knees against the ground; once more + The violated myrtle ran with gore. + Scarce dare I tell the sequel: from the womb + Of wounded earth, and caverns of the tomb, + A groan, as of a troubled ghost, renew’d + My fright, and then these dreadful words ensued: + ‘Why dost thou thus my buried body rend? + O spare the corpse of thy unhappy friend! + Spare to pollute thy pious hands with blood: + The tears distil not from the wounded wood; + But ev’ry drop this living tree contains + Is kindred blood, and ran in Trojan veins. + O fly from this unhospitable shore, + Warn’d by my fate; for I am Polydore! + Here loads of lances, in my blood embrued, + Again shoot upward, by my blood renew’d.’ + + “My falt’ring tongue and shiv’ring limbs declare + My horror, and in bristles rose my hair. + When Troy with Grecian arms was closely pent, + Old Priam, fearful of the war’s event, + This hapless Polydore to Thracia sent: + Loaded with gold, he sent his darling, far + From noise and tumults, and destructive war, + Committed to the faithless tyrant’s care; + Who, when he saw the pow’r of Troy decline, + Forsook the weaker, with the strong to join; + Broke ev’ry bond of nature and of truth, + And murder’d, for his wealth, the royal youth. + O sacred hunger of pernicious gold! + What bands of faith can impious lucre hold? + Now, when my soul had shaken off her fears, + I call my father and the Trojan peers; + Relate the prodigies of Heav’n, require + What he commands, and their advice desire. + All vote to leave that execrable shore, + Polluted with the blood of Polydore; + But, ere we sail, his fun’ral rites prepare, + Then, to his ghost, a tomb and altars rear. + In mournful pomp the matrons walk the round, + With baleful cypress and blue fillets crown’d, + With eyes dejected, and with hair unbound. + Then bowls of tepid milk and blood we pour, + And thrice invoke the soul of Polydore. + + “Now, when the raging storms no longer reign, + But southern gales invite us to the main, + We launch our vessels, with a prosp’rous wind, + And leave the cities and the shores behind. + + “An island in th’ Aegaean main appears; + Neptune and wat’ry Doris claim it theirs. + It floated once, till Phoebus fix’d the sides + To rooted earth, and now it braves the tides. + Here, borne by friendly winds, we come ashore, + With needful ease our weary limbs restore, + And the Sun’s temple and his town adore. + + “Anius, the priest and king, with laurel crown’d, + His hoary locks with purple fillets bound, + Who saw my sire the Delian shore ascend, + Came forth with eager haste to meet his friend; + Invites him to his palace; and, in sign + Of ancient love, their plighted hands they join. + Then to the temple of the god I went, + And thus, before the shrine, my vows present: + ‘Give, O Thymbraeus, give a resting place + To the sad relics of the Trojan race; + A seat secure, a region of their own, + A lasting empire, and a happier town. + Where shall we fix? where shall our labours end? + Whom shall we follow, and what fate attend? + Let not my pray’rs a doubtful answer find; + But in clear auguries unveil thy mind.’ + Scarce had I said: he shook the holy ground, + The laurels, and the lofty hills around; + And from the tripos rush’d a bellowing sound. + Prostrate we fell; confess’d the present god, + Who gave this answer from his dark abode: + ‘Undaunted youths, go, seek that mother earth + From which your ancestors derive their birth. + The soil that sent you forth, her ancient race + In her old bosom shall again embrace. + Through the wide world th’ Aeneian house shall reign, + And children’s children shall the crown sustain.’ + Thus Phoebus did our future fates disclose: + A mighty tumult, mix’d with joy, arose. + + “All are concern’d to know what place the god + Assign’d, and where determin’d our abode. + My father, long revolving in his mind + The race and lineage of the Trojan kind, + Thus answer’d their demands: ‘Ye princes, hear + Your pleasing fortune, and dispel your fear. + The fruitful isle of Crete, well known to fame, + Sacred of old to Jove’s imperial name, + In the mid ocean lies, with large command, + And on its plains a hundred cities stand. + Another Ida rises there, and we + From thence derive our Trojan ancestry. + From thence, as ’tis divulg’d by certain fame, + To the Rhoetean shores old Teucrus came; + There fix’d, and there the seat of empire chose, + Ere Ilium and the Trojan tow’rs arose. + In humble vales they built their soft abodes, + Till Cybele, the mother of the gods, + With tinkling cymbals charm’d th’ Idaean woods, + She secret rites and ceremonies taught, + And to the yoke the savage lions brought. + Let us the land which Heav’n appoints, explore; + Appease the winds, and seek the Gnossian shore. + If Jove assists the passage of our fleet, + The third propitious dawn discovers Crete.’ + Thus having said, the sacrifices, laid + On smoking altars, to the gods he paid: + A bull, to Neptune an oblation due, + Another bull to bright Apollo slew; + A milk-white ewe, the western winds to please, + And one coal-black, to calm the stormy seas. + Ere this, a flying rumour had been spread + That fierce Idomeneus from Crete was fled, + Expell’d and exil’d; that the coast was free + From foreign or domestic enemy. + + “We leave the Delian ports, and put to sea. + By Naxos, fam’d for vintage, make our way; + Then green Donysa pass; and sail in sight + Of Paros’ isle, with marble quarries white. + We pass the scatter’d isles of Cyclades, + That, scarce distinguish’d, seem to stud the seas. + The shouts of sailors double near the shores; + They stretch their canvas, and they ply their oars. + ‘All hands aloft! for Crete! for Crete!’ they cry, + And swiftly thro’ the foamy billows fly. + Full on the promis’d land at length we bore, + With joy descending on the Cretan shore. + With eager haste a rising town I frame, + Which from the Trojan Pergamus I name: + The name itself was grateful; I exhort + To found their houses, and erect a fort. + Our ships are haul’d upon the yellow strand; + The youth begin to till the labour’d land; + And I myself new marriages promote, + Give laws, and dwellings I divide by lot; + When rising vapours choke the wholesome air, + And blasts of noisome winds corrupt the year; + The trees devouring caterpillars burn; + Parch’d was the grass, and blighted was the corn: + Nor ’scape the beasts; for Sirius, from on high, + With pestilential heat infects the sky: + My men, some fall, the rest in fevers fry. + Again my father bids me seek the shore + Of sacred Delos, and the god implore, + To learn what end of woes we might expect, + And to what clime our weary course direct. + + “’Twas night, when ev’ry creature, void of cares, + The common gift of balmy slumber shares: + The statues of my gods (for such they seem’d), + Those gods whom I from flaming Troy redeem’d, + Before me stood, majestically bright, + Full in the beams of Phoebe’s ent’ring light. + Then thus they spoke, and eas’d my troubled mind: + ‘What from the Delian god thou go’st to find, + He tells thee here, and sends us to relate. + Those pow’rs are we, companions of thy fate, + Who from the burning town by thee were brought, + Thy fortune follow’d, and thy safety wrought. + Thro’ seas and lands as we thy steps attend, + So shall our care thy glorious race befriend. + An ample realm for thee thy fates ordain, + A town that o’er the conquer’d world shall reign. + Thou, mighty walls for mighty nations build; + Nor let thy weary mind to labours yield: + But change thy seat; for not the Delian god, + Nor we, have giv’n thee Crete for our abode. + A land there is, Hesperia call’d of old, + The soil is fruitful, and the natives bold. + Th’ Oenotrians held it once, by later fame + Now call’d Italia, from the leader’s name. + Jasius there and Dardanus were born; + From thence we came, and thither must return. + Rise, and thy sire with these glad tidings greet. + Search Italy; for Jove denies thee Crete.’ + + “Astonish’d at their voices and their sight, + (Nor were they dreams, but visions of the night; + I saw, I knew their faces, and descried, + In perfect view, their hair with fillets tied;) + I started from my couch; a clammy sweat + On all my limbs and shiv’ring body sate. + To heav’n I lift my hands with pious haste, + And sacred incense in the flames I cast. + Thus to the gods their perfect honours done, + More cheerful, to my good old sire I run, + And tell the pleasing news. In little space + He found his error of the double race; + Not, as before he deem’d, deriv’d from Crete; + No more deluded by the doubtful seat: + Then said: ‘O son, turmoil’d in Trojan fate! + Such things as these Cassandra did relate. + This day revives within my mind what she + Foretold of Troy renew’d in Italy, + And Latian lands; but who could then have thought + That Phrygian gods to Latium should be brought, + Or who believ’d what mad Cassandra taught? + Now let us go where Phoebus leads the way.’ + + “He said; and we with glad consent obey, + Forsake the seat, and, leaving few behind, + We spread our sails before the willing wind. + Now from the sight of land our galleys move, + With only seas around and skies above; + When o’er our heads descends a burst of rain, + And night with sable clouds involves the main; + The ruffling winds the foamy billows raise; + The scatter’d fleet is forc’d to sev’ral ways; + The face of heav’n is ravish’d from our eyes, + And in redoubled peals the roaring thunder flies. + Cast from our course, we wander in the dark. + No stars to guide, no point of land to mark. + Ev’n Palinurus no distinction found + Betwixt the night and day; such darkness reign’d around. + Three starless nights the doubtful navy strays, + Without distinction, and three sunless days; + The fourth renews the light, and, from our shrouds, + We view a rising land, like distant clouds; + The mountain-tops confirm the pleasing sight, + And curling smoke ascending from their height. + The canvas falls; their oars the sailors ply; + From the rude strokes the whirling waters fly. + At length I land upon the Strophades, + Safe from the danger of the stormy seas. + Those isles are compass’d by th’ Ionian main, + The dire abode where the foul Harpies reign, + Forc’d by the winged warriors to repair + To their old homes, and leave their costly fare. + Monsters more fierce offended Heav’n ne’er sent + From hell’s abyss, for human punishment: + With virgin faces, but with wombs obscene, + Foul paunches, and with ordure still unclean; + With claws for hands, and looks for ever lean. + + “We landed at the port, and soon beheld + Fat herds of oxen graze the flow’ry field, + And wanton goats without a keeper stray’d. + With weapons we the welcome prey invade, + Then call the gods for partners of our feast, + And Jove himself, the chief invited guest. + We spread the tables on the greensward ground; + We feed with hunger, and the bowls go round; + When from the mountain-tops, with hideous cry, + And clatt’ring wings, the hungry Harpies fly; + They snatch the meat, defiling all they find, + And, parting, leave a loathsome stench behind. + Close by a hollow rock, again we sit, + New dress the dinner, and the beds refit, + Secure from sight, beneath a pleasing shade, + Where tufted trees a native arbour made. + Again the holy fires on altars burn; + And once again the rav’nous birds return, + Or from the dark recesses where they lie, + Or from another quarter of the sky; + With filthy claws their odious meal repeat, + And mix their loathsome ordures with their meat. + I bid my friends for vengeance then prepare, + And with the hellish nation wage the war. + They, as commanded, for the fight provide, + And in the grass their glitt’ring weapons hide; + Then, when along the crooked shore we hear + Their clatt’ring wings, and saw the foes appear, + Misenus sounds a charge: we take th’ alarm, + And our strong hands with swords and bucklers arm. + In this new kind of combat all employ + Their utmost force, the monsters to destroy. + In vain, the fated skin is proof to wounds; + And from their plumes the shining sword rebounds. + At length rebuff’d, they leave their mangled prey, + And their stretch’d pinions to the skies display. + Yet one remain’d, the messenger of Fate: + High on a craggy cliff Celaeno sate, + And thus her dismal errand did relate: + ‘What! not contented with our oxen slain, + Dare you with Heav’n an impious war maintain, + And drive the Harpies from their native reign? + Heed therefore what I say; and keep in mind + What Jove decrees, what Phoebus has design’d, + And I, the Furies’ queen, from both relate: + You seek th’ Italian shores, foredoom’d by fate: + Th’ Italian shores are granted you to find, + And a safe passage to the port assign’d. + But know, that ere your promis’d walls you build, + My curses shall severely be fulfill’d. + Fierce famine is your lot for this misdeed, + Reduc’d to grind the plates on which you feed.’ + She said, and to the neighb’ring forest flew. + Our courage fails us, and our fears renew. + Hopeless to win by war, to pray’rs we fall, + And on th’ offended Harpies humbly call, + And whether gods or birds obscene they were, + Our vows for pardon and for peace prefer. + But old Anchises, off’ring sacrifice, + And lifting up to heav’n his hands and eyes, + Ador’d the greater gods: ‘Avert,’ said he, + ‘These omens; render vain this prophecy, + And from th’ impending curse a pious people free!’ + + “Thus having said, he bids us put to sea; + We loose from shore our haulsers, and obey, + And soon with swelling sails pursue the wat’ry way. + Amidst our course, Zacynthian woods appear; + And next by rocky Neritos we steer: + We fly from Ithaca’s detested shore, + And curse the land which dire Ulysses bore. + At length Leucate’s cloudy top appears, + And the Sun’s temple, which the sailor fears. + Resolv’d to breathe a while from labour past, + Our crooked anchors from the prow we cast, + And joyful to the little city haste. + Here, safe beyond our hopes, our vows we pay + To Jove, the guide and patron of our way. + The customs of our country we pursue, + And Trojan games on Actian shores renew. + Our youth their naked limbs besmear with oil, + And exercise the wrastlers’ noble toil; + Pleas’d to have sail’d so long before the wind, + And left so many Grecian towns behind. + The sun had now fulfill’d his annual course, + And Boreas on the seas display’d his force: + I fix’d upon the temple’s lofty door + The brazen shield which vanquish’d Abas bore; + The verse beneath my name and action speaks: + ‘These arms Aeneas took from conqu’ring Greeks.’ + Then I command to weigh; the seamen ply + Their sweeping oars; the smoking billows fly. + The sight of high Phaeacia soon we lost, + And skimm’d along Epirus’ rocky coast. + + “Then to Chaonia’s port our course we bend, + And, landed, to Buthrotus’ heights ascend. + Here wondrous things were loudly blaz’d fame: + How Helenus reviv’d the Trojan name, + And reign’d in Greece; that Priam’s captive son + Succeeded Pyrrhus in his bed and throne; + And fair Andromache, restor’d by fate, + Once more was happy in a Trojan mate. + I leave my galleys riding in the port, + And long to see the new Dardanian court. + By chance, the mournful queen, before the gate, + Then solemniz’d her former husband’s fate. + Green altars, rais’d of turf, with gifts she crown’d, + And sacred priests in order stand around, + And thrice the name of hapless Hector sound. + The grove itself resembles Ida’s wood; + And Simois seem’d the well-dissembled flood. + But when at nearer distance she beheld + My shining armour and my Trojan shield, + Astonish’d at the sight, the vital heat + Forsakes her limbs; her veins no longer beat: + She faints, she falls, and scarce recov’ring strength, + Thus, with a falt’ring tongue, she speaks at length: + + “‘Are you alive, O goddess-born?’ she said, + ‘Or if a ghost, then where is Hector’s shade?’ + At this, she cast a loud and frightful cry. + With broken words I made this brief reply: + ‘All of me that remains appears in sight; + I live, if living be to loathe the light. + No phantom; but I drag a wretched life, + My fate resembling that of Hector’s wife. + What have you suffer’d since you lost your lord? + By what strange blessing are you now restor’d? + Still are you Hector’s? or is Hector fled, + And his remembrance lost in Pyrrhus’ bed?’ + With eyes dejected, in a lowly tone, + After a modest pause she thus begun: + + “‘O only happy maid of Priam’s race, + Whom death deliver’d from the foes’ embrace! + Commanded on Achilles’ tomb to die, + Not forc’d, like us, to hard captivity, + Or in a haughty master’s arms to lie. + In Grecian ships unhappy we were borne, + Endur’d the victor’s lust, sustain’d the scorn: + Thus I submitted to the lawless pride + Of Pyrrhus, more a handmaid than a bride. + Cloy’d with possession, he forsook my bed, + And Helen’s lovely daughter sought to wed; + Then me to Trojan Helenus resign’d, + And his two slaves in equal marriage join’d; + Till young Orestes, pierc’d with deep despair, + And longing to redeem the promis’d fair, + Before Apollo’s altar slew the ravisher. + By Pyrrhus’ death the kingdom we regain’d: + At least one half with Helenus remain’d. + Our part, from Chaon, he Chaonia calls, + And names from Pergamus his rising walls. + But you, what fates have landed on our coast? + What gods have sent you, or what storms have toss’d? + Does young Ascanius life and health enjoy, + Sav’d from the ruins of unhappy Troy? + O tell me how his mother’s loss he bears, + What hopes are promis’d from his blooming years, + How much of Hector in his face appears?’ + She spoke; and mix’d her speech with mournful cries, + And fruitless tears came trickling from her eyes. + + “At length her lord descends upon the plain, + In pomp, attended with a num’rous train; + Receives his friends, and to the city leads, + And tears of joy amidst his welcome sheds. + Proceeding on, another Troy I see, + Or, in less compass, Troy’s epitome. + A riv’let by the name of Xanthus ran, + And I embrace the Scaean gate again. + My friends in porticoes were entertain’d, + And feasts and pleasures thro’ the city reign’d. + The tables fill’d the spacious hall around, + And golden bowls with sparkling wine were crown’d. + Two days we pass’d in mirth, till friendly gales, + Blown from the south supplied our swelling sails. + Then to the royal seer I thus began: + ‘O thou, who know’st, beyond the reach of man, + The laws of heav’n, and what the stars decree; + Whom Phoebus taught unerring prophecy, + From his own tripod, and his holy tree; + Skill’d in the wing’d inhabitants of air, + What auspices their notes and flights declare: + O say; for all religious rites portend + A happy voyage, and a prosp’rous end; + And ev’ry power and omen of the sky + Direct my course for destin’d Italy; + But only dire Celaeno, from the gods, + A dismal famine fatally forebodes: + O say what dangers I am first to shun, + What toils vanquish, and what course to run.’ + + “The prophet first with sacrifice adores + The greater gods; their pardon then implores; + Unbinds the fillet from his holy head; + To Phoebus, next, my trembling steps he led, + Full of religious doubts and awful dread. + Then, with his god possess’d, before the shrine, + These words proceeded from his mouth divine: + ‘O goddess-born, (for Heav’n’s appointed will, + With greater auspices of good than ill, + Foreshows thy voyage, and thy course directs; + Thy fates conspire, and Jove himself protects,) + Of many things some few I shall explain, + Teach thee to shun the dangers of the main, + And how at length the promis’d shore to gain. + The rest the fates from Helenus conceal, + And Juno’s angry pow’r forbids to tell. + First, then, that happy shore, that seems so nigh, + Will far from your deluded wishes fly; + Long tracts of seas divide your hopes from Italy: + For you must cruise along Sicilian shores, + And stem the currents with your struggling oars; + Then round th’ Italian coast your navy steer; + And, after this, to Circe’s island veer; + And, last, before your new foundations rise, + Must pass the Stygian lake, and view the nether skies. + Now mark the signs of future ease and rest, + And bear them safely treasur’d in thy breast. + When, in the shady shelter of a wood, + And near the margin of a gentle flood, + Thou shalt behold a sow upon the ground, + With thirty sucking young encompass’d round; + The dam and offspring white as falling snow: + These on thy city shall their name bestow, + And there shall end thy labours and thy woe. + Nor let the threaten’d famine fright thy mind, + For Phoebus will assist, and Fate the way will find. + Let not thy course to that ill coast be bent, + Which fronts from far th’ Epirian continent: + Those parts are all by Grecian foes possess’d; + The salvage Locrians here the shores infest; + There fierce Idomeneus his city builds, + And guards with arms the Salentinian fields; + And on the mountain’s brow Petilia stands, + Which Philoctetes with his troops commands. + Ev’n when thy fleet is landed on the shore, + And priests with holy vows the gods adore, + Then with a purple veil involve your eyes, + Lest hostile faces blast the sacrifice. + These rites and customs to the rest commend, + That to your pious race they may descend. + + ‘When, parted hence, the wind, that ready waits + For Sicily, shall bear you to the straits + Where proud Pelorus opes a wider way, + Tack to the larboard, and stand off to sea: + Veer starboard sea and land. Th’ Italian shore + And fair Sicilia’s coast were one, before + An earthquake caus’d the flaw: the roaring tides + The passage broke that land from land divides; + And where the lands retir’d, the rushing ocean rides. + Distinguish’d by the straits, on either hand, + Now rising cities in long order stand, + And fruitful fields: so much can time invade + The mould’ring work that beauteous Nature made. + Far on the right, her dogs foul Scylla hides: + Charybdis roaring on the left presides, + And in her greedy whirlpool sucks the tides; + Then spouts them from below: with fury driv’n, + The waves mount up and wash the face of heav’n. + But Scylla from her den, with open jaws, + The sinking vessel in her eddy draws, + Then dashes on the rocks. A human face, + And virgin bosom, hides her tail’s disgrace: + Her parts obscene below the waves descend, + With dogs inclos’d, and in a dolphin end. + ’Tis safer, then, to bear aloof to sea, + And coast Pachynus, tho’ with more delay, + Than once to view misshapen Scylla near, + And the loud yell of wat’ry wolves to hear. + + “‘Besides, if faith to Helenus be due, + And if prophetic Phoebus tell me true, + Do not this precept of your friend forget, + Which therefore more than once I must repeat: + Above the rest, great Juno’s name adore; + Pay vows to Juno; Juno’s aid implore. + Let gifts be to the mighty queen design’d, + And mollify with pray’rs her haughty mind. + Thus, at the length, your passage shall be free, + And you shall safe descend on Italy. + Arriv’d at Cumae, when you view the flood + Of black Avernus, and the sounding wood, + The mad prophetic Sibyl you shall find, + Dark in a cave, and on a rock reclin’d. + She sings the fates, and, in her frantic fits, + The notes and names, inscrib’d, to leafs commits. + What she commits to leafs, in order laid, + Before the cavern’s entrance are display’d: + Unmov’d they lie; but, if a blast of wind + Without, or vapours issue from behind, + The leafs are borne aloft in liquid air, + And she resumes no more her museful care, + Nor gathers from the rocks her scatter’d verse, + Nor sets in order what the winds disperse. + Thus, many not succeeding, most upbraid + The madness of the visionary maid, + And with loud curses leave the mystic shade. + + “‘Think it not loss of time a while to stay, + Tho’ thy companions chide thy long delay; + Tho’ summon’d to the seas, tho’ pleasing gales + Invite thy course, and stretch thy swelling sails: + But beg the sacred priestess to relate + With willing words, and not to write thy fate. + The fierce Italian people she will show, + And all thy wars, and all thy future woe, + And what thou may’st avoid, and what must undergo. + She shall direct thy course, instruct thy mind, + And teach thee how the happy shores to find. + This is what Heav’n allows me to relate: + Now part in peace; pursue thy better fate, + And raise, by strength of arms, the Trojan state.’ + + “This when the priest with friendly voice declar’d, + He gave me license, and rich gifts prepar’d: + Bounteous of treasure, he supplied my want + With heavy gold, and polish’d elephant; + Then Dodonaean caldrons put on board, + And ev’ry ship with sums of silver stor’d. + A trusty coat of mail to me he sent, + Thrice chain’d with gold, for use and ornament; + The helm of Pyrrhus added to the rest, + That flourish’d with a plume and waving crest. + Nor was my sire forgotten, nor my friends; + And large recruits he to my navy sends: + Men, horses, captains, arms, and warlike stores; + Supplies new pilots, and new sweeping oars. + Meantime, my sire commands to hoist our sails, + Lest we should lose the first auspicious gales. + + “The prophet bless’d the parting crew, and last, + With words like these, his ancient friend embrac’d: + ‘Old happy man, the care of gods above, + Whom heav’nly Venus honour’d with her love, + And twice preserv’d thy life, when Troy was lost, + Behold from far the wish’d Ausonian coast: + There land; but take a larger compass round, + For that before is all forbidden ground. + The shore that Phoebus has design’d for you, + At farther distance lies, conceal’d from view. + Go happy hence, and seek your new abodes, + Blest in a son, and favour’d by the gods: + For I with useless words prolong your stay, + When southern gales have summon’d you away.’ + + “Nor less the queen our parting thence deplor’d, + Nor was less bounteous than her Trojan lord. + A noble present to my son she brought, + A robe with flow’rs on golden tissue wrought, + A phrygian vest; and loads with gifts beside + Of precious texture, and of Asian pride. + ‘Accept,’ she said, ‘these monuments of love, + Which in my youth with happier hands I wove: + Regard these trifles for the giver’s sake; + ’Tis the last present Hector’s wife can make. + Thou call’st my lost Astyanax to mind; + In thee his features and his form I find: + His eyes so sparkled with a lively flame; + Such were his motions; such was all his frame; + And ah! had Heav’n so pleas’d, his years had been the same.’ + + “With tears I took my last adieu, and said: + ‘Your fortune, happy pair, already made, + Leaves you no farther wish. My diff’rent state, + Avoiding one, incurs another fate. + To you a quiet seat the gods allow: + You have no shores to search, no seas to plow, + Nor fields of flying Italy to chase: + (Deluding visions, and a vain embrace!) + You see another Simois, and enjoy + The labour of your hands, another Troy, + With better auspice than her ancient tow’rs, + And less obnoxious to the Grecian pow’rs. + If e’er the gods, whom I with vows adore, + Conduct my steps to Tiber’s happy shore; + If ever I ascend the Latian throne, + And build a city I may call my own; + As both of us our birth from Troy derive, + So let our kindred lines in concord live, + And both in acts of equal friendship strive. + Our fortunes, good or bad, shall be the same: + The double Troy shall differ but in name; + That what we now begin may never end, + But long to late posterity descend.’ + + “Near the Ceraunian rocks our course we bore; + The shortest passage to th’ Italian shore. + Now had the sun withdrawn his radiant light, + And hills were hid in dusky shades of night: + We land, and, on the bosom of the ground, + A safe retreat and a bare lodging found. + Close by the shore we lay; the sailors keep + Their watches, and the rest securely sleep. + The night, proceeding on with silent pace, + Stood in her noon, and view’d with equal face + Her steepy rise and her declining race. + Then wakeful Palinurus rose, to spy + The face of heav’n, and the nocturnal sky; + And listen’d ev’ry breath of air to try; + Observes the stars, and notes their sliding course, + The Pleiads, Hyads, and their wat’ry force; + And both the Bears is careful to behold, + And bright Orion, arm’d with burnish’d gold. + Then, when he saw no threat’ning tempest nigh, + But a sure promise of a settled sky, + He gave the sign to weigh; we break our sleep, + Forsake the pleasing shore, and plow the deep. + + “And now the rising morn with rosy light + Adorns the skies, and puts the stars to flight; + When we from far, like bluish mists, descry + The hills, and then the plains, of Italy. + Achates first pronounc’d the joyful sound; + Then, ‘Italy!’ the cheerful crew rebound. + My sire Anchises crown’d a cup with wine, + And, off’ring, thus implor’d the pow’rs divine: + ‘Ye gods, presiding over lands and seas, + And you who raging winds and waves appease, + Breathe on our swelling sails a prosp’rous wind, + And smooth our passage to the port assign’d!’ + The gentle gales their flagging force renew, + And now the happy harbour is in view. + Minerva’s temple then salutes our sight, + Plac’d, as a landmark, on the mountain’s height. + We furl our sails, and turn the prows to shore; + The curling waters round the galleys roar. + The land lies open to the raging east, + Then, bending like a bow, with rocks compress’d, + Shuts out the storms; the winds and waves complain, + And vent their malice on the cliffs in vain. + The port lies hid within; on either side + Two tow’ring rocks the narrow mouth divide. + The temple, which aloft we view’d before, + To distance flies, and seems to shun the shore. + Scarce landed, the first omens I beheld + Were four white steeds that cropp’d the flow’ry field. + ‘War, war is threaten’d from this foreign ground,’ + My father cried, ‘where warlike steeds are found. + Yet, since reclaim’d to chariots they submit, + And bend to stubborn yokes, and champ the bit, + Peace may succeed to war.’ Our way we bend + To Pallas, and the sacred hill ascend; + There prostrate to the fierce Virago pray, + Whose temple was the landmark of our way. + Each with a Phrygian mantle veil’d his head, + And all commands of Helenus obey’d, + And pious rites to Grecian Juno paid. + These dues perform’d, we stretch our sails, and stand + To sea, forsaking that suspected land. + + “From hence Tarentum’s bay appears in view, + For Hercules renown’d, if fame be true. + Just opposite, Lacinian Juno stands; + Caulonian tow’rs, and Scylacaean strands, + For shipwrecks fear’d. Mount Aetna thence we spy, + Known by the smoky flames which cloud the sky. + Far off we hear the waves with surly sound + Invade the rocks, the rocks their groans rebound. + The billows break upon the sounding strand, + And roll the rising tide, impure with sand. + Then thus Anchises, in experience old: + ‘’Tis that Charybdis which the seer foretold, + And those the promis’d rocks! Bear off to sea!’ + With haste the frighted mariners obey. + First Palinurus to the larboard veer’d; + Then all the fleet by his example steer’d. + To heav’n aloft on ridgy waves we ride, + Then down to hell descend, when they divide; + And thrice our galleys knock’d the stony ground, + And thrice the hollow rocks return’d the sound, + And thrice we saw the stars, that stood with dews around. + The flagging winds forsook us, with the sun; + And, wearied, on Cyclopian shores we run. + The port capacious, and secure from wind, + Is to the foot of thund’ring Aetna join’d. + By turns a pitchy cloud she rolls on high; + By turns hot embers from her entrails fly, + And flakes of mounting flames, that lick the sky. + Oft from her bowels massy rocks are thrown, + And, shiver’d by the force, come piecemeal down. + Oft liquid lakes of burning sulphur flow, + Fed from the fiery springs that boil below. + Enceladus, they say, transfix’d by Jove, + With blasted limbs came tumbling from above; + And, where he fell, th’ avenging father drew + This flaming hill, and on his body threw. + As often as he turns his weary sides, + He shakes the solid isle, and smoke the heavens hides. + In shady woods we pass the tedious night, + Where bellowing sounds and groans our souls affright, + Of which no cause is offer’d to the sight; + For not one star was kindled in the sky, + Nor could the moon her borrow’d light supply; + For misty clouds involv’d the firmament, + The stars were muffled, and the moon was pent. + + “Scarce had the rising sun the day reveal’d, + Scarce had his heat the pearly dews dispell’d, + When from the woods there bolts, before our sight, + Somewhat betwixt a mortal and a sprite, + So thin, so ghastly meager, and so wan, + So bare of flesh, he scarce resembled man. + This thing, all tatter’d, seem’d from far t’implore + Our pious aid, and pointed to the shore. + We look behind, then view his shaggy beard; + His clothes were tagg’d with thorns, and filth his limbs + besmear’d; + The rest, in mien, in habit, and in face, + Appear’d a Greek, and such indeed he was. + He cast on us, from far, a frightful view, + Whom soon for Trojans and for foes he knew; + Stood still, and paus’d; then all at once began + To stretch his limbs, and trembled as he ran. + Soon as approach’d, upon his knees he falls, + And thus with tears and sighs for pity calls: + ‘Now, by the pow’rs above, and what we share + From Nature’s common gift, this vital air, + O Trojans, take me hence! I beg no more; + But bear me far from this unhappy shore. + ’Tis true, I am a Greek, and farther own, + Among your foes besieg’d th’ imperial town. + For such demerits if my death be due, + No more for this abandon’d life I sue; + This only favour let my tears obtain, + To throw me headlong in the rapid main: + Since nothing more than death my crime demands, + I die content, to die by human hands.’ + He said, and on his knees my knees embrac’d: + I bade him boldly tell his fortune past, + His present state, his lineage, and his name, + Th’ occasion of his fears, and whence he came. + The good Anchises rais’d him with his hand; + Who, thus encourag’d, answer’d our demand: + ‘From Ithaca, my native soil, I came + To Troy; and Achaemenides my name. + Me my poor father with Ulysses sent; + (O had I stay’d, with poverty content!) + But, fearful for themselves, my countrymen + Left me forsaken in the Cyclops’ den. + The cave, tho’ large, was dark; the dismal floor + Was pav’d with mangled limbs and putrid gore. + Our monstrous host, of more than human size, + Erects his head, and stares within the skies; + Bellowing his voice, and horrid is his hue. + Ye gods, remove this plague from mortal view! + The joints of slaughter’d wretches are his food; + And for his wine he quaffs the streaming blood. + These eyes beheld, when with his spacious hand + He seiz’d two captives of our Grecian band; + Stretch’d on his back, he dash’d against the stones + Their broken bodies, and their crackling bones: + With spouting blood the purple pavement swims, + While the dire glutton grinds the trembling limbs. + + “‘Not unreveng’d Ulysses bore their fate, + Nor thoughtless of his own unhappy state; + For, gorg’d with flesh, and drunk with human wine + While fast asleep the giant lay supine, + Snoring aloud, and belching from his maw + His indigested foam, and morsels raw; + We pray; we cast the lots, and then surround + The monstrous body, stretch’d along the ground: + Each, as he could approach him, lends a hand + To bore his eyeball with a flaming brand. + Beneath his frowning forehead lay his eye; + For only one did the vast frame supply; + But that a globe so large, his front it fill’d, + Like the sun’s disk or like a Grecian shield. + The stroke succeeds; and down the pupil bends: + This vengeance follow’d for our slaughter’d friends. + But haste, unhappy wretches, haste to fly! + Your cables cut, and on your oars rely! + Such, and so vast as Polypheme appears, + A hundred more this hated island bears: + Like him, in caves they shut their woolly sheep; + Like him, their herds on tops of mountains keep; + Like him, with mighty strides, they stalk from steep to steep + And now three moons their sharpen’d horns renew, + Since thus, in woods and wilds, obscure from view, + I drag my loathsome days with mortal fright, + And in deserted caverns lodge by night; + Oft from the rocks a dreadful prospect see + Of the huge Cyclops, like a walking tree: + From far I hear his thund’ring voice resound, + And trampling feet that shake the solid ground. + Cornels and salvage berries of the wood, + And roots and herbs, have been my meager food. + While all around my longing eyes I cast, + I saw your happy ships appear at last. + On those I fix’d my hopes, to these I run; + ’Tis all I ask, this cruel race to shun; + What other death you please, yourselves bestow.’ + + “Scarce had he said, when on the mountain’s brow + We saw the giant shepherd stalk before + His following flock, and leading to the shore: + A monstrous bulk, deform’d, depriv’d of sight; + His staff a trunk of pine, to guide his steps aright. + His pond’rous whistle from his neck descends; + His woolly care their pensive lord attends: + This only solace his hard fortune sends. + Soon as he reach’d the shore and touch’d the waves, + From his bor’d eye the gutt’ring blood he laves: + He gnash’d his teeth, and groan’d; thro’ seas he strides, + And scarce the topmost billows touch’d his sides. + + “Seiz’d with a sudden fear, we run to sea, + The cables cut, and silent haste away; + The well-deserving stranger entertain; + Then, buckling to the work, our oars divide the main. + The giant harken’d to the dashing sound: + But, when our vessels out of reach he found, + He strided onward, and in vain essay’d + Th’ Ionian deep, and durst no farther wade. + With that he roar’d aloud: the dreadful cry + Shakes earth, and air, and seas; the billows fly + Before the bellowing noise to distant Italy. + The neighb’ring Aetna trembling all around, + The winding caverns echo to the sound. + His brother Cyclops hear the yelling roar, + And, rushing down the mountains, crowd the shore. + We saw their stern distorted looks, from far, + And one-eyed glance, that vainly threaten’d war: + A dreadful council, with their heads on high; + (The misty clouds about their foreheads fly;) + Not yielding to the tow’ring tree of Jove, + Or tallest cypress of Diana’s grove. + New pangs of mortal fear our minds assail; + We tug at ev’ry oar, and hoist up ev’ry sail, + And take th’ advantage of the friendly gale. + Forewarn’d by Helenus, we strive to shun + Charybdis’ gulf, nor dare to Scylla run. + An equal fate on either side appears: + We, tacking to the left, are free from fears; + For, from Pelorus’ point, the North arose, + And drove us back where swift Pantagias flows. + His rocky mouth we pass, and make our way + By Thapsus and Megara’s winding bay. + This passage Achaemenides had shown, + Tracing the course which he before had run. + + “Right o’er against Plemmyrium’s wat’ry strand, + There lies an isle once call’d th’ Ortygian land. + Alpheus, as old fame reports, has found + From Greece a secret passage under ground, + By love to beauteous Arethusa led; + And, mingling here, they roll in the same sacred bed. + As Helenus enjoin’d, we next adore + Diana’s name, protectress of the shore. + With prosp’rous gales we pass the quiet sounds + Of still Elorus, and his fruitful bounds. + Then, doubling Cape Pachynus, we survey + The rocky shore extended to the sea. + The town of Camarine from far we see, + And fenny lake, undrain’d by fate’s decree. + In sight of the Geloan fields we pass, + And the large walls, where mighty Gela was; + Then Agragas, with lofty summits crown’d, + Long for the race of warlike steeds renown’d. + We pass’d Selinus, and the palmy land, + And widely shun the Lilybaean strand, + Unsafe, for secret rocks and moving sand. + At length on shore the weary fleet arriv’d, + Which Drepanum’s unhappy port receiv’d. + Here, after endless labours, often toss’d + By raging storms, and driv’n on ev’ry coast, + My dear, dear father, spent with age, I lost: + Ease of my cares, and solace of my pain, + Sav’d thro’ a thousand toils, but sav’d in vain + The prophet, who my future woes reveal’d, + Yet this, the greatest and the worst, conceal’d; + And dire Celaeno, whose foreboding skill + Denounc’d all else, was silent of the ill. + This my last labour was. Some friendly god + From thence convey’d us to your blest abode.” + + Thus, to the list’ning queen, the royal guest + His wand’ring course and all his toils express’d; + And here concluding, he retir’d to rest. + + + + BOOK IV + + THE ARGUMENT. + + + Dido discovers to her sister her passion for Aeneas, and her + thoughts of marrying him. She prepares a hunting match for his + entertainment. Juno, by Venus’ consent, raises a storm, which + separates the hunters, and drives Aeneas and Dido into the same + cave, where their marriage is supposed to be completed. Jupiter + despatches Mercury to Aeneas, to warn him from Carthage. Aeneas + secretly prepares for his voyage. Dido finds out his design, and, + to put a stop to it, makes use of her own and her sister’s + entreaties, and discovers all the variety of passions that are + incident to a neglected lover. When nothing could prevail upon + him, she contrives her own death, with which this book concludes. + + + But anxious cares already seiz’d the queen: + She fed within her veins a flame unseen; + The hero’s valour, acts, and birth inspire + Her soul with love, and fan the secret fire. + His words, his looks, imprinted in her heart, + Improve the passion, and increase the smart. + Now, when the purple morn had chas’d away + The dewy shadows, and restor’d the day, + Her sister first with early care she sought, + And thus in mournful accents eas’d her thought: + + “My dearest Anna, what new dreams affright + My lab’ring soul! what visions of the night + Disturb my quiet, and distract my breast + With strange ideas of our Trojan guest! + His worth, his actions, and majestic air, + A man descended from the gods declare. + Fear ever argues a degenerate kind; + His birth is well asserted by his mind. + Then, what he suffer’d, when by Fate betray’d! + What brave attempts for falling Troy he made! + Such were his looks, so gracefully he spoke, + That, were I not resolv’d against the yoke + Of hapless marriage, never to be curst + With second love, so fatal was my first, + To this one error I might yield again; + For, since Sichaeus was untimely slain, + This only man is able to subvert + The fix’d foundations of my stubborn heart. + And, to confess my frailty, to my shame, + Somewhat I find within, if not the same, + Too like the sparkles of my former flame. + But first let yawning earth a passage rend, + And let me thro’ the dark abyss descend; + First let avenging Jove, with flames from high, + Drive down this body to the nether sky, + Condemn’d with ghosts in endless night to lie, + Before I break the plighted faith I gave! + No! he who had my vows shall ever have; + For, whom I lov’d on earth, I worship in the grave.” + + She said: the tears ran gushing from her eyes, + And stopp’d her speech. Her sister thus replies: + “O dearer than the vital air I breathe, + Will you to grief your blooming years bequeath, + Condemn’d to waste in woes your lonely life, + Without the joys of mother or of wife? + Think you these tears, this pompous train of woe, + Are known or valued by the ghosts below? + I grant that, while your sorrows yet were green, + It well became a woman, and a queen, + The vows of Tyrian princes to neglect, + To scorn Hyarbas, and his love reject, + With all the Libyan lords of mighty name; + But will you fight against a pleasing flame! + This little spot of land, which Heav’n bestows, + On ev’ry side is hemm’d with warlike foes; + Gaetulian cities here are spread around, + And fierce Numidians there your frontiers bound; + Here lies a barren waste of thirsty land, + And there the Syrtes raise the moving sand; + Barcaean troops besiege the narrow shore, + And from the sea Pygmalion threatens more. + Propitious Heav’n, and gracious Juno, lead + This wand’ring navy to your needful aid: + How will your empire spread, your city rise, + From such a union, and with such allies? + Implore the favour of the pow’rs above, + And leave the conduct of the rest to love. + Continue still your hospitable way, + And still invent occasions of their stay, + Till storms and winter winds shall cease to threat, + And planks and oars repair their shatter’d fleet.” + + These words, which from a friend and sister came, + With ease resolv’d the scruples of her fame, + And added fury to the kindled flame. + Inspir’d with hope, the project they pursue; + On ev’ry altar sacrifice renew: + A chosen ewe of two years old they pay + To Ceres, Bacchus, and the God of Day; + Preferring Juno’s pow’r, for Juno ties + The nuptial knot and makes the marriage joys. + The beauteous queen before her altar stands, + And holds the golden goblet in her hands. + A milk-white heifer she with flow’rs adorns, + And pours the ruddy wine betwixt her horns; + And, while the priests with pray’r the gods invoke, + She feeds their altars with Sabaean smoke, + With hourly care the sacrifice renews, + And anxiously the panting entrails views. + What priestly rites, alas! what pious art, + What vows avail to cure a bleeding heart! + A gentle fire she feeds within her veins, + Where the soft god secure in silence reigns. + + Sick with desire, and seeking him she loves, + From street to street the raving Dido roves. + So when the watchful shepherd, from the blind, + Wounds with a random shaft the careless hind, + Distracted with her pain she flies the woods, + Bounds o’er the lawn, and seeks the silent floods, + With fruitless care; for still the fatal dart + Sticks in her side, and rankles in her heart. + And now she leads the Trojan chief along + The lofty walls, amidst the busy throng; + Displays her Tyrian wealth, and rising town, + Which love, without his labour, makes his own. + This pomp she shows, to tempt her wand’ring guest; + Her falt’ring tongue forbids to speak the rest. + When day declines, and feasts renew the night, + Still on his face she feeds her famish’d sight; + She longs again to hear the prince relate + His own adventures and the Trojan fate. + He tells it o’er and o’er; but still in vain, + For still she begs to hear it once again. + The hearer on the speaker’s mouth depends, + And thus the tragic story never ends. + + Then, when they part, when Phoebe’s paler light + Withdraws, and falling stars to sleep invite, + She last remains, when ev’ry guest is gone, + Sits on the bed he press’d, and sighs alone; + Absent, her absent hero sees and hears; + Or in her bosom young Ascanius bears, + And seeks the father’s image in the child, + If love by likeness might be so beguil’d. + + Meantime the rising tow’rs are at a stand; + No labours exercise the youthful band, + Nor use of arts, nor toils of arms they know; + The mole is left unfinish’d to the foe; + The mounds, the works, the walls, neglected lie, + Short of their promis’d heighth, that seem’d to threat the sky, + + But when imperial Juno, from above, + Saw Dido fetter’d in the chains of love, + Hot with the venom which her veins inflam’d, + And by no sense of shame to be reclaim’d, + With soothing words to Venus she begun: + “High praises, endless honours, you have won, + And mighty trophies, with your worthy son! + Two gods a silly woman have undone! + Nor am I ignorant, you both suspect + This rising city, which my hands erect: + But shall celestial discord never cease? + ’Tis better ended in a lasting peace. + You stand possess’d of all your soul desir’d: + Poor Dido with consuming love is fir’d. + Your Trojan with my Tyrian let us join; + So Dido shall be yours, Aeneas mine: + One common kingdom, one united line. + Eliza shall a Dardan lord obey, + And lofty Carthage for a dow’r convey.” + Then Venus, who her hidden fraud descried, + Which would the scepter of the world misguide + To Libyan shores, thus artfully replied: + “Who, but a fool, would wars with Juno choose, + And such alliance and such gifts refuse, + If Fortune with our joint desires comply? + The doubt is all from Jove and destiny; + Lest he forbid, with absolute command, + To mix the people in one common land. + Or will the Trojan and the Tyrian line + In lasting leagues and sure succession join? + But you, the partner of his bed and throne, + May move his mind; my wishes are your own.” + + “Mine,” said imperial Juno, “be the care; + Time urges, now, to perfect this affair: + Attend my counsel, and the secret share. + When next the Sun his rising light displays, + And gilds the world below with purple rays, + The queen, Aeneas, and the Tyrian court + Shall to the shady woods, for sylvan game, resort. + There, while the huntsmen pitch their toils around, + And cheerful horns from side to side resound, + A pitchy cloud shall cover all the plain + With hail, and thunder, and tempestuous rain; + The fearful train shall take their speedy flight, + Dispers’d, and all involv’d in gloomy night; + One cave a grateful shelter shall afford + To the fair princess and the Trojan lord. + I will myself the bridal bed prepare, + If you, to bless the nuptials, will be there: + So shall their loves be crown’d with due delights, + And Hymen shall be present at the rites.” + The Queen of Love consents, and closely smiles + At her vain project, and discover’d wiles. + + The rosy morn was risen from the main, + And horns and hounds awake the princely train: + They issue early thro’ the city gate, + Where the more wakeful huntsmen ready wait, + With nets, and toils, and darts, beside the force + Of Spartan dogs, and swift Massylian horse. + The Tyrian peers and officers of state + For the slow queen in antechambers wait; + Her lofty courser, in the court below, + Who his majestic rider seems to know, + Proud of his purple trappings, paws the ground, + And champs the golden bit, and spreads the foam around. + The queen at length appears; on either hand + The brawny guards in martial order stand. + A flow’r’d simar with golden fringe she wore, + And at her back a golden quiver bore; + Her flowing hair a golden caul restrains, + A golden clasp the Tyrian robe sustains. + Then young Ascanius, with a sprightly grace, + Leads on the Trojan youth to view the chase. + But far above the rest in beauty shines + The great Aeneas, the troop he joins; + Like fair Apollo, when he leaves the frost + Of wint’ry Xanthus, and the Lycian coast, + When to his native Delos he resorts, + Ordains the dances, and renews the sports; + Where painted Scythians, mix’d with Cretan bands, + Before the joyful altars join their hands: + Himself, on Cynthus walking, sees below + The merry madness of the sacred show. + Green wreaths of bays his length of hair inclose; + A golden fillet binds his awful brows; + His quiver sounds: not less the prince is seen + In manly presence, or in lofty mien. + + Now had they reach’d the hills, and storm’d the seat + Of salvage beasts, in dens, their last retreat. + The cry pursues the mountain goats: they bound + From rock to rock, and keep the craggy ground; + Quite otherwise the stags, a trembling train, + In herds unsingled, scour the dusty plain, + And a long chase in open view maintain. + The glad Ascanius, as his courser guides, + Spurs thro’ the vale, and these and those outrides. + His horse’s flanks and sides are forc’d to feel + The clanking lash, and goring of the steel. + Impatiently he views the feeble prey, + Wishing some nobler beast to cross his way, + And rather would the tusky boar attend, + Or see the tawny lion downward bend. + + Meantime, the gath’ring clouds obscure the skies: + From pole to pole the forky lightning flies; + The rattling thunders roll; and Juno pours + A wintry deluge down, and sounding show’rs. + The company, dispers’d, to converts ride, + And seek the homely cots, or mountain’s hollow side. + The rapid rains, descending from the hills, + To rolling torrents raise the creeping rills. + The queen and prince, as love or fortune guides, + One common cavern in her bosom hides. + Then first the trembling earth the signal gave, + And flashing fires enlighten all the cave; + Hell from below, and Juno from above, + And howling nymphs, were conscious of their love. + From this ill-omen’d hour in time arose + Debate and death, and all succeeding woes. + + The queen, whom sense of honour could not move, + No longer made a secret of her love, + But call’d it marriage, by that specious name + To veil the crime and sanctify the shame. + + The loud report thro’ Libyan cities goes. + Fame, the great ill, from small beginnings grows: + Swift from the first; and ev’ry moment brings + New vigour to her flights, new pinions to her wings. + Soon grows the pigmy to gigantic size; + Her feet on earth, her forehead in the skies. + Inrag’d against the gods, revengeful Earth + Produc’d her last of the Titanian birth. + Swift is her walk, more swift her winged haste: + A monstrous phantom, horrible and vast. + As many plumes as raise her lofty flight, + So many piercing eyes inlarge her sight; + Millions of opening mouths to Fame belong, + And ev’ry mouth is furnish’d with a tongue, + And round with list’ning ears the flying plague is hung. + She fills the peaceful universe with cries; + No slumbers ever close her wakeful eyes; + By day, from lofty tow’rs her head she shews, + And spreads thro’ trembling crowds disastrous news; + With court informers haunts, and royal spies; + Things done relates, not done she feigns, and mingles truth with + lies. + + Talk is her business, and her chief delight + To tell of prodigies and cause affright. + She fills the people’s ears with Dido’s name, + Who, lost to honour and the sense of shame, + Admits into her throne and nuptial bed + A wand’ring guest, who from his country fled: + Whole days with him she passes in delights, + And wastes in luxury long winter nights, + Forgetful of her fame and royal trust, + Dissolv’d in ease, abandon’d to her lust. + + The goddess widely spreads the loud report, + And flies at length to King Hyarba’s court. + When first possess’d with this unwelcome news + Whom did he not of men and gods accuse? + This prince, from ravish’d Garamantis born, + A hundred temples did with spoils adorn, + In Ammon’s honour, his celestial sire; + A hundred altars fed with wakeful fire; + And, thro’ his vast dominions, priests ordain’d, + Whose watchful care these holy rites maintain’d. + The gates and columns were with garlands crown’d, + And blood of victim beasts enrich’d the ground. + + He, when he heard a fugitive could move + The Tyrian princess, who disdain’d his love, + His breast with fury burn’d, his eyes with fire, + Mad with despair, impatient with desire; + Then on the sacred altars pouring wine, + He thus with pray’rs implor’d his sire divine: + “Great Jove! propitious to the Moorish race, + Who feast on painted beds, with off’rings grace + Thy temples, and adore thy pow’r divine + With blood of victims, and with sparkling wine, + Seest thou not this? or do we fear in vain + Thy boasted thunder, and thy thoughtless reign? + Do thy broad hands the forky lightnings lance? + Thine are the bolts, or the blind work of chance? + A wand’ring woman builds, within our state, + A little town, bought at an easy rate; + She pays me homage, and my grants allow + A narrow space of Libyan lands to plow; + Yet, scorning me, by passion blindly led, + Admits a banish’d Trojan to her bed! + And now this other Paris, with his train + Of conquer’d cowards, must in Afric reign! + (Whom, what they are, their looks and garb confess, + Their locks with oil perfum’d, their Lydian dress.) + He takes the spoil, enjoys the princely dame; + And I, rejected I, adore an empty name.” + + His vows, in haughty terms, he thus preferr’d, + And held his altar’s horns. The mighty Thund’rer heard; + Then cast his eyes on Carthage, where he found + The lustful pair in lawless pleasure drown’d, + Lost in their loves, insensible of shame, + And both forgetful of their better fame. + He calls Cyllenius, and the god attends, + By whom his menacing command he sends: + “Go, mount the western winds, and cleave the sky; + Then, with a swift descent, to Carthage fly: + There find the Trojan chief, who wastes his days + In slothful riot and inglorious ease, + Nor minds the future city, giv’n by fate. + To him this message from my mouth relate: + ‘Not so fair Venus hop’d, when twice she won + Thy life with pray’rs, nor promis’d such a son. + Hers was a hero, destin’d to command + A martial race, and rule the Latian land, + Who should his ancient line from Teucer draw, + And on the conquer’d world impose the law.’ + If glory cannot move a mind so mean, + Nor future praise from fading pleasure wean, + Yet why should he defraud his son of fame, + And grudge the Romans their immortal name! + What are his vain designs! what hopes he more + From his long ling’ring on a hostile shore, + Regardless to redeem his honour lost, + And for his race to gain th’ Ausonian coast! + Bid him with speed the Tyrian court forsake; + With this command the slumb’ring warrior wake.” + + Hermes obeys; with golden pinions binds + His flying feet, and mounts the western winds: + And, whether o’er the seas or earth he flies, + With rapid force they bear him down the skies. + But first he grasps within his awful hand + The mark of sov’reign pow’r, his magic wand; + With this he draws the ghosts from hollow graves; + With this he drives them down the Stygian waves; + With this he seals in sleep the wakeful sight, + And eyes, tho’ clos’d in death, restores to light. + Thus arm’d, the god begins his airy race, + And drives the racking clouds along the liquid space; + Now sees the tops of Atlas, as he flies, + Whose brawny back supports the starry skies; + Atlas, whose head, with piny forests crown’d, + Is beaten by the winds, with foggy vapours bound. + Snows hide his shoulders; from beneath his chin + The founts of rolling streams their race begin; + A beard of ice on his large breast depends. + Here, pois’d upon his wings, the god descends: + Then, rested thus, he from the tow’ring height + Plung’d downward, with precipitated flight, + Lights on the seas, and skims along the flood. + As waterfowl, who seek their fishy food, + Less, and yet less, to distant prospect show; + By turns they dance aloft, and dive below: + Like these, the steerage of his wings he plies, + And near the surface of the water flies, + Till, having pass’d the seas, and cross’d the sands, + He clos’d his wings, and stoop’d on Libyan lands: + Where shepherds once were hous’d in homely sheds, + Now tow’rs within the clouds advance their heads. + Arriving there, he found the Trojan prince + New ramparts raising for the town’s defence. + A purple scarf, with gold embroider’d o’er, + (Queen Dido’s gift,) about his waist he wore; + A sword, with glitt’ring gems diversified, + For ornament, not use, hung idly by his side. + + Then thus, with winged words, the god began, + Resuming his own shape: “Degenerate man, + Thou woman’s property, what mak’st thou here, + These foreign walls and Tyrian tow’rs to rear, + Forgetful of thy own? All-pow’rful Jove, + Who sways the world below and heav’n above, + Has sent me down with this severe command: + What means thy ling’ring in the Libyan land? + If glory cannot move a mind so mean, + Nor future praise from flitting pleasure wean, + Regard the fortunes of thy rising heir: + The promis’d crown let young Ascanius wear, + To whom th’ Ausonian scepter, and the state + Of Rome’s imperial name is ow’d by fate.” + So spoke the god; and, speaking, took his flight, + Involv’d in clouds, and vanish’d out of sight. + + The pious prince was seiz’d with sudden fear; + Mute was his tongue, and upright stood his hair. + Revolving in his mind the stern command, + He longs to fly, and loathes the charming land. + What should he say? or how should he begin? + What course, alas! remains to steer between + Th’ offended lover and the pow’rful queen? + This way and that he turns his anxious mind, + And all expedients tries, and none can find. + Fix’d on the deed, but doubtful of the means, + After long thought, to this advice he leans: + Three chiefs he calls, commands them to repair + The fleet, and ship their men with silent care; + Some plausible pretence he bids them find, + To colour what in secret he design’d. + Himself, meantime, the softest hours would choose, + Before the love-sick lady heard the news; + And move her tender mind, by slow degrees, + To suffer what the sov’reign pow’r decrees: + Jove will inspire him, when, and what to say. + They hear with pleasure, and with haste obey. + + But soon the queen perceives the thin disguise: + (What arts can blind a jealous woman’s eyes!) + She was the first to find the secret fraud, + Before the fatal news was blaz’d abroad. + Love the first motions of the lover hears, + Quick to presage, and ev’n in safety fears. + Nor impious Fame was wanting to report + The ships repair’d, the Trojans’ thick resort, + And purpose to forsake the Tyrian court. + Frantic with fear, impatient of the wound, + And impotent of mind, she roves the city round. + Less wild the Bacchanalian dames appear, + When, from afar, their nightly god they hear, + And howl about the hills, and shake the wreathy spear. + At length she finds the dear perfidious man; + Prevents his form’d excuse, and thus began: + “Base and ungrateful! could you hope to fly, + And undiscover’d scape a lover’s eye? + Nor could my kindness your compassion move. + Nor plighted vows, nor dearer bands of love? + Or is the death of a despairing queen + Not worth preventing, tho’ too well foreseen? + Ev’n when the wintry winds command your stay, + You dare the tempests, and defy the sea. + False as you are, suppose you were not bound + To lands unknown, and foreign coasts to sound; + Were Troy restor’d, and Priam’s happy reign, + Now durst you tempt, for Troy, the raging main? + See whom you fly! am I the foe you shun? + Now, by those holy vows, so late begun, + By this right hand, (since I have nothing more + To challenge, but the faith you gave before;) + I beg you by these tears too truly shed, + By the new pleasures of our nuptial bed; + If ever Dido, when you most were kind, + Were pleasing in your eyes, or touch’d your mind; + By these my pray’rs, if pray’rs may yet have place, + Pity the fortunes of a falling race. + For you I have provok’d a tyrant’s hate, + Incens’d the Libyan and the Tyrian state; + For you alone I suffer in my fame, + Bereft of honour, and expos’d to shame. + Whom have I now to trust, ungrateful guest? + (That only name remains of all the rest!) + What have I left? or whither can I fly? + Must I attend Pygmalion’s cruelty, + Or till Hyarba shall in triumph lead + A queen that proudly scorn’d his proffer’d bed? + Had you deferr’d, at least, your hasty flight, + And left behind some pledge of our delight, + Some babe to bless the mother’s mournful sight, + Some young Aeneas, to supply your place, + Whose features might express his father’s face; + I should not then complain to live bereft + Of all my husband, or be wholly left.” + + Here paus’d the queen. Unmov’d he holds his eyes, + By Jove’s command; nor suffer’d love to rise, + Tho’ heaving in his heart; and thus at length replies: + “Fair queen, you never can enough repeat + Your boundless favours, or I own my debt; + Nor can my mind forget Eliza’s name, + While vital breath inspires this mortal frame. + This only let me speak in my defence: + I never hop’d a secret flight from hence, + Much less pretended to the lawful claim + Of sacred nuptials, or a husband’s name. + For, if indulgent Heav’n would leave me free, + And not submit my life to fate’s decree, + My choice would lead me to the Trojan shore, + Those relics to review, their dust adore, + And Priam’s ruin’d palace to restore. + But now the Delphian oracle commands, + And fate invites me to the Latian lands. + That is the promis’d place to which I steer, + And all my vows are terminated there. + If you, a Tyrian, and a stranger born, + With walls and tow’rs a Libyan town adorn, + Why may not we, like you, a foreign race, + Like you, seek shelter in a foreign place? + As often as the night obscures the skies + With humid shades, or twinkling stars arise, + Anchises’ angry ghost in dreams appears, + Chides my delay, and fills my soul with fears; + And young Ascanius justly may complain + Of his defrauded and destin’d reign. + Ev’n now the herald of the gods appear’d: + Waking I saw him, and his message heard. + From Jove he came commission’d, heav’nly bright + With radiant beams, and manifest to sight + (The sender and the sent I both attest) + These walls he enter’d, and those words express’d. + Fair queen, oppose not what the gods command; + Forc’d by my fate, I leave your happy land.” + + Thus while he spoke, already she began, + With sparkling eyes, to view the guilty man; + From head to foot survey’d his person o’er, + Nor longer these outrageous threats forebore: + “False as thou art, and, more than false, forsworn! + Not sprung from noble blood, nor goddess-born, + But hewn from harden’d entrails of a rock! + And rough Hyrcanian tigers gave thee suck! + Why should I fawn? what have I worse to fear? + Did he once look, or lent a list’ning ear, + Sigh’d when I sobb’d, or shed one kindly tear? + All symptoms of a base ungrateful mind, + So foul, that, which is worse, ’tis hard to find. + Of man’s injustice why should I complain? + The gods, and Jove himself, behold in vain + Triumphant treason; yet no thunder flies, + Nor Juno views my wrongs with equal eyes; + Faithless is earth, and faithless are the skies! + Justice is fled, and Truth is now no more! + I sav’d the shipwreck’d exile on my shore; + With needful food his hungry Trojans fed; + I took the traitor to my throne and bed: + Fool that I was—— ’tis little to repeat + The rest, I stor’d and rigg’d his ruin’d fleet. + I rave, I rave! A god’s command he pleads, + And makes Heav’n accessary to his deeds. + Now Lycian lots, and now the Delian god, + Now Hermes is employ’d from Jove’s abode, + To warn him hence; as if the peaceful state + Of heav’nly pow’rs were touch’d with human fate! + But go! thy flight no longer I detain; + Go seek thy promis’d kingdom thro’ the main! + Yet, if the heav’ns will hear my pious vow, + The faithless waves, not half so false as thou, + Or secret sands, shall sepulchers afford + To thy proud vessels, and their perjur’d lord. + Then shalt thou call on injur’d Dido’s name: + Dido shall come in a black sulph’ry flame, + When death has once dissolv’d her mortal frame; + Shall smile to see the traitor vainly weep: + Her angry ghost, arising from the deep, + Shall haunt thee waking, and disturb thy sleep. + At least my shade thy punishment shall know, + And Fame shall spread the pleasing news below.” + + Abruptly here she stops; then turns away + Her loathing eyes, and shuns the sight of day. + Amaz’d he stood, revolving in his mind + What speech to frame, and what excuse to find. + Her fearful maids their fainting mistress led, + And softly laid her on her ivory bed. + + But good Aeneas, tho’ he much desir’d + To give that pity which her grief requir’d; + Tho’ much he mourn’d, and labour’d with his love, + Resolv’d at length, obeys the will of Jove; + Reviews his forces: they with early care + Unmoor their vessels, and for sea prepare. + The fleet is soon afloat, in all its pride, + And well-calk’d galleys in the harbour ride. + Then oaks for oars they fell’d; or, as they stood, + Of its green arms despoil’d the growing wood, + Studious of flight. The beach is cover’d o’er + With Trojan bands, that blacken all the shore: + On ev’ry side are seen, descending down, + Thick swarms of soldiers, loaden from the town. + Thus, in battalia, march embodied ants, + Fearful of winter, and of future wants, + T’ invade the corn, and to their cells convey + The plunder’d forage of their yellow prey. + The sable troops, along the narrow tracks, + Scarce bear the weighty burthen on their backs: + Some set their shoulders to the pond’rous grain; + Some guard the spoil; some lash the lagging train; + All ply their sev’ral tasks, and equal toil sustain. + + What pangs the tender breast of Dido tore, + When, from the tow’r, she saw the cover’d shore, + And heard the shouts of sailors from afar, + Mix’d with the murmurs of the wat’ry war! + All-pow’rful Love! what changes canst thou cause + In human hearts, subjected to thy laws! + Once more her haughty soul the tyrant bends: + To pray’rs and mean submissions she descends. + No female arts or aids she left untried, + Nor counsels unexplor’d, before she died. + “Look, Anna! look! the Trojans crowd to sea; + They spread their canvas, and their anchors weigh. + The shouting crew their ships with garlands bind, + Invoke the sea gods, and invite the wind. + Could I have thought this threat’ning blow so near, + My tender soul had been forewarn’d to bear. + But do not you my last request deny; + With yon perfidious man your int’rest try, + And bring me news, if I must live or die. + You are his fav’rite; you alone can find + The dark recesses of his inmost mind: + In all his trusted secrets you have part, + And know the soft approaches to his heart. + Haste then, and humbly seek my haughty foe; + Tell him, I did not with the Grecians go, + Nor did my fleet against his friends employ, + Nor swore the ruin of unhappy Troy, + Nor mov’d with hands profane his father’s dust: + Why should he then reject a suit so just! + Whom does he shun, and whither would he fly! + Can he this last, this only pray’r deny! + Let him at least his dang’rous flight delay, + Wait better winds, and hope a calmer sea. + The nuptials he disclaims I urge no more: + Let him pursue the promis’d Latian shore. + A short delay is all I ask him now; + A pause of grief, an interval from woe, + Till my soft soul be temper’d to sustain + Accustom’d sorrows, and inur’d to pain. + If you in pity grant this one request, + My death shall glut the hatred of his breast.” + This mournful message pious Anna bears, + And seconds with her own her sister’s tears: + But all her arts are still employ’d in vain; + Again she comes, and is refus’d again. + His harden’d heart nor pray’rs nor threat’nings move; + Fate, and the god, had stopp’d his ears to love. + + As, when the winds their airy quarrel try, + Justling from ev’ry quarter of the sky, + This way and that the mountain oak they bend, + His boughs they shatter, and his branches rend; + With leaves and falling mast they spread the ground; + The hollow valleys echo to the sound: + Unmov’d, the royal plant their fury mocks, + Or, shaken, clings more closely to the rocks; + Far as he shoots his tow’ring head on high, + So deep in earth his fix’d foundations lie. + No less a storm the Trojan hero bears; + Thick messages and loud complaints he hears, + And bandied words, still beating on his ears. + Sighs, groans, and tears proclaim his inward pains; + But the firm purpose of his heart remains. + + The wretched queen, pursued by cruel fate, + Begins at length the light of heav’n to hate, + And loathes to live. Then dire portents she sees, + To hasten on the death her soul decrees: + Strange to relate! for when, before the shrine, + She pours in sacrifice the purple wine, + The purple wine is turn’d to putrid blood, + And the white offer’d milk converts to mud. + This dire presage, to her alone reveal’d, + From all, and ev’n her sister, she conceal’d. + A marble temple stood within the grove, + Sacred to death, and to her murder’d love; + That honour’d chapel she had hung around + With snowy fleeces, and with garlands crown’d: + Oft, when she visited this lonely dome, + Strange voices issued from her husband’s tomb; + She thought she heard him summon her away, + Invite her to his grave, and chide her stay. + Hourly ’tis heard, when with a boding note + The solitary screech owl strains her throat, + And, on a chimney’s top, or turret’s height, + With songs obscene disturbs the silence of the night. + Besides, old prophecies augment her fears; + And stern Aeneas in her dreams appears, + Disdainful as by day: she seems, alone, + To wander in her sleep, thro’ ways unknown, + Guideless and dark; or, in a desert plain, + To seek her subjects, and to seek in vain: + Like Pentheus, when, distracted with his fear, + He saw two suns, and double Thebes, appear; + Or mad Orestes, when his mother’s ghost + Full in his face infernal torches toss’d, + And shook her snaky locks: he shuns the sight, + Flies o’er the stage, surpris’d with mortal fright; + The Furies guard the door and intercept his flight. + + Now, sinking underneath a load of grief, + From death alone she seeks her last relief; + The time and means resolv’d within her breast, + She to her mournful sister thus address’d + (Dissembling hope, her cloudy front she clears, + And a false vigour in her eyes appears): + “Rejoice!” she said. “Instructed from above, + My lover I shall gain, or lose my love. + Nigh rising Atlas, next the falling sun, + Long tracts of Ethiopian climates run: + There a Massylian priestess I have found, + Honour’d for age, for magic arts renown’d: + Th’ Hesperian temple was her trusted care; + ’Twas she supplied the wakeful dragon’s fare. + She poppy seeds in honey taught to steep, + Reclaim’d his rage, and sooth’d him into sleep. + She watch’d the golden fruit; her charms unbind + The chains of love, or fix them on the mind: + She stops the torrents, leaves the channel dry, + Repels the stars, and backward bears the sky. + The yawning earth rebellows to her call, + Pale ghosts ascend, and mountain ashes fall. + Witness, ye gods, and thou my better part, + How loth I am to try this impious art! + Within the secret court, with silent care, + Erect a lofty pile, expos’d in air: + Hang on the topmost part the Trojan vest, + Spoils, arms, and presents, of my faithless guest. + Next, under these, the bridal bed be plac’d, + Where I my ruin in his arms embrac’d: + All relics of the wretch are doom’d to fire; + For so the priestess and her charms require.” + + Thus far she said, and farther speech forbears; + A mortal paleness in her face appears: + Yet the mistrustless Anna could not find + The secret fun’ral in these rites design’d; + Nor thought so dire a rage possess’d her mind. + Unknowing of a train conceal’d so well, + She fear’d no worse than when Sichaeus fell; + Therefore obeys. The fatal pile they rear, + Within the secret court, expos’d in air. + The cloven holms and pines are heap’d on high, + And garlands on the hollow spaces lie. + Sad cypress, vervain, yew, compose the wreath, + And ev’ry baleful green denoting death. + The queen, determin’d to the fatal deed, + The spoils and sword he left, in order spread, + And the man’s image on the nuptial bed. + + And now (the sacred altars plac’d around) + The priestess enters, with her hair unbound, + And thrice invokes the pow’rs below the ground. + Night, Erebus, and Chaos she proclaims, + And threefold Hecate, with her hundred names, + And three Dianas: next, she sprinkles round + With feign’d Avernian drops the hallow’d ground; + Culls hoary simples, found by Phoebe’s light, + With brazen sickles reap’d at noon of night; + Then mixes baleful juices in the bowl, + And cuts the forehead of a newborn foal, + Robbing the mother’s love. The destin’d queen + Observes, assisting at the rites obscene; + A leaven’d cake in her devoted hands + She holds, and next the highest altar stands: + One tender foot was shod, her other bare; + Girt was her gather’d gown, and loose her hair. + Thus dress’d, she summon’d, with her dying breath, + The heav’ns and planets conscious of her death, + And ev’ry pow’r, if any rules above, + Who minds, or who revenges, injur’d love. + + “’Twas dead of night, when weary bodies close + Their eyes in balmy sleep and soft repose: + The winds no longer whisper thro’ the woods, + Nor murm’ring tides disturb the gentle floods. + The stars in silent order mov’d around; + And Peace, with downy wings, was brooding on the ground + The flocks and herds, and party-colour’d fowl, + Which haunt the woods, or swim the weedy pool, + Stretch’d on the quiet earth, securely lay, + Forgetting the past labours of the day. + All else of nature’s common gift partake: + Unhappy Dido was alone awake. + Nor sleep nor ease the furious queen can find; + Sleep fled her eyes, as quiet fled her mind. + Despair, and rage, and love divide her heart; + Despair and rage had some, but love the greater part. + + Then thus she said within her secret mind: + “What shall I do? what succour can I find? + Become a suppliant to Hyarba’s pride, + And take my turn, to court and be denied? + Shall I with this ungrateful Trojan go, + Forsake an empire, and attend a foe? + Himself I refug’d, and his train reliev’d; + ’Tis true; but am I sure to be receiv’d? + Can gratitude in Trojan souls have place! + Laomedon still lives in all his race! + Then, shall I seek alone the churlish crew, + Or with my fleet their flying sails pursue? + What force have I but those whom scarce before + I drew reluctant from their native shore? + Will they again embark at my desire, + Once more sustain the seas, and quit their second Tyre? + Rather with steel thy guilty breast invade, + And take the fortune thou thyself hast made. + Your pity, sister, first seduc’d my mind, + Or seconded too well what I design’d. + These dear-bought pleasures had I never known, + Had I continued free, and still my own; + Avoiding love, I had not found despair, + But shar’d with salvage beasts the common air. + Like them, a lonely life I might have led, + Not mourn’d the living, nor disturb’d the dead.” + These thoughts she brooded in her anxious breast. + On board, the Trojan found more easy rest. + Resolv’d to sail, in sleep he pass’d the night; + And order’d all things for his early flight. + + To whom once more the winged god appears; + His former youthful mien and shape he wears, + And with this new alarm invades his ears: + “Sleep’st thou, O goddess-born! and canst thou drown + Thy needful cares, so near a hostile town, + Beset with foes; nor hear’st the western gales + Invite thy passage, and inspire thy sails? + She harbours in her heart a furious hate, + And thou shalt find the dire effects too late; + Fix’d on revenge, and obstinate to die. + Haste swiftly hence, while thou hast pow’r to fly. + The sea with ships will soon be cover’d o’er, + And blazing firebrands kindle all the shore. + Prevent her rage, while night obscures the skies, + And sail before the purple morn arise. + Who knows what hazards thy delay may bring? + Woman’s a various and a changeful thing.” + Thus Hermes in the dream; then took his flight + Aloft in air unseen, and mix’d with night. + + Twice warn’d by the celestial messenger, + The pious prince arose with hasty fear; + Then rous’d his drowsy train without delay: + “Haste to your banks; your crooked anchors weigh, + And spread your flying sails, and stand to sea. + A god commands: he stood before my sight, + And urg’d us once again to speedy flight. + O sacred pow’r, what pow’r soe’er thou art, + To thy blest orders I resign my heart. + Lead thou the way; protect thy Trojan bands, + And prosper the design thy will commands.” + He said: and, drawing forth his flaming sword, + His thund’ring arm divides the many-twisted cord. + An emulating zeal inspires his train: + They run; they snatch; they rush into the main. + With headlong haste they leave the desert shores, + And brush the liquid seas with lab’ring oars. + + Aurora now had left her saffron bed, + And beams of early light the heav’ns o’erspread, + When, from a tow’r, the queen, with wakeful eyes, + Saw day point upward from the rosy skies. + She look’d to seaward; but the sea was void, + And scarce in ken the sailing ships descried. + Stung with despite, and furious with despair, + She struck her trembling breast, and tore her hair. + “And shall th’ ungrateful traitor go,” she said, + “My land forsaken, and my love betray’d? + Shall we not arm? not rush from ev’ry street, + To follow, sink, and burn his perjur’d fleet? + Haste, haul my galleys out! pursue the foe! + Bring flaming brands! set sail, and swiftly row! + What have I said? where am I? Fury turns + My brain; and my distemper’d bosom burns. + Then, when I gave my person and my throne, + This hate, this rage, had been more timely shown. + See now the promis’d faith, the vaunted name, + The pious man, who, rushing thro’ the flame, + Preserv’d his gods, and to the Phrygian shore + The burthen of his feeble father bore! + I should have torn him piecemeal; strow’d in floods + His scatter’d limbs, or left expos’d in woods; + Destroy’d his friends and son; and, from the fire, + Have set the reeking boy before the sire. + Events are doubtful, which on battles wait: + Yet where’s the doubt, to souls secure of fate? + My Tyrians, at their injur’d queen’s command, + Had toss’d their fires amid the Trojan band; + At once extinguish’d all the faithless name; + And I myself, in vengeance of my shame, + Had fall’n upon the pile, to mend the fun’ral flame. + Thou Sun, who view’st at once the world below; + Thou Juno, guardian of the nuptial vow; + Thou Hecate hearken from thy dark abodes! + Ye Furies, fiends, and violated gods, + All pow’rs invok’d with Dido’s dying breath, + Attend her curses and avenge her death! + If so the Fates ordain, Jove commands, + Th’ ungrateful wretch should find the Latian lands, + Yet let a race untam’d, and haughty foes, + His peaceful entrance with dire arms oppose: + Oppress’d with numbers in th’ unequal field, + His men discourag’d, and himself expell’d, + Let him for succour sue from place to place, + Torn from his subjects, and his son’s embrace. + First, let him see his friends in battle slain, + And their untimely fate lament in vain; + And when, at length, the cruel war shall cease, + On hard conditions may he buy his peace: + Nor let him then enjoy supreme command; + But fall, untimely, by some hostile hand, + And lie unburied on the barren sand! + These are my pray’rs, and this my dying will; + And you, my Tyrians, ev’ry curse fulfil. + Perpetual hate and mortal wars proclaim, + Against the prince, the people, and the name. + These grateful off’rings on my grave bestow; + Nor league, nor love, the hostile nations know! + Now, and from hence, in ev’ry future age, + When rage excites your arms, and strength supplies the rage + Rise some avenger of our Libyan blood, + With fire and sword pursue the perjur’d brood; + Our arms, our seas, our shores, oppos’d to theirs; + And the same hate descend on all our heirs!” + + This said, within her anxious mind she weighs + The means of cutting short her odious days. + Then to Sichaeus’ nurse she briefly said + (For, when she left her country, hers was dead): + “Go, Barce, call my sister. Let her care + The solemn rites of sacrifice prepare; + The sheep, and all th’ atoning off’rings bring, + Sprinkling her body from the crystal spring + With living drops; then let her come, and thou + With sacred fillets bind thy hoary brow. + Thus will I pay my vows to Stygian Jove, + And end the cares of my disastrous love; + Then cast the Trojan image on the fire, + And, as that burns, my passions shall expire.” + + The nurse moves onward, with officious care, + And all the speed her aged limbs can bear. + But furious Dido, with dark thoughts involv’d, + Shook at the mighty mischief she resolv’d. + With livid spots distinguish’d was her face; + Red were her rolling eyes, and discompos’d her pace; + Ghastly she gaz’d, with pain she drew her breath, + And nature shiver’d at approaching death. + + Then swiftly to the fatal place she pass’d, + And mounts the fun’ral pile with furious haste; + Unsheathes the sword the Trojan left behind + (Not for so dire an enterprise design’d). + But when she view’d the garments loosely spread, + Which once he wore, and saw the conscious bed, + She paus’d, and with a sigh the robes embrac’d; + Then on the couch her trembling body cast, + Repress’d the ready tears, and spoke her last: + “Dear pledges of my love, while Heav’n so pleas’d, + Receive a soul, of mortal anguish eas’d: + My fatal course is finish’d; and I go, + A glorious name, among the ghosts below. + A lofty city by my hands is rais’d, + Pygmalion punish’d, and my lord appeas’d. + What could my fortune have afforded more, + Had the false Trojan never touch’d my shore!” + Then kiss’d the couch; and, “Must I die,” she said, + “And unreveng’d? ’Tis doubly to be dead! + Yet ev’n this death with pleasure I receive: + On any terms, ’tis better than to live. + These flames, from far, may the false Trojan view; + These boding omens his base flight pursue!” + + She said, and struck; deep enter’d in her side + The piercing steel, with reeking purple dyed: + Clogg’d in the wound the cruel weapon stands; + The spouting blood came streaming on her hands. + Her sad attendants saw the deadly stroke, + And with loud cries the sounding palace shook. + Distracted, from the fatal sight they fled, + And thro’ the town the dismal rumour spread. + First from the frighted court the yell began; + Redoubled, thence from house to house it ran: + The groans of men, with shrieks, laments, and cries + Of mixing women, mount the vaulted skies. + Not less the clamour, than if ancient Tyre, + Or the new Carthage, set by foes on fire, + The rolling ruin, with their lov’d abodes, + Involv’d the blazing temples of their gods. + + Her sister hears; and, furious with despair, + She beats her breast, and rends her yellow hair, + And, calling on Eliza’s name aloud, + Runs breathless to the place, and breaks the crowd. + “Was all that pomp of woe for this prepar’d; + These fires, this fun’ral pile, these altars rear’d? + Was all this train of plots contriv’d,” said she, + “All only to deceive unhappy me? + Which is the worst? Didst thou in death pretend + To scorn thy sister, or delude thy friend? + Thy summon’d sister, and thy friend, had come; + One sword had serv’d us both, one common tomb: + Was I to raise the pile, the pow’rs invoke, + Not to be present at the fatal stroke? + At once thou hast destroy’d thyself and me, + Thy town, thy senate, and thy colony! + Bring water; bathe the wound; while I in death + Lay close my lips to hers, and catch the flying breath.” + This said, she mounts the pile with eager haste, + And in her arms the gasping queen embrac’d; + Her temples chaf’d; and her own garments tore, + To stanch the streaming blood, and cleanse the gore. + Thrice Dido tried to raise her drooping head, + And, fainting thrice, fell grov’ling on the bed; + Thrice op’d her heavy eyes, and sought the light, + But, having found it, sicken’d at the sight, + And clos’d her lids at last in endless night. + + Then Juno, grieving that she should sustain + A death so ling’ring, and so full of pain, + Sent Iris down, to free her from the strife + Of lab’ring nature, and dissolve her life. + For since she died, not doom’d by Heav’n’s decree, + Or her own crime, but human casualty, + And rage of love, that plung’d her in despair, + The Sisters had not cut the topmost hair, + Which Proserpine and they can only know; + Nor made her sacred to the shades below. + Downward the various goddess took her flight, + And drew a thousand colours from the light; + Then stood above the dying lover’s head, + And said: “I thus devote thee to the dead. + This off’ring to th’ infernal gods I bear.” + Thus while she spoke, she cut the fatal hair: + The struggling soul was loos’d, and life dissolv’d in air. + + + + BOOK V + + THE ARGUMENT. + + + Aeneas, setting sail from Afric, is driven by a storm on the + coast of Sicily, where he is hospitably received by his friend + Acestes, king of part of the island, and born of Trojan + parentage. He applies himself to celebrate the memory of his + father with divine honours, and accordingly institues funeral + games, and appoints prizes for those who should conquer in them. + While the ceremonies are performing, Juno sends Iris to persuade + the Trojan woman to burn the ships, who, upon her instigation, + set fire to them: which burned four, and would have consumed the + rest, had not Jupiter, by a miraculous shower extinguished it. + Upon this, Aeneas, by the advice of one of his generals, and a + vision of his father, builds a city for the women, old men, and + others, who were either unfit for war, or weary of the voyage, + and sails for Italy. Venus procures of Neptune a safe voyage for + him and all his men, excepting only his pilot Palinurus, who was + unfortunately lost. + + + Meantime the Trojan cuts his wat’ry way, + Fix’d on his voyage, thro’ the curling sea; + Then, casting back his eyes, with dire amaze, + Sees on the Punic shore the mounting blaze. + The cause unknown; yet his presaging mind + The fate of Dido from the fire divin’d; + He knew the stormy souls of womankind, + What secret springs their eager passions move, + How capable of death for injur’d love. + Dire auguries from hence the Trojans draw; + Till neither fires nor shining shores they saw. + Now seas and skies their prospect only bound; + An empty space above, a floating field around. + But soon the heav’ns with shadows were o’erspread; + A swelling cloud hung hov’ring o’er their head: + Livid it look’d, the threat’ning of a storm: + Then night and horror ocean’s face deform. + The pilot, Palinurus, cried aloud: + “What gusts of weather from that gath’ring cloud + My thoughts presage! Ere yet the tempest roars, + Stand to your tackle, mates, and stretch your oars; + Contract your swelling sails, and luff to wind.” + The frighted crew perform the task assign’d. + Then, to his fearless chief: “Not Heav’n,” said he, + “Tho’ Jove himself should promise Italy, + Can stem the torrent of this raging sea. + Mark how the shifting winds from west arise, + And what collected night involves the skies! + Nor can our shaken vessels live at sea, + Much less against the tempest force their way. + ’Tis fate diverts our course, and fate we must obey. + Not far from hence, if I observ’d aright + The southing of the stars, and polar light, + Sicilia lies, whose hospitable shores + In safety we may reach with struggling oars.” + Aeneas then replied: “Too sure I find + We strive in vain against the seas and wind: + Now shift your sails; what place can please me more + Than what you promise, the Sicilian shore, + Whose hallow’d earth Anchises’ bones contains, + And where a prince of Trojan lineage reigns?” + The course resolv’d, before the western wind + They scud amain, and make the port assign’d. + Meantime Acestes, from a lofty stand, + Beheld the fleet descending on the land; + And, not unmindful of his ancient race, + Down from the cliff he ran with eager pace, + And held the hero in a strict embrace. + Of a rough Libyan bear the spoils he wore, + And either hand a pointed jav’lin bore. + His mother was a dame of Dardan blood; + His sire Crinisus, a Sicilian flood. + He welcomes his returning friends ashore + With plenteous country cates and homely store. + + Now, when the following morn had chas’d away + The flying stars, and light restor’d the day, + Aeneas call’d the Trojan troops around, + And thus bespoke them from a rising ground: + “Offspring of heav’n, divine Dardanian race! + The sun, revolving thro’ th’ ethereal space, + The shining circle of the year has fill’d, + Since first this isle my father’s ashes held: + And now the rising day renews the year; + A day for ever sad, for ever dear. + This would I celebrate with annual games, + With gifts on altars pil’d, and holy flames, + Tho’ banish’d to Gaetulia’s barren sands, + Caught on the Grecian seas, or hostile lands: + But since this happy storm our fleet has driv’n + (Not, as I deem, without the will of Heav’n) + Upon these friendly shores and flow’ry plains, + Which hide Anchises and his blest remains, + Let us with joy perform his honours due, + And pray for prosp’rous winds, our voyage to renew; + Pray, that in towns and temples of our own, + The name of great Anchises may be known, + And yearly games may spread the gods’ renown. + Our sports Acestes, of the Trojan race, + With royal gifts ordain’d, is pleas’d to grace: + Two steers on ev’ry ship the king bestows; + His gods and ours shall share your equal vows. + Besides, if, nine days hence, the rosy morn + Shall with unclouded light the skies adorn, + That day with solemn sports I mean to grace: + Light galleys on the seas shall run a wat’ry race; + Some shall in swiftness for the goal contend, + And others try the twanging bow to bend; + The strong, with iron gauntlets arm’d, shall stand + Oppos’d in combat on the yellow sand. + Let all be present at the games prepar’d, + And joyful victors wait the just reward. + But now assist the rites, with garlands crown’d.” + He said, and first his brows with myrtle bound. + Then Helymus, by his example led, + And old Acestes, each adorn’d his head; + Thus young Ascanius, with a sprightly grace, + His temples tied, and all the Trojan race. + + Aeneas then advanc’d amidst the train, + By thousands follow’d thro’ the flow’ry plain, + To great Anchises’ tomb; which when he found, + He pour’d to Bacchus, on the hallow’d ground, + Two bowls of sparkling wine, of milk two more, + And two from offer’d bulls of purple gore, + With roses then the sepulcher he strow’d + And thus his father’s ghost bespoke aloud: + “Hail, O ye holy manes! hail again, + Paternal ashes, now review’d in vain! + The gods permitted not, that you, with me, + Should reach the promis’d shores of Italy, + Or Tiber’s flood, what flood soe’er it be.” + Scarce had he finish’d, when, with speckled pride, + A serpent from the tomb began to glide; + His hugy bulk on sev’n high volumes roll’d; + Blue was his breadth of back, but streak’d with scaly gold: + Thus riding on his curls, he seem’d to pass + A rolling fire along, and singe the grass. + More various colours thro’ his body run, + Than Iris when her bow imbibes the sun. + Betwixt the rising altars, and around, + The sacred monster shot along the ground; + With harmless play amidst the bowls he pass’d, + And with his lolling tongue assay’d the taste: + Thus fed with holy food, the wondrous guest + Within the hollow tomb retir’d to rest. + The pious prince, surpris’d at what he view’d, + The fun’ral honours with more zeal renew’d, + Doubtful if this place’s genius were, + Or guardian of his father’s sepulcher. + Five sheep, according to the rites, he slew; + As many swine, and steers of sable hue; + New gen’rous wine he from the goblets pour’d. + And call’d his father’s ghost, from hell restor’d. + The glad attendants in long order come, + Off’ring their gifts at great Anchises’ tomb: + Some add more oxen: some divide the spoil; + Some place the chargers on the grassy soil; + Some blow the fires, and offered entrails broil. + + Now came the day desir’d. The skies were bright + With rosy luster of the rising light: + The bord’ring people, rous’d by sounding fame + Of Trojan feasts and great Acestes’ name, + The crowded shore with acclamations fill, + Part to behold, and part to prove their skill. + And first the gifts in public view they place, + Green laurel wreaths, and palm, the victors’ grace: + Within the circle, arms and tripods lie, + Ingots of gold and silver, heap’d on high, + And vests embroider’d, of the Tyrian dye. + The trumpet’s clangour then the feast proclaims, + And all prepare for their appointed games. + Four galleys first, which equal rowers bear, + Advancing, in the wat’ry lists appear. + The speedy Dolphin, that outstrips the wind, + Bore Mnestheus, author of the Memmian kind: + Gyas the vast Chimaera’s bulk commands, + Which rising, like a tow’ring city stands; + Three Trojans tug at ev’ry lab’ring oar; + Three banks in three degrees the sailors bore; + Beneath their sturdy strokes the billows roar. + Sergesthus, who began the Sergian race, + In the great Centaur took the leading place; + Cloanthus on the sea-green Scylla stood, + From whom Cluentius draws his Trojan blood. + + Far in the sea, against the foaming shore, + There stands a rock: the raging billows roar + Above his head in storms; but, when ’tis clear, + Uncurl their ridgy backs, and at his foot appear. + In peace below the gentle waters run; + The cormorants above lie basking in the sun. + On this the hero fix’d an oak in sight, + The mark to guide the mariners aright. + To bear with this, the seamen stretch their oars; + Then round the rock they steer, and seek the former shores. + The lots decide their place. Above the rest, + Each leader shining in his Tyrian vest; + The common crew with wreaths of poplar boughs + Their temples crown, and shade their sweaty brows: + Besmear’d with oil, their naked shoulders shine. + All take their seats, and wait the sounding sign: + They gripe their oars; and ev’ry panting breast + Is rais’d by turns with hope, by turns with fear depress’d. + The clangour of the trumpet gives the sign; + At once they start, advancing in a line: + With shouts the sailors rend the starry skies; + Lash’d with their oars, the smoky billows rise; + Sparkles the briny main, and the vex’d ocean fries. + Exact in time, with equal strokes they row: + At once the brushing oars and brazen prow + Dash up the sandy waves, and ope the depths below. + Not fiery coursers, in a chariot race, + Invade the field with half so swift a pace; + Not the fierce driver with more fury lends + The sounding lash, and, ere the stroke descends, + Low to the wheels his pliant body bends. + The partial crowd their hopes and fears divide, + And aid with eager shouts the favour’d side. + Cries, murmurs, clamours, with a mixing sound, + From woods to woods, from hills to hills rebound. + + Amidst the loud applauses of the shore, + Gyas outstripp’d the rest, and sprung before: + Cloanthus, better mann’d, pursued him fast, + But his o’er-masted galley check’d his haste. + The Centaur and the Dolphin brush the brine + With equal oars, advancing in a line; + And now the mighty Centaur seems to lead, + And now the speedy Dolphin gets ahead; + Now board to board the rival vessels row, + The billows lave the skies, and ocean groans below. + They reach’d the mark; proud Gyas and his train + In triumph rode, the victors of the main; + But, steering round, he charg’d his pilot stand + More close to shore, and skim along the sand. + “Let others bear to sea!” Menoetes heard; + But secret shelves too cautiously he fear’d, + And, fearing, sought the deep; and still aloof he steer’d. + With louder cries the captain call’d again: + “Bear to the rocky shore, and shun the main.” + He spoke, and, speaking, at his stern he saw + The bold Cloanthus near the shelvings draw. + Betwixt the mark and him the Scylla stood, + And in a closer compass plow’d the flood. + He pass’d the mark; and, wheeling, got before: + Gyas blasphem’d the gods, devoutly swore, + Cried out for anger, and his hair he tore. + Mindless of others’ lives (so high was grown + His rising rage) and careless of his own, + The trembling dotard to the deck he drew; + Then hoisted up, and overboard he threw: + This done, he seiz’d the helm; his fellows cheer’d, + Turn’d short upon the shelfs, and madly steer’d. + + Hardly his head the plunging pilot rears, + Clogg’d with his clothes, and cumber’d with his years: + Now dropping wet, he climbs the cliff with pain. + The crowd, that saw him fall and float again, + Shout from the distant shore; and loudly laugh’d, + To see his heaving breast disgorge the briny draught. + The following Centaur, and the Dolphin’s crew, + Their vanish’d hopes of victory renew; + While Gyas lags, they kindle in the race, + To reach the mark. Sergesthus takes the place; + Mnestheus pursues; and while around they wind, + Comes up, not half his galley’s length behind; + Then, on the deck, amidst his mates appear’d, + And thus their drooping courages he cheer’d: + “My friends, and Hector’s followers heretofore, + Exert your vigour; tug the lab’ring oar; + Stretch to your strokes, my still unconquer’d crew, + Whom from the flaming walls of Troy I drew. + In this, our common int’rest, let me find + That strength of hand, that courage of the mind, + As when you stemm’d the strong Malean flood, + And o’er the Syrtes’ broken billows row’d. + I seek not now the foremost palm to gain; + Tho’ yet——But, ah! that haughty wish is vain! + Let those enjoy it whom the gods ordain. + But to be last, the lags of all the race! + Redeem yourselves and me from that disgrace.” + Now, one and all, they tug amain; they row + At the full stretch, and shake the brazen prow. + The sea beneath ’em sinks; their lab’ring sides + Are swell’d, and sweat runs gutt’ring down in tides. + Chance aids their daring with unhop’d success; + Sergesthus, eager with his beak to press + Betwixt the rival galley and the rock, + Shuts up th’ unwieldly Centaur in the lock. + The vessel struck; and, with the dreadful shock, + Her oars she shiver’d, and her head she broke. + The trembling rowers from their banks arise, + And, anxious for themselves, renounce the prize. + With iron poles they heave her off the shores, + And gather from the sea their floating oars. + The crew of Mnestheus, with elated minds, + Urge their success, and call the willing winds; + Then ply their oars, and cut their liquid way + In larger compass on the roomy sea. + As, when the dove her rocky hold forsakes, + Rous’d in a fright, her sounding wings she shakes; + The cavern rings with clatt’ring; out she flies, + And leaves her callow care, and cleaves the skies: + At first she flutters; but at length she springs + To smoother flight, and shoots upon her wings: + So Mnestheus in the Dolphin cuts the sea; + And, flying with a force, that force assists his way. + Sergesthus in the Centaur soon he pass’d, + Wedg’d in the rocky shoals, and sticking fast. + In vain the victor he with cries implores, + And practices to row with shatter’d oars. + Then Mnestheus bears with Gyas, and outflies: + The ship, without a pilot, yields the prize. + Unvanquish’d Scylla now alone remains; + Her he pursues, and all his vigour strains. + Shouts from the fav’ring multitude arise; + Applauding Echo to the shouts replies; + Shouts, wishes, and applause run rattling thro’ the skies. + These clamours with disdain the Scylla heard, + Much grudg’d the praise, but more the robb’d reward: + Resolv’d to hold their own, they mend their pace, + All obstinate to die, or gain the race. + Rais’d with success, the Dolphin swiftly ran; + For they can conquer, who believe they can. + Both urge their oars, and fortune both supplies, + And both perhaps had shar’d an equal prize; + When to the seas Cloanthus holds his hands, + And succour from the wat’ry pow’rs demands: + “Gods of the liquid realms, on which I row! + If, giv’n by you, the laurel bind my brow, + Assist to make me guilty of my vow! + A snow-white bull shall on your shore be slain; + His offer’d entrails cast into the main, + And ruddy wine, from golden goblets thrown, + Your grateful gift and my return shall own.” + The choir of nymphs, and Phorcus, from below, + With virgin Panopea, heard his vow; + And old Portunus, with his breadth of hand, + Push’d on, and sped the galley to the land. + Swift as a shaft, or winged wind, she flies, + And, darting to the port, obtains the prize. + + The herald summons all, and then proclaims + Cloanthus conqu’ror of the naval games. + The prince with laurel crowns the victor’s head, + And three fat steers are to his vessel led, + The ship’s reward; with gen’rous wine beside, + And sums of silver, which the crew divide. + The leaders are distinguish’d from the rest; + The victor honour’d with a nobler vest, + Where gold and purple strive in equal rows, + And needlework its happy cost bestows. + There Ganymede is wrought with living art, + Chasing thro’ Ida’s groves the trembling hart: + Breathless he seems, yet eager to pursue; + When from aloft descends, in open view, + The bird of Jove, and, sousing on his prey, + With crooked talons bears the boy away. + In vain, with lifted hands and gazing eyes, + His guards behold him soaring thro’ the skies, + And dogs pursue his flight with imitated cries. + + Mnestheus the second victor was declar’d; + And, summon’d there, the second prize he shar’d. + A coat of mail, brave Demoleus bore, + More brave Aeneas from his shoulders tore, + In single combat on the Trojan shore: + This was ordain’d for Mnestheus to possess; + In war for his defence, for ornament in peace. + Rich was the gift, and glorious to behold, + But yet so pond’rous with its plates of gold, + That scarce two servants could the weight sustain; + Yet, loaded thus, Demoleus o’er the plain + Pursued and lightly seiz’d the Trojan train. + The third, succeeding to the last reward, + Two goodly bowls of massy silver shar’d, + With figures prominent, and richly wrought, + And two brass caldrons from Dodona brought. + + Thus all, rewarded by the hero’s hands, + Their conqu’ring temples bound with purple bands; + And now Sergesthus, clearing from the rock, + Brought back his galley shatter’d with the shock. + Forlorn she look’d, without an aiding oar, + And, houted by the vulgar, made to shore. + As when a snake, surpris’d upon the road, + Is crush’d athwart her body by the load + Of heavy wheels; or with a mortal wound + Her belly bruis’d, and trodden to the ground: + In vain, with loosen’d curls, she crawls along; + Yet, fierce above, she brandishes her tongue; + Glares with her eyes, and bristles with her scales; + But, groveling in the dust, her parts unsound she trails: + So slowly to the port the Centaur tends, + But, what she wants in oars, with sails amends. + Yet, for his galley sav’d, the grateful prince + Is pleas’d th’ unhappy chief to recompense. + Pholoe, the Cretan slave, rewards his care, + Beauteous herself, with lovely twins as fair. + + From thence his way the Trojan hero bent + Into the neighb’ring plain, with mountains pent, + Whose sides were shaded with surrounding wood. + Full in the midst of this fair valley stood + A native theatre, which, rising slow + By just degrees, o’erlook’d the ground below. + High on a sylvan throne the leader sate; + A num’rous train attend in solemn state. + Here those that in the rapid course delight, + Desire of honour and the prize invite. + The rival runners without order stand; + The Trojans mix’d with the Sicilian band. + First Nisus, with Euryalus, appears; + Euryalus a boy of blooming years, + With sprightly grace and equal beauty crown’d; + Nisus, for friendship to the youth renown’d. + Diores next, of Priam’s royal race, + Then Salius joined with Patron, took their place; + But Patron in Arcadia had his birth, + And Salius his from Arcananian earth; + Then two Sicilian youths, the names of these, + Swift Helymus, and lovely Panopes: + Both jolly huntsmen, both in forest bred, + And owning old Acestes for their head; + With sev’ral others of ignobler name, + Whom time has not deliver’d o’er to fame. + + To these the hero thus his thoughts explain’d, + In words which gen’ral approbation gain’d: + “One common largess is for all design’d, + The vanquish’d and the victor shall be join’d, + Two darts of polish’d steel and Gnosian wood, + A silver-studded ax alike bestow’d. + The foremost three have olive wreaths decreed: + The first of these obtains a stately steed, + Adorn’d with trappings; and the next in fame, + The quiver of an Amazonian dame, + With feather’d Thracian arrows well supplied: + A golden belt shall gird his manly side, + Which with a sparkling diamond shall be tied. + The third this Grecian helmet shall content.” + He said. To their appointed base they went; + With beating hearts th’ expected sign receive, + And, starting all at once, the barrier leave. + Spread out, as on the winged winds, they flew, + And seiz’d the distant goal with greedy view. + Shot from the crowd, swift Nisus all o’erpass’d; + Nor storms, nor thunder, equal half his haste. + The next, but tho’ the next, yet far disjoin’d, + Came Salius, and Euryalus behind; + Then Helymus, whom young Diores plied, + Step after step, and almost side by side, + His shoulders pressing; and, in longer space, + Had won, or left at least a dubious race. + + Now, spent, the goal they almost reach at last, + When eager Nisus, hapless in his haste, + Slipp’d first, and, slipping, fell upon the plain, + Soak’d with the blood of oxen newly slain. + The careless victor had not mark’d his way; + But, treading where the treach’rous puddle lay, + His heels flew up; and on the grassy floor + He fell, besmear’d with filth and holy gore. + Not mindless then, Euryalus, of thee, + Nor of the sacred bonds of amity, + He strove th’ immediate rival’s hope to cross, + And caught the foot of Salius as he rose. + So Salius lay extended on the plain; + Euryalus springs out, the prize to gain, + And leaves the crowd: applauding peals attend + The victor to the goal, who vanquish’d by his friend. + Next Helymus; and then Diores came, + By two misfortunes made the third in fame. + + But Salius enters, and, exclaiming loud + For justice, deafens and disturbs the crowd; + Urges his cause may in the court be heard; + And pleads the prize is wrongfully conferr’d. + But favour for Euryalus appears; + His blooming beauty, with his tender tears, + Had brib’d the judges for the promis’d prize. + Besides, Diores fills the court with cries, + Who vainly reaches at the last reward, + If the first palm on Salius be conferr’d. + Then thus the prince: “Let no disputes arise: + Where fortune plac’d it, I award the prize. + But fortune’s errors give me leave to mend, + At least to pity my deserving friend.” + He said, and, from among the spoils, he draws + (Pond’rous with shaggy mane and golden paws) + A lion’s hide: to Salius this he gives. + Nisus with envy sees the gift, and grieves. + “If such rewards to vanquish’d men are due.” + He said, “and falling is to rise by you, + What prize may Nisus from your bounty claim, + Who merited the first rewards and fame? + In falling, both an equal fortune tried; + Would fortune for my fall so well provide!” + With this he pointed to his face, and show’d + His hand and all his habit smear’d with blood. + Th’ indulgent father of the people smil’d, + And caus’d to be produc’d an ample shield, + Of wondrous art, by Didymaon wrought, + Long since from Neptune’s bars in triumph brought. + This giv’n to Nisus, he divides the rest, + And equal justice in his gifts express’d. + + The race thus ended, and rewards bestow’d, + Once more the prince bespeaks th’ attentive crowd: + “If there be here, whose dauntless courage dare + In gauntlet fight, with limbs and body bare, + His opposite sustain in open view, + Stand forth the champion, and the games renew. + Two prizes I propose, and thus divide: + A bull with gilded horns, and fillets tied, + Shall be the portion of the conqu’ring chief; + A sword and helm shall cheer the loser’s grief.” + + Then haughty Dares in the lists appears; + Stalking he strides, his head erected bears: + His nervous arms the weighty gauntlet wield, + And loud applauses echo thro’ the field. + Dares alone in combat us’d to stand + The match of mighty Paris, hand to hand; + The same, at Hector’s fun’rals, undertook + Gigantic Butes, of th’ Amycian stock, + And, by the stroke of his resistless hand, + Stretch’d the vast bulk upon the yellow sand. + Such Dares was; and such he strode along, + And drew the wonder of the gazing throng. + His brawny back and ample breast he shows, + His lifted arms around his head he throws, + And deals in whistling air his empty blows. + His match is sought; but, thro’ the trembling band, + Not one dares answer to the proud demand. + Presuming of his force, with sparkling eyes + Already he devours the promis’d prize. + He claims the bull with awless insolence, + And having seiz’d his horns, accosts the prince: + “If none my matchless valour dares oppose, + How long shall Dares wait his dastard foes? + Permit me, chief, permit without delay, + To lead this uncontended gift away.” + The crowd assents, and with redoubled cries + For the proud challenger demands the prize. + + Acestes, fir’d with just disdain, to see + The palm usurp’d without a victory, + Reproach’d Entellus thus, who sate beside, + And heard and saw, unmov’d, the Trojan’s pride: + “Once, but in vain, a champion of renown, + So tamely can you bear the ravish’d crown, + A prize in triumph borne before your sight, + And shun, for fear, the danger of the fight? + Where is our Eryx now, the boasted name, + The god who taught your thund’ring arm the game? + Where now your baffled honour? Where the spoil + That fill’d your house, and fame that fill’d our isle?” + Entellus, thus: “My soul is still the same, + Unmov’d with fear, and mov’d with martial fame; + But my chill blood is curdled in my veins, + And scarce the shadow of a man remains. + O could I turn to that fair prime again, + That prime of which this boaster is so vain, + The brave, who this decrepid age defies, + Should feel my force, without the promis’d prize.” + + He said; and, rising at the word, he threw + Two pond’rous gauntlets down in open view; + Gauntlets which Eryx wont in fight to wield, + And sheathe his hands with in the listed field. + With fear and wonder seiz’d, the crowd beholds + The gloves of death, with sev’n distinguish’d folds + Of tough bull hides; the space within is spread + With iron, or with loads of heavy lead: + Dares himself was daunted at the sight, + Renounc’d his challenge, and refus’d to fight. + Astonish’d at their weight, the hero stands, + And pois’d the pond’rous engines in his hands. + “What had your wonder,” said Entellus, “been, + Had you the gauntlets of Alcides seen, + Or view’d the stern debate on this unhappy green! + These which I bear your brother Eryx bore, + Still mark’d with batter’d brains and mingled gore. + With these he long sustain’d th’ Herculean arm; + And these I wielded while my blood was warm, + This languish’d frame while better spirits fed, + Ere age unstrung my nerves, or time o’ersnow’d my head. + But if the challenger these arms refuse, + And cannot wield their weight, or dare not use; + If great Aeneas and Acestes join + In his request, these gauntlets I resign; + Let us with equal arms perform the fight, + And let him leave to fear, since I resign my right.” + + This said, Entellus for the strife prepares; + Stripp’d of his quilted coat, his body bares; + Compos’d of mighty bones and brawn he stands, + A goodly tow’ring object on the sands. + Then just Aeneas equal arms supplied, + Which round their shoulders to their wrists they tied. + Both on the tiptoe stand, at full extent, + Their arms aloft, their bodies inly bent; + Their heads from aiming blows they bear afar; + With clashing gauntlets then provoke the war. + One on his youth and pliant limbs relies; + One on his sinews and his giant size. + The last is stiff with age, his motion slow; + He heaves for breath, he staggers to and fro, + And clouds of issuing smoke his nostrils loudly blow. + Yet equal in success, they ward, they strike; + Their ways are diff’rent, but their art alike. + Before, behind, the blows are dealt; around + Their hollow sides the rattling thumps resound. + A storm of strokes, well meant, with fury flies, + And errs about their temples, ears, and eyes. + Nor always errs; for oft the gauntlet draws + A sweeping stroke along the crackling jaws. + Heavy with age, Entellus stands his ground, + But with his warping body wards the wound. + His hand and watchful eye keep even pace; + While Dares traverses and shifts his place, + And, like a captain who beleaguers round + Some strong-built castle on a rising ground, + Views all th’ approaches with observing eyes: + This and that other part in vain he tries, + And more on industry than force relies. + With hands on high, Entellus threats the foe; + But Dares watch’d the motion from below, + And slipp’d aside, and shunn’d the long descending blow. + Entellus wastes his forces on the wind, + And, thus deluded of the stroke design’d, + Headlong and heavy fell; his ample breast + And weighty limbs his ancient mother press’d. + So falls a hollow pine, that long had stood + On Ida’s height, or Erymanthus’ wood, + Torn from the roots. The diff’ring nations rise, + And shouts and mingled murmurs rend the skies, + Acestus runs with eager haste, to raise + The fall’n companion of his youthful days. + Dauntless he rose, and to the fight return’d; + With shame his glowing cheeks, his eyes with fury burn’d. + Disdain and conscious virtue fir’d his breast, + And with redoubled force his foe he press’d. + He lays on load with either hand, amain, + And headlong drives the Trojan o’er the plain; + Nor stops, nor stays; nor rest nor breath allows; + But storms of strokes descend about his brows, + A rattling tempest, and a hail of blows. + But now the prince, who saw the wild increase + Of wounds, commands the combatants to cease, + And bounds Entellus’ wrath, and bids the peace. + First to the Trojan, spent with toil, he came, + And sooth’d his sorrow for the suffer’d shame. + “What fury seiz’d my friend? The gods,” said he, + “To him propitious, and averse to thee, + Have giv’n his arm superior force to thine. + ’Tis madness to contend with strength divine.” + The gauntlet fight thus ended, from the shore + His faithful friends unhappy Dares bore: + His mouth and nostrils pour’d a purple flood, + And pounded teeth came rushing with his blood. + Faintly he stagger’d thro’ the hissing throng, + And hung his head, and trail’d his legs along. + The sword and casque are carried by his train; + But with his foe the palm and ox remain. + + The champion, then, before Aeneas came, + Proud of his prize, but prouder of his fame: + “O goddess-born, and you, Dardanian host, + Mark with attention, and forgive my boast; + Learn what I was, by what remains; and know + From what impending fate you sav’d my foe.” + Sternly he spoke, and then confronts the bull; + And, on his ample forehead aiming full, + The deadly stroke, descending, pierc’d the skull. + Down drops the beast, nor needs a second wound, + But sprawls in pangs of death, and spurns the ground. + Then, thus: “In Dares’ stead I offer this. + Eryx, accept a nobler sacrifice; + Take the last gift my wither’d arms can yield: + Thy gauntlets I resign, and here renounce the field.” + + This done, Aeneas orders, for the close, + The strife of archers with contending bows. + The mast Sergesthus’ shatter’d galley bore + With his own hands he raises on the shore. + A flutt’ring dove upon the top they tie, + The living mark at which their arrows fly. + The rival archers in a line advance, + Their turn of shooting to receive from chance. + A helmet holds their names; the lots are drawn: + On the first scroll was read Hippocoon. + The people shout. Upon the next was found + Young Mnestheus, late with naval honours crown’d. + The third contain’d Eurytion’s noble name, + Thy brother, Pandarus, and next in fame, + Whom Pallas urg’d the treaty to confound, + And send among the Greeks a feather’d wound. + Acestes in the bottom last remain’d, + Whom not his age from youthful sports restrain’d. + Soon all with vigour bend their trusty bows, + And from the quiver each his arrow chose. + Hippocoon’s was the first: with forceful sway + It flew, and, whizzing, cut the liquid way. + Fix’d in the mast the feather’d weapon stands: + The fearful pigeon flutters in her bands, + And the tree trembled, and the shouting cries + Of the pleas’d people rend the vaulted skies. + Then Mnestheus to the head his arrow drove, + With lifted eyes, and took his aim above, + But made a glancing shot, and missed the dove; + Yet miss’d so narrow, that he cut the cord + Which fasten’d by the foot the flitting bird. + The captive thus releas’d, away she flies, + And beats with clapping wings the yielding skies. + His bow already bent, Eurytion stood; + And, having first invok’d his brother god, + His winged shaft with eager haste he sped. + The fatal message reach’d her as she fled: + She leaves her life aloft; she strikes the ground, + And renders back the weapon in the wound. + Acestes, grudging at his lot, remains, + Without a prize to gratify his pains. + Yet, shooting upward, sends his shaft, to show + An archer’s art, and boast his twanging bow. + The feather’d arrow gave a dire portent, + And latter augurs judge from this event. + Chaf’d by the speed, it fir’d; and, as it flew, + A trail of following flames ascending drew: + Kindling they mount, and mark the shiny way; + Across the skies as falling meteors play, + And vanish into wind, or in a blaze decay. + The Trojans and Sicilians wildly stare, + And, trembling, turn their wonder into pray’r. + The Dardan prince put on a smiling face, + And strain’d Acestes with a close embrace; + Then, hon’ring him with gifts above the rest, + Turn’d the bad omen, nor his fears confess’d. + “The gods,” said he, “this miracle have wrought, + And order’d you the prize without the lot. + Accept this goblet, rough with figur’d gold, + Which Thracian Cisseus gave my sire of old: + This pledge of ancient amity receive, + Which to my second sire I justly give.” + He said, and, with the trumpets’ cheerful sound, + Proclaim’d him victor, and with laurel-crown’d. + Nor good Eurytion envied him the prize, + Tho’ he transfix’d the pigeon in the skies. + Who cut the line, with second gifts was grac’d; + The third was his whose arrow pierc’d the mast. + + The chief, before the games were wholly done, + Call’d Periphantes, tutor to his son, + And whisper’d thus: “With speed Ascanius find; + And, if his childish troop be ready join’d, + On horseback let him grace his grandsire’s day, + And lead his equals arm’d in just array.” + He said; and, calling out, the cirque he clears. + The crowd withdrawn, an open plain appears. + And now the noble youths, of form divine, + Advance before their fathers, in a line; + The riders grace the steeds; the steeds with glory shine. + + Thus marching on in military pride, + Shouts of applause resound from side to side. + Their casques adorn’d with laurel wreaths they wear, + Each brandishing aloft a cornel spear. + Some at their backs their gilded quivers bore; + Their chains of burnish’d gold hung down before. + Three graceful troops they form’d upon the green; + Three graceful leaders at their head were seen; + Twelve follow’d ev’ry chief, and left a space between. + The first young Priam led; a lovely boy, + Whose grandsire was th’ unhappy king of Troy; + His race in after times was known to fame, + New honours adding to the Latian name; + And well the royal boy his Thracian steed became. + White were the fetlocks of his feet before, + And on his front a snowy star he bore. + Then beauteous Atys, with Iulus bred, + Of equal age, the second squadron led. + The last in order, but the first in place, + First in the lovely features of his face, + Rode fair Ascanius on a fiery steed, + Queen Dido’s gift, and of the Tyrian breed. + Sure coursers for the rest the king ordains, + With golden bits adorn’d, and purple reins. + + The pleas’d spectators peals of shouts renew, + And all the parents in the children view; + Their make, their motions, and their sprightly grace, + And hopes and fears alternate in their face. + + Th’ unfledg’d commanders and their martial train + First make the circuit of the sandy plain + Around their sires, and, at th’ appointed sign, + Drawn up in beauteous order, form a line. + The second signal sounds, the troop divides + In three distinguish’d parts, with three distinguish’d guides + Again they close, and once again disjoin; + In troop to troop oppos’d, and line to line. + They meet; they wheel; they throw their darts afar + With harmless rage and well-dissembled war. + Then in a round the mingled bodies run: + Flying they follow, and pursuing shun; + Broken, they break; and, rallying, they renew + In other forms the military shew. + At last, in order, undiscern’d they join, + And march together in a friendly line. + And, as the Cretan labyrinth of old, + With wand’ring ways and many a winding fold, + Involv’d the weary feet, without redress, + In a round error, which denied recess; + So fought the Trojan boys in warlike play, + Turn’d and return’d, and still a diff’rent way. + Thus dolphins in the deep each other chase + In circles, when they swim around the wat’ry race. + This game, these carousels, Ascanius taught; + And, building Alba, to the Latins brought; + Shew’d what he learn’d: the Latin sires impart + To their succeeding sons the graceful art; + From these imperial Rome receiv’d the game, + Which Troy, the youths the Trojan troop, they name. + + Thus far the sacred sports they celebrate: + But Fortune soon resum’d her ancient hate; + For, while they pay the dead his annual dues, + Those envied rites Saturnian Juno views; + And sends the goddess of the various bow, + To try new methods of revenge below; + Supplies the winds to wing her airy way, + Where in the port secure the navy lay. + Swiftly fair Iris down her arch descends, + And, undiscern’d, her fatal voyage ends. + She saw the gath’ring crowd; and, gliding thence, + The desert shore, and fleet without defence. + The Trojan matrons, on the sands alone, + With sighs and tears Anchises’ death bemoan; + Then, turning to the sea their weeping eyes, + Their pity to themselves renews their cries. + “Alas!” said one, “what oceans yet remain + For us to sail! what labours to sustain!” + All take the word, and, with a gen’ral groan, + Implore the gods for peace, and places of their own. + + The goddess, great in mischief, views their pains, + And in a woman’s form her heav’nly limbs restrains. + In face and shape old Beroe she became, + Doryclus’ wife, a venerable dame, + Once blest with riches, and a mother’s name. + Thus chang’d, amidst the crying crowd she ran, + Mix’d with the matrons, and these words began: + “O wretched we, whom not the Grecian pow’r, + Nor flames, destroy’d, in Troy’s unhappy hour! + O wretched we, reserv’d by cruel fate, + Beyond the ruins of the sinking state! + Now sev’n revolving years are wholly run, + Since this improsp’rous voyage we begun; + Since, toss’d from shores to shores, from lands to lands, + Inhospitable rocks and barren sands, + Wand’ring in exile thro’ the stormy sea, + We search in vain for flying Italy. + Now cast by fortune on this kindred land, + What should our rest and rising walls withstand, + Or hinder here to fix our banish’d band? + O country lost, and gods redeem’d in vain, + If still in endless exile we remain! + Shall we no more the Trojan walls renew, + Or streams of some dissembled Simois view! + Haste, join with me, th’ unhappy fleet consume! + Cassandra bids; and I declare her doom. + In sleep I saw her; she supplied my hands + (For this I more than dreamt) with flaming brands: + ‘With these,’ said she, ‘these wand’ring ships destroy: + These are your fatal seats, and this your Troy.’ + Time calls you now; the precious hour employ: + Slack not the good presage, while Heav’n inspires + Our minds to dare, and gives the ready fires. + See! Neptune’s altars minister their brands: + The god is pleas’d; the god supplies our hands.” + Then from the pile a flaming fire she drew, + And, toss’d in air, amidst the galleys threw. + + Wrapp’d in amaze, the matrons wildly stare: + Then Pyrgo, reverenc’d for her hoary hair, + Pyrgo, the nurse of Priam’s num’rous race: + “No Beroe this, tho’ she belies her face! + What terrors from her frowning front arise! + Behold a goddess in her ardent eyes! + What rays around her heav’nly face are seen! + Mark her majestic voice, and more than mortal mien! + Beroe but now I left, whom, pin’d with pain, + Her age and anguish from these rites detain,” + She said. The matrons, seiz’d with new amaze, + Roll their malignant eyes, and on the navy gaze. + They fear, and hope, and neither part obey: + They hope the fated land, but fear the fatal way. + The goddess, having done her task below, + Mounts up on equal wings, and bends her painted bow. + Struck with the sight, and seiz’d with rage divine, + The matrons prosecute their mad design: + They shriek aloud; they snatch, with impious hands, + The food of altars; fires and flaming brands. + Green boughs and saplings, mingled in their haste, + And smoking torches, on the ships they cast. + The flame, unstopp’d at first, more fury gains, + And Vulcan rides at large with loosen’d reins: + Triumphant to the painted sterns he soars, + And seizes, in this way, the banks and crackling oars. + Eumelus was the first the news to bear, + While yet they crowd the rural theatre. + Then, what they hear, is witness’d by their eyes: + A storm of sparkles and of flames arise. + Ascanius took th’ alarm, while yet he led + His early warriors on his prancing steed, + And, spurring on, his equals soon o’erpass’d; + Nor could his frighted friends reclaim his haste. + Soon as the royal youth appear’d in view, + He sent his voice before him as he flew: + “What madness moves you, matrons, to destroy + The last remainders of unhappy Troy! + Not hostile fleets, but your own hopes, you burn, + And on your friends your fatal fury turn. + Behold your own Ascanius!” While he said, + He drew his glitt’ring helmet from his head, + In which the youths to sportful arms he led. + By this, Aeneas and his train appear; + And now the women, seiz’d with shame and fear, + Dispers’d, to woods and caverns take their flight, + Abhor their actions, and avoid the light; + Their friends acknowledge, and their error find, + And shake the goddess from their alter’d mind. + + Not so the raging fires their fury cease, + But, lurking in the seams, with seeming peace, + Work on their way amid the smould’ring tow, + Sure in destruction, but in motion slow. + The silent plague thro’ the green timber eats, + And vomits out a tardy flame by fits. + Down to the keels, and upward to the sails, + The fire descends, or mounts, but still prevails; + Nor buckets pour’d, nor strength of human hand, + Can the victorious element withstand. + + The pious hero rends his robe, and throws + To heav’n his hands, and with his hands his vows. + “O Jove,” he cried, “if pray’rs can yet have place; + If thou abhorr’st not all the Dardan race; + If any spark of pity still remain; + If gods are gods, and not invok’d in vain; + Yet spare the relics of the Trojan train! + Yet from the flames our burning vessels free, + Or let thy fury fall alone on me! + At this devoted head thy thunder throw, + And send the willing sacrifice below!” + + Scarce had he said, when southern storms arise: + From pole to pole the forky lightning flies; + Loud rattling shakes the mountains and the plain; + Heav’n bellies downward, and descends in rain. + Whole sheets of water from the clouds are sent, + Which, hissing thro’ the planks, the flames prevent, + And stop the fiery pest. Four ships alone + Burn to the waist, and for the fleet atone. + + But doubtful thoughts the hero’s heart divide; + If he should still in Sicily reside, + Forgetful of his fates, or tempt the main, + In hope the promis’d Italy to gain. + Then Nautes, old and wise, to whom alone + The will of Heav’n by Pallas was foreshown; + Vers’d in portents, experienc’d, and inspir’d + To tell events, and what the fates requir’d; + Thus while he stood, to neither part inclin’d, + With cheerful words reliev’d his lab’ring mind: + “O goddess-born, resign’d in ev’ry state, + With patience bear, with prudence push your fate. + By suff’ring well, our Fortune we subdue; + Fly when she frowns, and, when she calls, pursue. + Your friend Acestes is of Trojan kind; + To him disclose the secrets of your mind: + Trust in his hands your old and useless train; + Too num’rous for the ships which yet remain: + The feeble, old, indulgent of their ease, + The dames who dread the dangers of the seas, + With all the dastard crew, who dare not stand + The shock of battle with your foes by land. + Here you may build a common town for all, + And, from Acestes’ name, Acesta call.” + The reasons, with his friend’s experience join’d, + Encourag’d much, but more disturb’d his mind. + + ’Twas dead of night; when to his slumb’ring eyes + His father’s shade descended from the skies, + And thus he spoke: “O more than vital breath, + Lov’d while I liv’d, and dear ev’n after death; + O son, in various toils and troubles toss’d, + The King of Heav’n employs my careful ghost + On his commands: the god, who sav’d from fire + Your flaming fleet, and heard your just desire. + The wholesome counsel of your friend receive, + And here the coward train and woman leave: + The chosen youth, and those who nobly dare, + Transport, to tempt the dangers of the war. + The stern Italians will their courage try; + Rough are their manners, and their minds are high. + But first to Pluto’s palace you shall go, + And seek my shade among the blest below: + For not with impious ghosts my soul remains, + Nor suffers with the damn’d perpetual pains, + But breathes the living air of soft Elysian plains. + The chaste Sibylla shall your steps convey, + And blood of offer’d victims free the way. + There shall you know what realms the gods assign, + And learn the fates and fortunes of your line. + But now, farewell! I vanish with the night, + And feel the blast of heav’n’s approaching light.” + He said, and mix’d with shades, and took his airy flight. + “Whither so fast?” the filial duty cried; + “And why, ah why, the wish’d embrace denied?” + + He said, and rose; as holy zeal inspires, + He rakes hot embers, and renews the fires; + His country gods and Vesta then adores + With cakes and incense, and their aid implores. + Next, for his friends and royal host he sent, + Reveal’d his vision, and the gods’ intent, + With his own purpose. All, without delay, + The will of Jove, and his desires obey. + They list with women each degenerate name, + Who dares not hazard life for future fame. + These they cashier: the brave remaining few, + Oars, banks, and cables, half consum’d, renew. + The prince designs a city with the plow; + The lots their sev’ral tenements allow. + This part is nam’d from Ilium, that from Troy, + And the new king ascends the throne with joy; + A chosen senate from the people draws; + Appoints the judges, and ordains the laws. + Then, on the top of Eryx, they begin + A rising temple to the Paphian queen. + Anchises, last, is honour’d as a god; + A priest is added, annual gifts bestow’d, + And groves are planted round his blest abode. + Nine days they pass in feasts, their temples crown’d; + And fumes of incense in the fanes abound. + Then from the south arose a gentle breeze + That curl’d the smoothness of the glassy seas; + The rising winds a ruffling gale afford, + And call the merry mariners aboard. + + Now loud laments along the shores resound, + Of parting friends in close embraces bound. + The trembling women, the degenerate train, + Who shunn’d the frightful dangers of the main, + Ev’n those desire to sail, and take their share + Of the rough passage and the promis’d war: + Whom good Aeneas cheers, and recommends + To their new master’s care his fearful friends. + On Eryx’s altars three fat calves he lays; + A lamb new-fallen to the stormy seas; + Then slips his haulsers, and his anchors weighs. + High on the deck the godlike hero stands, + With olive crown’d, a charger in his hands; + Then cast the reeking entrails in the brine, + And pour’d the sacrifice of purple wine. + Fresh gales arise; with equal strokes they vie, + And brush the buxom seas, and o’er the billows fly. + + Meantime the mother goddess, full of fears, + To Neptune thus address’d, with tender tears: + “The pride of Jove’s imperious queen, the rage, + The malice which no suff’rings can assuage, + Compel me to these pray’rs; since neither fate, + Nor time, nor pity, can remove her hate: + Ev’n Jove is thwarted by his haughty wife; + Still vanquish’d, yet she still renews the strife. + As if ’twere little to consume the town + Which aw’d the world, and wore th’ imperial crown, + She prosecutes the ghost of Troy with pains, + And gnaws, ev’n to the bones, the last remains. + Let her the causes of her hatred tell; + But you can witness its effects too well. + You saw the storm she rais’d on Libyan floods, + That mix’d the mounting billows with the clouds; + When, bribing Aeolus, she shook the main, + And mov’d rebellion in your wat’ry reign. + With fury she possess’d the Dardan dames, + To burn their fleet with execrable flames, + And forc’d Aeneas, when his ships were lost, + To leave his foll’wers on a foreign coast. + For what remains, your godhead I implore, + And trust my son to your protecting pow’r. + If neither Jove’s nor Fate’s decree withstand, + Secure his passage to the Latian land.” + + Then thus the mighty Ruler of the Main: + “What may not Venus hope from Neptune’s reign? + My kingdom claims your birth; my late defence + Of your indanger’d fleet may claim your confidence. + Nor less by land than sea my deeds declare + How much your lov’d Aeneas is my care. + Thee, Xanthus, and thee, Simois, I attest. + Your Trojan troops when proud Achilles press’d, + And drove before him headlong on the plain, + And dash’d against the walls the trembling train; + When floods were fill’d with bodies of the slain; + When crimson Xanthus, doubtful of his way, + Stood up on ridges to behold the sea; + New heaps came tumbling in, and chok’d his way; + When your Aeneas fought, but fought with odds + Of force unequal, and unequal gods; + I spread a cloud before the victor’s sight, + Sustain’d the vanquish’d, and secur’d his flight; + Ev’n then secur’d him, when I sought with joy + The vow’d destruction of ungrateful Troy. + My will’s the same: fair goddess, fear no more, + Your fleet shall safely gain the Latian shore; + Their lives are giv’n; one destin’d head alone + Shall perish, and for multitudes atone.” + Thus having arm’d with hopes her anxious mind, + His finny team Saturnian Neptune join’d, + Then adds the foamy bridle to their jaws, + And to the loosen’d reins permits the laws. + High on the waves his azure car he guides; + Its axles thunder, and the sea subsides, + And the smooth ocean rolls her silent tides. + The tempests fly before their father’s face, + Trains of inferior gods his triumph grace, + And monster whales before their master play, + And choirs of Tritons crowd the wat’ry way. + The marshal’d pow’rs in equal troops divide + To right and left; the gods his better side + Inclose, and on the worse the Nymphs and Nereids ride. + + Now smiling hope, with sweet vicissitude, + Within the hero’s mind his joys renew’d. + He calls to raise the masts, the sheets display; + The cheerful crew with diligence obey; + They scud before the wind, and sail in open sea. + Ahead of all the master pilot steers; + And, as he leads, the following navy veers. + The steeds of Night had travel’d half the sky, + The drowsy rowers on their benches lie, + When the soft God of Sleep, with easy flight, + Descends, and draws behind a trail of light. + Thou, Palinurus, art his destin’d prey; + To thee alone he takes his fatal way. + Dire dreams to thee, and iron sleep, he bears; + And, lighting on thy prow, the form of Phorbas wears. + Then thus the traitor god began his tale: + “The winds, my friend, inspire a pleasing gale; + The ships, without thy care, securely sail. + Now steal an hour of sweet repose; and I + Will take the rudder and thy room supply.” + To whom the yawning pilot, half asleep: + “Me dost thou bid to trust the treach’rous deep, + The harlot smiles of her dissembling face, + And to her faith commit the Trojan race? + Shall I believe the Siren South again, + And, oft betray’d, not know the monster main?” + He said: his fasten’d hands the rudder keep, + And, fix’d on heav’n, his eyes repel invading sleep. + The god was wroth, and at his temples threw + A branch in Lethe dipp’d, and drunk with Stygian dew: + The pilot, vanquish’d by the pow’r divine, + Soon clos’d his swimming eyes, and lay supine. + Scarce were his limbs extended at their length, + The god, insulting with superior strength, + Fell heavy on him, plung’d him in the sea, + And, with the stern, the rudder tore away. + Headlong he fell, and, struggling in the main, + Cried out for helping hands, but cried in vain. + The victor daemon mounts obscure in air, + While the ship sails without the pilot’s care. + On Neptune’s faith the floating fleet relies; + But what the man forsook, the god supplies, + And o’er the dang’rous deep secure the navy flies; + Glides by the Sirens’ cliffs, a shelfy coast, + Long infamous for ships and sailors lost, + And white with bones. Th’ impetuous ocean roars, + And rocks rebellow from the sounding shores. + The watchful hero felt the knocks, and found + The tossing vessel sail’d on shoaly ground. + Sure of his pilot’s loss, he takes himself + The helm, and steers aloof, and shuns the shelf. + Inly he griev’d, and, groaning from the breast, + Deplor’d his death; and thus his pain express’d: + “For faith repos’d on seas, and on the flatt’ring sky, + Thy naked corpse is doom’d on shores unknown to lie.” + + + + BOOK VI + + THE ARGUMENT. + + + The Sibyl foretells Aeneas the adventures he should meet with in + Italy. She attends him to hell; describing to him the various + scenes of that place, and conducting him to his father Anchises, + who instructs him in those sublime mysteries, of the soul of the + world, and the transmigration; and shows him that glorious race + of heroes, which was to descend from him and his posterity. + + + He said, and wept; then spread his sails before + The winds, and reach’d at length the Cumaean shore: + Their anchors dropp’d, his crew the vessels moor. + They turn their heads to sea, their sterns to land, + And greet with greedy joy th’ Italian strand. + Some strike from clashing flints their fiery seed; + Some gather sticks, the kindled flames to feed, + Or search for hollow trees, and fell the woods, + Or trace thro’ valleys the discover’d floods. + Thus, while their sev’ral charges they fulfil, + The pious prince ascends the sacred hill + Where Phoebus is ador’d; and seeks the shade + Which hides from sight his venerable maid. + Deep in a cave the Sibyl makes abode; + Thence full of fate returns, and of the god. + Thro’ Trivia’s grove they walk; and now behold, + And enter now, the temple roof’d with gold. + When Daedalus, to fly the Cretan shore, + His heavy limbs on jointed pinions bore, + (The first who sail’d in air,) ’tis sung by Fame, + To the Cumaean coast at length he came, + And here alighting, built this costly frame. + Inscrib’d to Phoebus, here he hung on high + The steerage of his wings, that cut the sky: + Then o’er the lofty gate his art emboss’d + Androgeos’ death, and off’rings to his ghost; + Sev’n youths from Athens yearly sent, to meet + The fate appointed by revengeful Crete. + And next to those the dreadful urn was plac’d, + In which the destin’d names by lots were cast: + The mournful parents stand around in tears, + And rising Crete against their shore appears. + There too, in living sculpture, might be seen + The mad affection of the Cretan queen; + Then how she cheats her bellowing lover’s eye; + The rushing leap, the doubtful progeny, + The lower part a beast, a man above, + The monument of their polluted love. + Not far from thence he grav’d the wondrous maze, + A thousand doors, a thousand winding ways: + Here dwells the monster, hid from human view, + Not to be found, but by the faithful clue; + Till the kind artist, mov’d with pious grief, + Lent to the loving maid this last relief, + And all those erring paths describ’d so well + That Theseus conquer’d and the monster fell. + Here hapless Icarus had found his part, + Had not the father’s grief restrain’d his art. + He twice assay’d to cast his son in gold; + Twice from his hands he dropp’d the forming mould. + + All this with wond’ring eyes Aeneas view’d; + Each varying object his delight renew’d: + Eager to read the rest, Achates came, + And by his side the mad divining dame, + The priestess of the god, Deiphobe her name. + “Time suffers not,” she said, “to feed your eyes + With empty pleasures; haste the sacrifice. + Sev’n bullocks, yet unyok’d, for Phoebus choose, + And for Diana sev’n unspotted ewes.” + This said, the servants urge the sacred rites, + While to the temple she the prince invites. + A spacious cave, within its farmost part, + Was hew’d and fashion’d by laborious art + Thro’ the hill’s hollow sides: before the place, + A hundred doors a hundred entries grace; + As many voices issue, and the sound + Of Sybil’s words as many times rebound. + Now to the mouth they come. Aloud she cries: + “This is the time; enquire your destinies. + He comes; behold the god!” Thus while she said, + (And shiv’ring at the sacred entry stay’d,) + Her colour chang’d; her face was not the same, + And hollow groans from her deep spirit came. + Her hair stood up; convulsive rage possess’d + Her trembling limbs, and heav’d her lab’ring breast. + Greater than humankind she seem’d to look, + And with an accent more than mortal spoke. + Her staring eyes with sparkling fury roll; + When all the god came rushing on her soul. + Swiftly she turn’d, and, foaming as she spoke: + “Why this delay?” she cried; “the pow’rs invoke! + Thy pray’rs alone can open this abode; + Else vain are my demands, and dumb the god.” + + She said no more. The trembling Trojans hear, + O’erspread with a damp sweat and holy fear. + The prince himself, with awful dread possess’d, + His vows to great Apollo thus address’d: + “Indulgent god, propitious pow’r to Troy, + Swift to relieve, unwilling to destroy, + Directed by whose hand the Dardan dart + Pierc’d the proud Grecian’s only mortal part: + Thus far, by fate’s decrees and thy commands, + Thro’ ambient seas and thro’ devouring sands, + Our exil’d crew has sought th’ Ausonian ground; + And now, at length, the flying coast is found. + Thus far the fate of Troy, from place to place, + With fury has pursued her wand’ring race. + Here cease, ye pow’rs, and let your vengeance end: + Troy is no more, and can no more offend. + And thou, O sacred maid, inspir’d to see + Th’ event of things in dark futurity; + Give me what Heav’n has promis’d to my fate, + To conquer and command the Latian state; + To fix my wand’ring gods, and find a place + For the long exiles of the Trojan race. + Then shall my grateful hands a temple rear + To the twin gods, with vows and solemn pray’r; + And annual rites, and festivals, and games, + Shall be perform’d to their auspicious names. + Nor shalt thou want thy honours in my land; + For there thy faithful oracles shall stand, + Preserv’d in shrines; and ev’ry sacred lay, + Which, by thy mouth, Apollo shall convey: + All shall be treasur’d by a chosen train + Of holy priests, and ever shall remain. + But O! commit not thy prophetic mind + To flitting leaves, the sport of ev’ry wind, + Lest they disperse in air our empty fate; + Write not, but, what the pow’rs ordain, relate.” + + Struggling in vain, impatient of her load, + And lab’ring underneath the pond’rous god, + The more she strove to shake him from her breast, + With more and far superior force he press’d; + Commands his entrance, and, without control, + Usurps her organs and inspires her soul. + Now, with a furious blast, the hundred doors + Ope of themselves; a rushing whirlwind roars + Within the cave, and Sibyl’s voice restores: + “Escap’d the dangers of the wat’ry reign, + Yet more and greater ills by land remain. + The coast, so long desir’d (nor doubt th’ event), + Thy troops shall reach, but, having reach’d, repent. + Wars, horrid wars, I view; a field of blood, + And Tiber rolling with a purple flood. + Simois nor Xanthus shall be wanting there: + A new Achilles shall in arms appear, + And he, too, goddess-born. Fierce Juno’s hate, + Added to hostile force, shall urge thy fate. + To what strange nations shalt not thou resort, + Driv’n to solicit aid at ev’ry court! + The cause the same which Ilium once oppress’d; + A foreign mistress, and a foreign guest. + But thou, secure of soul, unbent with woes, + The more thy fortune frowns, the more oppose. + The dawnings of thy safety shall be shown + From whence thou least shalt hope, a Grecian town.” + + Thus, from the dark recess, the Sibyl spoke, + And the resisting air the thunder broke; + The cave rebellow’d, and the temple shook. + Th’ ambiguous god, who rul’d her lab’ring breast, + In these mysterious words his mind express’d; + Some truths reveal’d, in terms involv’d the rest. + At length her fury fell, her foaming ceas’d, + And, ebbing in her soul, the god decreas’d. + Then thus the chief: “No terror to my view, + No frightful face of danger can be new. + Inur’d to suffer, and resolv’d to dare, + The Fates, without my pow’r, shall be without my care. + This let me crave, since near your grove the road + To hell lies open, and the dark abode + Which Acheron surrounds, th’ innavigable flood; + Conduct me thro’ the regions void of light, + And lead me longing to my father’s sight. + For him, a thousand dangers I have sought, + And, rushing where the thickest Grecians fought, + Safe on my back the sacred burthen brought. + He, for my sake, the raging ocean tried, + And wrath of Heav’n, my still auspicious guide, + And bore beyond the strength decrepid age supplied. + Oft, since he breath’d his last, in dead of night + His reverend image stood before my sight; + Enjoin’d to seek, below, his holy shade; + Conducted there by your unerring aid. + But you, if pious minds by pray’rs are won, + Oblige the father, and protect the son. + Yours is the pow’r; nor Proserpine in vain + Has made you priestess of her nightly reign. + If Orpheus, arm’d with his enchanting lyre, + The ruthless king with pity could inspire, + And from the shades below redeem his wife; + If Pollux, off’ring his alternate life, + Could free his brother, and can daily go + By turns aloft, by turns descend below: + Why name I Theseus, or his greater friend, + Who trod the downward path, and upward could ascend? + Not less than theirs from Jove my lineage came; + My mother greater, my descent the same.” + So pray’d the Trojan prince, and, while he pray’d, + His hand upon the holy altar laid. + + Then thus replied the prophetess divine: + “O goddess-born of great Anchises’ line, + The gates of hell are open night and day; + Smooth the descent, and easy is the way: + But to return, and view the cheerful skies, + In this the task and mighty labour lies. + To few great Jupiter imparts this grace, + And those of shining worth and heav’nly race. + Betwixt those regions and our upper light, + Deep forests and impenetrable night + Possess the middle space: th’ infernal bounds + Cocytus, with his sable waves, surrounds. + But if so dire a love your soul invades, + As twice below to view the trembling shades; + If you so hard a toil will undertake, + As twice to pass th’ innavigable lake; + Receive my counsel. In the neighb’ring grove + There stands a tree; the queen of Stygian Jove + Claims it her own; thick woods and gloomy night + Conceal the happy plant from human sight. + One bough it bears; but wondrous to behold! + The ductile rind and leaves of radiant gold: + This from the vulgar branches must be torn, + And to fair Proserpine the present borne, + Ere leave be giv’n to tempt the nether skies. + The first thus rent a second will arise, + And the same metal the same room supplies. + Look round the wood, with lifted eyes, to see + The lurking gold upon the fatal tree: + Then rend it off, as holy rites command; + The willing metal will obey thy hand, + Following with ease, if favour’d by thy fate, + Thou art foredoom’d to view the Stygian state: + If not, no labour can the tree constrain; + And strength of stubborn arms and steel are vain. + Besides, you know not, while you here attend, + Th’ unworthy fate of your unhappy friend: + Breathless he lies; and his unburied ghost, + Depriv’d of fun’ral rites, pollutes your host. + Pay first his pious dues; and, for the dead, + Two sable sheep around his hearse be led; + Then, living turfs upon his body lay: + This done, securely take the destin’d way, + To find the regions destitute of day.” + + She said, and held her peace. Aeneas went + Sad from the cave, and full of discontent, + Unknowing whom the sacred Sibyl meant. + Achates, the companion of his breast, + Goes grieving by his side, with equal cares oppress’d. + Walking, they talk’d, and fruitlessly divin’d + What friend the priestess by those words design’d. + But soon they found an object to deplore: + Misenus lay extended on the shore; + Son of the God of Winds: none so renown’d + The warrior trumpet in the field to sound; + With breathing brass to kindle fierce alarms, + And rouse to dare their fate in honourable arms. + He serv’d great Hector, and was ever near, + Not with his trumpet only, but his spear. + But by Pelides’ arms when Hector fell, + He chose Aeneas; and he chose as well. + Swoln with applause, and aiming still at more, + He now provokes the sea gods from the shore; + With envy Triton heard the martial sound, + And the bold champion, for his challenge, drown’d; + Then cast his mangled carcass on the strand: + The gazing crowd around the body stand. + All weep; but most Aeneas mourns his fate, + And hastens to perform the funeral state. + In altar-wise, a stately pile they rear; + The basis broad below, and top advanc’d in air. + An ancient wood, fit for the work design’d, + (The shady covert of the salvage kind,) + The Trojans found: the sounding ax is plied; + Firs, pines, and pitch trees, and the tow’ring pride + Of forest ashes, feel the fatal stroke, + And piercing wedges cleave the stubborn oak. + Huge trunks of trees, fell’d from the steepy crown + Of the bare mountains, roll with ruin down. + Arm’d like the rest the Trojan prince appears, + And by his pious labour urges theirs. + + Thus while he wrought, revolving in his mind + The ways to compass what his wish design’d, + He cast his eyes upon the gloomy grove, + And then with vows implor’d the Queen of Love: + “O may thy pow’r, propitious still to me, + Conduct my steps to find the fatal tree, + In this deep forest; since the Sibyl’s breath + Foretold, alas! too true, Misenus’ death.” + Scarce had he said, when, full before his sight, + Two doves, descending from their airy flight, + Secure upon the grassy plain alight. + He knew his mother’s birds; and thus he pray’d: + “Be you my guides, with your auspicious aid, + And lead my footsteps, till the branch be found, + Whose glitt’ring shadow gilds the sacred ground. + And thou, great parent, with celestial care, + In this distress be present to my pray’r!” + Thus having said, he stopp’d with watchful sight, + Observing still the motions of their flight, + What course they took, what happy signs they shew. + They fed, and, flutt’ring, by degrees withdrew + Still farther from the place, but still in view: + Hopping and flying, thus they led him on + To the slow lake, whose baleful stench to shun + They wing’d their flight aloft; then, stooping low, + Perch’d on the double tree that bears the golden bough. + Thro’ the green leafs the glitt’ring shadows glow; + As, on the sacred oak, the wintry mistletoe, + Where the proud mother views her precious brood, + And happier branches, which she never sow’d. + Such was the glitt’ring; such the ruddy rind, + And dancing leaves, that wanton’d in the wind. + He seiz’d the shining bough with griping hold, + And rent away, with ease, the ling’ring gold; + Then to the Sibyl’s palace bore the prize. + Meantime the Trojan troops, with weeping eyes, + To dead Misenus pay his obsequies. + First, from the ground a lofty pile they rear, + Of pitch trees, oaks, and pines, and unctuous fir: + The fabric’s front with cypress twigs they strew, + And stick the sides with boughs of baleful yew. + The topmost part his glitt’ring arms adorn; + Warm waters, then, in brazen caldrons borne, + Are pour’d to wash his body, joint by joint, + And fragrant oils the stiffen’d limbs anoint. + With groans and cries Misenus they deplore: + Then on a bier, with purple cover’d o’er, + The breathless body, thus bewail’d, they lay, + And fire the pile, their faces turn’d away: + Such reverend rites their fathers us’d to pay. + Pure oil and incense on the fire they throw, + And fat of victims, which his friends bestow. + These gifts the greedy flames to dust devour; + Then on the living coals red wine they pour; + And, last, the relics by themselves dispose, + Which in a brazen urn the priests inclose. + Old Corynaeus compass’d thrice the crew, + And dipp’d an olive branch in holy dew; + Which thrice he sprinkled round, and thrice aloud + Invok’d the dead, and then dismissed the crowd. + But good Aeneas order’d on the shore + A stately tomb, whose top a trumpet bore, + A soldier’s falchion, and a seaman’s oar. + Thus was his friend interr’d; and deathless fame + Still to the lofty cape consigns his name. + These rites perform’d, the prince, without delay, + Hastes to the nether world his destin’d way. + Deep was the cave; and, downward as it went + From the wide mouth, a rocky rough descent; + And here th’ access a gloomy grove defends, + And there th’ unnavigable lake extends, + O’er whose unhappy waters, void of light, + No bird presumes to steer his airy flight; + Such deadly stenches from the depths arise, + And steaming sulphur, that infects the skies. + From hence the Grecian bards their legends make, + And give the name Avernus to the lake. + Four sable bullocks, in the yoke untaught, + For sacrifice the pious hero brought. + The priestess pours the wine betwixt their horns; + Then cuts the curling hair; that first oblation burns, + Invoking Hecate hither to repair: + A pow’rful name in hell and upper air. + The sacred priests with ready knives bereave + The beasts of life, and in full bowls receive + The streaming blood: a lamb to Hell and Night + (The sable wool without a streak of white) + Aeneas offers; and, by fate’s decree, + A barren heifer, Proserpine, to thee, + With holocausts he Pluto’s altar fills; + Sev’n brawny bulls with his own hand he kills; + Then on the broiling entrails oil he pours; + Which, ointed thus, the raging flame devours. + Late the nocturnal sacrifice begun, + Nor ended till the next returning sun. + Then earth began to bellow, trees to dance, + And howling dogs in glimm’ring light advance, + Ere Hecate came. “Far hence be souls profane!” + The Sibyl cried, “and from the grove abstain! + Now, Trojan, take the way thy fates afford; + Assume thy courage, and unsheathe thy sword.” + She said, and pass’d along the gloomy space; + The prince pursued her steps with equal pace. + + Ye realms, yet unreveal’d to human sight, + Ye gods who rule the regions of the night, + Ye gliding ghosts, permit me to relate + The mystic wonders of your silent state! + + Obscure they went thro’ dreary shades, that led + Along the waste dominions of the dead. + Thus wander travelers in woods by night, + By the moon’s doubtful and malignant light, + When Jove in dusky clouds involves the skies, + And the faint crescent shoots by fits before their eyes. + + Just in the gate and in the jaws of hell, + Revengeful Cares and sullen Sorrows dwell, + And pale Diseases, and repining Age, + Want, Fear, and Famine’s unresisted rage; + Here Toils, and Death, and Death’s half-brother, Sleep, + Forms terrible to view, their sentry keep; + With anxious Pleasures of a guilty mind, + Deep Frauds before, and open Force behind; + The Furies’ iron beds; and Strife, that shakes + Her hissing tresses and unfolds her snakes. + Full in the midst of this infernal road, + An elm displays her dusky arms abroad: + The God of Sleep there hides his heavy head, + And empty dreams on ev’ry leaf are spread. + Of various forms unnumber’d spectres more, + Centaurs, and double shapes, besiege the door. + Before the passage, horrid Hydra stands, + And Briareus with all his hundred hands; + Gorgons, Geryon with his triple frame; + And vain Chimaera vomits empty flame. + The chief unsheath’d his shining steel, prepar’d, + Tho’ seiz’d with sudden fear, to force the guard, + Off’ring his brandish’d weapon at their face; + Had not the Sibyl stopp’d his eager pace, + And told him what those empty phantoms were: + Forms without bodies, and impassive air. + Hence to deep Acheron they take their way, + Whose troubled eddies, thick with ooze and clay, + Are whirl’d aloft, and in Cocytus lost. + There Charon stands, who rules the dreary coast: + A sordid god: down from his hoary chin + A length of beard descends, uncomb’d, unclean; + His eyes, like hollow furnaces on fire; + A girdle, foul with grease, binds his obscene attire. + He spreads his canvas; with his pole he steers; + The freights of flitting ghosts in his thin bottom bears. + He look’d in years; yet in his years were seen + A youthful vigour and autumnal green. + An airy crowd came rushing where he stood, + Which fill’d the margin of the fatal flood: + Husbands and wives, boys and unmarried maids, + And mighty heroes’ more majestic shades, + And youths, intomb’d before their fathers’ eyes, + With hollow groans, and shrieks, and feeble cries. + Thick as the leaves in autumn strow the woods, + Or fowls, by winter forc’d, forsake the floods, + And wing their hasty flight to happier lands; + Such, and so thick, the shiv’ring army stands, + And press for passage with extended hands. + Now these, now those, the surly boatman bore: + The rest he drove to distance from the shore. + The hero, who beheld with wond’ring eyes + The tumult mix’d with shrieks, laments, and cries, + Ask’d of his guide, what the rude concourse meant; + Why to the shore the thronging people bent; + What forms of law among the ghosts were us’d; + Why some were ferried o’er, and some refus’d. + + “Son of Anchises, offspring of the gods,” + The Sibyl said, “you see the Stygian floods, + The sacred stream which heav’n’s imperial state + Attests in oaths, and fears to violate. + The ghosts rejected are th’ unhappy crew + Depriv’d of sepulchers and fun’ral due: + The boatman, Charon; those, the buried host, + He ferries over to the farther coast; + Nor dares his transport vessel cross the waves + With such whose bones are not compos’d in graves. + A hundred years they wander on the shore; + At length, their penance done, are wafted o’er.” + The Trojan chief his forward pace repress’d, + Revolving anxious thoughts within his breast, + He saw his friends, who, whelm’d beneath the waves, + Their fun’ral honours claim’d, and ask’d their quiet graves. + The lost Leucaspis in the crowd he knew, + And the brave leader of the Lycian crew, + Whom, on the Tyrrhene seas, the tempests met; + The sailors master’d, and the ship o’erset. + + Amidst the spirits, Palinurus press’d, + Yet fresh from life, a new-admitted guest, + Who, while he steering view’d the stars, and bore + His course from Afric to the Latian shore, + Fell headlong down. The Trojan fix’d his view, + And scarcely thro’ the gloom the sullen shadow knew. + Then thus the prince: “What envious pow’r, O friend, + Brought your lov’d life to this disastrous end? + For Phoebus, ever true in all he said, + Has in your fate alone my faith betray’d. + The god foretold you should not die, before + You reach’d, secure from seas, th’ Italian shore. + Is this th’ unerring pow’r?” The ghost replied; + “Nor Phoebus flatter’d, nor his answers lied; + Nor envious gods have sent me to the deep: + But, while the stars and course of heav’n I keep, + My wearied eyes were seiz’d with fatal sleep. + I fell; and, with my weight, the helm constrain’d + Was drawn along, which yet my gripe retain’d. + Now by the winds and raging waves I swear, + Your safety, more than mine, was then my care; + Lest, of the guide bereft, the rudder lost, + Your ship should run against the rocky coast. + Three blust’ring nights, borne by the southern blast, + I floated, and discover’d land at last: + High on a mounting wave my head I bore, + Forcing my strength, and gath’ring to the shore. + Panting, but past the danger, now I seiz’d + The craggy cliffs, and my tir’d members eas’d. + While, cumber’d with my dropping clothes, I lay, + The cruel nation, covetous of prey, + Stain’d with my blood th’ unhospitable coast; + And now, by winds and waves, my lifeless limbs are toss’d: + Which O avert, by yon ethereal light, + Which I have lost for this eternal night! + Or, if by dearer ties you may be won, + By your dead sire, and by your living son, + Redeem from this reproach my wand’ring ghost; + Or with your navy seek the Velin coast, + And in a peaceful grave my corpse compose; + Or, if a nearer way your mother shows, + Without whose aid you durst not undertake + This frightful passage o’er the Stygian lake, + Lend to this wretch your hand, and waft him o’er + To the sweet banks of yon forbidden shore.” + Scarce had he said, the prophetess began: + “What hopes delude thee, miserable man? + Think’st thou, thus unintomb’d, to cross the floods, + To view the Furies and infernal gods, + And visit, without leave, the dark abodes? + Attend the term of long revolving years; + Fate, and the dooming gods, are deaf to tears. + This comfort of thy dire misfortune take: + The wrath of Heav’n, inflicted for thy sake, + With vengeance shall pursue th’ inhuman coast, + Till they propitiate thy offended ghost, + And raise a tomb, with vows and solemn pray’r; + And Palinurus’ name the place shall bear.” + This calm’d his cares; sooth’d with his future fame, + And pleas’d to hear his propagated name. + + Now nearer to the Stygian lake they draw: + Whom, from the shore, the surly boatman saw; + Observ’d their passage thro’ the shady wood, + And mark’d their near approaches to the flood. + Then thus he call’d aloud, inflam’d with wrath: + “Mortal, whate’er, who this forbidden path + In arms presum’st to tread, I charge thee, stand, + And tell thy name, and bus’ness in the land. + Know this, the realm of night; the Stygian shore: + My boat conveys no living bodies o’er; + Nor was I pleas’d great Theseus once to bear, + Who forc’d a passage with his pointed spear, + Nor strong Alcides, men of mighty fame, + And from th’ immortal gods their lineage came. + In fetters one the barking porter tied, + And took him trembling from his sov’reign’s side: + Two sought by force to seize his beauteous bride.” + To whom the Sibyl thus: “Compose thy mind; + Nor frauds are here contriv’d, nor force design’d. + Still may the dog the wand’ring troops constrain + Of airy ghosts, and vex the guilty train, + And with her grisly lord his lovely queen remain. + The Trojan chief, whose lineage is from Jove, + Much fam’d for arms, and more for filial love, + Is sent to seek his sire in your Elysian grove. + If neither piety, nor Heav’n’s command, + Can gain his passage to the Stygian strand, + This fatal present shall prevail at least.” + Then shew’d the shining bough, conceal’d within her vest. + No more was needful: for the gloomy god + Stood mute with awe, to see the golden rod; + Admir’d the destin’d off’ring to his queen; + A venerable gift, so rarely seen. + His fury thus appeas’d, he puts to land; + The ghosts forsake their seats at his command: + He clears the deck, receives the mighty freight; + The leaky vessel groans beneath the weight. + Slowly she sails, and scarcely stems the tides; + The pressing water pours within her sides. + His passengers at length are wafted o’er, + Expos’d, in muddy weeds, upon the miry shore. + + No sooner landed, in his den they found + The triple porter of the Stygian sound, + Grim Cerberus, who soon began to rear + His crested snakes, and arm’d his bristling hair. + The prudent Sibyl had before prepar’d + A sop, in honey steep’d, to charm the guard; + Which, mix’d with pow’rful drugs, she cast before + His greedy grinning jaws, just op’d to roar. + With three enormous mouths he gapes; and straight, + With hunger press’d, devours the pleasing bait. + Long draughts of sleep his monstrous limbs enslave; + He reels, and, falling, fills the spacious cave. + The keeper charm’d, the chief without delay + Pass’d on, and took th’ irremeable way. + Before the gates, the cries of babes new born, + Whom fate had from their tender mothers torn, + Assault his ears: then those, whom form of laws + Condemn’d to die, when traitors judg’d their cause. + Nor want they lots, nor judges to review + The wrongful sentence, and award a new. + Minos, the strict inquisitor, appears; + And lives and crimes, with his assessors, hears. + Round in his urn the blended balls he rolls, + Absolves the just, and dooms the guilty souls. + The next, in place and punishment, are they + Who prodigally throw their souls away; + Fools, who, repining at their wretched state, + And loathing anxious life, suborn’d their fate. + With late repentance now they would retrieve + The bodies they forsook, and wish to live; + Their pains and poverty desire to bear, + To view the light of heav’n, and breathe the vital air: + But fate forbids; the Stygian floods oppose, + And with circling streams the captive souls inclose. + + Not far from thence, the Mournful Fields appear + So call’d from lovers that inhabit there. + The souls whom that unhappy flame invades, + In secret solitude and myrtle shades + Make endless moans, and, pining with desire, + Lament too late their unextinguish’d fire. + Here Procris, Eriphyle here he found, + Baring her breast, yet bleeding with the wound + Made by her son. He saw Pasiphae there, + With Phaedra’s ghost, a foul incestuous pair. + There Laodamia, with Evadne, moves, + Unhappy both, but loyal in their loves: + Caeneus, a woman once, and once a man, + But ending in the sex she first began. + Not far from these Phoenician Dido stood, + Fresh from her wound, her bosom bath’d in blood; + Whom when the Trojan hero hardly knew, + Obscure in shades, and with a doubtful view, + (Doubtful as he who sees, thro’ dusky night, + Or thinks he sees, the moon’s uncertain light,) + With tears he first approach’d the sullen shade; + And, as his love inspir’d him, thus he said: + “Unhappy queen! then is the common breath + Of rumour true, in your reported death, + And I, alas! the cause? By Heav’n, I vow, + And all the pow’rs that rule the realms below, + Unwilling I forsook your friendly state, + Commanded by the gods, and forc’d by fate. + Those gods, that fate, whose unresisted might + Have sent me to these regions void of light, + Thro’ the vast empire of eternal night. + Nor dar’d I to presume, that, press’d with grief, + My flight should urge you to this dire relief. + Stay, stay your steps, and listen to my vows: + ’Tis the last interview that fate allows!” + In vain he thus attempts her mind to move + With tears, and pray’rs, and late-repenting love. + Disdainfully she look’d; then turning round, + But fix’d her eyes unmov’d upon the ground, + And what he says and swears, regards no more + Than the deaf rocks, when the loud billows roar; + But whirl’d away, to shun his hateful sight, + Hid in the forest and the shades of night; + Then sought Sichaeus thro’ the shady grove, + Who answer’d all her cares, and equal’d all her love. + + Some pious tears the pitying hero paid, + And follow’d with his eyes the flitting shade, + Then took the forward way, by fate ordain’d, + And, with his guide, the farther fields attain’d, + Where, sever’d from the rest, the warrior souls remain’d. + Tydeus he met, with Meleager’s race, + The pride of armies, and the soldiers’ grace; + And pale Adrastus with his ghastly face. + Of Trojan chiefs he view’d a num’rous train, + All much lamented, all in battle slain; + Glaucus and Medon, high above the rest, + Antenor’s sons, and Ceres’ sacred priest. + And proud Idaeus, Priam’s charioteer, + Who shakes his empty reins, and aims his airy spear. + The gladsome ghosts, in circling troops, attend + And with unwearied eyes behold their friend; + Delight to hover near, and long to know + What bus’ness brought him to the realms below. + But Argive chiefs, and Agamemnon’s train, + When his refulgent arms flash’d thro’ the shady plain, + Fled from his well-known face, with wonted fear, + As when his thund’ring sword and pointed spear + Drove headlong to their ships, and glean’d the routed rear. + They rais’d a feeble cry, with trembling notes; + But the weak voice deceiv’d their gasping throats. + + Here Priam’s son, Deiphobus, he found, + Whose face and limbs were one continued wound: + Dishonest, with lopp’d arms, the youth appears, + Spoil’d of his nose, and shorten’d of his ears. + He scarcely knew him, striving to disown + His blotted form, and blushing to be known; + And therefore first began: “O Teucer’s race, + Who durst thy faultless figure thus deface? + What heart could wish, what hand inflict, this dire disgrace? + ’Twas fam’d, that in our last and fatal night + Your single prowess long sustain’d the fight, + Till tir’d, not forc’d, a glorious fate you chose, + And fell upon a heap of slaughter’d foes. + But, in remembrance of so brave a deed, + A tomb and fun’ral honours I decreed; + Thrice call’d your manes on the Trojan plains: + The place your armour and your name retains. + Your body too I sought, and, had I found, + Design’d for burial in your native ground.” + + The ghost replied: “Your piety has paid + All needful rites, to rest my wand’ring shade; + But cruel fate, and my more cruel wife, + To Grecian swords betray’d my sleeping life. + These are the monuments of Helen’s love: + The shame I bear below, the marks I bore above. + You know in what deluding joys we pass’d + The night that was by Heav’n decreed our last: + For, when the fatal horse, descending down, + Pregnant with arms, o’erwhelm’d th’ unhappy town + She feign’d nocturnal orgies; left my bed, + And, mix’d with Trojan dames, the dances led + Then, waving high her torch, the signal made, + Which rous’d the Grecians from their ambuscade. + With watching overworn, with cares oppress’d, + Unhappy I had laid me down to rest, + And heavy sleep my weary limbs possess’d. + Meantime my worthy wife our arms mislaid, + And from beneath my head my sword convey’d; + The door unlatch’d, and, with repeated calls, + Invites her former lord within my walls. + Thus in her crime her confidence she plac’d, + And with new treasons would redeem the past. + What need I more? Into the room they ran, + And meanly murder’d a defenceless man. + Ulysses, basely born, first led the way. + Avenging pow’rs! with justice if I pray, + That fortune be their own another day! + But answer you; and in your turn relate, + What brought you, living, to the Stygian state: + Driv’n by the winds and errors of the sea, + Or did you Heav’n’s superior doom obey? + Or tell what other chance conducts your way, + To view with mortal eyes our dark retreats, + Tumults and torments of th’ infernal seats.” + + While thus in talk the flying hours they pass, + The sun had finish’d more than half his race: + And they, perhaps, in words and tears had spent + The little time of stay which Heav’n had lent; + But thus the Sibyl chides their long delay: + “Night rushes down, and headlong drives the day: + ’Tis here, in different paths, the way divides; + The right to Pluto’s golden palace guides; + The left to that unhappy region tends, + Which to the depth of Tartarus descends; + The seat of night profound, and punish’d fiends.” + Then thus Deiphobus: “O sacred maid, + Forbear to chide, and be your will obey’d! + Lo! to the secret shadows I retire, + To pay my penance till my years expire. + Proceed, auspicious prince, with glory crown’d, + And born to better fates than I have found.” + He said; and, while he said, his steps he turn’d + To secret shadows, and in silence mourn’d. + + The hero, looking on the left, espied + A lofty tow’r, and strong on ev’ry side + With treble walls, which Phlegethon surrounds, + Whose fiery flood the burning empire bounds; + And, press’d betwixt the rocks, the bellowing noise resounds + Wide is the fronting gate, and, rais’d on high + With adamantine columns, threats the sky. + Vain is the force of man, and Heav’n’s as vain, + To crush the pillars which the pile sustain. + Sublime on these a tow’r of steel is rear’d; + And dire Tisiphone there keeps the ward, + Girt in her sanguine gown, by night and day, + Observant of the souls that pass the downward way. + From hence are heard the groans of ghosts, the pains + Of sounding lashes and of dragging chains. + The Trojan stood astonish’d at their cries, + And ask’d his guide from whence those yells arise; + And what the crimes, and what the tortures were, + And loud laments that rent the liquid air. + + She thus replied: “The chaste and holy race + Are all forbidden this polluted place. + But Hecate, when she gave to rule the woods, + Then led me trembling thro’ these dire abodes, + And taught the tortures of th’ avenging gods. + These are the realms of unrelenting fate; + And awful Rhadamanthus rules the state. + He hears and judges each committed crime; + Enquires into the manner, place, and time. + The conscious wretch must all his acts reveal, + Loth to confess, unable to conceal, + From the first moment of his vital breath, + To his last hour of unrepenting death. + Straight, o’er the guilty ghost, the Fury shakes + The sounding whip and brandishes her snakes, + And the pale sinner, with her sisters, takes. + Then, of itself, unfolds th’ eternal door; + With dreadful sounds the brazen hinges roar. + You see, before the gate, what stalking ghost + Commands the guard, what sentries keep the post. + More formidable Hydra stands within, + Whose jaws with iron teeth severely grin. + The gaping gulf low to the centre lies, + And twice as deep as earth is distant from the skies. + The rivals of the gods, the Titan race, + Here, sing’d with lightning, roll within th’ unfathom’d space. + Here lie th’ Alaean twins, (I saw them both,) + Enormous bodies, of gigantic growth, + Who dar’d in fight the Thund’rer to defy, + Affect his heav’n, and force him from the sky. + Salmoneus, suff’ring cruel pains, I found, + For emulating Jove; the rattling sound + Of mimic thunder, and the glitt’ring blaze + Of pointed lightnings, and their forky rays. + Thro’ Elis and the Grecian towns he flew; + Th’ audacious wretch four fiery coursers drew: + He wav’d a torch aloft, and, madly vain, + Sought godlike worship from a servile train. + Ambitious fool! with horny hoofs to pass + O’er hollow arches of resounding brass, + To rival thunder in its rapid course, + And imitate inimitable force! + But he, the King of Heav’n, obscure on high, + Bar’d his red arm, and, launching from the sky + His writhen bolt, not shaking empty smoke, + Down to the deep abyss the flaming felon strook. + There Tityus was to see, who took his birth + From heav’n, his nursing from the foodful earth. + Here his gigantic limbs, with large embrace, + Infold nine acres of infernal space. + A rav’nous vulture, in his open’d side, + Her crooked beak and cruel talons tried; + Still for the growing liver digg’d his breast; + The growing liver still supplied the feast; + Still are his entrails fruitful to their pains: + Th’ immortal hunger lasts, th’ immortal food remains. + Ixion and Perithous I could name, + And more Thessalian chiefs of mighty fame. + High o’er their heads a mould’ring rock is plac’d, + That promises a fall, and shakes at ev’ry blast. + They lie below, on golden beds display’d; + And genial feasts with regal pomp are made. + The Queen of Furies by their sides is set, + And snatches from their mouths th’ untasted meat, + Which if they touch, her hissing snakes she rears, + Tossing her torch, and thund’ring in their ears. + Then they, who brothers’ better claim disown, + Expel their parents, and usurp the throne; + Defraud their clients, and, to lucre sold, + Sit brooding on unprofitable gold; + Who dare not give, and ev’n refuse to lend + To their poor kindred, or a wanting friend. + Vast is the throng of these; nor less the train + Of lustful youths, for foul adult’ry slain: + Hosts of deserters, who their honour sold, + And basely broke their faith for bribes of gold. + All these within the dungeon’s depth remain, + Despairing pardon, and expecting pain. + Ask not what pains; nor farther seek to know + Their process, or the forms of law below. + Some roll a weighty stone; some, laid along, + And bound with burning wires, on spokes of wheels are hung + Unhappy Theseus, doom’d for ever there, + Is fix’d by fate on his eternal chair; + And wretched Phlegyas warns the world with cries + (Could warning make the world more just or wise): + ‘Learn righteousness, and dread th’ avenging deities.’ + To tyrants others have their country sold, + Imposing foreign lords, for foreign gold; + Some have old laws repeal’d, new statutes made, + Not as the people pleas’d, but as they paid; + With incest some their daughters’ bed profan’d: + All dar’d the worst of ills, and, what they dar’d, attain’d. + Had I a hundred mouths, a hundred tongues, + And throats of brass, inspir’d with iron lungs, + I could not half those horrid crimes repeat, + Nor half the punishments those crimes have met. + But let us haste our voyage to pursue: + The walls of Pluto’s palace are in view; + The gate, and iron arch above it, stands + On anvils labour’d by the Cyclops’ hands. + Before our farther way the Fates allow, + Here must we fix on high the golden bough.” + + She said, and thro’ the gloomy shades they pass’d, + And chose the middle path. Arriv’d at last, + The prince with living water sprinkled o’er + His limbs and body; then approach’d the door, + Possess’d the porch, and on the front above + He fix’d the fatal bough requir’d by Pluto’s love. + These holy rites perform’d, they took their way + Where long extended plains of pleasure lay: + The verdant fields with those of heav’n may vie, + With ether vested, and a purple sky; + The blissful seats of happy souls below. + Stars of their own, and their own suns, they know; + Their airy limbs in sports they exercise, + And on the green contend the wrestler’s prize. + Some in heroic verse divinely sing; + Others in artful measures led the ring. + The Thracian bard, surrounded by the rest, + There stands conspicuous in his flowing vest; + His flying fingers, and harmonious quill, + Strikes sev’n distinguish’d notes, and sev’n at once they fill. + Here found they Teucer’s old heroic race, + Born better times and happier years to grace. + Assaracus and Ilus here enjoy + Perpetual fame, with him who founded Troy. + The chief beheld their chariots from afar, + Their shining arms, and coursers train’d to war: + Their lances fix’d in earth, their steeds around, + Free from their harness, graze the flow’ry ground. + The love of horses which they had, alive, + And care of chariots, after death survive. + Some cheerful souls were feasting on the plain; + Some did the song, and some the choir maintain, + Beneath a laurel shade, where mighty Po + Mounts up to woods above, and hides his head below. + Here patriots live, who, for their country’s good, + In fighting fields, were prodigal of blood: + Priests of unblemish’d lives here make abode, + And poets worthy their inspiring god; + And searching wits, of more mechanic parts, + Who grac’d their age with new-invented arts: + Those who to worth their bounty did extend, + And those who knew that bounty to commend. + The heads of these with holy fillets bound, + And all their temples were with garlands crown’d. + + To these the Sibyl thus her speech address’d, + And first to him surrounded by the rest + Tow’ring his height, and ample was his breast; + “Say, happy souls, divine Musaeus, say, + Where lives Anchises, and where lies our way + To find the hero, for whose only sake + We sought the dark abodes, and cross’d the bitter lake?” + To this the sacred poet thus replied: + “In no fix’d place the happy souls reside. + In groves we live, and lie on mossy beds, + By crystal streams, that murmur thro’ the meads: + But pass yon easy hill, and thence descend; + The path conducts you to your journey’s end.” + This said, he led them up the mountain’s brow, + And shews them all the shining fields below. + They wind the hill, and thro’ the blissful meadows go. + + But old Anchises, in a flow’ry vale, + Review’d his muster’d race, and took the tale: + Those happy spirits, which, ordain’d by fate, + For future beings and new bodies wait. + With studious thought observ’d th’ illustrious throng, + In nature’s order as they pass’d along: + Their names, their fates, their conduct, and their care, + In peaceful senates and successful war. + He, when Aeneas on the plain appears, + Meets him with open arms, and falling tears. + “Welcome,” he said, “the gods’ undoubted race! + O long expected to my dear embrace! + Once more ’tis giv’n me to behold your face! + The love and pious duty which you pay + Have pass’d the perils of so hard a way. + ’Tis true, computing times, I now believ’d + The happy day approach’d; nor are my hopes deceiv’d. + What length of lands, what oceans have you pass’d; + What storms sustain’d, and on what shores been cast? + How have I fear’d your fate! but fear’d it most, + When love assail’d you, on the Libyan coast.” + To this, the filial duty thus replies: + “Your sacred ghost before my sleeping eyes + Appear’d, and often urg’d this painful enterprise. + After long tossing on the Tyrrhene sea, + My navy rides at anchor in the bay. + But reach your hand, O parent shade, nor shun + The dear embraces of your longing son!” + He said; and falling tears his face bedew: + Then thrice around his neck his arms he threw; + And thrice the flitting shadow slipp’d away, + Like winds, or empty dreams that fly the day. + + Now, in a secret vale, the Trojan sees + A sep’rate grove, thro’ which a gentle breeze + Plays with a passing breath, and whispers thro’ the trees; + And, just before the confines of the wood, + The gliding Lethe leads her silent flood. + About the boughs an airy nation flew, + Thick as the humming bees, that hunt the golden dew; + In summer’s heat on tops of lilies feed, + And creep within their bells, to suck the balmy seed: + The winged army roams the fields around; + The rivers and the rocks remurmur to the sound. + Aeneas wond’ring stood, then ask’d the cause + Which to the stream the crowding people draws. + Then thus the sire: “The souls that throng the flood + Are those to whom, by fate, are other bodies ow’d: + In Lethe’s lake they long oblivion taste, + Of future life secure, forgetful of the past. + Long has my soul desir’d this time and place, + To set before your sight your glorious race, + That this presaging joy may fire your mind + To seek the shores by destiny design’d.” + “O father, can it be, that souls sublime + Return to visit our terrestrial clime, + And that the gen’rous mind, releas’d by death, + Can covet lazy limbs and mortal breath?” + + Anchises then, in order, thus begun + To clear those wonders to his godlike son: + “Know, first, that heav’n, and earth’s compacted frame, + And flowing waters, and the starry flame, + And both the radiant lights, one common soul + Inspires and feeds, and animates the whole. + This active mind, infus’d thro’ all the space, + Unites and mingles with the mighty mass. + Hence men and beasts the breath of life obtain, + And birds of air, and monsters of the main. + Th’ ethereal vigour is in all the same, + And every soul is fill’d with equal flame; + As much as earthy limbs, and gross allay + Of mortal members, subject to decay, + Blunt not the beams of heav’n and edge of day. + From this coarse mixture of terrestrial parts, + Desire and fear by turns possess their hearts, + And grief, and joy; nor can the groveling mind, + In the dark dungeon of the limbs confin’d, + Assert the native skies, or own its heav’nly kind: + Nor death itself can wholly wash their stains; + But long-contracted filth ev’n in the soul remains. + The relics of inveterate vice they wear, + And spots of sin obscene in ev’ry face appear. + For this are various penances enjoin’d; + And some are hung to bleach upon the wind, + Some plung’d in waters, others purg’d in fires, + Till all the dregs are drain’d, and all the rust expires. + All have their manes, and those manes bear: + The few, so cleans’d, to these abodes repair, + And breathe, in ample fields, the soft Elysian air. + Then are they happy, when by length of time + The scurf is worn away of each committed crime; + No speck is left of their habitual stains, + But the pure ether of the soul remains. + But, when a thousand rolling years are past, + (So long their punishments and penance last,) + Whole droves of minds are, by the driving god, + Compell’d to drink the deep Lethaean flood, + In large forgetful draughts to steep the cares + Of their past labours, and their irksome years, + That, unrememb’ring of its former pain, + The soul may suffer mortal flesh again.” + + Thus having said, the father spirit leads + The priestess and his son thro’ swarms of shades, + And takes a rising ground, from thence to see + The long procession of his progeny. + “Survey,” pursued the sire, “this airy throng, + As, offer’d to thy view, they pass along. + These are th’ Italian names, which fate will join + With ours, and graff upon the Trojan line. + Observe the youth who first appears in sight, + And holds the nearest station to the light, + Already seems to snuff the vital air, + And leans just forward, on a shining spear: + Silvius is he, thy last-begotten race, + But first in order sent, to fill thy place; + An Alban name, but mix’d with Dardan blood, + Born in the covert of a shady wood: + Him fair Lavinia, thy surviving wife, + Shall breed in groves, to lead a solitary life. + In Alba he shall fix his royal seat, + And, born a king, a race of kings beget. + Then Procas, honour of the Trojan name, + Capys, and Numitor, of endless fame. + A second Silvius after these appears; + Silvius Aeneas, for thy name he bears; + For arms and justice equally renown’d, + Who, late restor’d, in Alba shall be crown’d. + How great they look! how vig’rously they wield + Their weighty lances, and sustain the shield! + But they, who crown’d with oaken wreaths appear, + Shall Gabian walls and strong Fidena rear; + Nomentum, Bola, with Pometia, found; + And raise Collatian tow’rs on rocky ground. + All these shall then be towns of mighty fame, + Tho’ now they lie obscure, and lands without a name. + See Romulus the great, born to restore + The crown that once his injur’d grandsire wore. + This prince a priestess of your blood shall bear, + And like his sire in arms he shall appear. + Two rising crests, his royal head adorn; + Born from a god, himself to godhead born: + His sire already signs him for the skies, + And marks the seat amidst the deities. + Auspicious chief! thy race, in times to come, + Shall spread the conquests of imperial Rome. + Rome, whose ascending tow’rs shall heav’n invade, + Involving earth and ocean in her shade; + High as the Mother of the Gods in place, + And proud, like her, of an immortal race. + Then, when in pomp she makes the Phrygian round, + With golden turrets on her temples crown’d; + A hundred gods her sweeping train supply; + Her offspring all, and all command the sky. + + “Now fix your sight, and stand intent, to see + Your Roman race, and Julian progeny. + The mighty Caesar waits his vital hour, + Impatient for the world, and grasps his promis’d pow’r. + But next behold the youth of form divine, + Caesar himself, exalted in his line; + Augustus, promis’d oft, and long foretold, + Sent to the realm that Saturn rul’d of old; + Born to restore a better age of gold. + Afric and India shall his pow’r obey; + He shall extend his propagated sway + Beyond the solar year, without the starry way, + Where Atlas turns the rolling heav’ns around, + And his broad shoulders with their lights are crown’d. + At his foreseen approach, already quake + The Caspian kingdoms and Maeotian lake: + Their seers behold the tempest from afar, + And threat’ning oracles denounce the war. + Nile hears him knocking at his sev’nfold gates, + And seeks his hidden spring, and fears his nephew’s fates. + Nor Hercules more lands or labours knew, + Not tho’ the brazen-footed hind he slew, + Freed Erymanthus from the foaming boar, + And dipp’d his arrows in Lernaean gore; + Nor Bacchus, turning from his Indian war, + By tigers drawn triumphant in his car, + From Nisus’ top descending on the plains, + With curling vines around his purple reins. + And doubt we yet thro’ dangers to pursue + The paths of honour, and a crown in view? + But what’s the man, who from afar appears? + His head with olive crown’d, his hand a censer bears, + His hoary beard and holy vestments bring + His lost idea back: I know the Roman king. + He shall to peaceful Rome new laws ordain, + Call’d from his mean abode a scepter to sustain. + Him Tullus next in dignity succeeds, + An active prince, and prone to martial deeds. + He shall his troops for fighting fields prepare, + Disus’d to toils, and triumphs of the war. + By dint of sword his crown he shall increase, + And scour his armour from the rust of peace. + Whom Ancus follows, with a fawning air, + But vain within, and proudly popular. + Next view the Tarquin kings, th’ avenging sword + Of Brutus, justly drawn, and Rome restor’d. + He first renews the rods and ax severe, + And gives the consuls royal robes to wear. + His sons, who seek the tyrant to sustain, + And long for arbitrary lords again, + With ignominy scourg’d, in open sight, + He dooms to death deserv’d, asserting public right. + Unhappy man, to break the pious laws + Of nature, pleading in his children’s cause! + Howe’er the doubtful fact is understood, + ’Tis love of honour, and his country’s good: + The consul, not the father, sheds the blood. + Behold Torquatus the same track pursue; + And, next, the two devoted Decii view: + The Drusian line, Camillus loaded home + With standards well redeem’d, and foreign foes o’ercome + The pair you see in equal armour shine, + Now, friends below, in close embraces join; + But, when they leave the shady realms of night, + And, cloth’d in bodies, breathe your upper light, + With mortal hate each other shall pursue: + What wars, what wounds, what slaughter shall ensue! + From Alpine heights the father first descends; + His daughter’s husband in the plain attends: + His daughter’s husband arms his eastern friends. + Embrace again, my sons, be foes no more; + Nor stain your country with her children’s gore! + And thou, the first, lay down thy lawless claim, + Thou, of my blood, who bear’st the Julian name! + Another comes, who shall in triumph ride, + And to the Capitol his chariot guide, + From conquer’d Corinth, rich with Grecian spoils. + And yet another, fam’d for warlike toils, + On Argos shall impose the Roman laws, + And on the Greeks revenge the Trojan cause; + Shall drag in chains their Achillean race; + Shall vindicate his ancestors’ disgrace, + And Pallas, for her violated place. + Great Cato there, for gravity renown’d, + And conqu’ring Cossus goes with laurels crown’d. + Who can omit the Gracchi? who declare + The Scipios’ worth, those thunderbolts of war, + The double bane of Carthage? Who can see + Without esteem for virtuous poverty, + Severe Fabricius, or can cease t’ admire + The plowman consul in his coarse attire? + Tir’d as I am, my praise the Fabii claim; + And thou, great hero, greatest of thy name, + Ordain’d in war to save the sinking state, + And, by delays, to put a stop to fate! + Let others better mould the running mass + Of metals, and inform the breathing brass, + And soften into flesh a marble face; + Plead better at the bar; describe the skies, + And when the stars descend, and when they rise. + But, Rome, ’tis thine alone, with awful sway, + To rule mankind, and make the world obey, + Disposing peace and war by thy own majestic way; + To tame the proud, the fetter’d slave to free: + These are imperial arts, and worthy thee.” + + He paus’d; and, while with wond’ring eyes they view’d + The passing spirits, thus his speech renew’d: + “See great Marcellus! how, untir’d in toils, + He moves with manly grace, how rich with regal spoils! + He, when his country, threaten’d with alarms, + Requires his courage and his conqu’ring arms, + Shall more than once the Punic bands affright; + Shall kill the Gaulish king in single fight; + Then to the Capitol in triumph move, + And the third spoils shall grace Feretrian Jove.” + Aeneas here beheld, of form divine, + A godlike youth in glitt’ring armour shine, + With great Marcellus keeping equal pace; + But gloomy were his eyes, dejected was his face. + He saw, and, wond’ring, ask’d his airy guide, + What and of whence was he, who press’d the hero’s side: + “His son, or one of his illustrious name? + How like the former, and almost the same! + Observe the crowds that compass him around; + All gaze, and all admire, and raise a shouting sound: + But hov’ring mists around his brows are spread, + And night, with sable shades, involves his head.” + “Seek not to know,” the ghost replied with tears, + “The sorrows of thy sons in future years. + This youth (the blissful vision of a day) + Shall just be shown on earth, and snatch’d away. + The gods too high had rais’d the Roman state, + Were but their gifts as permanent as great. + What groans of men shall fill the Martian field! + How fierce a blaze his flaming pile shall yield! + What fun’ral pomp shall floating Tiber see, + When, rising from his bed, he views the sad solemnity! + No youth shall equal hopes of glory give, + No youth afford so great a cause to grieve; + The Trojan honour, and the Roman boast, + Admir’d when living, and ador’d when lost! + Mirror of ancient faith in early youth! + Undaunted worth, inviolable truth! + No foe, unpunish’d, in the fighting field + Shall dare thee, foot to foot, with sword and shield; + Much less in arms oppose thy matchless force, + When thy sharp spurs shall urge thy foaming horse. + Ah! couldst thou break thro’ fate’s severe decree, + A new Marcellus shall arise in thee! + Full canisters of fragrant lilies bring, + Mix’d with the purple roses of the spring; + Let me with fun’ral flow’rs his body strow; + This gift which parents to their children owe, + This unavailing gift, at least, I may bestow!” + Thus having said, he led the hero round + The confines of the blest Elysian ground; + Which when Anchises to his son had shown, + And fir’d his mind to mount the promis’d throne, + He tells the future wars, ordain’d by fate; + The strength and customs of the Latian state; + The prince, and people; and forearms his care + With rules, to push his fortune, or to bear. + + Two gates the silent house of Sleep adorn; + Of polish’d ivory this, that of transparent horn: + True visions thro’ transparent horn arise; + Thro’ polish’d ivory pass deluding lies. + Of various things discoursing as he pass’d, + Anchises hither bends his steps at last. + Then, thro’ the gate of iv’ry, he dismiss’d + His valiant offspring and divining guest. + Straight to the ships Aeneas took his way, + Embark’d his men, and skimm’d along the sea, + Still coasting, till he gain’d Cajeta’s bay. + At length on oozy ground his galleys moor; + Their heads are turn’d to sea, their sterns to shore. + + + + BOOK VII + + THE ARGUMENT. + + + King Latinus entertains Aeneas, and promises him his only + daughter, Lavinia, the heiress of his crown. Turnus, being in + love with her, favoured by her mother, and by Juno and Alecto, + breaks the treaty which was made, and engages in his quarrel + Mezentius, Camilla, Messapus, and many other of the neighbouring + princes; whose forces, and the names of their commanders are + particularly related. + + + And thou, O matron of immortal fame, + Here dying, to the shore hast left thy name; + Cajeta still the place is call’d from thee, + The nurse of great Aeneas’ infancy. + Here rest thy bones in rich Hesperia’s plains; + Thy name (’tis all a ghost can have) remains. + + Now, when the prince her fun’ral rites had paid, + He plow’d the Tyrrhene seas with sails display’d. + From land a gentle breeze arose by night, + Serenely shone the stars, the moon was bright, + And the sea trembled with her silver light. + Now near the shelves of Circe’s shores they run, + (Circe the rich, the daughter of the Sun,) + A dang’rous coast: the goddess wastes her days + In joyous songs; the rocks resound her lays: + In spinning, or the loom, she spends the night, + And cedar brands supply her father’s light. + From hence were heard, rebellowing to the main, + The roars of lions that refuse the chain, + The grunts of bristled boars, and groans of bears, + And herds of howling wolves that stun the sailors’ ears. + These from their caverns, at the close of night, + Fill the sad isle with horror and affright. + Darkling they mourn their fate, whom Circe’s pow’r, + (That watch’d the moon and planetary hour,) + With words and wicked herbs from humankind + Had alter’d, and in brutal shapes confin’d. + Which monsters lest the Trojans’ pious host + Should bear, or touch upon th’ inchanted coast, + Propitious Neptune steer’d their course by night + With rising gales that sped their happy flight. + Supplied with these, they skim the sounding shore, + And hear the swelling surges vainly roar. + Now, when the rosy morn began to rise, + And wav’d her saffron streamer thro’ the skies; + When Thetis blush’d in purple not her own, + And from her face the breathing winds were blown, + A sudden silence sate upon the sea, + And sweeping oars, with struggling, urge their way. + The Trojan, from the main, beheld a wood, + Which thick with shades and a brown horror stood: + Betwixt the trees the Tiber took his course, + With whirlpools dimpled; and with downward force, + That drove the sand along, he took his way, + And roll’d his yellow billows to the sea. + About him, and above, and round the wood, + The birds that haunt the borders of his flood, + That bath’d within, or basked upon his side, + To tuneful songs their narrow throats applied. + The captain gives command; the joyful train + Glide thro’ the gloomy shade, and leave the main. + + Now, Erato, thy poet’s mind inspire, + And fill his soul with thy celestial fire! + Relate what Latium was; her ancient kings; + Declare the past and present state of things, + When first the Trojan fleet Ausonia sought, + And how the rivals lov’d, and how they fought. + These are my theme, and how the war began, + And how concluded by the godlike man: + For I shall sing of battles, blood, and rage, + Which princes and their people did engage; + And haughty souls, that, mov’d with mutual hate, + In fighting fields pursued and found their fate; + That rous’d the Tyrrhene realm with loud alarms, + And peaceful Italy involv’d in arms. + A larger scene of action is display’d; + And, rising hence, a greater work is weigh’d. + + Latinus, old and mild, had long possess’d + The Latin scepter, and his people blest: + His father Faunus; a Laurentian dame + His mother; fair Marica was her name. + But Faunus came from Picus: Picus drew + His birth from Saturn, if records be true. + Thus King Latinus, in the third degree, + Had Saturn author of his family. + But this old peaceful prince, as Heav’n decreed, + Was blest with no male issue to succeed: + His sons in blooming youth were snatch’d by fate; + One only daughter heir’d the royal state. + Fir’d with her love, and with ambition led, + The neighb’ring princes court her nuptial bed. + Among the crowd, but far above the rest, + Young Turnus to the beauteous maid address’d. + Turnus, for high descent and graceful mien, + Was first, and favour’d by the Latian queen; + With him she strove to join Lavinia’s hand, + But dire portents the purpos’d match withstand. + + Deep in the palace, of long growth, there stood + A laurel’s trunk, a venerable wood; + Where rites divine were paid; whose holy hair + Was kept and cut with superstitious care. + This plant Latinus, when his town he wall’d, + Then found, and from the tree Laurentum call’d; + And last, in honour of his new abode, + He vow’d the laurel to the laurel’s god. + It happen’d once (a boding prodigy!) + A swarm of bees, that cut the liquid sky, + Unknown from whence they took their airy flight, + Upon the topmost branch in clouds alight; + There with their clasping feet together clung, + And a long cluster from the laurel hung. + An ancient augur prophesied from hence: + “Behold on Latian shores a foreign prince! + From the same parts of heav’n his navy stands, + To the same parts on earth; his army lands; + The town he conquers, and the tow’r commands.” + + Yet more, when fair Lavinia fed the fire + Before the gods, and stood beside her sire, + Strange to relate, the flames, involv’d in smoke + Of incense, from the sacred altar broke, + Caught her dishevel’d hair and rich attire; + Her crown and jewels crackled in the fire: + From thence the fuming trail began to spread + And lambent glories danc’d about her head. + This new portent the seer with wonder views, + Then pausing, thus his prophecy renews: + “The nymph, who scatters flaming fires around, + Shall shine with honour, shall herself be crown’d; + But, caus’d by her irrevocable fate, + War shall the country waste, and change the state.” + + Latinus, frighted with this dire ostent, + For counsel to his father Faunus went, + And sought the shades renown’d for prophecy + Which near Albunea’s sulph’rous fountain lie. + To these the Latian and the Sabine land + Fly, when distress’d, and thence relief demand. + The priest on skins of off’rings takes his ease, + And nightly visions in his slumber sees; + A swarm of thin aerial shapes appears, + And, flutt’ring round his temples, deafs his ears: + These he consults, the future fates to know, + From pow’rs above, and from the fiends below. + Here, for the gods’ advice, Latinus flies, + Off’ring a hundred sheep for sacrifice: + Their woolly fleeces, as the rites requir’d, + He laid beneath him, and to rest retir’d. + No sooner were his eyes in slumber bound, + When, from above, a more than mortal sound + Invades his ears; and thus the vision spoke: + “Seek not, my seed, in Latian bands to yoke + Our fair Lavinia, nor the gods provoke. + A foreign son upon thy shore descends, + Whose martial fame from pole to pole extends. + His race, in arms and arts of peace renown’d, + Not Latium shall contain, nor Europe bound: + ’Tis theirs whate’er the sun surveys around.” + These answers, in the silent night receiv’d, + The king himself divulg’d, the land believ’d: + The fame thro’ all the neighb’ring nations flew, + When now the Trojan navy was in view. + + Beneath a shady tree, the hero spread + His table on the turf, with cakes of bread; + And, with his chiefs, on forest fruits he fed. + They sate; and, (not without the god’s command,) + Their homely fare dispatch’d, the hungry band + Invade their trenchers next, and soon devour, + To mend the scanty meal, their cakes of flour. + Ascanius this observ’d, and smiling said: + “See, we devour the plates on which we fed.” + The speech had omen, that the Trojan race + Should find repose, and this the time and place. + Aeneas took the word, and thus replies, + Confessing fate with wonder in his eyes: + “All hail, O earth! all hail, my household gods! + Behold the destin’d place of your abodes! + For thus Anchises prophesied of old, + And this our fatal place of rest foretold: + ‘When, on a foreign shore, instead of meat, + By famine forc’d, your trenchers you shall eat, + Then ease your weary Trojans will attend, + And the long labours of your voyage end. + Remember on that happy coast to build, + And with a trench inclose the fruitful field.’ + This was that famine, this the fatal place + Which ends the wand’ring of our exil’d race. + Then, on tomorrow’s dawn, your care employ, + To search the land, and where the cities lie, + And what the men; but give this day to joy. + Now pour to Jove; and, after Jove is blest, + Call great Anchises to the genial feast: + Crown high the goblets with a cheerful draught; + Enjoy the present hour; adjourn the future thought.” + + Thus having said, the hero bound his brows + With leafy branches, then perform’d his vows; + Adoring first the genius of the place, + Then Earth, the mother of the heav’nly race, + The nymphs, and native godheads yet unknown, + And Night, and all the stars that gild her sable throne, + And ancient Cybel, and Idaean Jove, + And last his sire below, and mother queen above. + Then heav’n’s high monarch thunder’d thrice aloud, + And thrice he shook aloft a golden cloud. + Soon thro’ the joyful camp a rumour flew, + The time was come their city to renew. + Then ev’ry brow with cheerful green is crown’d, + The feasts are doubled, and the bowls go round. + + When next the rosy morn disclos’d the day, + The scouts to sev’ral parts divide their way, + To learn the natives’ names, their towns explore, + The coasts and trendings of the crooked shore: + Here Tiber flows, and here Numicus stands; + Here warlike Latins hold the happy lands. + The pious chief, who sought by peaceful ways + To found his empire, and his town to raise, + A hundred youths from all his train selects, + And to the Latian court their course directs, + (The spacious palace where their prince resides,) + And all their heads with wreaths of olive hides. + They go commission’d to require a peace, + And carry presents to procure access. + Thus while they speed their pace, the prince designs + His new-elected seat, and draws the lines. + The Trojans round the place a rampire cast, + And palisades about the trenches plac’d. + + Meantime the train, proceeding on their way, + From far the town and lofty tow’rs survey; + At length approach the walls. Without the gate, + They see the boys and Latian youth debate + The martial prizes on the dusty plain: + Some drive the cars, and some the coursers rein; + Some bend the stubborn bow for victory, + And some with darts their active sinews try. + A posting messenger, dispatch’d from hence, + Of this fair troop advis’d their aged prince, + That foreign men of mighty stature came; + Uncouth their habit, and unknown their name. + The king ordains their entrance, and ascends + His regal seat, surrounded by his friends. + + The palace built by Picus, vast and proud, + Supported by a hundred pillars stood, + And round incompass’d with a rising wood. + The pile o’erlook’d the town, and drew the sight; + Surpris’d at once with reverence and delight. + There kings receiv’d the marks of sov’reign pow’r; + In state the monarchs march’d; the lictors bore + Their awful axes and the rods before. + Here the tribunal stood, the house of pray’r, + And here the sacred senators repair; + All at large tables, in long order set, + A ram their off’ring, and a ram their meat. + Above the portal, carv’d in cedar wood, + Plac’d in their ranks, their godlike grandsires stood; + Old Saturn, with his crooked scythe, on high; + And Italus, that led the colony; + And ancient Janus, with his double face, + And bunch of keys, the porter of the place. + There good Sabinus, planter of the vines, + On a short pruning hook his head reclines, + And studiously surveys his gen’rous wines; + Then warlike kings, who for their country fought, + And honourable wounds from battle brought. + Around the posts hung helmets, darts, and spears, + And captive chariots, axes, shields, and bars, + And broken beaks of ships, the trophies of their wars. + Above the rest, as chief of all the band, + Was Picus plac’d, a buckler in his hand; + His other wav’d a long divining wand. + Girt in his Gabin gown the hero sate, + Yet could not with his art avoid his fate: + For Circe long had lov’d the youth in vain, + Till love, refus’d, converted to disdain: + Then, mixing pow’rful herbs, with magic art, + She chang’d his form, who could not change his heart; + Constrain’d him in a bird, and made him fly, + With party-colour’d plumes, a chatt’ring pie. + + In this high temple, on a chair of state, + The seat of audience, old Latinus sate; + Then gave admission to the Trojan train; + And thus with pleasing accents he began: + “Tell me, ye Trojans, for that name you own, + Nor is your course upon our coasts unknown; + Say what you seek, and whither were you bound: + Were you by stress of weather cast aground? + Such dangers as on seas are often seen, + And oft befall to miserable men, + Or come, your shipping in our ports to lay, + Spent and disabled in so long a way? + Say what you want: the Latians you shall find + Not forc’d to goodness, but by will inclin’d; + For, since the time of Saturn’s holy reign, + His hospitable customs we retain. + I call to mind (but time the tale has worn) + Th’ Arunci told, that Dardanus, tho’ born + On Latian plains, yet sought the Phrygian shore, + And Samothracia, Samos call’d before. + From Tuscan Coritum he claim’d his birth; + But after, when exempt from mortal earth, + From thence ascended to his kindred skies, + A god, and, as a god, augments their sacrifice.” + + He said. Ilioneus made this reply: + “O king, of Faunus’ royal family! + Nor wintry winds to Latium forc’d our way, + Nor did the stars our wand’ring course betray. + Willing we sought your shores; and, hither bound, + The port, so long desir’d, at length we found; + From our sweet homes and ancient realms expell’d; + Great as the greatest that the sun beheld. + The god began our line, who rules above; + And, as our race, our king descends from Jove: + And hither are we come, by his command, + To crave admission in your happy land. + How dire a tempest, from Mycenae pour’d, + Our plains, our temples, and our town devour’d; + What was the waste of war, what fierce alarms + Shook Asia’s crown with European arms; + Ev’n such have heard, if any such there be, + Whose earth is bounded by the frozen sea; + And such as, born beneath the burning sky + And sultry sun, betwixt the tropics lie. + From that dire deluge, thro’ the wat’ry waste, + Such length of years, such various perils past, + At last escap’d, to Latium we repair, + To beg what you without your want may spare: + The common water, and the common air; + Sheds which ourselves will build, and mean abodes, + Fit to receive and serve our banish’d gods. + Nor our admission shall your realm disgrace, + Nor length of time our gratitude efface. + Besides, what endless honour you shall gain, + To save and shelter Troy’s unhappy train! + Now, by my sov’reign, and his fate, I swear, + Renown’d for faith in peace, for force in war; + Oft our alliance other lands desir’d, + And, what we seek of you, of us requir’d. + Despite not then, that in our hands we bear + These holy boughs, and sue with words of pray’r. + Fate and the gods, by their supreme command, + Have doom’d our ships to seek the Latian land. + To these abodes our fleet Apollo sends; + Here Dardanus was born, and hither tends; + Where Tuscan Tiber rolls with rapid force, + And where Numicus opes his holy source. + Besides, our prince presents, with his request, + Some small remains of what his sire possess’d. + This golden charger, snatch’d from burning Troy, + Anchises did in sacrifice employ; + This royal robe and this tiara wore + Old Priam, and this golden scepter bore + In full assemblies, and in solemn games; + These purple vests were weav’d by Dardan dames.” + + Thus while he spoke, Latinus roll’d around + His eyes, and fix’d a while upon the ground. + Intent he seem’d, and anxious in his breast; + Not by the scepter mov’d, or kingly vest, + But pond’ring future things of wondrous weight; + Succession, empire, and his daughter’s fate. + On these he mus’d within his thoughtful mind, + And then revolv’d what Faunus had divin’d. + This was the foreign prince, by fate decreed + To share his scepter, and Lavinia’s bed; + This was the race that sure portents foreshew + To sway the world, and land and sea subdue. + At length he rais’d his cheerful head, and spoke: + “The pow’rs,” said he, “the pow’rs we both invoke, + To you, and yours, and mine, propitious be, + And firm our purpose with their augury! + Have what you ask; your presents I receive; + Land, where and when you please, with ample leave; + Partake and use my kingdom as your own; + All shall be yours, while I command the crown: + And, if my wish’d alliance please your king, + Tell him he should not send the peace, but bring. + Then let him not a friend’s embraces fear; + The peace is made when I behold him here. + Besides this answer, tell my royal guest, + I add to his commands my own request: + One only daughter heirs my crown and state, + Whom not our oracles, nor Heav’n, nor fate, + Nor frequent prodigies, permit to join + With any native of th’ Ausonian line. + A foreign son-in-law shall come from far + (Such is our doom), a chief renown’d in war, + Whose race shall bear aloft the Latian name, + And thro’ the conquer’d world diffuse our fame. + Himself to be the man the fates require, + I firmly judge, and, what I judge, desire.” + + He said, and then on each bestow’d a steed. + Three hundred horses, in high stables fed, + Stood ready, shining all, and smoothly dress’d: + Of these he chose the fairest and the best, + To mount the Trojan troop. At his command + The steeds caparison’d with purple stand, + With golden trappings, glorious to behold, + And champ betwixt their teeth the foaming gold. + Then to his absent guest the king decreed + A pair of coursers born of heav’nly breed, + Who from their nostrils breath’d ethereal fire; + Whom Circe stole from her celestial sire, + By substituting mares produc’d on earth, + Whose wombs conceiv’d a more than mortal birth. + These draw the chariot which Latinus sends, + And the rich present to the prince commends. + Sublime on stately steeds the Trojans borne, + To their expecting lord with peace return. + + But jealous Juno, from Pachynus’ height, + As she from Argos took her airy flight, + Beheld with envious eyes this hateful sight. + She saw the Trojan and his joyful train + Descend upon the shore, desert the main, + Design a town, and, with unhop’d success, + Th’ embassadors return with promis’d peace. + Then, pierc’d with pain, she shook her haughty head, + Sigh’d from her inward soul, and thus she said: + “O hated offspring of my Phrygian foes! + O fates of Troy, which Juno’s fates oppose! + Could they not fall unpitied on the plain, + But slain revive, and, taken, scape again? + When execrable Troy in ashes lay, + Thro’ fires and swords and seas they forc’d their way. + Then vanquish’d Juno must in vain contend, + Her rage disarm’d, her empire at an end. + Breathless and tir’d, is all my fury spent? + Or does my glutted spleen at length relent? + As if ’twere little from their town to chase, + I thro’ the seas pursued their exil’d race; + Ingag’d the heav’ns, oppos’d the stormy main; + But billows roar’d, and tempests rag’d in vain. + What have my Scyllas and my Syrtes done, + When these they overpass, and those they shun? + On Tiber’s shores they land, secure of fate, + Triumphant o’er the storms and Juno’s hate. + Mars could in mutual blood the Centaurs bathe, + And Jove himself gave way to Cynthia’s wrath, + Who sent the tusky boar to Calydon; + What great offence had either people done? + But I, the consort of the Thunderer, + Have wag’d a long and unsuccessful war, + With various arts and arms in vain have toil’d, + And by a mortal man at length am foil’d. + If native pow’r prevail not, shall I doubt + To seek for needful succour from without? + If Jove and Heav’n my just desires deny, + Hell shall the pow’r of Heav’n and Jove supply. + Grant that the Fates have firm’d, by their decree, + The Trojan race to reign in Italy; + At least I can defer the nuptial day, + And with protracted wars the peace delay: + With blood the dear alliance shall be bought, + And both the people near destruction brought; + So shall the son-in-law and father join, + With ruin, war, and waste of either line. + O fatal maid, thy marriage is endow’d + With Phrygian, Latian, and Rutulian blood! + Bellona leads thee to thy lover’s hand; + Another queen brings forth another brand, + To burn with foreign fires another land! + A second Paris, diff’ring but in name, + Shall fire his country with a second flame.” + + Thus having said, she sinks beneath the ground, + With furious haste, and shoots the Stygian sound, + To rouse Alecto from th’ infernal seat + Of her dire sisters, and their dark retreat. + This Fury, fit for her intent, she chose; + One who delights in wars and human woes. + Ev’n Pluto hates his own misshapen race; + Her sister Furies fly her hideous face; + So frightful are the forms the monster takes, + So fierce the hissings of her speckled snakes. + Her Juno finds, and thus inflames her spite: + “O virgin daughter of eternal Night, + Give me this once thy labour, to sustain + My right, and execute my just disdain. + Let not the Trojans, with a feign’d pretence + Of proffer’d peace, delude the Latian prince. + Expel from Italy that odious name, + And let not Juno suffer in her fame. + ’Tis thine to ruin realms, o’erturn a state, + Betwixt the dearest friends to raise debate, + And kindle kindred blood to mutual hate. + Thy hand o’er towns the fun’ral torch displays, + And forms a thousand ills ten thousand ways. + Now shake, out thy fruitful breast, the seeds + Of envy, discord, and of cruel deeds: + Confound the peace establish’d, and prepare + Their souls to hatred, and their hands to war.” + + Smear’d as she was with black Gorgonian blood, + The Fury sprang above the Stygian flood; + And on her wicker wings, sublime thro’ night, + She to the Latian palace took her flight: + There sought the queen’s apartment, stood before + The peaceful threshold, and besieg’d the door. + Restless Amata lay, her swelling breast + Fir’d with disdain for Turnus dispossess’d, + And the new nuptials of the Trojan guest. + From her black bloody locks the Fury shakes + Her darling plague, the fav’rite of her snakes; + With her full force she threw the poisonous dart, + And fix’d it deep within Amata’s heart, + That, thus envenom’d, she might kindle rage, + And sacrifice to strife her house and husband’s age. + Unseen, unfelt, the fiery serpent skims + Betwixt her linen and her naked limbs; + His baleful breath inspiring, as he glides, + Now like a chain around her neck he rides, + Now like a fillet to her head repairs, + And with his circling volumes folds her hairs. + At first the silent venom slid with ease, + And seiz’d her cooler senses by degrees; + Then, ere th’ infected mass was fir’d too far, + In plaintive accents she began the war, + And thus bespoke her husband: “Shall,” she said, + “A wand’ring prince enjoy Lavinia’s bed? + If nature plead not in a parent’s heart, + Pity my tears, and pity her desert. + I know, my dearest lord, the time will come, + You’d in vain, reverse your cruel doom; + The faithless pirate soon will set to sea, + And bear the royal virgin far away! + A guest like him, a Trojan guest before, + In shew of friendship sought the Spartan shore, + And ravish’d Helen from her husband bore. + Think on a king’s inviolable word; + And think on Turnus, her once plighted lord: + To this false foreigner you give your throne, + And wrong a friend, a kinsman, and a son. + Resume your ancient care; and, if the god + Your sire, and you, resolve on foreign blood, + Know all are foreign, in a larger sense, + Not born your subjects, or deriv’d from hence. + Then, if the line of Turnus you retrace, + He springs from Inachus of Argive race.” + + But when she saw her reasons idly spent, + And could not move him from his fix’d intent, + She flew to rage; for now the snake possess’d + Her vital parts, and poison’d all her breast; + She raves, she runs with a distracted pace, + And fills with horrid howls the public place. + And, as young striplings whip the top for sport, + On the smooth pavement of an empty court; + The wooden engine flies and whirls about, + Admir’d, with clamours, of the beardless rout; + They lash aloud; each other they provoke, + And lend their little souls at ev’ry stroke: + Thus fares the queen; and thus her fury blows + Amidst the crowd, and kindles as she goes. + Nor yet content, she strains her malice more, + And adds new ills to those contriv’d before: + She flies the town, and, mixing with a throng + Of madding matrons, bears the bride along, + Wand’ring thro’ woods and wilds, and devious ways, + And with these arts the Trojan match delays. + She feign’d the rites of Bacchus; cried aloud, + And to the buxom god the virgin vow’d. + “Evoe! O Bacchus!” thus began the song; + And “Evoe!” answer’d all the female throng. + “O virgin! worthy thee alone!” she cried; + “O worthy thee alone!” the crew replied. + “For thee she feeds her hair, she leads thy dance, + And with thy winding ivy wreathes her lance.” + Like fury seiz’d the rest; the progress known, + All seek the mountains, and forsake the town: + All, clad in skins of beasts, the jav’lin bear, + Give to the wanton winds their flowing hair, + And shrieks and shoutings rend the suff’ring air. + The queen herself, inspir’d with rage divine, + Shook high above her head a flaming pine; + Then roll’d her haggard eyes around the throng, + And sung, in Turnus’ name, the nuptial song: + “Io, ye Latian dames! if any here + Hold your unhappy queen, Amata, dear; + If there be here,” she said, “who dare maintain + My right, nor think the name of mother vain; + Unbind your fillets, loose your flowing hair, + And orgies and nocturnal rites prepare.” + + Amata’s breast the Fury thus invades, + And fires with rage, amid the sylvan shades; + Then, when she found her venom spread so far, + The royal house embroil’d in civil war, + Rais’d on her dusky wings, she cleaves the skies, + And seeks the palace where young Turnus lies. + His town, as fame reports, was built of old + By Danae, pregnant with almighty gold, + Who fled her father’s rage, and, with a train + Of following Argives, thro’ the stormy main, + Driv’n by the southern blasts, was fated here to reign. + ’Twas Ardua once; now Ardea’s name it bears; + Once a fair city, now consum’d with years. + Here, in his lofty palace, Turnus lay, + Betwixt the confines of the night and day, + Secure in sleep. The Fury laid aside + Her looks and limbs, and with new methods tried + The foulness of th’ infernal form to hide. + Propp’d on a staff, she takes a trembling mien: + Her face is furrow’d, and her front obscene; + Deep-dinted wrinkles on her cheek she draws; + Sunk are her eyes, and toothless are her jaws; + Her hoary hair with holy fillets bound, + Her temples with an olive wreath are crown’d. + Old Chalybe, who kept the sacred fane + Of Juno, now she seem’d, and thus began, + Appearing in a dream, to rouse the careless man: + “Shall Turnus then such endless toil sustain + In fighting fields, and conquer towns in vain? + Win, for a Trojan head to wear the prize, + Usurp thy crown, enjoy thy victories? + The bride and scepter which thy blood has bought, + The king transfers; and foreign heirs are sought. + Go now, deluded man, and seek again + New toils, new dangers, on the dusty plain. + Repel the Tuscan foes; their city seize; + Protect the Latians in luxurious ease. + This dream all-pow’rful Juno sends; I bear + Her mighty mandates, and her words you hear. + Haste; arm your Ardeans; issue to the plain; + With fate to friend, assault the Trojan train: + Their thoughtless chiefs, their painted ships, that lie + In Tiber’s mouth, with fire and sword destroy. + The Latian king, unless he shall submit, + Own his old promise, and his new forget; + Let him, in arms, the pow’r of Turnus prove, + And learn to fear whom he disdains to love. + For such is Heav’n’s command.” The youthful prince + With scorn replied, and made this bold defence: + “You tell me, mother, what I knew before: + The Phrygian fleet is landed on the shore. + I neither fear nor will provoke the war; + My fate is Juno’s most peculiar care. + But time has made you dote, and vainly tell + Of arms imagin’d in your lonely cell. + Go; be the temple and the gods your care; + Permit to men the thought of peace and war.” + + These haughty words Alecto’s rage provoke, + And frighted Turnus trembled as she spoke. + Her eyes grow stiffen’d, and with sulphur burn; + Her hideous looks and hellish form return; + Her curling snakes with hissings fill the place, + And open all the furies of her face: + Then, darting fire from her malignant eyes, + She cast him backward as he strove to rise, + And, ling’ring, sought to frame some new replies. + High on her head she rears two twisted snakes, + Her chains she rattles, and her whip she shakes; + And, churning bloody foam, thus loudly speaks: + “Behold whom time has made to dote, and tell + Of arms imagin’d in her lonely cell! + Behold the Fates’ infernal minister! + War, death, destruction, in my hand I bear.” + + Thus having said, her smould’ring torch, impress’d + With her full force, she plung’d into his breast. + Aghast he wak’d; and, starting from his bed, + Cold sweat, in clammy drops, his limbs o’erspread. + “Arms! arms!” he cries: “my sword and shield prepare!” + He breathes defiance, blood, and mortal war. + So, when with crackling flames a caldron fries, + The bubbling waters from the bottom rise: + Above the brims they force their fiery way; + Black vapours climb aloft, and cloud the day. + + The peace polluted thus, a chosen band + He first commissions to the Latian land, + In threat’ning embassy; then rais’d the rest, + To meet in arms th’ intruding Trojan guest, + To force the foes from the Lavinian shore, + And Italy’s indanger’d peace restore. + Himself alone an equal match he boasts, + To fight the Phrygian and Ausonian hosts. + The gods invok’d, the Rutuli prepare + Their arms, and warn each other to the war. + His beauty these, and those his blooming age, + The rest his house and his own fame engage. + + While Turnus urges thus his enterprise, + The Stygian Fury to the Trojans flies; + New frauds invents, and takes a steepy stand, + Which overlooks the vale with wide command; + Where fair Ascanius and his youthful train, + With horns and hounds, a hunting match ordain, + And pitch their toils around the shady plain. + The Fury fires the pack; they snuff, they vent, + And feed their hungry nostrils with the scent. + ’Twas of a well-grown stag, whose antlers rise + High o’er his front; his beams invade the skies. + From this light cause th’ infernal maid prepares + The country churls to mischief, hate, and wars. + + The stately beast the two Tyrrhidae bred, + Snatch’d from his dams, and the tame youngling fed. + Their father Tyrrheus did his fodder bring, + Tyrrheus, chief ranger to the Latian king: + Their sister Silvia cherish’d with her care + The little wanton, and did wreaths prepare + To hang his budding horns, with ribbons tied + His tender neck, and comb’d his silken hide, + And bathed his body. Patient of command + In time he grew, and, growing us’d to hand, + He waited at his master’s board for food; + Then sought his salvage kindred in the wood, + Where grazing all the day, at night he came + To his known lodgings, and his country dame. + + This household beast, that us’d the woodland grounds, + Was view’d at first by the young hero’s hounds, + As down the stream he swam, to seek retreat + In the cool waters, and to quench his heat. + Ascanius young, and eager of his game, + Soon bent his bow, uncertain in his aim; + But the dire fiend the fatal arrow guides, + Which pierc’d his bowels thro’ his panting sides. + The bleeding creature issues from the floods, + Possess’d with fear, and seeks his known abodes, + His old familiar hearth and household gods. + He falls; he fills the house with heavy groans, + Implores their pity, and his pain bemoans. + Young Silvia beats her breast, and cries aloud + For succour from the clownish neighbourhood: + The churls assemble; for the fiend, who lay + In the close woody covert, urg’d their way. + One with a brand yet burning from the flame, + Arm’d with a knotty club another came: + Whate’er they catch or find, without their care, + Their fury makes an instrument of war. + Tyrrheus, the foster father of the beast, + Then clench’d a hatchet in his horny fist, + But held his hand from the descending stroke, + And left his wedge within the cloven oak, + To whet their courage and their rage provoke. + And now the goddess, exercis’d in ill, + Who watch’d an hour to work her impious will, + Ascends the roof, and to her crooked horn, + Such as was then by Latian shepherds borne, + Adds all her breath: the rocks and woods around, + And mountains, tremble at th’ infernal sound. + The sacred lake of Trivia from afar, + The Veline fountains, and sulphureous Nar, + Shake at the baleful blast, the signal of the war. + Young mothers wildly stare, with fear possess’d, + And strain their helpless infants to their breast. + + The clowns, a boist’rous, rude, ungovern’d crew, + With furious haste to the loud summons flew. + The pow’rs of Troy, then issuing on the plain, + With fresh recruits their youthful chief sustain: + Not theirs a raw and unexperienc’d train, + But a firm body of embattled men. + At first, while fortune favour’d neither side, + The fight with clubs and burning brands was tried; + But now, both parties reinforc’d, the fields + Are bright with flaming swords and brazen shields. + A shining harvest either host displays, + And shoots against the sun with equal rays. + Thus, when a black-brow’d gust begins to rise, + White foam at first on the curl’d ocean fries; + Then roars the main, the billows mount the skies; + Till, by the fury of the storm full blown, + The muddy bottom o’er the clouds is thrown. + First Almon falls, old Tyrrheus’ eldest care, + Pierc’d with an arrow from the distant war: + Fix’d in his throat the flying weapon stood, + And stopp’d his breath, and drank his vital blood + Huge heaps of slain around the body rise: + Among the rest, the rich Galesus lies; + A good old man, while peace he preach’d in vain, + Amidst the madness of th’ unruly train: + Five herds, five bleating flocks, his pastures fill’d; + His lands a hundred yoke of oxen till’d. + + Thus, while in equal scales their fortune stood + The Fury bath’d them in each other’s blood; + Then, having fix’d the fight, exulting flies, + And bears fulfill’d her promise to the skies. + To Juno thus she speaks: “Behold! It is done, + The blood already drawn, the war begun; + The discord is complete; nor can they cease + The dire debate, nor you command the peace. + Now, since the Latian and the Trojan brood + Have tasted vengeance and the sweets of blood; + Speak, and my pow’r shall add this office more: + The neighbr’ing nations of th’ Ausonian shore + Shall hear the dreadful rumour, from afar, + Of arm’d invasion, and embrace the war.” + Then Juno thus: “The grateful work is done, + The seeds of discord sow’d, the war begun; + Frauds, fears, and fury have possess’d the state, + And fix’d the causes of a lasting hate. + A bloody Hymen shall th’ alliance join + Betwixt the Trojan and Ausonian line: + But thou with speed to night and hell repair; + For not the gods, nor angry Jove, will bear + Thy lawless wand’ring walks in upper air. + Leave what remains to me.” Saturnia said: + The sullen fiend her sounding wings display’d, + Unwilling left the light, and sought the nether shade. + + In midst of Italy, well known to fame, + There lies a lake, Amsanctus is the name, + Below the lofty mounts: on either side + Thick forests the forbidden entrance hide. + Full in the centre of the sacred wood + An arm arises of the Stygian flood, + Which, breaking from beneath with bellowing sound, + Whirls the black waves and rattling stones around. + Here Pluto pants for breath from out his cell, + And opens wide the grinning jaws of hell. + To this infernal lake the Fury flies; + Here hides her hated head, and frees the lab’ring skies. + + Saturnian Juno now, with double care, + Attends the fatal process of the war. + The clowns, return’d, from battle bear the slain, + Implore the gods, and to their king complain. + The corps of Almon and the rest are shown; + Shrieks, clamours, murmurs, fill the frighted town. + Ambitious Turnus in the press appears, + And, aggravating crimes, augments their fears; + Proclaims his private injuries aloud, + A solemn promise made, and disavow’d; + A foreign son is sought, and a mix’d mungril brood. + Then they, whose mothers, frantic with their fear, + In woods and wilds the flags of Bacchus bear, + And lead his dances with dishevel’d hair, + Increase the clamour, and the war demand, + (Such was Amata’s int’rest in the land,) + Against the public sanctions of the peace, + Against all omens of their ill success. + With fates averse, the rout in arms resort, + To force their monarch, and insult the court. + But, like a rock unmov’d, a rock that braves + The raging tempest and the rising waves, + Propp’d on himself he stands; his solid sides + Wash off the seaweeds, and the sounding tides: + So stood the pious prince, unmov’d, and long + Sustain’d the madness of the noisy throng. + But, when he found that Juno’s pow’r prevail’d, + And all the methods of cool counsel fail’d, + He calls the gods to witness their offence, + Disclaims the war, asserts his innocence. + “Hurried by fate,” he cries, “and borne before + A furious wind, we have the faithful shore. + O more than madmen! you yourselves shall bear + The guilt of blood and sacrilegious war: + Thou, Turnus, shalt atone it by thy fate, + And pray to Heav’n for peace, but pray too late. + For me, my stormy voyage at an end, + I to the port of death securely tend. + The fun’ral pomp which to your kings you pay, + Is all I want, and all you take away.” + He said no more, but, in his walls confin’d, + Shut out the woes which he too well divin’d + Nor with the rising storm would vainly strive, + But left the helm, and let the vessel drive. + + A solemn custom was observ’d of old, + Which Latium held, and now the Romans hold, + Their standard when in fighting fields they rear + Against the fierce Hyrcanians, or declare + The Scythian, Indian, or Arabian war; + Or from the boasting Parthians would regain + Their eagles, lost in Carrhae’s bloody plain. + Two gates of steel (the name of Mars they bear, + And still are worship’d with religious fear) + Before his temple stand: the dire abode, + And the fear’d issues of the furious god, + Are fenc’d with brazen bolts; without the gates, + The wary guardian Janus doubly waits. + Then, when the sacred senate votes the wars, + The Roman consul their decree declares, + And in his robes the sounding gates unbars. + The youth in military shouts arise, + And the loud trumpets break the yielding skies. + These rites, of old by sov’reign princes us’d, + Were the king’s office; but the king refus’d, + Deaf to their cries, nor would the gates unbar + Of sacred peace, or loose th’ imprison’d war; + But hid his head, and, safe from loud alarms, + Abhorr’d the wicked ministry of arms. + Then heav’n’s imperious queen shot down from high: + At her approach the brazen hinges fly; + The gates are forc’d, and ev’ry falling bar; + And, like a tempest, issues out the war. + + The peaceful cities of th’ Ausonian shore, + Lull’d in their ease, and undisturb’d before, + Are all on fire; and some, with studious care, + Their restiff steeds in sandy plains prepare; + Some their soft limbs in painful marches try, + And war is all their wish, and arms the gen’ral cry. + Part scour the rusty shields with seam; and part + New grind the blunted ax, and point the dart: + With joy they view the waving ensigns fly, + And hear the trumpet’s clangour pierce the sky. + Five cities forge their arms: th’ Atinian pow’rs, + Antemnae, Tibur with her lofty tow’rs, + Ardea the proud, the Crustumerian town: + All these of old were places of renown. + Some hammer helmets for the fighting field; + Some twine young sallows to support the shield; + The croslet some, and some the cuishes mould, + With silver plated, and with ductile gold. + The rustic honours of the scythe and share + Give place to swords and plumes, the pride of war. + Old falchions are new temper’d in the fires; + The sounding trumpet ev’ry soul inspires. + The word is giv’n; with eager speed they lace + The shining headpiece, and the shield embrace. + The neighing steeds are to the chariot tied; + The trusty weapon sits on ev’ry side. + + And now the mighty labour is begun + Ye Muses, open all your Helicon. + Sing you the chiefs that sway’d th’ Ausonian land, + Their arms, and armies under their command; + What warriors in our ancient clime were bred; + What soldiers follow’d, and what heroes led. + For well you know, and can record alone, + What fame to future times conveys but darkly down. + Mezentius first appear’d upon the plain: + Scorn sate upon his brows, and sour disdain, + Defying earth and heav’n. Etruria lost, + He brings to Turnus’ aid his baffled host. + The charming Lausus, full of youthful fire, + Rode in the rank, and next his sullen sire; + To Turnus only second in the grace + Of manly mien, and features of the face. + A skilful horseman, and a huntsman bred, + With fates averse a thousand men he led: + His sire unworthy of so brave a son; + Himself well worthy of a happier throne. + + Next Aventinus drives his chariot round + The Latian plains, with palms and laurels crown’d. + Proud of his steeds, he smokes along the field; + His father’s hydra fills his ample shield: + A hundred serpents hiss about the brims; + The son of Hercules he justly seems + By his broad shoulders and gigantic limbs; + Of heav’nly part, and part of earthly blood, + A mortal woman mixing with a god. + For strong Alcides, after he had slain + The triple Geryon, drove from conquer’d Spain + His captive herds; and, thence in triumph led, + On Tuscan Tiber’s flow’ry banks they fed. + Then on Mount Aventine the son of Jove + The priestess Rhea found, and forc’d to love. + For arms, his men long piles and jav’lins bore; + And poles with pointed steel their foes in battle gore. + Like Hercules himself his son appears, + In salvage pomp; a lion’s hide he wears; + About his shoulders hangs the shaggy skin; + The teeth and gaping jaws severely grin. + Thus, like the god his father, homely dress’d, + He strides into the hall, a horrid guest. + + Then two twin brothers from fair Tibur came, + (Which from their brother Tiburs took the name,) + Fierce Coras and Catillus, void of fear: + Arm’d Argive horse they led, and in the front appear. + Like cloud-born Centaurs, from the mountain’s height + With rapid course descending to the fight; + They rush along; the rattling woods give way; + The branches bend before their sweepy sway. + + Nor was Praeneste’s founder wanting there, + Whom fame reports the son of Mulciber: + Found in the fire, and foster’d in the plains, + A shepherd and a king at once he reigns, + And leads to Turnus’ aid his country swains. + His own Praeneste sends a chosen band, + With those who plow Saturnia’s Gabine land; + Besides the succour which cold Anien yields, + The rocks of Hernicus, and dewy fields, + Anagnia fat, and Father Amasene— + A num’rous rout, but all of naked men: + Nor arms they wear, nor swords and bucklers wield, + Nor drive the chariot thro’ the dusty field, + But whirl from leathern slings huge balls of lead, + And spoils of yellow wolves adorn their head; + The left foot naked, when they march to fight, + But in a bull’s raw hide they sheathe the right. + Messapus next, (great Neptune was his sire,) + Secure of steel, and fated from the fire, + In pomp appears, and with his ardour warms + A heartless train, unexercis’d in arms: + The just Faliscans he to battle brings, + And those who live where Lake Ciminius springs; + And where Feronia’s grove and temple stands, + Who till Fescennian or Flavinian lands. + All these in order march, and marching sing + The warlike actions of their sea-born king; + Like a long team of snowy swans on high, + Which clap their wings, and cleave the liquid sky, + When, homeward from their wat’ry pastures borne, + They sing, and Asia’s lakes their notes return. + Not one who heard their music from afar, + Would think these troops an army train’d to war, + But flocks of fowl, that, when the tempests roar, + With their hoarse gabbling seek the silent shore. + + Then Clausus came, who led a num’rous band + Of troops embodied from the Sabine land, + And, in himself alone, an army brought. + ’Twas he, the noble Claudian race begot, + The Claudian race, ordain’d, in times to come, + To share the greatness of imperial Rome. + He led the Cures forth, of old renown, + Mutuscans from their olive-bearing town, + And all th’ Eretian pow’rs; besides a band + That follow’d from Velinum’s dewy land, + And Amiternian troops, of mighty fame, + And mountaineers, that from Severus came, + And from the craggy cliffs of Tetrica, + And those where yellow Tiber takes his way, + And where Himella’s wanton waters play. + Casperia sends her arms, with those that lie + By Fabaris, and fruitful Foruli: + The warlike aids of Horta next appear, + And the cold Nursians come to close the rear, + Mix’d with the natives born of Latine blood, + Whom Allia washes with her fatal flood. + Not thicker billows beat the Libyan main, + When pale Orion sets in wintry rain; + Nor thicker harvests on rich Hermus rise, + Or Lycian fields, when Phoebus burns the skies, + Than stand these troops: their bucklers ring around; + Their trampling turns the turf, and shakes the solid ground. + + High in his chariot then Halesus came, + A foe by birth to Troy’s unhappy name: + From Agamemnon born—to Turnus’ aid + A thousand men the youthful hero led, + Who till the Massic soil, for wine renown’d, + And fierce Auruncans from their hilly ground, + And those who live by Sidicinian shores, + And where with shoaly fords Vulturnus roars, + Cales’ and Osca’s old inhabitants, + And rough Saticulans, inur’d to wants: + Light demi-lances from afar they throw, + Fasten’d with leathern thongs, to gall the foe. + Short crooked swords in closer fight they wear; + And on their warding arm light bucklers bear. + + Nor Oebalus, shalt thou be left unsung, + From nymph Semethis and old Telon sprung, + Who then in Teleboan Capri reign’d; + But that short isle th’ ambitious youth disdain’d, + And o’er Campania stretch’d his ample sway, + Where swelling Sarnus seeks the Tyrrhene sea; + O’er Batulum, and where Abella sees, + From her high tow’rs, the harvest of her trees. + And these (as was the Teuton use of old) + Wield brazen swords, and brazen bucklers hold; + Sling weighty stones, when from afar they fight; + Their casques are cork, a covering thick and light. + + Next these in rank, the warlike Ufens went, + And led the mountain troops that Nursia sent. + The rude Equicolae his rule obey’d; + Hunting their sport, and plund’ring was their trade. + In arms they plow’d, to battle still prepar’d: + Their soil was barren, and their hearts were hard. + + Umbro the priest the proud Marrubians led, + By King Archippus sent to Turnus’ aid, + And peaceful olives crown’d his hoary head. + His wand and holy words, the viper’s rage, + And venom’d wounds of serpents could assuage. + He, when he pleas’d with powerful juice to steep + Their temples, shut their eyes in pleasing sleep. + But vain were Marsian herbs, and magic art, + To cure the wound giv’n by the Dardan dart: + Yet his untimely fate th’ Angitian woods + In sighs remurmur’d to the Fucine floods. + + The son of fam’d Hippolytus was there, + Fam’d as his sire, and, as his mother, fair; + Whom in Egerian groves Aricia bore, + And nurs’d his youth along the marshy shore, + Where great Diana’s peaceful altars flame, + In fruitful fields; and Virbius was his name. + Hippolytus, as old records have said, + Was by his stepdam sought to share her bed; + But, when no female arts his mind could move, + She turn’d to furious hate her impious love. + Torn by wild horses on the sandy shore, + Another’s crimes th’ unhappy hunter bore, + Glutting his father’s eyes with guiltless gore. + But chaste Diana, who his death deplor’d, + With Aesculapian herbs his life restor’d. + Then Jove, who saw from high, with just disdain, + The dead inspir’d with vital breath again, + Struck to the centre, with his flaming dart, + Th’ unhappy founder of the godlike art. + But Trivia kept in secret shades alone + Her care, Hippolytus, to fate unknown; + And call’d him Virbius in th’ Egerian grove, + Where then he liv’d obscure, but safe from Jove. + For this, from Trivia’s temple and her wood + Are coursers driv’n, who shed their master’s blood, + Affrighted by the monsters of the flood. + His son, the second Virbius, yet retain’d + His father’s art, and warrior steeds he rein’d. + + Amid the troops, and like the leading god, + High o’er the rest in arms the graceful Turnus rode: + A triple of plumes his crest adorn’d, + On which with belching flames Chimaera burn’d: + The more the kindled combat rises high’r, + The more with fury burns the blazing fire. + Fair Io grac’d his shield; but Io now + With horns exalted stands, and seems to low— + A noble charge! Her keeper by her side, + To watch her walks, his hundred eyes applied; + And on the brims her sire, the wat’ry god, + Roll’d from a silver urn his crystal flood. + A cloud of foot succeeds, and fills the fields + With swords, and pointed spears, and clatt’ring shields; + Of Argives, and of old Sicanian bands, + And those who plow the rich Rutulian lands; + Auruncan youth, and those Sacrana yields, + And the proud Labicans, with painted shields, + And those who near Numician streams reside, + And those whom Tiber’s holy forests hide, + Or Circe’s hills from the main land divide; + Where Ufens glides along the lowly lands, + Or the black water of Pomptina stands. + + Last, from the Volscians fair Camilla came, + And led her warlike troops, a warrior dame; + Unbred to spinning, in the loom unskill’d, + She chose the nobler Pallas of the field. + Mix’d with the first, the fierce Virago fought, + Sustain’d the toils of arms, the danger sought, + Outstripp’d the winds in speed upon the plain, + Flew o’er the fields, nor hurt the bearded grain: + She swept the seas, and, as she skimm’d along, + Her flying feet unbath’d on billows hung. + Men, boys, and women, stupid with surprise, + Where’er she passes, fix their wond’ring eyes: + Longing they look, and, gaping at the sight, + Devour her o’er and o’er with vast delight; + Her purple habit sits with such a grace + On her smooth shoulders, and so suits her face; + Her head with ringlets of her hair is crown’d, + And in a golden caul the curls are bound. + She shakes her myrtle jav’lin; and, behind, + Her Lycian quiver dances in the wind. + + + + BOOK VIII + + THE ARGUMENT. + + + The war being now begun, both the generals make all possible + preparations. Turnus sends to Diomedes. Aeneas goes in person to + beg succours from Evander and the Tuscans. Evander receives him + kindly, furnishes him with men, and sends his son Pallas with + him. Vulcan, at the request of Venus, makes arms for her son + Aeneas, and draws on his shield the most memorable actions of his + posterity. + + + When Turnus had assembled all his pow’rs, + His standard planted on Laurentum’s tow’rs; + When now the sprightly trumpet, from afar, + Had giv’n the signal of approaching war, + Had rous’d the neighing steeds to scour the fields, + While the fierce riders clatter’d on their shields; + Trembling with rage, the Latian youth prepare + To join th’ allies, and headlong rush to war. + Fierce Ufens, and Messapus, led the crowd, + With bold Mezentius, who blasphem’d aloud. + These thro’ the country took their wasteful course, + The fields to forage, and to gather force. + Then Venulus to Diomede they send, + To beg his aid Ausonia to defend, + Declare the common danger, and inform + The Grecian leader of the growing storm: + “Aeneas, landed on the Latian coast, + With banish’d gods, and with a baffled host, + Yet now aspir’d to conquest of the state, + And claim’d a title from the gods and fate; + What num’rous nations in his quarrel came, + And how they spread his formidable name. + What he design’d, what mischief might arise, + If fortune favour’d his first enterprise, + Was left for him to weigh, whose equal fears, + And common interest, was involv’d in theirs.” + + While Turnus and th’ allies thus urge the war, + The Trojan, floating in a flood of care, + Beholds the tempest which his foes prepare. + This way and that he turns his anxious mind; + Thinks, and rejects the counsels he design’d; + Explores himself in vain, in ev’ry part, + And gives no rest to his distracted heart. + So, when the sun by day, or moon by night, + Strike on the polish’d brass their trembling light, + The glitt’ring species here and there divide, + And cast their dubious beams from side to side; + Now on the walls, now on the pavement play, + And to the ceiling flash the glaring day. + + ’Twas night; and weary nature lull’d asleep + The birds of air, and fishes of the deep, + And beasts, and mortal men. The Trojan chief + Was laid on Tiber’s banks, oppress’d with grief, + And found in silent slumber late relief. + Then, thro’ the shadows of the poplar wood, + Arose the father of the Roman flood; + An azure robe was o’er his body spread, + A wreath of shady reeds adorn’d his head: + Thus, manifest to sight, the god appear’d, + And with these pleasing words his sorrow cheer’d: + “Undoubted offspring of ethereal race, + O long expected in this promis’d place! + Who thro’ the foes hast borne thy banish’d gods, + Restor’d them to their hearths, and old abodes; + This is thy happy home, the clime where fate + Ordains thee to restore the Trojan state. + Fear not! The war shall end in lasting peace, + And all the rage of haughty Juno cease. + And that this nightly vision may not seem + Th’ effect of fancy, or an idle dream, + A sow beneath an oak shall lie along, + All white herself, and white her thirty young. + When thirty rolling years have run their race, + Thy son Ascanius, on this empty space, + Shall build a royal town, of lasting fame, + Which from this omen shall receive the name. + Time shall approve the truth. For what remains, + And how with sure success to crown thy pains, + With patience next attend. A banish’d band, + Driv’n with Evander from th’ Arcadian land, + Have planted here, and plac’d on high their walls; + Their town the founder Pallanteum calls, + Deriv’d from Pallas, his great-grandsire’s name: + But the fierce Latians old possession claim, + With war infesting the new colony. + These make thy friends, and on their aid rely. + To thy free passage I submit my streams. + Wake, son of Venus, from thy pleasing dreams; + And, when the setting stars are lost in day, + To Juno’s pow’r thy just devotion pay; + With sacrifice the wrathful queen appease: + Her pride at length shall fall, her fury cease. + When thou return’st victorious from the war, + Perform thy vows to me with grateful care. + The god am I, whose yellow water flows + Around these fields, and fattens as it goes: + Tiber my name; among the rolling floods + Renown’d on earth, esteem’d among the gods. + This is my certain seat. In times to come, + My waves shall wash the walls of mighty Rome.” + + He said, and plung’d below. While yet he spoke, + His dream Aeneas and his sleep forsook. + He rose, and looking up, beheld the skies + With purple blushing, and the day arise. + Then water in his hollow palm he took + From Tiber’s flood, and thus the pow’rs bespoke: + “Laurentian nymphs, by whom the streams are fed, + And Father Tiber, in thy sacred bed + Receive Aeneas, and from danger keep. + Whatever fount, whatever holy deep, + Conceals thy wat’ry stores; where’er they rise, + And, bubbling from below, salute the skies; + Thou, king of horned floods, whose plenteous urn + Suffices fatness to the fruitful corn, + For this thy kind compassion of our woes, + Shalt share my morning song and ev’ning vows. + But, O be present to thy people’s aid, + And firm the gracious promise thou hast made!” + Thus having said, two galleys from his stores, + With care he chooses, mans, and fits with oars. + Now on the shore the fatal swine is found. + Wond’rous to tell!—She lay along the ground: + Her well-fed offspring at her udders hung; + She white herself, and white her thirty young. + Aeneas takes the mother and her brood, + And all on Juno’s altar are bestow’d. + + The foll’wing night, and the succeeding day, + Propitious Tiber smooth’d his wat’ry way: + He roll’d his river back, and pois’d he stood, + A gentle swelling, and a peaceful flood. + The Trojans mount their ships; they put from shore, + Borne on the waves, and scarcely dip an oar. + Shouts from the land give omen to their course, + And the pitch’d vessels glide with easy force. + The woods and waters wonder at the gleam + Of shields, and painted ships that stem the stream. + One summer’s night and one whole day they pass + Betwixt the greenwood shades, and cut the liquid glass. + The fiery sun had finish’d half his race, + Look’d back, and doubted in the middle space, + When they from far beheld the rising tow’rs, + The tops of sheds, and shepherds’ lowly bow’rs, + Thin as they stood, which, then of homely clay, + Now rise in marble, from the Roman sway. + These cots (Evander’s kingdom, mean and poor) + The Trojan saw, and turn’d his ships to shore. + ’Twas on a solemn day: th’ Arcadian states, + The king and prince, without the city gates, + Then paid their off’rings in a sacred grove + To Hercules, the warrior son of Jove. + Thick clouds of rolling smoke involve the skies, + And fat of entrails on his altar fries. + + But, when they saw the ships that stemm’d the flood, + And glitter’d thro’ the covert of the wood, + They rose with fear, and left th’ unfinish’d feast, + Till dauntless Pallas reassur’d the rest + To pay the rites. Himself without delay + A jav’lin seiz’d, and singly took his way; + Then gain’d a rising ground, and call’d from far: + “Resolve me, strangers, whence, and what you are; + Your bus’ness here; and bring you peace or war?” + High on the stern Aeneas took his stand, + And held a branch of olive in his hand, + While thus he spoke: “The Phrygians’ arms you see, + Expell’d from Troy, provok’d in Italy + By Latian foes, with war unjustly made; + At first affianc’d, and at last betray’d. + This message bear: ‘The Trojans and their chief + Bring holy peace, and beg the king’s relief.’ + Struck with so great a name, and all on fire, + The youth replies: “Whatever you require, + Your fame exacts. Upon our shores descend. + A welcome guest, and, what you wish, a friend.” + He said, and, downward hasting to the strand, + Embrac’d the stranger prince, and join’d his hand. + + Conducted to the grove, Aeneas broke + The silence first, and thus the king bespoke: + “Best of the Greeks, to whom, by fate’s command, + I bear these peaceful branches in my hand, + Undaunted I approach you, tho’ I know + Your birth is Grecian, and your land my foe; + From Atreus tho’ your ancient lineage came, + And both the brother kings your kindred claim; + Yet, my self-conscious worth, your high renown, + Your virtue, thro’ the neighb’ring nations blown, + Our fathers’ mingled blood, Apollo’s voice, + Have led me hither, less by need than choice. + Our founder Dardanus, as fame has sung, + And Greeks acknowledge, from Electra sprung: + Electra from the loins of Atlas came; + Atlas, whose head sustains the starry frame. + Your sire is Mercury, whom long before + On cold Cyllene’s top fair Maia bore. + Maia the fair, on fame if we rely, + Was Atlas’ daughter, who sustains the sky. + Thus from one common source our streams divide; + Ours is the Trojan, yours th’ Arcadian side. + Rais’d by these hopes, I sent no news before, + Nor ask’d your leave, nor did your faith implore; + But come, without a pledge, my own ambassador. + The same Rutulians, who with arms pursue + The Trojan race, are equal foes to you. + Our host expell’d, what farther force can stay + The victor troops from universal sway? + Then will they stretch their pow’r athwart the land, + And either sea from side to side command. + Receive our offer’d faith, and give us thine; + Ours is a gen’rous and experienc’d line: + We want not hearts nor bodies for the war; + In council cautious, and in fields we dare.” + + He said; and while spoke, with piercing eyes + Evander view’d the man with vast surprise, + Pleas’d with his action, ravish’d with his face: + Then answer’d briefly, with a royal grace: + “O valiant leader of the Trojan line, + In whom the features of thy father shine, + How I recall Anchises! how I see + His motions, mien, and all my friend, in thee! + Long tho’ it be, ’tis fresh within my mind, + When Priam to his sister’s court design’d + A welcome visit, with a friendly stay, + And thro’ th’ Arcadian kingdom took his way. + Then, past a boy, the callow down began + To shade my chin, and call me first a man. + I saw the shining train with vast delight, + And Priam’s goodly person pleas’d my sight: + But great Anchises, far above the rest, + With awful wonder fir’d my youthful breast. + I long’d to join in friendship’s holy bands + Our mutual hearts, and plight our mutual hands. + I first accosted him: I sued, I sought, + And, with a loving force, to Pheneus brought. + He gave me, when at length constrain’d to go, + A Lycian quiver and a Gnossian bow, + A vest embroider’d, glorious to behold, + And two rich bridles, with their bits of gold, + Which my son’s coursers in obedience hold. + The league you ask, I offer, as your right; + And, when tomorrow’s sun reveals the light, + With swift supplies you shall be sent away. + Now celebrate with us this solemn day, + Whose holy rites admit no long delay. + Honour our annual feast; and take your seat, + With friendly welcome, at a homely treat.” + Thus having said, the bowls remov’d (for fear) + The youths replac’d, and soon restor’d the cheer. + On sods of turf he set the soldiers round: + A maple throne, rais’d higher from the ground, + Receiv’d the Trojan chief; and, o’er the bed, + A lion’s shaggy hide for ornament they spread. + The loaves were serv’d in canisters; the wine + In bowls; the priest renew’d the rites divine: + Broil’d entrails are their food, and beef’s continued chine. + + But when the rage of hunger was repress’d, + Thus spoke Evander to his royal guest: + “These rites, these altars, and this feast, O king, + From no vain fears or superstition spring, + Or blind devotion, or from blinder chance, + Or heady zeal, or brutal ignorance; + But, sav’d from danger, with a grateful sense, + The labours of a god we recompense. + See, from afar, yon rock that mates the sky, + About whose feet such heaps of rubbish lie; + Such indigested ruin; bleak and bare, + How desert now it stands, expos’d in air! + ’Twas once a robber’s den, inclos’d around + With living stone, and deep beneath the ground. + The monster Cacus, more than half a beast, + This hold, impervious to the sun, possess’d. + The pavement ever foul with human gore; + Heads, and their mangled members, hung the door. + Vulcan this plague begot; and, like his sire, + Black clouds he belch’d, and flakes of livid fire. + Time, long expected, eas’d us of our load, + And brought the needful presence of a god. + Th’ avenging force of Hercules, from Spain, + Arriv’d in triumph, from Geryon slain: + Thrice liv’d the giant, and thrice liv’d in vain. + His prize, the lowing herds, Alcides drove + Near Tiber’s bank, to graze the shady grove. + Allur’d with hope of plunder, and intent + By force to rob, by fraud to circumvent, + The brutal Cacus, as by chance they stray’d, + Four oxen thence, and four fair kine convey’d; + And, lest the printed footsteps might be seen, + He dragg’d ’em backwards to his rocky den. + The tracks averse a lying notice gave, + And led the searcher backward from the cave. + + “Meantime the herdsman hero shifts his place, + To find fresh pasture and untrodden grass. + The beasts, who miss’d their mates, fill’d all around + With bellowings, and the rocks restor’d the sound. + One heifer, who had heard her love complain, + Roar’d from the cave, and made the project vain. + Alcides found the fraud; with rage he shook, + And toss’d about his head his knotted oak. + Swift as the winds, or Scythian arrows’ flight, + He clomb, with eager haste, th’ aerial height. + Then first we saw the monster mend his pace; + Fear in his eyes, and paleness in his face, + Confess’d the god’s approach. Trembling he springs, + As terror had increas’d his feet with wings; + Nor stay’d for stairs; but down the depth he threw + His body, on his back the door he drew + (The door, a rib of living rock; with pains + His father hew’d it out, and bound with iron chains): + He broke the heavy links, the mountain clos’d, + And bars and levers to his foe oppos’d. + The wretch had hardly made his dungeon fast; + The fierce avenger came with bounding haste; + Survey’d the mouth of the forbidden hold, + And here and there his raging eyes he roll’d. + He gnash’d his teeth; and thrice he compass’d round + With winged speed the circuit of the ground. + Thrice at the cavern’s mouth he pull’d in vain, + And, panting, thrice desisted from his pain. + A pointed flinty rock, all bare and black, + Grew gibbous from behind the mountain’s back; + Owls, ravens, all ill omens of the night, + Here built their nests, and hither wing’d their flight. + The leaning head hung threat’ning o’er the flood, + And nodded to the left. The hero stood + Adverse, with planted feet, and, from the right, + Tugg’d at the solid stone with all his might. + Thus heav’d, the fix’d foundations of the rock + Gave way; heav’n echo’d at the rattling shock. + Tumbling, it chok’d the flood: on either side + The banks leap backward, and the streams divide; + The sky shrunk upward with unusual dread, + And trembling Tiber div’d beneath his bed. + The court of Cacus stands reveal’d to sight; + The cavern glares with new-admitted light. + So the pent vapours, with a rumbling sound, + Heave from below, and rend the hollow ground; + A sounding flaw succeeds; and, from on high, + The gods with hate beheld the nether sky: + The ghosts repine at violated night, + And curse th’ invading sun, and sicken at the sight. + The graceless monster, caught in open day, + Inclos’d, and in despair to fly away, + Howls horrible from underneath, and fills + His hollow palace with unmanly yells. + The hero stands above, and from afar + Plies him with darts, and stones, and distant war. + He, from his nostrils huge mouth, expires + Black clouds of smoke, amidst his father’s fires, + Gath’ring, with each repeated blast, the night, + To make uncertain aim, and erring sight. + The wrathful god then plunges from above, + And, where in thickest waves the sparkles drove, + There lights; and wades thro’ fumes, and gropes his way, + Half sing’d, half stifled, till he grasps his prey. + The monster, spewing fruitless flames, he found; + He squeez’d his throat; he writh’d his neck around, + And in a knot his crippled members bound; + Then from their sockets tore his burning eyes: + Roll’d on a heap, the breathless robber lies. + The doors, unbarr’d, receive the rushing day, + And thoro’ lights disclose the ravish’d prey. + The bulls, redeem’d, breathe open air again. + Next, by the feet, they drag him from his den. + The wond’ring neighbourhood, with glad surprise, + Behold his shagged breast, his giant size, + His mouth that flames no more, and his extinguish’d eyes. + From that auspicious day, with rites divine, + We worship at the hero’s holy shrine. + Potitius first ordain’d these annual vows: + As priests, were added the Pinarian house, + Who rais’d this altar in the sacred shade, + Where honours, ever due, for ever shall be paid. + For these deserts, and this high virtue shown, + Ye warlike youths, your heads with garlands crown: + Fill high the goblets with a sparkling flood, + And with deep draughts invoke our common god.” + + This said, a double wreath Evander twin’d, + And poplars black and white his temples bind. + Then brims his ample bowl. With like design + The rest invoke the gods, with sprinkled wine. + Meantime the sun descended from the skies, + And the bright evening star began to rise. + And now the priests, Potitius at their head, + In skins of beasts involv’d, the long procession led; + Held high the flaming tapers in their hands, + As custom had prescrib’d their holy bands; + Then with a second course the tables load, + And with full chargers offer to the god. + The Salii sing, and cense his altars round + With Saban smoke, their heads with poplar bound + One choir of old, another of the young, + To dance, and bear the burthen of the song. + The lay records the labours, and the praise, + And all th’ immortal acts of Hercules: + First, how the mighty babe, when swath’d in bands, + The serpents strangled with his infant hands; + Then, as in years and matchless force he grew, + Th’ Oechalian walls, and Trojan, overthrew. + Besides, a thousand hazards they relate, + Procur’d by Juno’s and Eurystheus’ hate: + “Thy hands, unconquer’d hero, could subdue + The cloud-born Centaurs, and the monster crew: + Nor thy resistless arm the bull withstood, + Nor he, the roaring terror of the wood. + The triple porter of the Stygian seat, + With lolling tongue, lay fawning at thy feet, + And, seiz’d with fear, forgot his mangled meat. + Th’ infernal waters trembled at thy sight; + Thee, god, no face of danger could affright; + Not huge Typhoeus, nor th’ unnumber’d snake, + Increas’d with hissing heads, in Lerna’s lake. + Hail, Jove’s undoubted son! an added grace + To heav’n and the great author of thy race! + Receive the grateful off’rings which we pay, + And smile propitious on thy solemn day!” + In numbers thus they sung; above the rest, + The den and death of Cacus crown the feast. + The woods to hollow vales convey the sound, + The vales to hills, and hills the notes rebound. + The rites perform’d, the cheerful train retire. + + Betwixt young Pallas and his aged sire, + The Trojan pass’d, the city to survey, + And pleasing talk beguil’d the tedious way. + The stranger cast around his curious eyes, + New objects viewing still, with new surprise; + With greedy joy enquires of various things, + And acts and monuments of ancient kings. + Then thus the founder of the Roman tow’rs: + “These woods were first the seat of sylvan pow’rs, + Of Nymphs and Fauns, and salvage men, who took + Their birth from trunks of trees and stubborn oak. + Nor laws they knew, nor manners, nor the care + Of lab’ring oxen, or the shining share, + Nor arts of gain, nor what they gain’d to spare. + Their exercise the chase; the running flood + Supplied their thirst, the trees supplied their food. + Then Saturn came, who fled the pow’r of Jove, + Robb’d of his realms, and banish’d from above. + The men, dispers’d on hills, to towns he brought, + And laws ordain’d, and civil customs taught, + And Latium call’d the land where safe he lay + From his unduteous son, and his usurping sway. + With his mild empire, peace and plenty came; + And hence the golden times deriv’d their name. + A more degenerate and discolour’d age + Succeeded this, with avarice and rage. + Th’ Ausonians then, and bold Sicanians came; + And Saturn’s empire often chang’d the name. + Then kings, gigantic Tybris, and the rest, + With arbitrary sway the land oppress’d: + For Tiber’s flood was Albula before, + Till, from the tyrant’s fate, his name it bore. + I last arriv’d, driv’n from my native home + By fortune’s pow’r, and fate’s resistless doom. + Long toss’d on seas, I sought this happy land, + Warn’d by my mother nymph, and call’d by Heav’n’s command.” + + Thus, walking on, he spoke, and shew’d the gate, + Since call’d Carmental by the Roman state; + Where stood an altar, sacred to the name + Of old Carmenta, the prophetic dame, + Who to her son foretold th’ Aenean race, + Sublime in fame, and Rome’s imperial place: + Then shews the forest, which, in after times, + Fierce Romulus for perpetrated crimes + A sacred refuge made; with this, the shrine + Where Pan below the rock had rites divine: + Then tells of Argus’ death, his murder’d guest, + Whose grave and tomb his innocence attest. + Thence, to the steep Tarpeian rock he leads; + Now roof’d with gold, then thatch’d with homely reeds. + A reverent fear (such superstition reigns + Among the rude) ev’n then possess’d the swains. + Some god, they knew—what god, they could not tell— + Did there amidst the sacred horror dwell. + Th’ Arcadians thought him Jove; and said they saw + The mighty Thund’rer with majestic awe, + Who took his shield, and dealt his bolts around, + And scatter’d tempests on the teeming ground. + Then saw two heaps of ruins, (once they stood + Two stately towns, on either side the flood,) + Saturnia’s and Janiculum’s remains; + And either place the founder’s name retains. + Discoursing thus together, they resort + Where poor Evander kept his country court. + They view’d the ground of Rome’s litigious hall; + (Once oxen low’d, where now the lawyers bawl;) + Then, stooping, thro’ the narrow gate they press’d, + When thus the king bespoke his Trojan guest: + “Mean as it is, this palace, and this door, + Receiv’d Alcides, then a conqueror. + Dare to be poor; accept our homely food, + Which feasted him, and emulate a god.” + Then underneath a lowly roof he led + The weary prince, and laid him on a bed; + The stuffing leaves, with hides of bears o’erspread. + Now night had shed her silver dews around, + And with her sable wings embrac’d the ground, + When love’s fair goddess, anxious for her son, + (New tumults rising, and new wars begun,) + Couch’d with her husband in his golden bed, + With these alluring words invokes his aid; + And, that her pleasing speech his mind may move, + Inspires each accent with the charms of love: + “While cruel fate conspir’d with Grecian pow’rs, + To level with the ground the Trojan tow’rs, + I ask’d not aid th’ unhappy to restore, + Nor did the succour of thy skill implore; + Nor urg’d the labours of my lord in vain, + A sinking empire longer to sustain, + Tho’ much I ow’d to Priam’s house, and more + The dangers of Aeneas did deplore. + But now, by Jove’s command, and fate’s decree, + His race is doom’d to reign in Italy: + With humble suit I beg thy needful art, + O still propitious pow’r, that rules my heart! + A mother kneels a suppliant for her son. + By Thetis and Aurora thou wert won + To forge impenetrable shields, and grace + With fated arms a less illustrious race. + Behold, what haughty nations are combin’d + Against the relics of the Phrygian kind, + With fire and sword my people to destroy, + And conquer Venus twice, in conqu’ring Troy.” + She said; and straight her arms, of snowy hue, + About her unresolving husband threw. + Her soft embraces soon infuse desire; + His bones and marrow sudden warmth inspire; + And all the godhead feels the wonted fire. + Not half so swift the rattling thunder flies, + Or forky lightnings flash along the skies. + The goddess, proud of her successful wiles, + And conscious of her form, in secret smiles. + + Then thus the pow’r, obnoxious to her charms, + Panting, and half dissolving in her arms: + “Why seek you reasons for a cause so just, + Or your own beauties or my love distrust? + Long since, had you requir’d my helpful hand, + Th’ artificer and art you might command, + To labour arms for Troy: nor Jove, nor fate, + Confin’d their empire to so short a date. + And, if you now desire new wars to wage, + My skill I promise, and my pains engage. + Whatever melting metals can conspire, + Or breathing bellows, or the forming fire, + Is freely yours: your anxious fears remove, + And think no task is difficult to love.” + Trembling he spoke; and, eager of her charms, + He snatch’d the willing goddess to his arms; + Till in her lap infus’d, he lay possess’d + Of full desire, and sunk to pleasing rest. + Now when the night her middle race had rode, + And his first slumber had refresh’d the god— + The time when early housewives leave the bed; + When living embers on the hearth they spread, + Supply the lamp, and call the maids to rise;— + With yawning mouths, and with half-open’d eyes, + They ply the distaff by the winking light, + And to their daily labour add the night: + Thus frugally they earn their children’s bread, + And uncorrupted keep the nuptial bed— + Not less concern’d, nor at a later hour, + Rose from his downy couch the forging pow’r. + + Sacred to Vulcan’s name, an isle there lay, + Betwixt Sicilia’s coasts and Lipare, + Rais’d high on smoking rocks; and, deep below, + In hollow caves the fires of Aetna glow. + The Cyclops here their heavy hammers deal; + Loud strokes, and hissings of tormented steel, + Are heard around; the boiling waters roar, + And smoky flames thro’ fuming tunnels soar. + Hither the Father of the Fire, by night, + Thro’ the brown air precipitates his flight. + On their eternal anvils here he found + The brethren beating, and the blows go round. + A load of pointless thunder now there lies + Before their hands, to ripen for the skies: + These darts, for angry Jove, they daily cast; + Consum’d on mortals with prodigious waste. + Three rays of writhen rain, of fire three more, + Of winged southern winds and cloudy store + As many parts, the dreadful mixture frame; + And fears are added, and avenging flame. + Inferior ministers, for Mars, repair + His broken axletrees and blunted war, + And send him forth again with furbish’d arms, + To wake the lazy war with trumpets’ loud alarms. + The rest refresh the scaly snakes that fold + The shield of Pallas, and renew their gold. + Full on the crest the Gorgon’s head they place, + With eyes that roll in death, and with distorted face. + + “My sons,” said Vulcan, “set your tasks aside; + Your strength and master-skill must now be tried. + Arms for a hero forge; arms that require + Your force, your speed, and all your forming fire.” + He said. They set their former work aside, + And their new toils with eager haste divide. + A flood of molten silver, brass, and gold, + And deadly steel, in the large furnace roll’d; + Of this, their artful hands a shield prepare, + Alone sufficient to sustain the war. + Sev’n orbs within a spacious round they close: + One stirs the fire, and one the bellows blows. + The hissing steel is in the smithy drown’d; + The grot with beaten anvils groans around. + By turns their arms advance, in equal time; + By turns their hands descend, and hammers chime. + They turn the glowing mass with crooked tongs; + The fiery work proceeds, with rustic songs. + + While, at the Lemnian god’s command, they urge + Their labours thus, and ply th’ Aeolian forge, + The cheerful morn salutes Evander’s eyes, + And songs of chirping birds invite to rise. + He leaves his lowly bed: his buskins meet + Above his ankles; sandals sheathe his feet: + He sets his trusty sword upon his side, + And o’er his shoulder throws a panther’s hide. + Two menial dogs before their master press’d. + Thus clad, and guarded thus, he seeks his kingly guest. + Mindful of promis’d aid, he mends his pace, + But meets Aeneas in the middle space. + Young Pallas did his father’s steps attend, + And true Achates waited on his friend. + They join their hands; a secret seat they choose; + Th’ Arcadian first their former talk renews: + “Undaunted prince, I never can believe + The Trojan empire lost, while you survive. + Command th’ assistance of a faithful friend; + But feeble are the succours I can send. + Our narrow kingdom here the Tiber bounds; + That other side the Latian state surrounds, + Insults our walls, and wastes our fruitful grounds. + But mighty nations I prepare, to join + Their arms with yours, and aid your just design. + You come, as by your better genius sent, + And fortune seems to favour your intent. + Not far from hence there stands a hilly town, + Of ancient building, and of high renown, + Torn from the Tuscans by the Lydian race, + Who gave the name of Caere to the place, + Once Agyllina call’d. It flourish’d long, + In pride of wealth and warlike people strong, + Till curs’d Mezentius, in a fatal hour, + Assum’d the crown, with arbitrary pow’r. + What words can paint those execrable times, + The subjects’ suff’rings, and the tyrant’s crimes! + That blood, those murders, O ye gods, replace + On his own head, and on his impious race! + The living and the dead at his command + Were coupled, face to face, and hand to hand, + Till, chok’d with stench, in loath’d embraces tied, + The ling’ring wretches pin’d away and died. + Thus plung’d in ills, and meditating more— + The people’s patience, tir’d, no longer bore + The raging monster; but with arms beset + His house, and vengeance and destruction threat. + They fire his palace: while the flame ascends, + They force his guards, and execute his friends. + He cleaves the crowd, and, favour’d by the night, + To Turnus’ friendly court directs his flight. + By just revenge the Tuscans set on fire, + With arms, their king to punishment require: + Their num’rous troops, now muster’d on the strand, + My counsel shall submit to your command. + Their navy swarms upon the coasts; they cry + To hoist their anchors, but the gods deny. + An ancient augur, skill’d in future fate, + With these foreboding words restrains their hate: + ‘Ye brave in arms, ye Lydian blood, the flow’r + Of Tuscan youth, and choice of all their pow’r, + Whom just revenge against Mezentius arms, + To seek your tyrant’s death by lawful arms; + Know this: no native of our land may lead + This pow’rful people; seek a foreign head.’ + Aw’d with these words, in camps they still abide, + And wait with longing looks their promis’d guide. + Tarchon, the Tuscan chief, to me has sent + Their crown, and ev’ry regal ornament: + The people join their own with his desire; + And all my conduct, as their king, require. + But the chill blood that creeps within my veins, + And age, and listless limbs unfit for pains, + And a soul conscious of its own decay, + Have forc’d me to refuse imperial sway. + My Pallas were more fit to mount the throne, + And should, but he’s a Sabine mother’s son, + And half a native; but, in you, combine + A manly vigour, and a foreign line. + Where Fate and smiling Fortune shew the way, + Pursue the ready path to sov’reign sway. + The staff of my declining days, my son, + Shall make your good or ill success his own; + In fighting fields from you shall learn to dare, + And serve the hard apprenticeship of war; + Your matchless courage and your conduct view, + And early shall begin t’ admire and copy you. + Besides, two hundred horse he shall command; + Tho’ few, a warlike and well-chosen band. + These in my name are listed; and my son + As many more has added in his own.” + + Scarce had he said; Achates and his guest, + With downcast eyes, their silent grief express’d; + Who, short of succours, and in deep despair, + Shook at the dismal prospect of the war. + But his bright mother, from a breaking cloud, + To cheer her issue, thunder’d thrice aloud; + Thrice forky lightning flash’d along the sky, + And Tyrrhene trumpets thrice were heard on high. + Then, gazing up, repeated peals they hear; + And, in a heav’n serene, refulgent arms appear: + Redd’ning the skies, and glitt’ring all around, + The temper’d metals clash, and yield a silver sound. + The rest stood trembling, struck with awe divine; + Aeneas only, conscious to the sign, + Presag’d th’ event, and joyful view’d, above, + Th’ accomplish’d promise of the Queen of Love. + Then, to th’ Arcadian king: “This prodigy + (Dismiss your fear) belongs alone to me. + Heav’n calls me to the war: th’ expected sign + Is giv’n of promis’d aid, and arms divine. + My goddess mother, whose indulgent care + Foresaw the dangers of the growing war, + This omen gave, when bright Vulcanian arms, + Fated from force of steel by Stygian charms, + Suspended, shone on high: she then foreshow’d + Approaching fights, and fields to float in blood. + Turnus shall dearly pay for faith forsworn; + And corps, and swords, and shields, on Tiber borne, + Shall choke his flood: now sound the loud alarms; + And, Latian troops, prepare your perjur’d arms.” + + He said, and, rising from his homely throne, + The solemn rites of Hercules begun, + And on his altars wak’d the sleeping fires; + Then cheerful to his household gods retires; + There offers chosen sheep. Th’ Arcadian king + And Trojan youth the same oblations bring. + Next, of his men and ships he makes review; + Draws out the best and ablest of the crew. + Down with the falling stream the refuse run, + To raise with joyful news his drooping son. + Steeds are prepar’d to mount the Trojan band, + Who wait their leader to the Tyrrhene land. + A sprightly courser, fairer than the rest, + The king himself presents his royal guest: + A lion’s hide his back and limbs infold, + Precious with studded work, and paws of gold. + Fame thro’ the little city spreads aloud + Th’ intended march, amid the fearful crowd: + The matrons beat their breasts, dissolve in tears, + And double their devotion in their fears. + The war at hand appears with more affright, + And rises ev’ry moment to the sight. + + Then old Evander, with a close embrace, + Strain’d his departing friend; and tears o’erflow his face. + “Would Heav’n,” said he, “my strength and youth recall, + Such as I was beneath Praeneste’s wall; + Then when I made the foremost foes retire, + And set whole heaps of conquer’d shields on fire; + When Herilus in single fight I slew, + Whom with three lives Feronia did endue; + And thrice I sent him to the Stygian shore, + Till the last ebbing soul return’d no more— + Such if I stood renew’d, not these alarms, + Nor death, should rend me from my Pallas’ arms; + Nor proud Mezentius, thus unpunish’d, boast + His rapes and murders on the Tuscan coast. + Ye gods, and mighty Jove, in pity bring + Relief, and hear a father and a king! + If fate and you reserve these eyes, to see + My son return with peace and victory; + If the lov’d boy shall bless his father’s sight; + If we shall meet again with more delight; + Then draw my life in length; let me sustain, + In hopes of his embrace, the worst of pain. + But if your hard decrees—which, O! I dread— + Have doom’d to death his undeserving head; + This, O this very moment, let me die! + While hopes and fears in equal balance lie; + While, yet possess’d of all his youthful charms, + I strain him close within these aged arms; + Before that fatal news my soul shall wound!” + He said, and, swooning, sunk upon the ground. + His servants bore him off, and softly laid + His languish’d limbs upon his homely bed. + + The horsemen march; the gates are open’d wide; + Aeneas at their head, Achates by his side. + Next these, the Trojan leaders rode along; + Last follows in the rear th’ Arcadian throng. + Young Pallas shone conspicuous o’er the rest; + Gilded his arms, embroider’d was his vest. + So, from the seas, exerts his radiant head + The star by whom the lights of heav’n are led; + Shakes from his rosy locks the pearly dews, + Dispels the darkness, and the day renews. + The trembling wives the walls and turrets crowd, + And follow, with their eyes, the dusty cloud, + Which winds disperse by fits, and shew from far + The blaze of arms, and shields, and shining war. + The troops, drawn up in beautiful array, + O’er heathy plains pursue the ready way. + Repeated peals of shouts are heard around; + The neighing coursers answer to the sound, + And shake with horny hoofs the solid ground. + + A greenwood shade, for long religion known, + Stands by the streams that wash the Tuscan town, + Incompass’d round with gloomy hills above, + Which add a holy horror to the grove. + The first inhabitants of Grecian blood, + That sacred forest to Silvanus vow’d, + The guardian of their flocks and fields; and pay + Their due devotions on his annual day. + Not far from hence, along the river’s side, + In tents secure, the Tuscan troops abide, + By Tarchon led. Now, from a rising ground, + Aeneas cast his wond’ring eyes around, + And all the Tyrrhene army had in sight, + Stretch’d on the spacious plain from left to right. + Thither his warlike train the Trojan led, + Refresh’d his men, and wearied horses fed. + + Meantime the mother goddess, crown’d with charms, + Breaks thro’ the clouds, and brings the fated arms. + Within a winding vale she finds her son, + On the cool river’s banks, retir’d alone. + She shews her heav’nly form without disguise, + And gives herself to his desiring eyes. + “Behold,” she said, “perform’d in ev’ry part, + My promise made, and Vulcan’s labour’d art. + Now seek, secure, the Latian enemy, + And haughty Turnus to the field defy.” + She said; and, having first her son embrac’d, + The radiant arms beneath an oak she plac’d, + Proud of the gift, he roll’d his greedy sight + Around the work, and gaz’d with vast delight. + He lifts, he turns, he poises, and admires + The crested helm, that vomits radiant fires: + His hands the fatal sword and corslet hold, + One keen with temper’d steel, one stiff with gold: + Both ample, flaming both, and beamy bright; + So shines a cloud, when edg’d with adverse light. + He shakes the pointed spear, and longs to try + The plated cuishes on his manly thigh; + But most admires the shield’s mysterious mould, + And Roman triumphs rising on the gold: + For these, emboss’d, the heav’nly smith had wrought + (Not in the rolls of future fate untaught) + The wars in order, and the race divine + Of warriors issuing from the Julian line. + The cave of Mars was dress’d with mossy greens: + There, by the wolf, were laid the martial twins. + Intrepid on her swelling dugs they hung; + The foster dam loll’d out her fawning tongue: + They suck’d secure, while, bending back her head, + She lick’d their tender limbs, and form’d them as they fed. + Not far from thence new Rome appears, with games + Projected for the rape of Sabine dames. + The pit resounds with shrieks; a war succeeds, + For breach of public faith, and unexampled deeds. + Here for revenge the Sabine troops contend; + The Romans there with arms the prey defend. + Wearied with tedious war, at length they cease; + And both the kings and kingdoms plight the peace. + The friendly chiefs before Jove’s altar stand, + Both arm’d, with each a charger in his hand: + A fatted sow for sacrifice is led, + With imprecations on the perjur’d head. + Near this, the traitor Metius, stretch’d between + Four fiery steeds, is dragg’d along the green, + By Tullus’ doom: the brambles drink his blood, + And his torn limbs are left the vulture’s food. + There, Porsena to Rome proud Tarquin brings, + And would by force restore the banish’d kings. + One tyrant for his fellow-tyrant fights; + The Roman youth assert their native rights. + Before the town the Tuscan army lies, + To win by famine, or by fraud surprise. + Their king, half-threat’ning, half-disdaining stood, + While Cocles broke the bridge, and stemm’d the flood. + The captive maids there tempt the raging tide, + Scap’d from their chains, with Cloelia for their guide. + High on a rock heroic Manlius stood, + To guard the temple, and the temple’s god. + Then Rome was poor; and there you might behold + The palace thatch’d with straw, now roof’d with gold. + The silver goose before the shining gate + There flew, and, by her cackle, sav’d the state. + She told the Gauls’ approach; th’ approaching Gauls, + Obscure in night, ascend, and seize the walls. + The gold dissembled well their yellow hair, + And golden chains on their white necks they wear. + Gold are their vests; long Alpine spears they wield, + And their left arm sustains a length of shield. + Hard by, the leaping Salian priests advance; + And naked thro’ the streets the mad Luperci dance, + In caps of wool; the targets dropp’d from heav’n. + Here modest matrons, in soft litters driv’n, + To pay their vows in solemn pomp appear, + And odorous gums in their chaste hands they bear. + Far hence remov’d, the Stygian seats are seen; + Pains of the damn’d, and punish’d Catiline + Hung on a rock—the traitor; and, around, + The Furies hissing from the nether ground. + Apart from these, the happy souls he draws, + And Cato’s holy ghost dispensing laws. + + Betwixt the quarters flows a golden sea; + But foaming surges there in silver play. + The dancing dolphins with their tails divide + The glitt’ring waves, and cut the precious tide. + Amid the main, two mighty fleets engage + Their brazen beaks, oppos’d with equal rage. + Actium surveys the well-disputed prize; + Leucate’s wat’ry plain with foamy billows fries. + Young Caesar, on the stern, in armour bright, + Here leads the Romans and their gods to fight: + His beamy temples shoot their flames afar, + And o’er his head is hung the Julian star. + Agrippa seconds him, with prosp’rous gales, + And, with propitious gods, his foes assails: + A naval crown, that binds his manly brows, + The happy fortune of the fight foreshows. + Rang’d on the line oppos’d, Antonius brings + Barbarian aids, and troops of Eastern kings; + Th’ Arabians near, and Bactrians from afar, + Of tongues discordant, and a mingled war: + And, rich in gaudy robes, amidst the strife, + His ill fate follows him—th’ Egyptian wife. + Moving they fight; with oars and forky prows + The froth is gather’d, and the water glows. + It seems, as if the Cyclades again + Were rooted up, and justled in the main; + Or floating mountains floating mountains meet; + Such is the fierce encounter of the fleet. + Fireballs are thrown, and pointed jav’lins fly; + The fields of Neptune take a purple dye. + The queen herself, amidst the loud alarms, + With cymbals toss’d her fainting soldiers warms— + Fool as she was! who had not yet divin’d + Her cruel fate, nor saw the snakes behind. + Her country gods, the monsters of the sky, + Great Neptune, Pallas, and Love’s Queen defy: + The dog Anubis barks, but barks in vain, + Nor longer dares oppose th’ ethereal train. + Mars in the middle of the shining shield + Is grav’d, and strides along the liquid field. + The Dirae souse from heav’n with swift descent; + And Discord, dyed in blood, with garments rent, + Divides the prease: her steps Bellona treads, + And shakes her iron rod above their heads. + This seen, Apollo, from his Actian height, + Pours down his arrows; at whose winged flight + The trembling Indians and Egyptians yield, + And soft Sabaeans quit the wat’ry field. + The fatal mistress hoists her silken sails, + And, shrinking from the fight, invokes the gales. + Aghast she looks, and heaves her breast for breath, + Panting, and pale with fear of future death. + The god had figur’d her as driv’n along + By winds and waves, and scudding thro’ the throng. + Just opposite, sad Nilus opens wide + His arms and ample bosom to the tide, + And spreads his mantle o’er the winding coast, + In which he wraps his queen, and hides the flying host. + The victor to the gods his thanks express’d, + And Rome, triumphant, with his presence bless’d. + Three hundred temples in the town he plac’d; + With spoils and altars ev’ry temple grac’d. + Three shining nights, and three succeeding days, + The fields resound with shouts, the streets with praise, + The domes with songs, the theatres with plays. + All altars flame: before each altar lies, + Drench’d in his gore, the destin’d sacrifice. + Great Caesar sits sublime upon his throne, + Before Apollo’s porch of Parian stone; + Accepts the presents vow’d for victory, + And hangs the monumental crowns on high. + Vast crowds of vanquish’d nations march along, + Various in arms, in habit, and in tongue. + Here, Mulciber assigns the proper place + For Carians, and th’ ungirt Numidian race; + Then ranks the Thracians in the second row, + With Scythians, expert in the dart and bow. + And here the tam’d Euphrates humbly glides, + And there the Rhine submits her swelling tides, + And proud Araxes, whom no bridge could bind; + The Danes’ unconquer’d offspring march behind, + And Morini, the last of humankind. + + These figures, on the shield divinely wrought, + By Vulcan labour’d, and by Venus brought, + With joy and wonder fill the hero’s thought. + Unknown the names, he yet admires the grace, + And bears aloft the fame and fortune of his race. + + + + BOOK IX + + THE ARGUMENT. + + + Turnus takes advantage of Aeneas’s absence, fires some of his + ships (which are transformed into sea nymphs,) and assaults his + camp. The Trojans, reduced to the last extremities, send Ninus + and Euryalus to recall Aeneas; which furnishes the poet with that + admirable episode of their friendship, generosity, and the + conclusion of their adventure. + + + While these affairs in distant places pass’d, + The various Iris Juno sends with haste, + To find bold Turnus, who, with anxious thought, + The secret shade of his great grandsire sought. + Retir’d alone she found the daring man, + And op’d her rosy lips, and thus began: + “What none of all the gods could grant thy vows, + That, Turnus, this auspicious day bestows. + Aeneas, gone to seek th’ Arcadian prince, + Has left the Trojan camp without defence; + And, short of succours there, employs his pains + In parts remote to raise the Tuscan swains. + Now snatch an hour that favours thy designs; + Unite thy forces, and attack their lines.” + This said, on equal wings she pois’d her weight, + And form’d a radiant rainbow in her flight. + + The Daunian hero lifts his hands and eyes, + And thus invokes the goddess as she flies: + “Iris, the grace of heav’n, what pow’r divine + Has sent thee down, thro’ dusky clouds to shine? + See, they divide; immortal day appears, + And glitt’ring planets dancing in their spheres! + With joy, these happy omens I obey, + And follow to the war the god that leads the way.” + Thus having said, as by the brook he stood, + He scoop’d the water from the crystal flood; + Then with his hands the drops to heav’n he throws, + And loads the pow’rs above with offer’d vows. + + Now march the bold confed’rates thro’ the plain, + Well hors’d, well clad; a rich and shining train. + Messapus leads the van; and, in the rear, + The sons of Tyrrheus in bright arms appear. + In the main battle, with his flaming crest, + The mighty Turnus tow’rs above the rest. + Silent they move, majestically slow, + Like ebbing Nile, or Ganges in his flow. + The Trojans view the dusty cloud from far, + And the dark menace of the distant war. + Caicus from the rampire saw it rise, + Black’ning the fields, and thick’ning thro’ the skies. + Then to his fellows thus aloud he calls: + “What rolling clouds, my friends, approach the walls? + Arm! arm! and man the works! prepare your spears + And pointed darts! the Latian host appears.” + + Thus warn’d, they shut their gates; with shouts ascend + The bulwarks, and, secure, their foes attend: + For their wise gen’ral, with foreseeing care, + Had charg’d them not to tempt the doubtful war, + Nor, tho’ provok’d, in open fields advance, + But close within their lines attend their chance. + Unwilling, yet they keep the strict command, + And sourly wait in arms the hostile band. + The fiery Turnus flew before the rest: + A piebald steed of Thracian strain he press’d; + His helm of massy gold, and crimson was his crest. + With twenty horse to second his designs, + An unexpected foe, he fac’d the lines. + “Is there,” he said, “in arms, who bravely dare + His leader’s honour and his danger share?” + Then spurring on, his brandish’d dart he threw, + In sign of war: applauding shouts ensue. + + Amaz’d to find a dastard race, that run + Behind the rampires and the battle shun, + He rides around the camp, with rolling eyes, + And stops at ev’ry post, and ev’ry passage tries. + So roams the nightly wolf about the fold: + Wet with descending show’rs, and stiff with cold, + He howls for hunger, and he grins for pain, + (His gnashing teeth are exercis’d in vain,) + And, impotent of anger, finds no way + In his distended paws to grasp the prey. + The mothers listen; but the bleating lambs + Securely swig the dug, beneath the dams. + Thus ranges eager Turnus o’er the plain. + Sharp with desire, and furious with disdain; + Surveys each passage with a piercing sight, + To force his foes in equal field to fight. + Thus while he gazes round, at length he spies, + Where, fenc’d with strong redoubts, their navy lies, + Close underneath the walls; the washing tide + Secures from all approach this weaker side. + He takes the wish’d occasion, fills his hand + With ready fires, and shakes a flaming brand. + Urg’d by his presence, ev’ry soul is warm’d, + And ev’ry hand with kindled fires is arm’d. + From the fir’d pines the scatt’ring sparkles fly; + Fat vapours, mix’d with flames, involve the sky. + What pow’r, O Muses, could avert the flame + Which threaten’d, in the fleet, the Trojan name? + Tell: for the fact, thro’ length of time obscure, + Is hard to faith; yet shall the fame endure. + + ’Tis said that, when the chief prepar’d his flight, + And fell’d his timber from Mount Ida’s height, + The grandam goddess then approach’d her son, + And with a mother’s majesty begun: + “Grant me,” she said, “the sole request I bring, + Since conquer’d heav’n has own’d you for its king. + On Ida’s brows, for ages past, there stood, + With firs and maples fill’d, a shady wood; + And on the summit rose a sacred grove, + Where I was worship’d with religious love. + Those woods, that holy grove, my long delight, + I gave the Trojan prince, to speed his flight. + Now, fill’d with fear, on their behalf I come; + Let neither winds o’erset, nor waves intomb + The floating forests of the sacred pine; + But let it be their safety to be mine.” + Then thus replied her awful son, who rolls + The radiant stars, and heav’n and earth controls: + “How dare you, mother, endless date demand + For vessels moulded by a mortal hand? + What then is fate? Shall bold Aeneas ride, + Of safety certain, on th’ uncertain tide? + Yet, what I can, I grant; when, wafted o’er, + The chief is landed on the Latian shore, + Whatever ships escape the raging storms, + At my command shall change their fading forms + To nymphs divine, and plow the wat’ry way, + Like Dotis and the daughters of the sea.” + To seal his sacred vow, by Styx he swore, + The lake of liquid pitch, the dreary shore, + And Phlegethon’s innavigable flood, + And the black regions of his brother god. + He said; and shook the skies with his imperial nod. + + And now at length the number’d hours were come, + Prefix’d by fate’s irrevocable doom, + When the great Mother of the Gods was free + To save her ships, and finish Jove’s decree. + First, from the quarter of the morn, there sprung + A light that sign’d the heav’ns, and shot along; + Then from a cloud, fring’d round with golden fires, + Were timbrels heard, and Berecynthian choirs; + And, last, a voice, with more than mortal sounds, + Both hosts, in arms oppos’d, with equal horror wounds: + “O Trojan race, your needless aid forbear, + And know, my ships are my peculiar care. + With greater ease the bold Rutulian may, + With hissing brands, attempt to burn the sea, + Than singe my sacred pines. But you, my charge, + Loos’d from your crooked anchors, launch at large, + Exalted each a nymph: forsake the sand, + And swim the seas, at Cybele’s command.” + No sooner had the goddess ceas’d to speak, + When, lo! th’ obedient ships their haulsers break; + And, strange to tell, like dolphins, in the main + They plunge their prows, and dive, and spring again: + As many beauteous maids the billows sweep, + As rode before tall vessels on the deep. + + The foes, surpris’d with wonder, stood aghast; + Messapus curb’d his fiery courser’s haste; + Old Tiber roar’d, and, raising up his head, + Call’d back his waters to their oozy bed. + Turnus alone, undaunted, bore the shock, + And with these words his trembling troops bespoke: + “These monsters for the Trojans’ fate are meant, + And are by Jove for black presages sent. + He takes the cowards’ last relief away; + For fly they cannot, and, constrain’d to stay, + Must yield unfought, a base inglorious prey. + The liquid half of all the globe is lost; + Heav’n shuts the seas, and we secure the coast. + Theirs is no more than that small spot of ground + Which myriads of our martial men surround. + Their fates I fear not, or vain oracles. + ’Twas giv’n to Venus they should cross the seas, + And land secure upon the Latian plains: + Their promis’d hour is pass’d, and mine remains. + ’Tis in the fate of Turnus to destroy, + With sword and fire, the faithless race of Troy. + Shall such affronts as these alone inflame + The Grecian brothers, and the Grecian name? + My cause and theirs is one; a fatal strife, + And final ruin, for a ravish’d wife. + Was ’t not enough, that, punish’d for the crime, + They fell; but will they fall a second time? + One would have thought they paid enough before, + To curse the costly sex, and durst offend no more. + Can they securely trust their feeble wall, + A slight partition, a thin interval, + Betwixt their fate and them; when Troy, tho’ built + By hands divine, yet perish’d by their guilt? + Lend me, for once, my friends, your valiant hands, + To force from out their lines these dastard bands. + Less than a thousand ships will end this war, + Nor Vulcan needs his fated arms prepare. + Let all the Tuscans, all th’ Arcadians, join! + Nor these, nor those, shall frustrate my design. + Let them not fear the treasons of the night, + The robb’d Palladium, the pretended flight: + Our onset shall be made in open light. + No wooden engine shall their town betray; + Fires they shall have around, but fires by day. + No Grecian babes before their camp appear, + Whom Hector’s arms detain’d to the tenth tardy year. + Now, since the sun is rolling to the west, + Give we the silent night to needful rest: + Refresh your bodies, and your arms prepare; + The morn shall end the small remains of war.” + + The post of honour to Messapus falls, + To keep the nightly guard, to watch the walls, + To pitch the fires at distances around, + And close the Trojans in their scanty ground. + Twice seven Rutulian captains ready stand, + And twice seven hundred horse these chiefs command; + All clad in shining arms the works invest, + Each with a radiant helm and waving crest. + Stretch’d at their length, they press the grassy ground; + They laugh, they sing, (the jolly bowls go round,) + With lights and cheerful fires renew the day, + And pass the wakeful night in feasts and play. + + The Trojans, from above, their foes beheld, + And with arm’d legions all the rampires fill’d. + Seiz’d with affright, their gates they first explore; + Join works to works with bridges, tow’r to tow’r: + Thus all things needful for defence abound. + Mnestheus and brave Seresthus walk the round, + Commission’d by their absent prince to share + The common danger, and divide the care. + The soldiers draw their lots, and, as they fall, + By turns relieve each other on the wall. + + Nigh where the foes their utmost guards advance, + To watch the gate was warlike Nisus’ chance. + His father Hyrtacus of noble blood; + His mother was a huntress of the wood, + And sent him to the wars. Well could he bear + His lance in fight, and dart the flying spear, + But better skill’d unerring shafts to send. + Beside him stood Euryalus, his friend: + Euryalus, than whom the Trojan host + No fairer face, or sweeter air, could boast. + Scarce had the down to shade his cheeks begun. + One was their care, and their delight was one: + One common hazard in the war they shar’d, + And now were both by choice upon the guard. + + Then Nisus thus: “Or do the gods inspire + This warmth, or make we gods of our desire? + A gen’rous ardour boils within my breast, + Eager of action, enemy to rest: + This urges me to fight, and fires my mind + To leave a memorable name behind. + Thou see’st the foe secure; how faintly shine + Their scatter’d fires! the most, in sleep supine + Along the ground, an easy conquest lie: + The wakeful few the fuming flagon ply; + All hush’d around. Now hear what I revolve— + A thought unripe—and scarcely yet resolve. + Our absent prince both camp and council mourn; + By message both would hasten his return: + If they confer what I demand on thee, + (For fame is recompense enough for me,) + Methinks, beneath yon hill, I have espied + A way that safely will my passage guide.” + + Euryalus stood list’ning while he spoke, + With love of praise and noble envy struck; + Then to his ardent friend expos’d his mind: + “All this, alone, and leaving me behind! + Am I unworthy, Nisus, to be join’d? + Think’st thou I can my share of glory yield, + Or send thee unassisted to the field? + Not so my father taught my childhood arms; + Born in a siege, and bred among alarms! + Nor is my youth unworthy of my friend, + Nor of the heav’n-born hero I attend. + The thing call’d life, with ease I can disclaim, + And think it over-sold to purchase fame.” + + Then Nisus thus: “Alas! thy tender years + Would minister new matter to my fears. + So may the gods, who view this friendly strife, + Restore me to thy lov’d embrace with life, + Condemn’d to pay my vows, (as sure I trust,) + This thy request is cruel and unjust. + But if some chance—as many chances are, + And doubtful hazards, in the deeds of war— + If one should reach my head, there let it fall, + And spare thy life; I would not perish all. + Thy bloomy youth deserves a longer date: + Live thou to mourn thy love’s unhappy fate; + To bear my mangled body from the foe, + Or buy it back, and fun’ral rites bestow. + Or, if hard fortune shall those dues deny, + Thou canst at least an empty tomb supply. + O let not me the widow’s tears renew! + Nor let a mother’s curse my name pursue: + Thy pious parent, who, for love of thee, + Forsook the coasts of friendly Sicily, + Her age committing to the seas and wind, + When ev’ry weary matron stay’d behind.” + To this, Euryalus: “You plead in vain, + And but protract the cause you cannot gain. + No more delays, but haste!” With that, he wakes + The nodding watch; each to his office takes. + The guard reliev’d, the gen’rous couple went + To find the council at the royal tent. + + All creatures else forgot their daily care, + And sleep, the common gift of nature, share; + Except the Trojan peers, who wakeful sate + In nightly council for th’ indanger’d state. + They vote a message to their absent chief, + Shew their distress, and beg a swift relief. + Amid the camp a silent seat they chose, + Remote from clamour, and secure from foes. + On their left arms their ample shields they bear, + The right reclin’d upon the bending spear. + Now Nisus and his friend approach the guard, + And beg admission, eager to be heard: + Th’ affair important, not to be deferr’d. + Ascanius bids ’em be conducted in, + Ord’ring the more experienc’d to begin. + Then Nisus thus: “Ye fathers, lend your ears; + Nor judge our bold attempt beyond our years. + The foe, securely drench’d in sleep and wine, + Neglect their watch; the fires but thinly shine; + And where the smoke in cloudy vapours flies, + Cov’ring the plain, and curling to the skies, + Betwixt two paths, which at the gate divide, + Close by the sea, a passage we have spied, + Which will our way to great Aeneas guide. + Expect each hour to see him safe again, + Loaded with spoils of foes in battle slain. + Snatch we the lucky minute while we may; + Nor can we be mistaken in the way; + For, hunting in the vale, we both have seen + The rising turrets, and the stream between, + And know the winding course, with ev’ry ford.” + + He ceas’d; and old Alethes took the word: + “Our country gods, in whom our trust we place, + Will yet from ruin save the Trojan race, + While we behold such dauntless worth appear + In dawning youth, and souls so void of fear.” + Then into tears of joy the father broke; + Each in his longing arms by turns he took; + Panted and paus’d; and thus again he spoke: + “Ye brave young men, what equal gifts can we, + In recompense of such desert, decree? + The greatest, sure, and best you can receive, + The gods and your own conscious worth will give. + The rest our grateful gen’ral will bestow, + And young Ascanius till his manhood owe.” + + “And I, whose welfare in my father lies,” + Ascanius adds, “by the great deities, + By my dear country, by my household gods, + By hoary Vesta’s rites and dark abodes, + Adjure you both, (on you my fortune stands; + That and my faith I plight into your hands,) + Make me but happy in his safe return, + Whose wanted presence I can only mourn; + Your common gift shall two large goblets be + Of silver, wrought with curious imagery, + And high emboss’d, which, when old Priam reign’d, + My conqu’ring sire at sack’d Arisba gain’d; + And more, two tripods cast in antique mould, + With two great talents of the finest gold; + Beside a costly bowl, ingrav’d with art, + Which Dido gave, when first she gave her heart. + But, if in conquer’d Italy we reign, + When spoils by lot the victor shall obtain— + Thou saw’st the courser by proud Turnus press’d: + That, Nisus, and his arms, and nodding crest, + And shield, from chance exempt, shall be thy share: + Twelve lab’ring slaves, twelve handmaids young and fair + All clad in rich attire, and train’d with care; + And, last, a Latian field with fruitful plains, + And a large portion of the king’s domains. + But thou, whose years are more to mine allied, + No fate my vow’d affection shall divide + From thee, heroic youth! Be wholly mine; + Take full possession; all my soul is thine. + One faith, one fame, one fate, shall both attend; + My life’s companion, and my bosom friend: + My peace shall be committed to thy care, + And to thy conduct my concerns in war.” + + Then thus the young Euryalus replied: + “Whatever fortune, good or bad, betide, + The same shall be my age, as now my youth; + No time shall find me wanting to my truth. + This only from your goodness let me gain + (And, this ungranted, all rewards are vain) + Of Priam’s royal race my mother came— + And sure the best that ever bore the name— + Whom neither Troy nor Sicily could hold + From me departing, but, o’erspent and old, + My fate she follow’d. Ignorant of this + (Whatever) danger, neither parting kiss, + Nor pious blessing taken, her I leave, + And in this only act of all my life deceive. + By this right hand and conscious night I swear, + My soul so sad a farewell could not bear. + Be you her comfort; fill my vacant place + (Permit me to presume so great a grace) + Support her age, forsaken and distress’d. + That hope alone will fortify my breast + Against the worst of fortunes, and of fears.” + He said. The mov’d assistants melt in tears. + + Then thus Ascanius, wonderstruck to see + That image of his filial piety: + “So great beginnings, in so green an age, + Exact the faith which I again engage. + Thy mother all the dues shall justly claim, + Creusa had, and only want the name. + Whate’er event thy bold attempt shall have, + ’Tis merit to have borne a son so brave. + Now by my head, a sacred oath, I swear, + (My father us’d it,) what, returning here + Crown’d with success, I for thyself prepare, + That, if thou fail, shall thy lov’d mother share.” + + He said, and weeping, while he spoke the word, + From his broad belt he drew a shining sword, + Magnificent with gold. Lycaon made, + And in an ivory scabbard sheath’d the blade. + This was his gift. Great Mnestheus gave his friend + A lion’s hide, his body to defend; + And good Alethes furnish’d him, beside, + With his own trusty helm, of temper tried. + + Thus arm’d they went. The noble Trojans wait + Their issuing forth, and follow to the gate + With prayers and vows. Above the rest appears + Ascanius, manly far beyond his years, + And messages committed to their care, + Which all in winds were lost, and flitting air. + + The trenches first they pass’d; then took their way + Where their proud foes in pitch’d pavilions lay; + To many fatal, ere themselves were slain. + They found the careless host dispers’d upon the plain, + Who, gorg’d, and drunk with wine, supinely snore. + Unharness’d chariots stand along the shore: + Amidst the wheels and reins, the goblet by, + A medley of debauch and war, they lie. + Observing Nisus shew’d his friend the sight: + “Behold a conquest gain’d without a fight. + Occasion offers, and I stand prepar’d; + There lies our way; be thou upon the guard, + And look around, while I securely go, + And hew a passage thro’ the sleeping foe.” + Softly he spoke; then striding took his way, + With his drawn sword, where haughty Rhamnes lay; + His head rais’d high on tapestry beneath, + And heaving from his breast, he drew his breath; + A king and prophet, by King Turnus lov’d: + But fate by prescience cannot be remov’d. + Him and his sleeping slaves he slew; then spies + Where Remus, with his rich retinue, lies. + His armour-bearer first, and next he kills + His charioteer, intrench’d betwixt the wheels + And his lov’d horses; last invades their lord; + Full on his neck he drives the fatal sword: + The gasping head flies off; a purple flood + Flows from the trunk, that welters in the blood, + Which, by the spurning heels dispers’d around, + The bed besprinkles and bedews the ground. + Lamus the bold, and Lamyrus the strong, + He slew, and then Serranus fair and young. + From dice and wine the youth retir’d to rest, + And puff’d the fumy god from out his breast: + Ev’n then he dreamt of drink and lucky play— + More lucky, had it lasted till the day. + The famish’d lion thus, with hunger bold, + O’erleaps the fences of the nightly fold, + And tears the peaceful flocks: with silent awe + Trembling they lie, and pant beneath his paw. + + Nor with less rage Euryalus employs + The wrathful sword, or fewer foes destroys; + But on th’ ignoble crowd his fury flew; + He Fadus, Hebesus, and Rhoetus slew. + Oppress’d with heavy sleep the former fell, + But Rhoetus wakeful, and observing all: + Behind a spacious jar he slink’d for fear; + The fatal iron found and reach’d him there; + For, as he rose, it pierc’d his naked side, + And, reeking, thence return’d in crimson dyed. + The wound pours out a stream of wine and blood; + The purple soul comes floating in the flood. + + Now, where Messapus quarter’d, they arrive. + The fires were fainting there, and just alive; + The warrior-horses, tied in order, fed. + Nisus observ’d the discipline, and said: + “Our eager thirst of blood may both betray; + And see the scatter’d streaks of dawning day, + Foe to nocturnal thefts. No more, my friend; + Here let our glutted execution end. + A lane thro’ slaughter’d bodies we have made.” + The bold Euryalus, tho’ loth, obey’d. + Of arms, and arras, and of plate, they find + A precious load; but these they leave behind. + Yet, fond of gaudy spoils, the boy would stay + To make the rich caparison his prey, + Which on the steed of conquer’d Rhamnes lay. + Nor did his eyes less longingly behold + The girdle-belt, with nails of burnish’d gold. + This present Caedicus the rich bestow’d + On Remulus, when friendship first they vow’d, + And, absent, join’d in hospitable ties: + He, dying, to his heir bequeath’d the prize; + Till, by the conqu’ring Ardean troops oppress’d, + He fell; and they the glorious gift possess’d. + These glitt’ring spoils (now made the victor’s gain) + He to his body suits, but suits in vain: + Messapus’ helm he finds among the rest, + And laces on, and wears the waving crest. + Proud of their conquest, prouder of their prey, + They leave the camp, and take the ready way. + + But far they had not pass’d, before they spied + Three hundred horse, with Volscens for their guide. + The queen a legion to King Turnus sent; + But the swift horse the slower foot prevent, + And now, advancing, sought the leader’s tent. + They saw the pair; for, thro’ the doubtful shade, + His shining helm Euryalus betray’d, + On which the moon with full reflection play’d. + “’Tis not for naught,” cried Volscens from the crowd, + “These men go there;” then rais’d his voice aloud: + “Stand! stand! why thus in arms? And whither bent? + From whence, to whom, and on what errand sent?” + Silent they scud away, and haste their flight + To neighb’ring woods, and trust themselves to night. + The speedy horse all passages belay, + And spur their smoking steeds to cross their way, + And watch each entrance of the winding wood. + Black was the forest: thick with beech it stood, + Horrid with fern, and intricate with thorn; + Few paths of human feet, or tracks of beasts, were worn. + The darkness of the shades, his heavy prey, + And fear, misled the younger from his way. + But Nisus hit the turns with happier haste, + And, thoughtless of his friend, the forest pass’d, + And Alban plains, from Alba’s name so call’d, + Where King Latinus then his oxen stall’d; + Till, turning at the length, he stood his ground, + And miss’d his friend, and cast his eyes around: + “Ah wretch!” he cried, “where have I left behind + Th’ unhappy youth? where shall I hope to find? + Or what way take?” Again he ventures back, + And treads the mazes of his former track. + He winds the wood, and, list’ning, hears the noise + Of tramping coursers, and the riders’ voice. + The sound approach’d; and suddenly he view’d + The foes inclosing, and his friend pursued, + Forelaid and taken, while he strove in vain + The shelter of the friendly shades to gain. + What should he next attempt? what arms employ, + What fruitless force, to free the captive boy? + Or desperate should he rush and lose his life, + With odds oppress’d, in such unequal strife? + + Resolv’d at length, his pointed spear he shook; + And, casting on the moon a mournful look: + “Guardian of groves, and goddess of the night, + Fair queen,” he said, “direct my dart aright. + If e’er my pious father, for my sake, + Did grateful off’rings on thy altars make, + Or I increas’d them with my sylvan toils, + And hung thy holy roofs with savage spoils, + Give me to scatter these.” Then from his ear + He pois’d, and aim’d, and launch’d the trembling spear. + The deadly weapon, hissing from the grove, + Impetuous on the back of Sulmo drove; + Pierc’d his thin armour, drank his vital blood, + And in his body left the broken wood. + He staggers round; his eyeballs roll in death, + And with short sobs he gasps away his breath. + All stand amaz’d—a second jav’lin flies + With equal strength, and quivers thro’ the skies. + This thro’ thy temples, Tagus, forc’d the way, + And in the brainpan warmly buried lay. + Fierce Volscens foams with rage, and, gazing round, + Descried not him who gave the fatal wound, + Nor knew to fix revenge: “But thou,” he cries, + “Shalt pay for both,” and at the pris’ner flies + With his drawn sword. Then, struck with deep despair, + That cruel sight the lover could not bear; + But from his covert rush’d in open view, + And sent his voice before him as he flew: + “Me! me!” he cried—“turn all your swords alone + On me—the fact confess’d, the fault my own. + He neither could nor durst, the guiltless youth: + Ye moon and stars, bear witness to the truth! + His only crime (if friendship can offend) + Is too much love to his unhappy friend.” + Too late he speaks: the sword, which fury guides, + Driv’n with full force, had pierc’d his tender sides. + Down fell the beauteous youth: the yawning wound + Gush’d out a purple stream, and stain’d the ground. + His snowy neck reclines upon his breast, + Like a fair flow’r by the keen share oppress’d; + Like a white poppy sinking on the plain, + Whose heavy head is overcharg’d with rain. + Despair, and rage, and vengeance justly vow’d, + Drove Nisus headlong on the hostile crowd. + Volscens he seeks; on him alone he bends: + Borne back and bor’d by his surrounding friends, + Onward he press’d, and kept him still in sight; + Then whirl’d aloft his sword with all his might: + Th’ unerring steel descended while he spoke, + Pierc’d his wide mouth, and thro’ his weazon broke. + Dying, he slew; and, stagg’ring on the plain, + With swimming eyes he sought his lover slain; + Then quiet on his bleeding bosom fell, + Content, in death, to be reveng’d so well. + + O happy friends! for, if my verse can give + Immortal life, your fame shall ever live, + Fix’d as the Capitol’s foundation lies, + And spread, where’er the Roman eagle flies! + + The conqu’ring party first divide the prey, + Then their slain leader to the camp convey. + With wonder, as they went, the troops were fill’d, + To see such numbers whom so few had kill’d. + Serranus, Rhamnes, and the rest, they found: + Vast crowds the dying and the dead surround; + And the yet reeking blood o’erflows the ground. + All knew the helmet which Messapus lost, + But mourn’d a purchase that so dear had cost. + Now rose the ruddy morn from Tithon’s bed, + And with the dawn of day the skies o’erspread; + Nor long the sun his daily course withheld, + But added colours to the world reveal’d: + When early Turnus, wak’ning with the light, + All clad in armour, calls his troops to fight. + His martial men with fierce harangue he fir’d, + And his own ardour in their souls inspir’d. + This done—to give new terror to his foes, + The heads of Nisus and his friend he shows, + Rais’d high on pointed spears—a ghastly sight: + Loud peals of shouts ensue, and barbarous delight. + + Meantime the Trojans run, where danger calls; + They line their trenches, and they man their walls. + In front extended to the left they stood; + Safe was the right, surrounded by the flood. + But, casting from their tow’rs a frightful view, + They saw the faces, which too well they knew, + Tho’ then disguis’d in death, and smear’d all o’er + With filth obscene, and dropping putrid gore. + Soon hasty fame thro’ the sad city bears + The mournful message to the mother’s ears. + An icy cold benumbs her limbs; she shakes; + Her cheeks the blood, her hand the web forsakes. + She runs the rampires round amidst the war, + Nor fears the flying darts; she rends her hair, + And fills with loud laments the liquid air. + “Thus, then, my lov’d Euryalus appears! + Thus looks the prop of my declining years! + Was’t on this face my famish’d eyes I fed? + Ah! how unlike the living is the dead! + And could’st thou leave me, cruel, thus alone? + Not one kind kiss from a departing son! + No look, no last adieu before he went, + In an ill-boding hour to slaughter sent! + Cold on the ground, and pressing foreign clay, + To Latian dogs and fowls he lies a prey! + Nor was I near to close his dying eyes, + To wash his wounds, to weep his obsequies, + To call about his corpse his crying friends, + Or spread the mantle (made for other ends) + On his dear body, which I wove with care, + Nor did my daily pains or nightly labour spare. + Where shall I find his corpse? what earth sustains + His trunk dismember’d, and his cold remains? + For this, alas! I left my needful ease, + Expos’d my life to winds and winter seas! + If any pity touch Rutulian hearts, + Here empty all your quivers, all your darts; + Or, if they fail, thou, Jove, conclude my woe, + And send me thunderstruck to shades below!” + Her shrieks and clamours pierce the Trojans’ ears, + Unman their courage, and augment their fears; + Nor young Ascanius could the sight sustain, + Nor old Ilioneus his tears restrain, + But Actor and Idaeus jointly sent, + To bear the madding mother to her tent. + + And now the trumpets terribly, from far, + With rattling clangour, rouse the sleepy war. + The soldiers’ shouts succeed the brazen sounds; + And heav’n, from pole to pole, the noise rebounds. + The Volscians bear their shields upon their head, + And, rushing forward, form a moving shed. + These fill the ditch; those pull the bulwarks down: + Some raise the ladders; others scale the town. + But, where void spaces on the walls appear, + Or thin defence, they pour their forces there. + With poles and missive weapons, from afar, + The Trojans keep aloof the rising war. + Taught, by their ten years’ siege, defensive fight, + They roll down ribs of rocks, an unresisted weight, + To break the penthouse with the pond’rous blow, + Which yet the patient Volscians undergo: + But could not bear th’ unequal combat long; + For, where the Trojans find the thickest throng, + The ruin falls: their shatter’d shields give way, + And their crush’d heads become an easy prey. + They shrink for fear, abated of their rage, + Nor longer dare in a blind fight engage; + Contented now to gall them from below + With darts and slings, and with the distant bow. + + Elsewhere Mezentius, terrible to view, + A blazing pine within the trenches threw. + But brave Messapus, Neptune’s warlike son, + Broke down the palisades, the trenches won, + And loud for ladders calls, to scale the town. + + Calliope, begin! Ye sacred Nine, + Inspire your poet in his high design, + To sing what slaughter manly Turnus made, + What souls he sent below the Stygian shade, + What fame the soldiers with their captain share, + And the vast circuit of the fatal war; + For you in singing martial facts excel; + You best remember, and alone can tell. + + There stood a tow’r, amazing to the sight, + Built up of beams, and of stupendous height: + Art, and the nature of the place, conspir’d + To furnish all the strength that war requir’d. + To level this, the bold Italians join; + The wary Trojans obviate their design; + With weighty stones o’erwhelm their troops below, + Shoot thro’ the loopholes, and sharp jav’lins throw. + Turnus, the chief, toss’d from his thund’ring hand + Against the wooden walls, a flaming brand: + It stuck, the fiery plague; the winds were high; + The planks were season’d, and the timber dry. + Contagion caught the posts; it spread along, + Scorch’d, and to distance drove the scatter’d throng. + The Trojans fled; the fire pursued amain, + Still gath’ring fast upon the trembling train; + Till, crowding to the corners of the wall, + Down the defence and the defenders fall. + The mighty flaw makes heav’n itself resound: + The dead and dying Trojans strew the ground. + The tow’r, that follow’d on the fallen crew, + Whelm’d o’er their heads, and buried whom it slew: + Some stuck upon the darts themselves had sent; + All the same equal ruin underwent. + + Young Lycus and Helenor only scape; + Sav’d—how, they know not—from the steepy leap. + Helenor, elder of the two: by birth, + On one side royal, one a son of earth, + Whom to the Lydian king Licymnia bare, + And sent her boasted bastard to the war + (A privilege which none but freemen share). + Slight were his arms, a sword and silver shield: + No marks of honour charg’d its empty field. + Light as he fell, so light the youth arose, + And rising, found himself amidst his foes; + Nor flight was left, nor hopes to force his way. + Embolden’d by despair, he stood at bay; + And, like a stag, whom all the troop surrounds + Of eager huntsmen and invading hounds + Resolv’d on death, he dissipates his fears, + And bounds aloft against the pointed spears: + So dares the youth, secure of death; and throws + His dying body on his thickest foes. + But Lycus, swifter of his feet by far, + Runs, doubles, winds and turns, amidst the war; + Springs to the walls, and leaves his foes behind, + And snatches at the beam he first can find; + Looks up, and leaps aloft at all the stretch, + In hopes the helping hand of some kind friend to reach. + But Turnus follow’d hard his hunted prey + (His spear had almost reach’d him in the way, + Short of his reins, and scarce a span behind) + “Fool!” said the chief, “tho’ fleeter than the wind, + Couldst thou presume to scape, when I pursue?” + He said, and downward by the feet he drew + The trembling dastard; at the tug he falls; + Vast ruins come along, rent from the smoking walls. + Thus on some silver swan, or tim’rous hare, + Jove’s bird comes sousing down from upper air; + Her crooked talons truss the fearful prey: + Then out of sight she soars, and wings her way. + So seizes the grim wolf the tender lamb, + In vain lamented by the bleating dam. + + Then rushing onward with a barb’rous cry, + The troops of Turnus to the combat fly. + The ditch with fagots fill’d, the daring foe + Toss’d firebrands to the steepy turrets throw. + + Ilioneus, as bold Lucetius came + To force the gate, and feed the kindling flame, + Roll’d down the fragment of a rock so right, + It crush’d him double underneath the weight. + Two more young Liger and Asylas slew: + To bend the bow young Liger better knew; + Asylas best the pointed jav’lin threw. + Brave Caeneus laid Ortygius on the plain; + The victor Caeneus was by Turnus slain. + By the same hand, Clonius and Itys fall, + Sagar, and Ida, standing on the wall. + From Capys’ arms his fate Privernus found: + Hurt by Themilla first—but slight the wound— + His shield thrown by, to mitigate the smart, + He clapp’d his hand upon the wounded part: + The second shaft came swift and unespied, + And pierc’d his hand, and nail’d it to his side, + Transfix’d his breathing lungs and beating heart: + The soul came issuing out, and hiss’d against the dart. + + The son of Arcens shone amid the rest, + In glitt’ring armour and a purple vest, + (Fair was his face, his eyes inspiring love,) + Bred by his father in the Martian grove, + Where the fat altars of Palicus flame, + And send in arms to purchase early fame. + Him when he spied from far, the Tuscan king + Laid by the lance, and took him to the sling, + Thrice whirl’d the thong around his head, and threw: + The heated lead half melted as it flew; + It pierc’d his hollow temples and his brain; + The youth came tumbling down, and spurn’d the plain. + + Then young Ascanius, who, before this day, + Was wont in woods to shoot the savage prey, + First bent in martial strife the twanging bow, + And exercis’d against a human foe— + With this bereft Numanus of his life, + Who Turnus’ younger sister took to wife. + Proud of his realm, and of his royal bride, + Vaunting before his troops, and lengthen’d with a stride, + In these insulting terms the Trojans he defied: + + “Twice-conquer’d cowards, now your shame is shown— + Coop’d up a second time within your town! + Who dare not issue forth in open field, + But hold your walls before you for a shield. + Thus treat you war? thus our alliance force? + What gods, what madness, hither steer’d your course? + You shall not find the sons of Atreus here, + Nor need the frauds of sly Ulysses fear. + Strong from the cradle, of a sturdy brood, + We bear our newborn infants to the flood; + There bath’d amid the stream, our boys we hold, + With winter harden’d, and inur’d to cold. + They wake before the day to range the wood, + Kill ere they eat, nor taste unconquer’d food. + No sports, but what belong to war, they know: + To break the stubborn colt, to bend the bow. + Our youth, of labour patient, earn their bread; + Hardly they work, with frugal diet fed. + From plows and harrows sent to seek renown, + They fight in fields, and storm the shaken town. + No part of life from toils of war is free, + No change in age, or diff’rence in degree. + We plow and till in arms; our oxen feel, + Instead of goads, the spur and pointed steel; + Th’ inverted lance makes furrows in the plain. + Ev’n time, that changes all, yet changes us in vain: + The body, not the mind; nor can control + Th’ immortal vigour, or abate the soul. + Our helms defend the young, disguise the gray: + We live by plunder, and delight in prey. + Your vests embroider’d with rich purple shine; + In sloth you glory, and in dances join. + Your vests have sweeping sleeves; with female pride + Your turbans underneath your chins are tied. + Go, Phrygians, to your Dindymus again! + Go, less than women, in the shapes of men! + Go, mix’d with eunuchs, in the Mother’s rites, + Where with unequal sound the flute invites; + Sing, dance, and howl, by turns, in Ida’s shade: + Resign the war to men, who know the martial trade!” + + This foul reproach Ascanius could not hear + With patience, or a vow’d revenge forbear. + At the full stretch of both his hands he drew, + And almost join’d the horns of the tough yew. + But, first, before the throne of Jove he stood, + And thus with lifted hands invok’d the god: + “My first attempt, great Jupiter, succeed! + An annual off’ring in thy grove shall bleed; + A snow-white steer, before thy altar led, + Who, like his mother, bears aloft his head, + Butts with his threat’ning brows, and bellowing stands, + And dares the fight, and spurns the yellow sands.” + + Jove bow’d the heav’ns, and lent a gracious ear, + And thunder’d on the left, amidst the clear. + Sounded at once the bow; and swiftly flies + The feather’d death, and hisses thro’ the skies. + The steel thro’ both his temples forc’d the way: + Extended on the ground, Numanus lay. + “Go now, vain boaster, and true valour scorn! + The Phrygians, twice subdued, yet make this third return.” + Ascanius said no more. The Trojans shake + The heav’ns with shouting, and new vigour take. + + Apollo then bestrode a golden cloud, + To view the feats of arms, and fighting crowd; + And thus the beardless victor he bespoke aloud: + “Advance, illustrious youth, increase in fame, + And wide from east to west extend thy name; + Offspring of gods thyself; and Rome shall owe + To thee a race of demigods below. + This is the way to heav’n: the pow’rs divine + From this beginning date the Julian line. + To thee, to them, and their victorious heirs, + The conquer’d war is due, and the vast world is theirs. + Troy is too narrow for thy name.” He said, + And plunging downward shot his radiant head; + Dispell’d the breathing air, that broke his flight: + Shorn of his beams, a man to mortal sight. + Old Butes’ form he took, Anchises’ squire, + Now left, to rule Ascanius, by his sire: + His wrinkled visage, and his hoary hairs, + His mien, his habit, and his arms, he wears, + And thus salutes the boy, too forward for his years: + “Suffice it thee, thy father’s worthy son, + The warlike prize thou hast already won. + The god of archers gives thy youth a part + Of his own praise, nor envies equal art. + Now tempt the war no more.” He said, and flew + Obscure in air, and vanish’d from their view. + The Trojans, by his arms, their patron know, + And hear the twanging of his heav’nly bow. + Then duteous force they use, and Phoebus’ name, + To keep from fight the youth too fond of fame. + Undaunted, they themselves no danger shun; + From wall to wall the shouts and clamours run. + They bend their bows; they whirl their slings around; + Heaps of spent arrows fall, and strew the ground; + And helms, and shields, and rattling arms resound. + The combat thickens, like the storm that flies + From westward, when the show’ry Kids arise; + Or patt’ring hail comes pouring on the main, + When Jupiter descends in harden’d rain, + Or bellowing clouds burst with a stormy sound, + And with an armed winter strew the ground. + + Pand’rus and Bitias, thunderbolts of war, + Whom Hiera to bold Alcanor bare + On Ida’s top, two youths of height and size + Like firs that on their mother mountain rise, + Presuming on their force, the gates unbar, + And of their own accord invite the war. + With fates averse, against their king’s command, + Arm’d, on the right and on the left they stand, + And flank the passage: shining steel they wear, + And waving crests above their heads appear. + Thus two tall oaks, that Padus’ banks adorn, + Lift up to heav’n their leafy heads unshorn, + And, overpress’d with nature’s heavy load, + Dance to the whistling winds, and at each other nod. + In flows a tide of Latians, when they see + The gate set open, and the passage free; + Bold Quercens, with rash Tmarus, rushing on, + Equicolus, that in bright armour shone, + And Haemon first; but soon repuls’d they fly, + Or in the well-defended pass they die. + These with success are fir’d, and those with rage, + And each on equal terms at length engage. + Drawn from their lines, and issuing on the plain, + The Trojans hand to hand the fight maintain. + + Fierce Turnus in another quarter fought, + When suddenly th’ unhop’d-for news was brought, + The foes had left the fastness of their place, + Prevail’d in fight, and had his men in chase. + He quits th’ attack, and, to prevent their fate, + Runs where the giant brothers guard the gate. + The first he met, Antiphates the brave, + But base-begotten on a Theban slave, + Sarpedon’s son, he slew: the deadly dart + Found passage thro’ his breast, and pierc’d his heart. + Fix’d in the wound th’ Italian cornel stood, + Warm’d in his lungs, and in his vital blood. + Aphidnus next, and Erymanthus dies, + And Meropes, and the gigantic size + Of Bitias, threat’ning with his ardent eyes. + Not by the feeble dart he fell oppress’d + (A dart were lost within that roomy breast), + But from a knotted lance, large, heavy, strong, + Which roar’d like thunder as it whirl’d along: + Not two bull hides th’ impetuous force withhold, + Nor coat of double mail, with scales of gold. + Down sunk the monster bulk and press’d the ground; + His arms and clatt’ring shield on the vast body sound, + Not with less ruin than the Bajan mole, + Rais’d on the seas, the surges to control— + At once comes tumbling down the rocky wall; + Prone to the deep, the stones disjointed fall + Of the vast pile; the scatter’d ocean flies; + Black sands, discolour’d froth, and mingled mud arise: + The frighted billows roll, and seek the shores; + Then trembles Prochyta, then Ischia roars: + Typhoeus, thrown beneath, by Jove’s command, + Astonish’d at the flaw that shakes the land, + Soon shifts his weary side, and, scarce awake, + With wonder feels the weight press lighter on his back. + + The warrior god the Latian troops inspir’d, + New strung their sinews, and their courage fir’d, + But chills the Trojan hearts with cold affright: + Then black despair precipitates their flight. + + When Pandarus beheld his brother kill’d, + The town with fear and wild confusion fill’d, + He turns the hinges of the heavy gate + With both his hands, and adds his shoulders to the weight + Some happier friends within the walls inclos’d; + The rest shut out, to certain death expos’d: + Fool as he was, and frantic in his care, + T’ admit young Turnus, and include the war! + He thrust amid the crowd, securely bold, + Like a fierce tiger pent amid the fold. + Too late his blazing buckler they descry, + And sparkling fires that shot from either eye, + His mighty members, and his ample breast, + His rattling armour, and his crimson crest. + + Far from that hated face the Trojans fly, + All but the fool who sought his destiny. + Mad Pandarus steps forth, with vengeance vow’d + For Bitias’ death, and threatens thus aloud: + “These are not Ardea’s walls, nor this the town + Amata proffers with Lavinia’s crown: + ’Tis hostile earth you tread. Of hope bereft, + No means of safe return by flight are left.” + To whom, with count’nance calm, and soul sedate, + Thus Turnus: “Then begin, and try thy fate: + My message to the ghost of Priam bear; + Tell him a new Achilles sent thee there.” + + A lance of tough ground ash the Trojan threw, + Rough in the rind, and knotted as it grew: + With his full force he whirl’d it first around; + But the soft yielding air receiv’d the wound: + Imperial Juno turn’d the course before, + And fix’d the wand’ring weapon in the door. + + “But hope not thou,” said Turnus, “when I strike, + To shun thy fate: our force is not alike, + Nor thy steel temper’d by the Lemnian god.” + Then rising, on his utmost stretch he stood, + And aim’d from high: the full descending blow + Cleaves the broad front and beardless cheeks in two. + Down sinks the giant with a thund’ring sound: + His pond’rous limbs oppress the trembling ground; + Blood, brains, and foam gush from the gaping wound: + Scalp, face, and shoulders the keen steel divides, + And the shar’d visage hangs on equal sides. + The Trojans fly from their approaching fate; + And, had the victor then secur’d the gate, + And to his troops without unclos’d the bars, + One lucky day had ended all his wars. + But boiling youth, and blind desire of blood, + Push’d on his fury, to pursue the crowd. + Hamstring’d behind, unhappy Gyges died; + Then Phalaris is added to his side. + The pointed jav’lins from the dead he drew, + And their friends’ arms against their fellows threw. + Strong Halys stands in vain; weak Phlegys flies; + Saturnia, still at hand, new force and fire supplies. + Then Halius, Prytanis, Alcander fall— + Engag’d against the foes who scal’d the wall: + But, whom they fear’d without, they found within. + At last, tho’ late, by Lynceus he was seen. + He calls new succours, and assaults the prince: + But weak his force, and vain is their defence. + Turn’d to the right, his sword the hero drew, + And at one blow the bold aggressor slew. + He joints the neck; and, with a stroke so strong, + The helm flies off, and bears the head along. + Next him, the huntsman Amycus he kill’d, + In darts envenom’d and in poison skill’d. + Then Clytius fell beneath his fatal spear, + And Creteus, whom the Muses held so dear: + He fought with courage, and he sung the fight; + Arms were his bus’ness, verses his delight. + + The Trojan chiefs behold, with rage and grief, + Their slaughter’d friends, and hasten their relief. + Bold Mnestheus rallies first the broken train, + Whom brave Seresthus and his troop sustain. + To save the living, and revenge the dead, + Against one warrior’s arms all Troy they led. + “O, void of sense and courage!” Mnestheus cried, + “Where can you hope your coward heads to hide? + Ah! where beyond these rampires can you run? + One man, and in your camp inclos’d, you shun! + Shall then a single sword such slaughter boast, + And pass unpunish’d from a num’rous host? + Forsaking honour, and renouncing fame, + Your gods, your country, and your king you shame!” + This just reproach their virtue does excite: + They stand, they join, they thicken to the fight. + + Now Turnus doubts, and yet disdains to yield, + But with slow paces measures back the field, + And inches to the walls, where Tiber’s tide, + Washing the camp, defends the weaker side. + The more he loses, they advance the more, + And tread in ev’ry step he trod before. + They shout: they bear him back; and, whom by might + They cannot conquer, they oppress with weight. + + As, compass’d with a wood of spears around, + The lordly lion still maintains his ground; + Grins horrible, retires, and turns again; + Threats his distended paws, and shakes his mane; + He loses while in vain he presses on, + Nor will his courage let him dare to run: + So Turnus fares, and, unresolved of flight, + Moves tardy back, and just recedes from fight. + Yet twice, enrag’d, the combat he renews, + Twice breaks, and twice his broken foes pursues. + But now they swarm, and, with fresh troops supplied, + Come rolling on, and rush from ev’ry side: + Nor Juno, who sustain’d his arms before, + Dares with new strength suffice th’ exhausted store; + For Jove, with sour commands, sent Iris down, + To force th’ invader from the frighted town. + + With labour spent, no longer can he wield + The heavy falchion, or sustain the shield, + O’erwhelm’d with darts, which from afar they fling: + The weapons round his hollow temples ring; + His golden helm gives way, with stony blows + Batter’d, and flat, and beaten to his brows. + His crest is rash’d away; his ample shield + Is falsified, and round with jav’lins fill’d. + + The foe, now faint, the Trojans overwhelm; + And Mnestheus lays hard load upon his helm. + Sick sweat succeeds; he drops at ev’ry pore; + With driving dust his cheeks are pasted o’er; + Shorter and shorter ev’ry gasp he takes; + And vain efforts and hurtless blows he makes. + Plung’d in the flood, and made the waters fly. + The yellow god the welcome burthen bore, + And wip’d the sweat, and wash’d away the gore; + Then gently wafts him to the farther coast, + And sends him safe to cheer his anxious host. + + + + BOOK X + + THE ARGUMENT. + + + Jupiter, calling a council of the gods, forbids them to engage in + either party. At Aeneas’ return there is a bloody battle: Turnus + killing Pallas; Aeneas, Lausus, and Mezentius. Mezentius is + described as an atheist; Lausus as a pious and virtuous youth. + The different actions and death of these two are the subject of a + noble episode. + + + The gates of heav’n unfold: Jove summons all + The gods to council in the common hall. + Sublimely seated, he surveys from far + The fields, the camp, the fortune of the war, + And all th’ inferior world. From first to last, + The sov’reign senate in degrees are plac’d. + + Then thus th’ almighty sire began: “Ye gods, + Natives or denizens of blest abodes, + From whence these murmurs, and this change of mind, + This backward fate from what was first design’d? + Why this protracted war, when my commands + Pronounc’d a peace, and gave the Latian lands? + What fear or hope on either part divides + Our heav’ns, and arms our powers on diff’rent sides? + A lawful time of war at length will come, + (Nor need your haste anticipate the doom), + When Carthage shall contend the world with Rome, + Shall force the rigid rocks and Alpine chains, + And, like a flood, come pouring on the plains. + Then is your time for faction and debate, + For partial favour, and permitted hate. + Let now your immature dissension cease; + Sit quiet, and compose your souls to peace.” + + Thus Jupiter in few unfolds the charge; + But lovely Venus thus replies at large: + “O pow’r immense, eternal energy, + (For to what else protection can we fly?) + Seest thou the proud Rutulians, how they dare + In fields, unpunish’d, and insult my care? + How lofty Turnus vaunts amidst his train, + In shining arms, triumphant on the plain? + Ev’n in their lines and trenches they contend, + And scarce their walls the Trojan troops defend: + The town is fill’d with slaughter, and o’erfloats, + With a red deluge, their increasing moats. + Aeneas, ignorant, and far from thence, + Has left a camp expos’d, without defence. + This endless outrage shall they still sustain? + Shall Troy renew’d be forc’d and fir’d again? + A second siege my banish’d issue fears, + And a new Diomede in arms appears. + One more audacious mortal will be found; + And I, thy daughter, wait another wound. + Yet, if with fates averse, without thy leave, + The Latian lands my progeny receive, + Bear they the pains of violated law, + And thy protection from their aid withdraw. + But, if the gods their sure success foretell; + If those of heav’n consent with those of hell, + To promise Italy; who dare debate + The pow’r of Jove, or fix another fate? + What should I tell of tempests on the main, + Of Aeolus usurping Neptune’s reign? + Of Iris sent, with Bacchanalian heat + T’ inspire the matrons, and destroy the fleet? + Now Juno to the Stygian sky descends, + Solicits hell for aid, and arms the fiends. + That new example wanted yet above: + An act that well became the wife of Jove! + Alecto, rais’d by her, with rage inflames + The peaceful bosoms of the Latian dames. + Imperial sway no more exalts my mind; + (Such hopes I had indeed, while Heav’n was kind;) + Now let my happier foes possess my place, + Whom Jove prefers before the Trojan race; + And conquer they, whom you with conquest grace. + Since you can spare, from all your wide command, + No spot of earth, no hospitable land, + Which may my wand’ring fugitives receive; + (Since haughty Juno will not give you leave;) + Then, father, (if I still may use that name,) + By ruin’d Troy, yet smoking from the flame, + I beg you, let Ascanius, by my care, + Be freed from danger, and dismiss’d the war: + Inglorious let him live, without a crown. + The father may be cast on coasts unknown, + Struggling with fate; but let me save the son. + Mine is Cythera, mine the Cyprian tow’rs: + In those recesses, and those sacred bow’rs, + Obscurely let him rest; his right resign + To promis’d empire, and his Julian line. + Then Carthage may th’ Ausonian towns destroy, + Nor fear the race of a rejected boy. + What profits it my son to scape the fire, + Arm’d with his gods, and loaded with his sire; + To pass the perils of the seas and wind; + Evade the Greeks, and leave the war behind; + To reach th’ Italian shores; if, after all, + Our second Pergamus is doom’d to fall? + Much better had he curb’d his high desires, + And hover’d o’er his ill-extinguish’d fires. + To Simois’ banks the fugitives restore, + And give them back to war, and all the woes before.” + + Deep indignation swell’d Saturnia’s heart: + “And must I own,” she said, “my secret smart— + What with more decence were in silence kept, + And, but for this unjust reproach, had slept? + Did god or man your fav’rite son advise, + With war unhop’d the Latians to surprise? + By fate, you boast, and by the gods’ decree, + He left his native land for Italy! + Confess the truth; by mad Cassandra, more + Than Heav’n inspir’d, he sought a foreign shore! + Did I persuade to trust his second Troy + To the raw conduct of a beardless boy, + With walls unfinish’d, which himself forsakes, + And thro’ the waves a wand’ring voyage takes? + When have I urg’d him meanly to demand + The Tuscan aid, and arm a quiet land? + Did I or Iris give this mad advice, + Or made the fool himself the fatal choice? + You think it hard, the Latians should destroy + With swords your Trojans, and with fires your Troy! + Hard and unjust indeed, for men to draw + Their native air, nor take a foreign law! + That Turnus is permitted still to live, + To whom his birth a god and goddess give! + But yet is just and lawful for your line + To drive their fields, and force with fraud to join; + Realms, not your own, among your clans divide, + And from the bridegroom tear the promis’d bride; + Petition, while you public arms prepare; + Pretend a peace, and yet provoke a war! + ’Twas giv’n to you, your darling son to shroud, + To draw the dastard from the fighting crowd, + And, for a man, obtend an empty cloud. + From flaming fleets you turn’d the fire away, + And chang’d the ships to daughters of the sea. + But is my crime—the Queen of Heav’n offends, + If she presume to save her suff’ring friends! + Your son, not knowing what his foes decree, + You say, is absent: absent let him be. + Yours is Cythera, yours the Cyprian tow’rs, + The soft recesses, and the sacred bow’rs. + Why do you then these needless arms prepare, + And thus provoke a people prone to war? + Did I with fire the Trojan town deface, + Or hinder from return your exil’d race? + Was I the cause of mischief, or the man + Whose lawless lust the fatal war began? + Think on whose faith th’ adult’rous youth relied; + Who promis’d, who procur’d, the Spartan bride? + When all th’ united states of Greece combin’d, + To purge the world of the perfidious kind, + Then was your time to fear the Trojan fate: + Your quarrels and complaints are now too late.” + + Thus Juno. Murmurs rise, with mix’d applause, + Just as they favour or dislike the cause. + So winds, when yet unfledg’d in woods they lie, + In whispers first their tender voices try, + Then issue on the main with bellowing rage, + And storms to trembling mariners presage. + + Then thus to both replied th’ imperial god, + Who shakes heav’n’s axles with his awful nod. + (When he begins, the silent senate stand + With rev’rence, list’ning to the dread command: + The clouds dispel; the winds their breath restrain; + And the hush’d waves lie flatted on the main.) + “Celestials, your attentive ears incline! + Since,” said the god, “the Trojans must not join + In wish’d alliance with the Latian line; + Since endless jarrings and immortal hate + Tend but to discompose our happy state; + The war henceforward be resign’d to fate: + Each to his proper fortune stand or fall; + Equal and unconcern’d I look on all. + Rutulians, Trojans, are the same to me; + And both shall draw the lots their fates decree. + Let these assault, if Fortune be their friend; + And, if she favours those, let those defend: + The Fates will find their way.” The Thund’rer said, + And shook the sacred honours of his head, + Attesting Styx, th’ inviolable flood, + And the black regions of his brother god. + Trembled the poles of heav’n, and earth confess’d the nod. + This end the sessions had: the senate rise, + And to his palace wait their sov’reign thro’ the skies. + + Meantime, intent upon their siege, the foes + Within their walls the Trojan host inclose: + They wound, they kill, they watch at ev’ry gate; + Renew the fires, and urge their happy fate. + + Th’ Aeneans wish in vain their wanted chief, + Hopeless of flight, more hopeless of relief. + Thin on the tow’rs they stand; and ev’n those few + A feeble, fainting, and dejected crew. + Yet in the face of danger some there stood: + The two bold brothers of Sarpedon’s blood, + Asius and Acmon; both th’ Assaraci; + Young Haemon, and tho’ young, resolv’d to die. + With these were Clarus and Thymoetes join’d; + Tibris and Castor, both of Lycian kind. + From Acmon’s hands a rolling stone there came, + So large, it half deserv’d a mountain’s name: + Strong-sinew’d was the youth, and big of bone; + His brother Mnestheus could not more have done, + Or the great father of th’ intrepid son. + Some firebrands throw, some flights of arrows send; + And some with darts, and some with stones defend. + + Amid the press appears the beauteous boy, + The care of Venus, and the hope of Troy. + His lovely face unarm’d, his head was bare; + In ringlets o’er his shoulders hung his hair. + His forehead circled with a diadem; + Distinguish’d from the crowd, he shines a gem, + Enchas’d in gold, or polish’d iv’ry set, + Amidst the meaner foil of sable jet. + + Nor Ismarus was wanting to the war, + Directing pointed arrows from afar, + And death with poison arm’d—in Lydia born, + Where plenteous harvests the fat fields adorn; + Where proud Pactolus floats the fruitful lands, + And leaves a rich manure of golden sands. + There Capys, author of the Capuan name, + And there was Mnestheus too, increas’d in fame, + Since Turnus from the camp he cast with shame. + + Thus mortal war was wag’d on either side. + Meantime the hero cuts the nightly tide: + For, anxious, from Evander when he went, + He sought the Tyrrhene camp, and Tarchon’s tent; + Expos’d the cause of coming to the chief; + His name and country told, and ask’d relief; + Propos’d the terms; his own small strength declar’d; + What vengeance proud Mezentius had prepar’d: + What Turnus, bold and violent, design’d; + Then shew’d the slipp’ry state of humankind, + And fickle fortune; warn’d him to beware, + And to his wholesome counsel added pray’r. + Tarchon, without delay, the treaty signs, + And to the Trojan troops the Tuscan joins. + + They soon set sail; nor now the fates withstand; + Their forces trusted with a foreign hand. + Aeneas leads; upon his stern appear + Two lions carv’d, which rising Ida bear— + Ida, to wand’ring Trojans ever dear. + Under their grateful shade Aeneas sate, + Revolving war’s events, and various fate. + His left young Pallas kept, fix’d to his side, + And oft of winds enquir’d, and of the tide; + Oft of the stars, and of their wat’ry way; + And what he suffer’d both by land and sea. + + Now, sacred sisters, open all your spring! + The Tuscan leaders, and their army sing, + Which follow’d great Aeneas to the war: + Their arms, their numbers, and their names declare. + + A thousand youths brave Massicus obey, + Borne in the Tiger thro’ the foaming sea; + From Asium brought, and Cosa, by his care: + For arms, light quivers, bows and shafts, they bear. + Fierce Abas next: his men bright armour wore; + His stern Apollo’s golden statue bore. + Six hundred Populonia sent along, + All skill’d in martial exercise, and strong. + Three hundred more for battle Ilva joins, + An isle renown’d for steel, and unexhausted mines. + Asylas on his prow the third appears, + Who heav’n interprets, and the wand’ring stars; + From offer’d entrails prodigies expounds, + And peals of thunder, with presaging sounds. + A thousand spears in warlike order stand, + Sent by the Pisans under his command. + + Fair Astur follows in the wat’ry field, + Proud of his manag’d horse and painted shield. + Gravisca, noisome from the neighb’ring fen, + And his own Caere, sent three hundred men; + With those which Minio’s fields and Pyrgi gave, + All bred in arms, unanimous, and brave. + + Thou, Muse, the name of Cinyras renew, + And brave Cupavo follow’d but by few; + Whose helm confess’d the lineage of the man, + And bore, with wings display’d, a silver swan. + Love was the fault of his fam’d ancestry, + Whose forms and fortunes in his ensigns fly. + For Cycnus lov’d unhappy Phaeton, + And sung his loss in poplar groves, alone, + Beneath the sister shades, to soothe his grief. + Heav’n heard his song, and hasten’d his relief, + And chang’d to snowy plumes his hoary hair, + And wing’d his flight, to chant aloft in air. + His son Cupavo brush’d the briny flood: + Upon his stern a brawny Centaur stood, + Who heav’d a rock, and, threat’ning still to throw, + With lifted hands alarm’d the seas below: + They seem’d to fear the formidable sight, + And roll’d their billows on, to speed his flight. + + Ocnus was next, who led his native train + Of hardy warriors thro’ the wat’ry plain: + The son of Manto by the Tuscan stream, + From whence the Mantuan town derives the name— + An ancient city, but of mix’d descent: + Three sev’ral tribes compose the government; + Four towns are under each; but all obey + The Mantuan laws, and own the Tuscan sway. + + Hate to Mezentius arm’d five hundred more, + Whom Mincius from his sire Benacus bore: + Mincius, with wreaths of reeds his forehead cover’d o’er. + These grave Auletes leads: a hundred sweep + With stretching oars at once the glassy deep. + Him and his martial train the Triton bears; + High on his poop the sea-green god appears: + Frowning he seems his crooked shell to sound, + And at the blast the billows dance around. + A hairy man above the waist he shows; + A porpoise tail beneath his belly grows; + And ends a fish: his breast the waves divides, + And froth and foam augment the murm’ring tides. + + Full thirty ships transport the chosen train + For Troy’s relief, and scour the briny main. + + Now was the world forsaken by the sun, + And Phoebe half her nightly race had run. + The careful chief, who never clos’d his eyes, + Himself the rudder holds, the sails supplies. + A choir of Nereids meet him on the flood, + Once his own galleys, hewn from Ida’s wood; + But now, as many nymphs, the sea they sweep, + As rode, before, tall vessels on the deep. + They know him from afar; and in a ring + Enclose the ship that bore the Trojan king. + Cymodoce, whose voice excell’d the rest, + Above the waves advanc’d her snowy breast; + Her right hand stops the stern; her left divides + The curling ocean, and corrects the tides. + She spoke for all the choir, and thus began + With pleasing words to warn th’ unknowing man: + “Sleeps our lov’d lord? O goddess-born, awake! + Spread ev’ry sail, pursue your wat’ry track, + And haste your course. Your navy once were we, + From Ida’s height descending to the sea; + Till Turnus, as at anchor fix’d we stood, + Presum’d to violate our holy wood. + Then, loos’d from shore, we fled his fires profane + (Unwillingly we broke our master’s chain), + And since have sought you thro’ the Tuscan main. + The mighty Mother chang’d our forms to these, + And gave us life immortal in the seas. + But young Ascanius, in his camp distress’d, + By your insulting foes is hardly press’d. + Th’ Arcadian horsemen, and Etrurian host, + Advance in order on the Latian coast: + To cut their way the Daunian chief designs, + Before their troops can reach the Trojan lines. + Thou, when the rosy morn restores the light, + First arm thy soldiers for th’ ensuing fight: + Thyself the fated sword of Vulcan wield, + And bear aloft th’ impenetrable shield. + Tomorrow’s sun, unless my skill be vain, + Shall see huge heaps of foes in battle slain.” + Parting, she spoke; and with immortal force + Push’d on the vessel in her wat’ry course; + For well she knew the way. Impell’d behind, + The ship flew forward, and outstripp’d the wind. + The rest make up. Unknowing of the cause, + The chief admires their speed, and happy omens draws. + + Then thus he pray’d, and fix’d on heav’n his eyes: + “Hear thou, great Mother of the deities. + With turrets crown’d! (on Ida’s holy hill + Fierce tigers, rein’d and curb’d, obey thy will.) + Firm thy own omens; lead us on to fight; + And let thy Phrygians conquer in thy right.” + + He said no more. And now renewing day + Had chas’d the shadows of the night away. + He charg’d the soldiers, with preventing care, + Their flags to follow, and their arms prepare; + Warn’d of th’ ensuing fight, and bade ’em hope the war. + Now, his lofty poop, he view’d below + His camp incompass’d, and th’ inclosing foe. + His blazing shield, imbrac’d, he held on high; + The camp receive the sign, and with loud shouts reply. + Hope arms their courage: from their tow’rs they throw + Their darts with double force, and drive the foe. + Thus, at the signal giv’n, the cranes arise + Before the stormy south, and blacken all the skies. + + King Turnus wonder’d at the fight renew’d, + Till, looking back, the Trojan fleet he view’d, + The seas with swelling canvas cover’d o’er, + And the swift ships descending on the shore. + The Latians saw from far, with dazzled eyes, + The radiant crest that seem’d in flames to rise, + And dart diffusive fires around the field, + And the keen glitt’ring of the golden shield. + Thus threat’ning comets, when by night they rise, + Shoot sanguine streams, and sadden all the skies: + So Sirius, flashing forth sinister lights, + Pale humankind with plagues and with dry famine fright: + + Yet Turnus with undaunted mind is bent + To man the shores, and hinder their descent, + And thus awakes the courage of his friends: + “What you so long have wish’d, kind Fortune sends; + In ardent arms to meet th’ invading foe: + You find, and find him at advantage now. + Yours is the day: you need but only dare; + Your swords will make you masters of the war. + Your sires, your sons, your houses, and your lands, + And dearest wifes, are all within your hands. + Be mindful of the race from whence you came, + And emulate in arms your fathers’ fame. + Now take the time, while stagg’ring yet they stand + With feet unfirm, and prepossess the strand: + Fortune befriends the bold.” Nor more he said, + But balanc’d whom to leave, and whom to lead; + Then these elects, the landing to prevent; + And those he leaves, to keep the city pent. + + Meantime the Trojan sends his troops ashore: + Some are by boats expos’d, by bridges more. + With lab’ring oars they bear along the strand, + Where the tide languishes, and leap a-land. + Tarchon observes the coast with careful eyes, + And, where no ford he finds, no water fries, + Nor billows with unequal murmurs roar, + But smoothly slide along, and swell the shore, + That course he steer’d, and thus he gave command: + “Here ply your oars, and at all hazard land: + Force on the vessel, that her keel may wound + This hated soil, and furrow hostile ground. + Let me securely land—I ask no more; + Then sink my ships, or shatter on the shore.” + + This fiery speech inflames his fearful friends: + They tug at ev’ry oar, and ev’ry stretcher bends; + They run their ships aground; the vessels knock, + (Thus forc’d ashore,) and tremble with the shock. + Tarchon’s alone was lost, that stranded stood, + Stuck on a bank, and beaten by the flood: + She breaks her back; the loosen’d sides give way, + And plunge the Tuscan soldiers in the sea. + Their broken oars and floating planks withstand + Their passage, while they labour to the land, + And ebbing tides bear back upon th’ uncertain sand. + + Now Turnus leads his troops without delay, + Advancing to the margin of the sea. + The trumpets sound: Aeneas first assail’d + The clowns new-rais’d and raw, and soon prevail’d. + Great Theron fell, an omen of the fight; + Great Theron, large of limbs, of giant height. + He first in open field defied the prince: + But armour scal’d with gold was no defence + Against the fated sword, which open’d wide + His plated shield, and pierc’d his naked side. + Next, Lichas fell, who, not like others born, + Was from his wretched mother ripp’d and torn; + Sacred, O Phoebus, from his birth to thee; + For his beginning life from biting steel was free. + Not far from him was Gyas laid along, + Of monstrous bulk; with Cisseus fierce and strong: + Vain bulk and strength! for, when the chief assail’d, + Nor valour nor Herculean arms avail’d, + Nor their fam’d father, wont in war to go + With great Alcides, while he toil’d below. + The noisy Pharos next receiv’d his death: + Aeneas writh’d his dart, and stopp’d his bawling breath. + Then wretched Cydon had receiv’d his doom, + Who courted Clytius in his beardless bloom, + And sought with lust obscene polluted joys: + The Trojan sword had curd his love of boys, + Had not his sev’n bold brethren stopp’d the course + Of the fierce champions, with united force. + Sev’n darts were thrown at once; and some rebound + From his bright shield, some on his helmet sound: + The rest had reach’d him; but his mother’s care + Prevented those, and turn’d aside in air. + + The prince then call’d Achates, to supply + The spears that knew the way to victory— + “Those fatal weapons, which, inur’d to blood, + In Grecian bodies under Ilium stood: + Not one of those my hand shall toss in vain + Against our foes, on this contended plain.” + He said; then seiz’d a mighty spear, and threw; + Which, wing’d with fate, thro’ Maeon’s buckler flew, + Pierc’d all the brazen plates, and reach’d his heart: + He stagger’d with intolerable smart. + Alcanor saw; and reach’d, but reach’d in vain, + His helping hand, his brother to sustain. + A second spear, which kept the former course, + From the same hand, and sent with equal force, + His right arm pierc’d, and holding on, bereft + His use of both, and pinion’d down his left. + Then Numitor from his dead brother drew + Th’ ill-omen’d spear, and at the Trojan threw: + Preventing fate directs the lance awry, + Which, glancing, only mark’d Achates’ thigh. + + In pride of youth the Sabine Clausus came, + And, from afar, at Dryops took his aim. + The spear flew hissing thro’ the middle space, + And pierc’d his throat, directed at his face; + It stopp’d at once the passage of his wind, + And the free soul to flitting air resign’d: + His forehead was the first that struck the ground; + Lifeblood and life rush’d mingled thro’ the wound. + He slew three brothers of the Borean race, + And three, whom Ismarus, their native place, + Had sent to war, but all the sons of Thrace. + Halesus, next, the bold Aurunci leads: + The son of Neptune to his aid succeeds, + Conspicuous on his horse. On either hand, + These fight to keep, and those to win, the land. + With mutual blood th’ Ausonian soil is dyed, + While on its borders each their claim decide. + As wintry winds, contending in the sky, + With equal force of lungs their titles try: + They rage, they roar; the doubtful rack of heav’n + Stands without motion, and the tide undriv’n: + Each bent to conquer, neither side to yield, + They long suspend the fortune of the field. + Both armies thus perform what courage can; + Foot set to foot, and mingled man to man. + + But, in another part, th’ Arcadian horse + With ill success engage the Latin force: + For, where th’ impetuous torrent, rushing down, + Huge craggy stones and rooted trees had thrown, + They left their coursers, and, unus’d to fight + On foot, were scatter’d in a shameful flight. + Pallas, who with disdain and grief had view’d + His foes pursuing, and his friends pursued, + Us’d threat’nings mix’d with pray’rs, his last resource, + With these to move their minds, with those to fire their force + “Which way, companions? whether would you run? + By you yourselves, and mighty battles won, + By my great sire, by his establish’d name, + And early promise of my future fame; + By my youth, emulous of equal right + To share his honours—shun ignoble flight! + Trust not your feet: your hands must hew way + Thro’ yon black body, and that thick array: + ’Tis thro’ that forward path that we must come; + There lies our way, and that our passage home. + Nor pow’rs above, nor destinies below + Oppress our arms: with equal strength we go, + With mortal hands to meet a mortal foe. + See on what foot we stand: a scanty shore, + The sea behind, our enemies before; + No passage left, unless we swim the main; + Or, forcing these, the Trojan trenches gain.” + This said, he strode with eager haste along, + And bore amidst the thickest of the throng. + Lagus, the first he met, with fate to foe, + Had heav’d a stone of mighty weight, to throw: + Stooping, the spear descended on his chine, + Just where the bone distinguished either loin: + It stuck so fast, so deeply buried lay, + That scarce the victor forc’d the steel away. + Hisbon came on: but, while he mov’d too slow + To wish’d revenge, the prince prevents his blow; + For, warding his at once, at once he press’d, + And plung’d the fatal weapon in his breast. + Then lewd Anchemolus he laid in dust, + Who stain’d his stepdam’s bed with impious lust. + And, after him, the Daucian twins were slain, + Laris and Thymbrus, on the Latian plain; + So wondrous like in feature, shape, and size, + As caus’d an error in their parents’ eyes— + Grateful mistake! but soon the sword decides + The nice distinction, and their fate divides: + For Thymbrus’ head was lopp’d; and Laris’ hand, + Dismember’d, sought its owner on the strand: + The trembling fingers yet the falchion strain, + And threaten still th’ intended stroke in vain. + + Now, to renew the charge, th’ Arcadians came: + Sight of such acts, and sense of honest shame, + And grief, with anger mix’d, their minds inflame. + Then, with a casual blow was Rhoeteus slain, + Who chanc’d, as Pallas threw, to cross the plain: + The flying spear was after Ilus sent; + But Rhoeteus happen’d on a death unmeant: + From Teuthras and from Tyres while he fled, + The lance, athwart his body, laid him dead: + Roll’d from his chariot with a mortal wound, + And intercepted fate, he spurn’d the ground. + As when, in summer, welcome winds arise, + The watchful shepherd to the forest flies, + And fires the midmost plants; contagion spreads, + And catching flames infect the neighb’ring heads; + Around the forest flies the furious blast, + And all the leafy nation sinks at last, + And Vulcan rides in triumph o’er the waste; + The pastor, pleas’d with his dire victory, + Beholds the satiate flames in sheets ascend the sky: + So Pallas’ troops their scatter’d strength unite, + And, pouring on their foes, their prince delight. + + Halesus came, fierce with desire of blood; + But first collected in his arms he stood: + Advancing then, he plied the spear so well, + Ladon, Demodocus, and Pheres fell. + Around his head he toss’d his glitt’ring brand, + And from Strymonius hew’d his better hand, + Held up to guard his throat; then hurl’d a stone + At Thoas’ ample front, and pierc’d the bone: + It struck beneath the space of either eye; + And blood, and mingled brains, together fly. + Deep skill’d in future fates, Halesus’ sire + Did with the youth to lonely groves retire: + But, when the father’s mortal race was run, + Dire destiny laid hold upon the son, + And haul’d him to the war, to find, beneath + Th’ Evandrian spear, a memorable death. + Pallas th’ encounter seeks, but, ere he throws, + To Tuscan Tiber thus address’d his vows: + “O sacred stream, direct my flying dart, + And give to pass the proud Halesus’ heart! + His arms and spoils thy holy oak shall bear.” + Pleas’d with the bribe, the god receiv’d his pray’r: + For, while his shield protects a friend distress’d, + The dart came driving on, and pierc’d his breast. + + But Lausus, no small portion of the war, + Permits not panic fear to reign too far, + Caus’d by the death of so renown’d a knight; + But by his own example cheers the fight. + Fierce Abas first he slew; Abas, the stay + Of Trojan hopes, and hindrance of the day. + The Phrygian troops escap’d the Greeks in vain: + They, and their mix’d allies, now load the plain. + To the rude shock of war both armies came; + Their leaders equal, and their strength the same. + The rear so press’d the front, they could not wield + Their angry weapons, to dispute the field. + Here Pallas urges on, and Lausus there: + Of equal youth and beauty both appear, + But both by fate forbid to breathe their native air. + Their congress in the field great Jove withstands: + Both doom’d to fall, but fall by greater hands. + + Meantime Juturna warns the Daunian chief + Of Lausus’ danger, urging swift relief. + With his driv’n chariot he divides the crowd, + And, making to his friends, thus calls aloud: + “Let none presume his needless aid to join; + Retire, and clear the field; the fight is mine: + To this right hand is Pallas only due; + O were his father here, my just revenge to view!” + From the forbidden space his men retir’d. + Pallas their awe, and his stern words, admir’d; + Survey’d him o’er and o’er with wond’ring sight, + Struck with his haughty mien, and tow’ring height. + Then to the king: “Your empty vaunts forbear; + Success I hope, and fate I cannot fear; + Alive or dead, I shall deserve a name; + Jove is impartial, and to both the same.” + He said, and to the void advanc’d his pace: + Pale horror sate on each Arcadian face. + Then Turnus, from his chariot leaping light, + Address’d himself on foot to single fight. + And, as a lion—when he spies from far + A bull that seems to meditate the war, + Bending his neck, and spurning back the sand— + Runs roaring downward from his hilly stand: + Imagine eager Turnus not more slow, + To rush from high on his unequal foe. + + Young Pallas, when he saw the chief advance + Within due distance of his flying lance, + Prepares to charge him first, resolv’d to try + If fortune would his want of force supply; + And thus to Heav’n and Hercules address’d: + “Alcides, once on earth Evander’s guest, + His son adjures you by those holy rites, + That hospitable board, those genial nights; + Assist my great attempt to gain this prize, + And let proud Turnus view, with dying eyes, + His ravish’d spoils.” ’Twas heard, the vain request; + Alcides mourn’d, and stifled sighs within his breast. + Then Jove, to soothe his sorrow, thus began: + “Short bounds of life are set to mortal man. + ’Tis virtue’s work alone to stretch the narrow span. + So many sons of gods, in bloody fight, + Around the walls of Troy, have lost the light: + My own Sarpedon fell beneath his foe; + Nor I, his mighty sire, could ward the blow. + Ev’n Turnus shortly shall resign his breath, + And stands already on the verge of death.” + This said, the god permits the fatal fight, + But from the Latian fields averts his sight. + + Now with full force his spear young Pallas threw, + And, having thrown, his shining falchion drew + The steel just graz’d along the shoulder joint, + And mark’d it slightly with the glancing point, + Fierce Turnus first to nearer distance drew, + And pois’d his pointed spear, before he threw: + Then, as the winged weapon whizz’d along, + “See now,” said he, “whose arm is better strung.” + The spear kept on the fatal course, unstay’d + By plates of ir’n, which o’er the shield were laid: + Thro’ folded brass and tough bull hides it pass’d, + His corslet pierc’d, and reach’d his heart at last. + In vain the youth tugs at the broken wood; + The soul comes issuing with the vital blood: + He falls; his arms upon his body sound; + And with his bloody teeth he bites the ground. + + Turnus bestrode the corpse: “Arcadians, hear,” + Said he; “my message to your master bear: + Such as the sire deserv’d, the son I send; + It costs him dear to be the Phrygians’ friend. + The lifeless body, tell him, I bestow, + Unask’d, to rest his wand’ring ghost below.” + He said, and trampled down with all the force + Of his left foot, and spurn’d the wretched corse; + Then snatch’d the shining belt, with gold inlaid; + The belt Eurytion’s artful hands had made, + Where fifty fatal brides, express’d to sight, + All in the compass of one mournful night, + Depriv’d their bridegrooms of returning light. + + In an ill hour insulting Turnus tore + Those golden spoils, and in a worse he wore. + O mortals, blind in fate, who never know + To bear high fortune, or endure the low! + The time shall come, when Turnus, but in vain, + Shall wish untouch’d the trophies of the slain; + Shall wish the fatal belt were far away, + And curse the dire remembrance of the day. + + The sad Arcadians, from th’ unhappy field, + Bear back the breathless body on a shield. + O grace and grief of war! at once restor’d, + With praises, to thy sire, at once deplor’d! + One day first sent thee to the fighting field, + Beheld whole heaps of foes in battle kill’d; + One day beheld thee dead, and borne upon thy shield. + This dismal news, not from uncertain fame, + But sad spectators, to the hero came: + His friends upon the brink of ruin stand, + Unless reliev’d by his victorious hand. + He whirls his sword around, without delay, + And hews thro’ adverse foes an ample way, + To find fierce Turnus, of his conquest proud: + Evander, Pallas, all that friendship ow’d + To large deserts, are present to his eyes; + His plighted hand, and hospitable ties. + + Four sons of Sulmo, four whom Ufens bred, + He took in fight, and living victims led, + To please the ghost of Pallas, and expire, + In sacrifice, before his fun’ral fire. + At Magus next he threw: he stoop’d below + The flying spear, and shunn’d the promis’d blow; + Then, creeping, clasp’d the hero’s knees, and pray’d: + “By young Iulus, by thy father’s shade, + O spare my life, and send me back to see + My longing sire, and tender progeny! + A lofty house I have, and wealth untold, + In silver ingots, and in bars of gold: + All these, and sums besides, which see no day, + The ransom of this one poor life shall pay. + If I survive, will Troy the less prevail? + A single soul’s too light to turn the scale.” + He said. The hero sternly thus replied: + “Thy bars and ingots, and the sums beside, + Leave for thy children’s lot. Thy Turnus broke + All rules of war by one relentless stroke, + When Pallas fell: so deems, nor deems alone + My father’s shadow, but my living son.” + Thus having said, of kind remorse bereft, + He seiz’d his helm, and dragg’d him with his left; + Then with his right hand, while his neck he wreath’d, + Up to the hilts his shining falchion sheath’d. + + Apollo’s priest, Emonides, was near; + His holy fillets on his front appear; + Glitt’ring in arms, he shone amidst the crowd; + Much of his god, more of his purple, proud. + Him the fierce Trojan follow’d thro’ the field: + The holy coward fell; and, forc’d to yield, + The prince stood o’er the priest, and, at one blow, + Sent him an off’ring to the shades below. + His arms Seresthus on his shoulders bears, + Design’d a trophy to the God of Wars. + + Vulcanian Caeculus renews the fight, + And Umbro, born upon the mountains’ height. + The champion cheers his troops t’ encounter those, + And seeks revenge himself on other foes. + At Anxur’s shield he drove; and, at the blow, + Both shield and arm to ground together go. + Anxur had boasted much of magic charms, + And thought he wore impenetrable arms, + So made by mutter’d spells; and, from the spheres, + Had life secur’d, in vain, for length of years. + Then Tarquitus the field in triumph trod; + A nymph his mother, his sire a god. + Exulting in bright arms, he braves the prince: + With his protended lance he makes defence; + Bears back his feeble foe; then, pressing on, + Arrests his better hand, and drags him down; + Stands o’er the prostrate wretch, and, as he lay, + Vain tales inventing, and prepar’d to pray, + Mows off his head: the trunk a moment stood, + Then sunk, and roll’d along the sand in blood. + The vengeful victor thus upbraids the slain: + “Lie there, proud man, unpitied, on the plain; + Lie there, inglorious, and without a tomb, + Far from thy mother and thy native home, + Exposed to savage beasts, and birds of prey, + Or thrown for food to monsters of the sea.” + + On Lycas and Antaeus next he ran, + Two chiefs of Turnus, and who led his van. + They fled for fear; with these, he chas’d along + Camers the yellow-lock’d, and Numa strong; + Both great in arms, and both were fair and young. + Camers was son to Volscens lately slain, + In wealth surpassing all the Latian train, + And in Amycla fix’d his silent easy reign. + And, as Aegaeon, when with heav’n he strove, + Stood opposite in arms to mighty Jove; + Mov’d all his hundred hands, provok’d the war, + Defied the forky lightning from afar; + At fifty mouths his flaming breath expires, + And flash for flash returns, and fires for fires; + In his right hand as many swords he wields, + And takes the thunder on as many shields: + With strength like his, the Trojan hero stood; + And soon the fields with falling corps were strow’d, + When once his falchion found the taste of blood. + With fury scarce to be conceiv’d, he flew + Against Niphaeus, whom four coursers drew. + They, when they see the fiery chief advance, + And pushing at their chests his pointed lance, + Wheel’d with so swift a motion, mad with fear, + They threw their master headlong from the chair. + They stare, they start, nor stop their course, before + They bear the bounding chariot to the shore. + + Now Lucagus and Liger scour the plains, + With two white steeds; but Liger holds the reins, + And Lucagus the lofty seat maintains: + Bold brethren both. The former wav’d in air + His flaming sword: Aeneas couch’d his spear, + Unus’d to threats, and more unus’d to fear. + Then Liger thus: “Thy confidence is vain + To scape from hence, as from the Trojan plain: + Nor these the steeds which Diomede bestrode, + Nor this the chariot where Achilles rode; + Nor Venus’ veil is here, near Neptune’s shield; + Thy fatal hour is come, and this the field.” + Thus Liger vainly vaunts: the Trojan peer + Return’d his answer with his flying spear. + As Lucagus, to lash his horses, bends, + Prone to the wheels, and his left foot protends, + Prepar’d for fight; the fatal dart arrives, + And thro’ the borders of his buckler drives; + Pass’d thro’ and pierc’d his groin: the deadly wound, + Cast from his chariot, roll’d him on the ground. + Whom thus the chief upbraids with scornful spite: + “Blame not the slowness of your steeds in flight; + Vain shadows did not force their swift retreat; + But you yourself forsake your empty seat.” + He said, and seiz’d at once the loosen’d rein; + For Liger lay already on the plain, + By the same shock: then, stretching out his hands, + The recreant thus his wretched life demands: + “Now, by thyself, O more than mortal man! + By her and him from whom thy breath began, + Who form’d thee thus divine, I beg thee, spare + This forfeit life, and hear thy suppliant’s pray’r.” + Thus much he spoke, and more he would have said; + But the stern hero turn’d aside his head, + And cut him short: “I hear another man; + You talk’d not thus before the fight began. + Now take your turn; and, as a brother should, + Attend your brother to the Stygian flood.” + Then thro’ his breast his fatal sword he sent, + And the soul issued at the gaping vent. + + As storms the skies, and torrents tear the ground, + Thus rag’d the prince, and scatter’d deaths around. + At length Ascanius and the Trojan train + Broke from the camp, so long besieg’d in vain. + + Meantime the King of Gods and Mortal Man + Held conference with his queen, and thus began: + “My sister goddess, and well-pleasing wife, + Still think you Venus’ aid supports the strife— + Sustains her Trojans—or themselves, alone, + With inborn valour force their fortune on? + How fierce in fight, with courage undecay’d! + Judge if such warriors want immortal aid.” + To whom the goddess with the charming eyes, + Soft in her tone, submissively replies: + “Why, O my sov’reign lord, whose frown I fear, + And cannot, unconcern’d, your anger bear; + Why urge you thus my grief? when, if I still + (As once I was) were mistress of your will, + From your almighty pow’r your pleasing wife + Might gain the grace of length’ning Turnus’ life, + Securely snatch him from the fatal fight, + And give him to his aged father’s sight. + Now let him perish, since you hold it good, + And glut the Trojans with his pious blood. + Yet from our lineage he derives his name, + And, in the fourth degree, from god Pilumnus came; + Yet he devoutly pays you rites divine, + And offers daily incense at your shrine.” + + Then shortly thus the sov’reign god replied: + “Since in my pow’r and goodness you confide, + If for a little space, a lengthen’d span, + You beg reprieve for this expiring man, + I grant you leave to take your Turnus hence + From instant fate, and can so far dispense. + But, if some secret meaning lies beneath, + To save the short-liv’d youth from destin’d death, + Or if a farther thought you entertain, + To change the fates; you feed your hopes in vain.” + To whom the goddess thus, with weeping eyes: + “And what if that request, your tongue denies, + Your heart should grant; and not a short reprieve, + But length of certain life, to Turnus give? + Now speedy death attends the guiltless youth, + If my presaging soul divines with truth; + Which, O! I wish, might err thro’ causeless fears, + And you (for you have pow’r) prolong his years!” + + Thus having said, involv’d in clouds, she flies, + And drives a storm before her thro’ the skies. + Swift she descends, alighting on the plain, + Where the fierce foes a dubious fight maintain. + Of air condens’d a spectre soon she made; + And, what Aeneas was, such seem’d the shade. + Adorn’d with Dardan arms, the phantom bore + His head aloft; a plumy crest he wore; + This hand appear’d a shining sword to wield, + And that sustain’d an imitated shield. + With manly mien he stalk’d along the ground, + Nor wanted voice belied, nor vaunting sound. + (Thus haunting ghosts appear to waking sight, + Or dreadful visions in our dreams by night.) + The spectre seems the Daunian chief to dare, + And flourishes his empty sword in air. + At this, advancing, Turnus hurl’d his spear: + The phantom wheel’d, and seem’d to fly for fear. + Deluded Turnus thought the Trojan fled, + And with vain hopes his haughty fancy fed. + “Whether, O coward?” (thus he calls aloud, + Nor found he spoke to wind, and chas’d a cloud,) + “Why thus forsake your bride! Receive from me + The fated land you sought so long by sea.” + He said, and, brandishing at once his blade, + With eager pace pursued the flying shade. + By chance a ship was fasten’d to the shore, + Which from old Clusium King Osinius bore: + The plank was ready laid for safe ascent; + For shelter there the trembling shadow bent, + And skipp’t and skulk’d, and under hatches went. + Exulting Turnus, with regardless haste, + Ascends the plank, and to the galley pass’d. + Scarce had he reach’d the prow: Saturnia’s hand + The haulsers cuts, and shoots the ship from land. + With wind in poop, the vessel plows the sea, + And measures back with speed her former way. + Meantime Aeneas seeks his absent foe, + And sends his slaughter’d troops to shades below. + + The guileful phantom now forsook the shroud, + And flew sublime, and vanish’d in a cloud. + Too late young Turnus the delusion found, + Far on the sea, still making from the ground. + Then, thankless for a life redeem’d by shame, + With sense of honour stung, and forfeit fame, + Fearful besides of what in fight had pass’d, + His hands and haggard eyes to heav’n he cast; + “O Jove!” he cried, “for what offence have I + Deserv’d to bear this endless infamy? + Whence am I forc’d, and whether am I borne? + How, and with what reproach, shall I return? + Shall ever I behold the Latian plain, + Or see Laurentum’s lofty tow’rs again? + What will they say of their deserting chief + The war was mine: I fly from their relief; + I led to slaughter, and in slaughter leave; + And ev’n from hence their dying groans receive. + Here, overmatch’d in fight, in heaps they lie; + There, scatter’d o’er the fields, ignobly fly. + Gape wide, O earth, and draw me down alive! + Or, O ye pitying winds, a wretch relieve! + On sands or shelves the splitting vessel drive; + Or set me shipwreck’d on some desert shore, + Where no Rutulian eyes may see me more, + Unknown to friends, or foes, or conscious Fame, + Lest she should follow, and my flight proclaim.” + + Thus Turnus rav’d, and various fates revolv’d: + The choice was doubtful, but the death resolv’d. + And now the sword, and now the sea took place, + That to revenge, and this to purge disgrace. + Sometimes he thought to swim the stormy main, + By stretch of arms the distant shore to gain. + Thrice he the sword assay’d, and thrice the flood; + But Juno, mov’d with pity, both withstood. + And thrice repress’d his rage; strong gales supplied, + And push’d the vessel o’er the swelling tide. + At length she lands him on his native shores, + And to his father’s longing arms restores. + + Meantime, by Jove’s impulse, Mezentius arm’d, + Succeeding Turnus, with his ardour warm’d + His fainting friends, reproach’d their shameful flight, + Repell’d the victors, and renew’d the fight. + Against their king the Tuscan troops conspire; + Such is their hate, and such their fierce desire + Of wish’d revenge: on him, and him alone, + All hands employ’d, and all their darts are thrown. + He, like a solid rock by seas inclos’d, + To raging winds and roaring waves oppos’d, + From his proud summit looking down, disdains + Their empty menace, and unmov’d remains. + + Beneath his feet fell haughty Hebrus dead, + Then Latagus, and Palmus as he fled. + At Latagus a weighty stone he flung: + His face was flatted, and his helmet rung. + But Palmus from behind receives his wound; + Hamstring’d he falls, and grovels on the ground: + His crest and armour, from his body torn, + Thy shoulders, Lausus, and thy head adorn. + Evas and Mimas, both of Troy, he slew. + Mimas his birth from fair Theano drew, + Born on that fatal night, when, big with fire, + The queen produc’d young Paris to his sire: + But Paris in the Phrygian fields was slain, + Unthinking Mimas on the Latian plain. + + And, as a savage boar, on mountains bred, + With forest mast and fatt’ning marshes fed, + When once he sees himself in toils inclos’d, + By huntsmen and their eager hounds oppos’d, + He whets his tusks, and turns, and dares the war; + Th’ invaders dart their jav’lins from afar: + All keep aloof, and safely shout around; + But none presumes to give a nearer wound: + He frets and froths, erects his bristled hide, + And shakes a grove of lances from his side: + Not otherwise the troops, with hate inspir’d, + And just revenge against the tyrant fir’d, + Their darts with clamour at a distance drive, + And only keep the languish’d war alive. + + From Coritus came Acron to the fight, + Who left his spouse betroth’d, and unconsummate night. + Mezentius sees him thro’ the squadrons ride, + Proud of the purple favours of his bride. + Then, as a hungry lion, who beholds + A gamesome goat, who frisks about the folds, + Or beamy stag, that grazes on the plain— + He runs, he roars, he shakes his rising mane, + He grins, and opens wide his greedy jaws; + The prey lies panting underneath his paws: + He fills his famish’d maw; his mouth runs o’er + With unchew’d morsels, while he churns the gore: + So proud Mezentius rushes on his foes, + And first unhappy Acron overthrows: + Stretch’d at his length, he spurns the swarthy ground; + The lance, besmear’d with blood, lies broken in the wound. + Then with disdain the haughty victor view’d + Orodes flying, nor the wretch pursued, + Nor thought the dastard’s back deserv’d a wound, + But, running, gain’d th’ advantage of the ground: + Then turning short, he met him face to face, + To give his victory the better grace. + Orodes falls, in equal fight oppress’d: + Mezentius fix’d his foot upon his breast, + And rested lance; and thus aloud he cries: + “Lo! here the champion of my rebels lies!” + The fields around with Io Paean! ring; + And peals of shouts applaud the conqu’ring king. + At this the vanquish’d, with his dying breath, + Thus faintly spoke, and prophesied in death: + “Nor thou, proud man, unpunish’d shalt remain: + Like death attends thee on this fatal plain.” + Then, sourly smiling, thus the king replied: + “For what belongs to me, let Jove provide; + But die thou first, whatever chance ensue.” + He said, and from the wound the weapon drew. + A hov’ring mist came swimming o’er his sight, + And seal’d his eyes in everlasting night. + + By Caedicus, Alcathous was slain; + Sacrator laid Hydaspes on the plain; + Orses the strong to greater strength must yield; + He, with Parthenius, were by Rapo kill’d. + Then brave Messapus Ericetes slew, + Who from Lycaon’s blood his lineage drew. + But from his headstrong horse his fate he found, + Who threw his master, as he made a bound: + The chief, alighting, stuck him to the ground; + Then Clonius, hand to hand, on foot assails: + The Trojan sinks, and Neptune’s son prevails. + Agis the Lycian, stepping forth with pride, + To single fight the boldest foe defied; + Whom Tuscan Valerus by force o’ercame, + And not belied his mighty father’s fame. + Salius to death the great Antronius sent: + But the same fate the victor underwent, + Slain by Nealces’ hand, well-skill’d to throw + The flying dart, and draw the far-deceiving bow. + + Thus equal deaths are dealt with equal chance; + By turns they quit their ground, by turns advance: + Victors and vanquish’d, in the various field, + Nor wholly overcome, nor wholly yield. + The gods from heav’n survey the fatal strife, + And mourn the miseries of human life. + Above the rest, two goddesses appear + Concern’d for each: here Venus, Juno there. + Amidst the crowd, infernal Ate shakes + Her scourge aloft, and crest of hissing snakes. + + Once more the proud Mezentius, with disdain, + Brandish’d his spear, and rush’d into the plain, + Where tow’ring in the midmost rank he stood, + Like tall Orion stalking o’er the flood. + (When with his brawny breast he cuts the waves, + His shoulders scarce the topmost billow laves), + Or like a mountain ash, whose roots are spread, + Deep fix’d in earth; in clouds he hides his head. + + The Trojan prince beheld him from afar, + And dauntless undertook the doubtful war. + Collected in his strength, and like a rock, + Pois’d on his base, Mezentius stood the shock. + He stood, and, measuring first with careful eyes + The space his spear could reach, aloud he cries: + “My strong right hand, and sword, assist my stroke! + (Those only gods Mezentius will invoke.) + His armour, from the Trojan pirate torn, + By my triumphant Lausus shall be worn.” + He said; and with his utmost force he threw + The massy spear, which, hissing as it flew, + Reach’d the celestial shield, that stopp’d the course; + But, glancing thence, the yet unbroken force + Took a new bent obliquely, and betwixt + The side and bowels fam’d Anthores fix’d. + Anthores had from Argos travel’d far, + Alcides’ friend, and brother of the war; + Till, tir’d with toils, fair Italy he chose, + And in Evander’s palace sought repose. + Now, falling by another’s wound, his eyes + He cast to heav’n, on Argos thinks, and dies. + + The pious Trojan then his jav’lin sent; + The shield gave way; thro’ treble plates it went + Of solid brass, of linen trebly roll’d, + And three bull hides which round the buckler fold. + All these it pass’d, resistless in the course, + Transpierc’d his thigh, and spent its dying force. + The gaping wound gush’d out a crimson flood. + The Trojan, glad with sight of hostile blood, + His falchion drew, to closer fight address’d, + And with new force his fainting foe oppress’d. + + His father’s peril Lausus view’d with grief; + He sigh’d, he wept, he ran to his relief. + And here, heroic youth, ’tis here I must + To thy immortal memory be just, + And sing an act so noble and so new, + Posterity will scarce believe ’tis true. + Pain’d with his wound, and useless for the fight, + The father sought to save himself by flight: + Encumber’d, slow he dragg’d the spear along, + Which pierc’d his thigh, and in his buckler hung. + The pious youth, resolv’d on death, below + The lifted sword springs forth to face the foe; + Protects his parent, and prevents the blow. + Shouts of applause ran ringing thro’ the field, + To see the son the vanquish’d father shield. + All, fir’d with gen’rous indignation, strive, + And with a storm of darts to distance drive + The Trojan chief, who, held at bay from far, + On his Vulcanian orb sustain’d the war. + + As, when thick hail comes rattling in the wind, + The plowman, passenger, and lab’ring hind + For shelter to the neighb’ring covert fly, + Or hous’d, or safe in hollow caverns lie; + But, that o’erblown, when heav’n above ’em smiles, + Return to travel, and renew their toils: + Aeneas thus, o’erwhelmed on ev’ry side, + The storm of darts, undaunted, did abide; + And thus to Lausus loud with friendly threat’ning cried: + “Why wilt thou rush to certain death, and rage + In rash attempts, beyond thy tender age, + Betray’d by pious love?” Nor, thus forborne, + The youth desists, but with insulting scorn + Provokes the ling’ring prince, whose patience, tir’d, + Gave place; and all his breast with fury fir’d. + For now the Fates prepar’d their sharpen’d shears; + And lifted high the flaming sword appears, + Which, full descending with a frightful sway, + Thro’ shield and corslet forc’d th’ impetuous way, + And buried deep in his fair bosom lay. + The purple streams thro’ the thin armour strove, + And drench’d th’ imbroider’d coat his mother wove; + And life at length forsook his heaving heart, + Loth from so sweet a mansion to depart. + + But when, with blood and paleness all o’erspread, + The pious prince beheld young Lausus dead, + He griev’d; he wept; the sight an image brought + Of his own filial love, a sadly pleasing thought: + Then stretch’d his hand to hold him up, and said: + “Poor hapless youth! what praises can be paid + To love so great, to such transcendent store + Of early worth, and sure presage of more? + Accept whate’er Aeneas can afford; + Untouch’d thy arms, untaken be thy sword; + And all that pleas’d thee living, still remain + Inviolate, and sacred to the slain. + Thy body on thy parents I bestow, + To rest thy soul, at least, if shadows know, + Or have a sense of human things below. + There to thy fellow ghosts with glory tell: + ‘’Twas by the great Aeneas hand I fell.’” + With this, his distant friends he beckons near, + Provokes their duty, and prevents their fear: + Himself assists to lift him from the ground, + With clotted locks, and blood that well’d from out the wound. + + Meantime, his father, now no father, stood, + And wash’d his wounds by Tiber’s yellow flood: + Oppress’d with anguish, panting, and o’erspent, + His fainting limbs against an oak he leant. + A bough his brazen helmet did sustain; + His heavier arms lay scatter’d on the plain: + A chosen train of youth around him stand; + His drooping head was rested on his hand: + His grisly beard his pensive bosom sought; + And all on Lausus ran his restless thought. + Careful, concern’d his danger to prevent, + He much enquir’d, and many a message sent + To warn him from the field—alas! in vain! + Behold, his mournful followers bear him slain! + O’er his broad shield still gush’d the yawning wound, + And drew a bloody trail along the ground. + Far off he heard their cries, far off divin’d + The dire event, with a foreboding mind. + With dust he sprinkled first his hoary head; + Then both his lifted hands to heav’n he spread; + Last, the dear corpse embracing, thus he said: + “What joys, alas! could this frail being give, + That I have been so covetous to live? + To see my son, and such a son, resign + His life, a ransom for preserving mine! + And am I then preserv’d, and art thou lost? + How much too dear has that redemption cost! + ’Tis now my bitter banishment I feel: + This is a wound too deep for time to heal. + My guilt thy growing virtues did defame; + My blackness blotted thy unblemish’d name. + Chas’d from a throne, abandon’d, and exil’d + For foul misdeeds, were punishments too mild: + I ow’d my people these, and, from their hate, + With less resentment could have borne my fate. + And yet I live, and yet sustain the sight + Of hated men, and of more hated light: + But will not long.” With that he rais’d from ground + His fainting limbs, that stagger’d with his wound; + Yet, with a mind resolv’d, and unappall’d + With pains or perils, for his courser call’d + Well-mouth’d, well-manag’d, whom himself did dress + With daily care, and mounted with success; + His aid in arms, his ornament in peace. + + Soothing his courage with a gentle stroke, + The steed seem’d sensible, while thus he spoke: + “O Rhoebus, we have liv’d too long for me— + If life and long were terms that could agree! + This day thou either shalt bring back the head + And bloody trophies of the Trojan dead; + This day thou either shalt revenge my woe, + For murder’d Lausus, on his cruel foe; + Or, if inexorable fate deny + Our conquest, with thy conquer’d master die: + For, after such a lord, I rest secure, + Thou wilt no foreign reins, or Trojan load endure.” + He said; and straight th’ officious courser kneels, + To take his wonted weight. His hands he fills + With pointed jav’lins; on his head he lac’d + His glitt’ring helm, which terribly was grac’d + With waving horsehair, nodding from afar; + Then spurr’d his thund’ring steed amidst the war. + Love, anguish, wrath, and grief, to madness wrought, + Despair, and secret shame, and conscious thought + Of inborn worth, his lab’ring soul oppress’d, + Roll’d in his eyes, and rag’d within his breast. + Then loud he call’d Aeneas thrice by name: + The loud repeated voice to glad Aeneas came. + “Great Jove,” he said, “and the far-shooting god, + Inspire thy mind to make thy challenge good!” + He spoke no more; but hasten’d, void of fear, + And threaten’d with his long protended spear. + + To whom Mezentius thus: “Thy vaunts are vain. + My Lausus lies extended on the plain: + He’s lost! thy conquest is already won; + The wretched sire is murder’d in the son. + Nor fate I fear, but all the gods defy. + Forbear thy threats: my bus’ness is to die; + But first receive this parting legacy.” + He said; and straight a whirling dart he sent; + Another after, and another went. + Round in a spacious ring he rides the field, + And vainly plies th’ impenetrable shield. + Thrice rode he round; and thrice Aeneas wheel’d, + Turn’d as he turn’d: the golden orb withstood + The strokes, and bore about an iron wood. + Impatient of delay, and weary grown, + Still to defend, and to defend alone, + To wrench the darts which in his buckler light, + Urg’d and o’er-labour’d in unequal fight; + At length resolv’d, he throws with all his force + Full at the temples of the warrior horse. + Just where the stroke was aim’d, th’ unerring spear + Made way, and stood transfix’d thro’ either ear. + Seiz’d with unwonted pain, surpris’d with fright, + The wounded steed curvets, and, rais’d upright, + Lights on his feet before; his hoofs behind + Spring up in air aloft, and lash the wind. + Down comes the rider headlong from his height: + His horse came after with unwieldy weight, + And, flound’ring forward, pitching on his head, + His lord’s encumber’d shoulder overlaid. + + From either host, the mingled shouts and cries + Of Trojans and Rutulians rend the skies. + Aeneas, hast’ning, wav’d his fatal sword + High o’er his head, with this reproachful word: + “Now; where are now thy vaunts, the fierce disdain + Of proud Mezentius, and the lofty strain?” + + Struggling, and wildly staring on the skies, + With scarce recover’d sight he thus replies: + “Why these insulting words, this waste of breath, + To souls undaunted, and secure of death? + ’Tis no dishonour for the brave to die, + Nor came I here with hope of victory; + Nor ask I life, nor fought with that design: + As I had us’d my fortune, use thou thine. + My dying son contracted no such band; + The gift is hateful from his murd’rer’s hand. + For this, this only favour let me sue, + If pity can to conquer’d foes be due: + Refuse it not; but let my body have + The last retreat of humankind, a grave. + Too well I know th’ insulting people’s hate; + Protect me from their vengeance after fate: + This refuge for my poor remains provide, + And lay my much-lov’d Lausus by my side.” + He said, and to the sword his throat applied. + The crimson stream distain’d his arms around, + And the disdainful soul came rushing thro’ the wound. + + + + BOOK XI + + THE ARGUMENT. + + + Aeneas erects a trophy of the spoils of Mezentius, grants a truce + for burying the dead, and sends home the body of Pallas with + great solemnity. Latinus calls a council, to propose offers of + peace to Aeneas; which occasions great animosity betwixt Turnus + and Drances. In the mean time there is a sharp engagement of the + horse; wherein Camilla signalizes herself, is killed, and the + Latine troops are entirely defeated. + + + Scarce had the rosy Morning rais’d her head + Above the waves, and left her wat’ry bed; + The pious chief, whom double cares attend + For his unburied soldiers and his friend, + Yet first to Heav’n perform’d a victor’s vows: + He bar’d an ancient oak of all her boughs; + Then on a rising ground the trunk he plac’d, + Which with the spoils of his dead foe he grac’d. + The coat of arms by proud Mezentius worn, + Now on a naked snag in triumph borne, + Was hung on high, and glitter’d from afar, + A trophy sacred to the God of War. + Above his arms, fix’d on the leafless wood, + Appear’d his plumy crest, besmear’d with blood: + His brazen buckler on the left was seen; + Truncheons of shiver’d lances hung between; + And on the right was placed his corslet, bor’d; + And to the neck was tied his unavailing sword. + + A crowd of chiefs inclose the godlike man, + Who thus, conspicuous in the midst, began: + “Our toils, my friends, are crown’d with sure success; + The greater part perform’d, achieve the less. + Now follow cheerful to the trembling town; + Press but an entrance, and presume it won. + Fear is no more, for fierce Mezentius lies, + As the first fruits of war, a sacrifice. + Turnus shall fall extended on the plain, + And, in this omen, is already slain. + Prepar’d in arms, pursue your happy chance; + That none unwarn’d may plead his ignorance, + And I, at Heav’n’s appointed hour, may find + Your warlike ensigns waving in the wind. + Meantime the rites and fun’ral pomps prepare, + Due to your dead companions of the war: + The last respect the living can bestow, + To shield their shadows from contempt below. + That conquer’d earth be theirs, for which they fought, + And which for us with their own blood they bought; + But first the corpse of our unhappy friend + To the sad city of Evander send, + Who, not inglorious, in his age’s bloom, + Was hurried hence by too severe a doom.” + + Thus, weeping while he spoke, he took his way, + Where, new in death, lamented Pallas lay. + Acoetes watch’d the corpse; whose youth deserv’d + The father’s trust; and now the son he serv’d + With equal faith, but less auspicious care. + Th’ attendants of the slain his sorrow share. + A troop of Trojans mix’d with these appear, + And mourning matrons with dishevel’d hair. + Soon as the prince appears, they raise a cry; + All beat their breasts, and echoes rend the sky. + They rear his drooping forehead from the ground; + But, when Aeneas view’d the grisly wound + Which Pallas in his manly bosom bore, + And the fair flesh distain’d with purple gore; + First, melting into tears, the pious man + Deplor’d so sad a sight, then thus began: + “Unhappy youth! when Fortune gave the rest + Of my full wishes, she refus’d the best! + She came; but brought not thee along, to bless + My longing eyes, and share in my success: + She grudg’d thy safe return, the triumphs due + To prosp’rous valour, in the public view. + Not thus I promis’d, when thy father lent + Thy needless succour with a sad consent; + Embrac’d me, parting for th’ Etrurian land, + And sent me to possess a large command. + He warn’d, and from his own experience told, + Our foes were warlike, disciplin’d, and bold. + And now perhaps, in hopes of thy return, + Rich odors on his loaded altars burn, + While we, with vain officious pomp, prepare + To send him back his portion of the war, + A bloody breathless body, which can owe + No farther debt, but to the pow’rs below. + The wretched father, ere his race is run, + Shall view the fun’ral honours of his son. + These are my triumphs of the Latian war, + Fruits of my plighted faith and boasted care! + And yet, unhappy sire, thou shalt not see + A son whose death disgrac’d his ancestry; + Thou shalt not blush, old man, however griev’d: + Thy Pallas no dishonest wound receiv’d. + He died no death to make thee wish, too late, + Thou hadst not liv’d to see his shameful fate: + But what a champion has th’ Ausonian coast, + And what a friend hast thou, Ascanius, lost!” + + Thus having mourn’d, he gave the word around, + To raise the breathless body from the ground; + And chose a thousand horse, the flow’r of all + His warlike troops, to wait the funeral, + To bear him back and share Evander’s grief: + A well-becoming, but a weak relief. + Of oaken twigs they twist an easy bier, + Then on their shoulders the sad burden rear. + The body on this rural hearse is borne: + Strew’d leaves and funeral greens the bier adorn. + All pale he lies, and looks a lovely flow’r, + New cropp’d by virgin hands, to dress the bow’r: + Unfaded yet, but yet unfed below, + No more to mother earth or the green stern shall owe. + Then two fair vests, of wondrous work and cost, + Of purple woven, and with gold emboss’d, + For ornament the Trojan hero brought, + Which with her hands Sidonian Dido wrought. + One vest array’d the corpse; and one they spread + O’er his clos’d eyes, and wrapp’d around his head, + That, when the yellow hair in flame should fall, + The catching fire might burn the golden caul. + Besides, the spoils of foes in battle slain, + When he descended on the Latian plain; + Arms, trappings, horses, by the hearse are led + In long array—th’ achievements of the dead. + Then, pinion’d with their hands behind, appear + Th’ unhappy captives, marching in the rear, + Appointed off’rings in the victor’s name, + To sprinkle with their blood the fun’ral flame. + Inferior trophies by the chiefs are borne; + Gauntlets and helms their loaded hands adorn; + And fair inscriptions fix’d, and titles read + Of Latian leaders conquer’d by the dead. + + Acoetes on his pupil’s corpse attends, + With feeble steps, supported by his friends. + Pausing at ev’ry pace, in sorrow drown’d, + Betwixt their arms he sinks upon the ground; + Where grov’ling while he lies in deep despair, + He beats his breast, and rends his hoary hair. + The champion’s chariot next is seen to roll, + Besmear’d with hostile blood, and honourably foul. + To close the pomp, Aethon, the steed of state, + Is led, the fun’rals of his lord to wait. + Stripp’d of his trappings, with a sullen pace + He walks; and the big tears run rolling down his face. + The lance of Pallas, and the crimson crest, + Are borne behind: the victor seiz’d the rest. + The march begins: the trumpets hoarsely sound; + The pikes and lances trail along the ground. + Thus while the Trojan and Arcadian horse + To Pallantean tow’rs direct their course, + In long procession rank’d, the pious chief + Stopp’d in the rear, and gave a vent to grief: + “The public care,” he said, “which war attends, + Diverts our present woes, at least suspends. + Peace with the manes of great Pallas dwell! + Hail, holy relics! and a last farewell!” + He said no more, but, inly thro’ he mourn’d, + Restrained his tears, and to the camp return’d. + + Now suppliants, from Laurentum sent, demand + A truce, with olive branches in their hand; + Obtest his clemency, and from the plain + Beg leave to draw the bodies of their slain. + They plead, that none those common rites deny + To conquer’d foes that in fair battle die. + All cause of hate was ended in their death; + Nor could he war with bodies void of breath. + A king, they hop’d, would hear a king’s request, + Whose son he once was call’d, and once his guest. + + Their suit, which was too just to be denied, + The hero grants, and farther thus replied: + “O Latian princes, how severe a fate + In causeless quarrels has involv’d your state, + And arm’d against an unoffending man, + Who sought your friendship ere the war began! + You beg a truce, which I would gladly give, + Not only for the slain, but those who live. + I came not hither but by Heav’n’s command, + And sent by fate to share the Latian land. + Nor wage I wars unjust: your king denied + My proffer’d friendship, and my promis’d bride; + Left me for Turnus. Turnus then should try + His cause in arms, to conquer or to die. + My right and his are in dispute: the slain + Fell without fault, our quarrel to maintain. + In equal arms let us alone contend; + And let him vanquish, whom his fates befriend. + This is the way (so tell him) to possess + The royal virgin, and restore the peace. + Bear this message back, with ample leave, + That your slain friends may fun’ral rites receive.” + + Thus having said—th’ embassadors, amaz’d, + Stood mute a while, and on each other gaz’d. + Drances, their chief, who harbour’d in his breast + Long hate to Turnus, as his foe profess’d, + Broke silence first, and to the godlike man, + With graceful action bowing, thus began: + “Auspicious prince, in arms a mighty name, + But yet whose actions far transcend your fame; + Would I your justice or your force express, + Thought can but equal; and all words are less. + Your answer we shall thankfully relate, + And favours granted to the Latian state. + If wish’d success our labour shall attend, + Think peace concluded, and the king your friend: + Let Turnus leave the realm to your command, + And seek alliance in some other land: + Build you the city which your fates assign; + We shall be proud in the great work to join.” + + Thus Drances; and his words so well persuade + The rest impower’d, that soon a truce is made. + Twelve days the term allow’d: and, during those, + Latians and Trojans, now no longer foes, + Mix’d in the woods, for fun’ral piles prepare + To fell the timber, and forget the war. + Loud axes thro’ the groaning groves resound; + Oak, mountain ash, and poplar spread the ground; + First fall from high; and some the trunks receive + In loaden wains; with wedges some they cleave. + + And now the fatal news by Fame is blown + Thro’ the short circuit of th’ Arcadian town, + Of Pallas slain—by Fame, which just before + His triumphs on distended pinions bore. + Rushing from out the gate, the people stand, + Each with a fun’ral flambeau in his hand. + Wildly they stare, distracted with amaze: + The fields are lighten’d with a fiery blaze, + That cast a sullen splendour on their friends, + The marching troop which their dead prince attends. + Both parties meet: they raise a doleful cry; + The matrons from the walls with shrieks reply, + And their mix’d mourning rends the vaulted sky. + The town is fill’d with tumult and with tears, + Till the loud clamours reach Evander’s ears: + Forgetful of his state, he runs along, + With a disorder’d pace, and cleaves the throng; + Falls on the corpse; and groaning there he lies, + With silent grief, that speaks but at his eyes. + Short sighs and sobs succeed; till sorrow breaks + A passage, and at once he weeps and speaks: + + “O Pallas! thou hast fail’d thy plighted word, + To fight with caution, not to tempt the sword! + I warn’d thee, but in vain; for well I knew + What perils youthful ardour would pursue, + That boiling blood would carry thee too far, + Young as thou wert in dangers, raw to war! + O curst essay of arms, disastrous doom, + Prelude of bloody fields, and fights to come! + Hard elements of unauspicious war, + Vain vows to Heav’n, and unavailing care! + Thrice happy thou, dear partner of my bed, + Whose holy soul the stroke of Fortune fled, + Prescious of ills, and leaving me behind, + To drink the dregs of life by fate assign’d! + Beyond the goal of nature I have gone: + My Pallas late set out, but reach’d too soon. + If, for my league against th’ Ausonian state, + Amidst their weapons I had found my fate, + (Deserv’d from them,) then I had been return’d + A breathless victor, and my son had mourn’d. + Yet will I not my Trojan friend upbraid, + Nor grudge th’ alliance I so gladly made. + ’Twas not his fault, my Pallas fell so young, + But my own crime, for having liv’d too long. + Yet, since the gods had destin’d him to die, + At least he led the way to victory: + First for his friends he won the fatal shore, + And sent whole herds of slaughter’d foes before; + A death too great, too glorious to deplore. + Nor will I add new honours to thy grave, + Content with those the Trojan hero gave: + That funeral pomp thy Phrygian friends design’d, + In which the Tuscan chiefs and army join’d. + Great spoils and trophies, gain’d by thee, they bear: + Then let thy own achievements be thy share. + Even thou, O Turnus, hadst a trophy stood, + Whose mighty trunk had better grac’d the wood, + If Pallas had arriv’d, with equal length + Of years, to match thy bulk with equal strength. + But why, unhappy man, dost thou detain + These troops, to view the tears thou shedd’st in vain? + Go, friends, this message to your lord relate: + Tell him, that, if I bear my bitter fate, + And, after Pallas’ death, live ling’ring on, + ’Tis to behold his vengeance for my son. + I stay for Turnus, whose devoted head + Is owing to the living and the dead. + My son and I expect it from his hand; + ’Tis all that he can give, or we demand. + Joy is no more; but I would gladly go, + To greet my Pallas with such news below.” + + The morn had now dispell’d the shades of night, + Restoring toils, when she restor’d the light. + The Trojan king and Tuscan chief command + To raise the piles along the winding strand. + Their friends convey the dead fun’ral fires; + Black smould’ring smoke from the green wood expires; + The light of heav’n is chok’d, and the new day retires. + Then thrice around the kindled piles they go + (For ancient custom had ordain’d it so) + Thrice horse and foot about the fires are led; + And thrice, with loud laments, they hail the dead. + Tears, trickling down their breasts, bedew the ground, + And drums and trumpets mix their mournful sound. + Amid the blaze, their pious brethren throw + The spoils, in battle taken from the foe: + Helms, bits emboss’d, and swords of shining steel; + One casts a target, one a chariot wheel; + Some to their fellows their own arms restore: + The falchions which in luckless fight they bore, + Their bucklers pierc’d, their darts bestow’d in vain, + And shiver’d lances gather’d from the plain. + Whole herds of offer’d bulls, about the fire, + And bristled boars, and woolly sheep expire. + Around the piles a careful troop attends, + To watch the wasting flames, and weep their burning friends; + Ling’ring along the shore, till dewy night + New decks the face of heav’n with starry light. + + The conquer’d Latians, with like pious care, + Piles without number for their dead prepare. + Part in the places where they fell are laid; + And part are to the neighb’ring fields convey’d. + The corps of kings, and captains of renown, + Borne off in state, are buried in the town; + The rest, unhonour’d, and without a name, + Are cast a common heap to feed the flame. + Trojans and Latians vie with like desires + To make the field of battle shine with fires, + And the promiscuous blaze to heav’n aspires. + + Now had the morning thrice renew’d the light, + And thrice dispell’d the shadows of the night, + When those who round the wasted fires remain, + Perform the last sad office to the slain. + They rake the yet warm ashes from below; + These, and the bones unburn’d, in earth bestow; + These relics with their country rites they grace, + And raise a mount of turf to mark the place. + + But, in the palace of the king, appears + A scene more solemn, and a pomp of tears. + Maids, matrons, widows, mix their common moans; + Orphans their sires, and sires lament their sons. + All in that universal sorrow share, + And curse the cause of this unhappy war: + A broken league, a bride unjustly sought, + A crown usurp’d, which with their blood is bought! + These are the crimes with which they load the name + Of Turnus, and on him alone exclaim: + “Let him who lords it o’er th’ Ausonian land + Engage the Trojan hero hand to hand: + His is the gain; our lot is but to serve; + ’Tis just, the sway he seeks, he should deserve.” + This Drances aggravates; and adds, with spite: + “His foe expects, and dares him to the fight.” + Nor Turnus wants a party, to support + His cause and credit in the Latian court. + His former acts secure his present fame, + And the queen shades him with her mighty name. + + While thus their factious minds with fury burn, + The legates from th’ Aetolian prince return: + Sad news they bring, that, after all the cost + And care employ’d, their embassy is lost; + That Diomedes refus’d his aid in war, + Unmov’d with presents, and as deaf to pray’r. + Some new alliance must elsewhere be sought, + Or peace with Troy on hard conditions bought. + + Latinus, sunk in sorrow, finds too late, + A foreign son is pointed out by fate; + And, till Aeneas shall Lavinia wed, + The wrath of Heav’n is hov’ring o’er his head. + The gods, he saw, espous’d the juster side, + When late their titles in the field were tried: + Witness the fresh laments, and fun’ral tears undried. + Thus, full of anxious thought, he summons all + The Latian senate to the council hall. + The princes come, commanded by their head, + And crowd the paths that to the palace lead. + Supreme in pow’r, and reverenc’d for his years, + He takes the throne, and in the midst appears. + Majestically sad, he sits in state, + And bids his envoys their success relate. + + When Venulus began, the murmuring sound + Was hush’d, and sacred silence reign’d around. + “We have,” said he, “perform’d your high command, + And pass’d with peril a long tract of land: + We reach’d the place desir’d; with wonder fill’d, + The Grecian tents and rising tow’rs beheld. + Great Diomede has compass’d round with walls + The city, which Argyripa he calls, + From his own Argos nam’d. We touch’d, with joy, + The royal hand that raz’d unhappy Troy. + When introduc’d, our presents first we bring, + Then crave an instant audience from the king. + His leave obtain’d, our native soil we name, + And tell th’ important cause for which we came. + Attentively he heard us, while we spoke; + Then, with soft accents, and a pleasing look, + Made this return: ‘Ausonian race, of old + Renown’d for peace, and for an age of gold, + What madness has your alter’d minds possess’d, + To change for war hereditary rest, + Solicit arms unknown, and tempt the sword, + A needless ill your ancestors abhorr’d? + We—for myself I speak, and all the name + Of Grecians, who to Troy’s destruction came, + (Omitting those who were in battle slain, + Or borne by rolling Simois to the main) + Not one but suffer’d, and too dearly bought + The prize of honour which in arms he sought; + Some doom’d to death, and some in exile driv’n. + Outcasts, abandon’d by the care of Heav’n; + So worn, so wretched, so despis’d a crew, + As ev’n old Priam might with pity view. + Witness the vessels by Minerva toss’d + In storms; the vengeful Capharean coast; + Th’ Euboean rocks! the prince, whose brother led + Our armies to revenge his injur’d bed, + In Egypt lost! Ulysses with his men + Have seen Charybdis and the Cyclops’ den. + Why should I name Idomeneus, in vain + Restor’d to scepters, and expell’d again? + Or young Achilles, by his rival slain? + Ev’n he, the King of Men, the foremost name + Of all the Greeks, and most renown’d by fame, + The proud revenger of another’s wife, + Yet by his own adult’ress lost his life; + Fell at his threshold; and the spoils of Troy + The foul polluters of his bed enjoy. + The gods have envied me the sweets of life, + My much lov’d country, and my more lov’d wife: + Banish’d from both, I mourn; while in the sky, + Transform’d to birds, my lost companions fly: + Hov’ring about the coasts, they make their moan, + And cuff the cliffs with pinions not their own. + What squalid spectres, in the dead of night, + Break my short sleep, and skim before my sight! + I might have promis’d to myself those harms, + Mad as I was, when I, with mortal arms, + Presum’d against immortal pow’rs to move, + And violate with wounds the Queen of Love. + Such arms this hand shall never more employ; + No hate remains with me to ruin’d Troy. + I war not with its dust; nor am I glad + To think of past events, or good or bad. + Your presents I return: whate’er you bring + To buy my friendship, send the Trojan king. + We met in fight; I know him, to my cost: + With what a whirling force his lance he toss’d! + Heav’ns! what a spring was in his arm, to throw! + How high he held his shield, and rose at ev’ry blow! + Had Troy produc’d two more his match in might, + They would have chang’d the fortune of the fight: + Th’ invasion of the Greeks had been return’d, + Our empire wasted, and our cities burn’d. + The long defence the Trojan people made, + The war protracted, and the siege delay’d, + Were due to Hector’s and this hero’s hand: + Both brave alike, and equal in command; + Aeneas, not inferior in the field, + In pious reverence to the gods excell’d. + Make peace, ye Latians, and avoid with care + Th’ impending dangers of a fatal war.’ + He said no more; but, with this cold excuse, + Refus’d th’ alliance, and advis’d a truce.” + + Thus Venulus concluded his report. + A jarring murmur fill’d the factious court: + As, when a torrent rolls with rapid force, + And dashes o’er the stones that stop the course, + The flood, constrain’d within a scanty space, + Roars horrible along th’ uneasy race; + White foam in gath’ring eddies floats around; + The rocky shores rebellow to the sound. + + The murmur ceas’d: then from his lofty throne + The king invok’d the gods, and thus begun: + “I wish, ye Latins, what we now debate + Had been resolv’d before it was too late. + Much better had it been for you and me, + Unforc’d by this our last necessity, + To have been earlier wise, than now to call + A council, when the foe surrounds the wall. + O citizens, we wage unequal war, + With men not only Heav’n’s peculiar care, + But Heav’n’s own race; unconquer’d in the field, + Or, conquer’d, yet unknowing how to yield. + What hopes you had in Diomedes, lay down: + Our hopes must centre on ourselves alone. + Yet those how feeble, and, indeed, how vain, + You see too well; nor need my words explain. + Vanquish’d without resource; laid flat by fate; + Factions within, a foe without the gate! + Not but I grant that all perform’d their parts + With manly force, and with undaunted hearts: + With our united strength the war we wag’d; + With equal numbers, equal arms, engag’d. + You see th’ event.—Now hear what I propose, + To save our friends, and satisfy our foes. + A tract of land the Latins have possess’d + Along the Tiber, stretching to the west, + Which now Rutulians and Auruncans till, + And their mix’d cattle graze the fruitful hill. + Those mountains fill’d with firs, that lower land, + If you consent, the Trojan shall command, + Call’d into part of what is ours; and there, + On terms agreed, the common country share. + There let them build and settle, if they please; + Unless they choose once more to cross the seas, + In search of seats remote from Italy, + And from unwelcome inmates set us free. + Then twice ten galleys let us build with speed, + Or twice as many more, if more they need. + Materials are at hand; a well-grown wood + Runs equal with the margin of the flood: + Let them the number and the form assign; + The care and cost of all the stores be mine. + To treat the peace, a hundred senators + Shall be commission’d hence with ample pow’rs, + With olive the presents they shall bear, + A purple robe, a royal iv’ry chair, + And all the marks of sway that Latian monarchs wear, + And sums of gold. Among yourselves debate + This great affair, and save the sinking state.” + + Then Drances took the word, who grudg’d, long since, + The rising glories of the Daunian prince. + Factious and rich, bold at the council board, + But cautious in the field, he shunn’d the sword; + A close caballer, and tongue-valiant lord. + Noble his mother was, and near the throne; + But, what his father’s parentage, unknown. + He rose, and took th’ advantage of the times, + To load young Turnus with invidious crimes. + “Such truths, O king,” said he, “your words contain, + As strike the sense, and all replies are vain; + Nor are your loyal subjects now to seek + What common needs require, but fear to speak. + Let him give leave of speech, that haughty man, + Whose pride this unauspicious war began; + For whose ambition (let me dare to say, + Fear set apart, tho’ death is in my way) + The plains of Latium run with blood around. + So many valiant heroes bite the ground; + Dejected grief in ev’ry face appears; + A town in mourning, and a land in tears; + While he, th’ undoubted author of our harms, + The man who menaces the gods with arms, + Yet, after all his boasts, forsook the fight, + And sought his safety in ignoble flight. + Now, best of kings, since you propose to send + Such bounteous presents to your Trojan friend; + Add yet a greater at our joint request, + One which he values more than all the rest: + Give him the fair Lavinia for his bride; + With that alliance let the league be tied, + And for the bleeding land a lasting peace provide. + Let insolence no longer awe the throne; + But, with a father’s right, bestow your own. + For this maligner of the general good, + If still we fear his force, he must be woo’d; + His haughty godhead we with pray’rs implore, + Your scepter to release, and our just rights restore. + O cursed cause of all our ills, must we + Wage wars unjust, and fall in fight, for thee! + What right hast thou to rule the Latian state, + And send us out to meet our certain fate? + ’Tis a destructive war: from Turnus’ hand + Our peace and public safety we demand. + Let the fair bride to the brave chief remain; + If not, the peace, without the pledge, is vain. + Turnus, I know you think me not your friend, + Nor will I much with your belief contend: + I beg your greatness not to give the law + In others’ realms, but, beaten, to withdraw. + Pity your own, or pity our estate; + Nor twist our fortunes with your sinking fate. + Your interest is, the war should never cease; + But we have felt enough to wish the peace: + A land exhausted to the last remains, + Depopulated towns, and driven plains. + Yet, if desire of fame, and thirst of pow’r, + A beauteous princess, with a crown in dow’r, + So fire your mind, in arms assert your right, + And meet your foe, who dares you to the fight. + Mankind, it seems, is made for you alone; + We, but the slaves who mount you to the throne: + A base ignoble crowd, without a name, + Unwept, unworthy, of the fun’ral flame, + By duty bound to forfeit each his life, + That Turnus may possess a royal wife. + Permit not, mighty man, so mean a crew + Should share such triumphs, and detain from you + The post of honour, your undoubted due. + Rather alone your matchless force employ, + To merit what alone you must enjoy.” + + These words, so full of malice mix’d with art, + Inflam’d with rage the youthful hero’s heart. + Then, groaning from the bottom of his breast, + He heav’d for wind, and thus his wrath express’d: + “You, Drances, never want a stream of words, + Then, when the public need requires our swords. + First in the council hall to steer the state, + And ever foremost in a tongue-debate, + While our strong walls secure us from the foe, + Ere yet with blood our ditches overflow: + But let the potent orator declaim, + And with the brand of coward blot my name; + Free leave is giv’n him, when his fatal hand + Has cover’d with more corps the sanguine strand, + And high as mine his tow’ring trophies stand. + If any doubt remains, who dares the most, + Let us decide it at the Trojan’s cost, + And issue both abreast, where honour calls— + (Foes are not far to seek without the walls) + Unless his noisy tongue can only fight, + And feet were giv’n him but to speed his flight. + I beaten from the field? I forc’d away? + Who, but so known a dastard, dares to say? + Had he but ev’n beheld the fight, his eyes + Had witness’d for me what his tongue denies: + What heaps of Trojans by this hand were slain, + And how the bloody Tiber swell’d the main. + All saw, but he, th’ Arcadian troops retire + In scatter’d squadrons, and their prince expire. + The giant brothers, in their camp, have found, + I was not forc’d with ease to quit my ground. + Not such the Trojans tried me, when, inclos’d, + I singly their united arms oppos’d: + First forc’d an entrance thro’ their thick array; + Then, glutted with their slaughter, freed my way. + ’Tis a destructive war? So let it be, + But to the Phrygian pirate, and to thee! + Meantime proceed to fill the people’s ears + With false reports, their minds with panic fears: + Extol the strength of a twice-conquer’d race; + Our foes encourage, and our friends debase. + Believe thy fables, and the Trojan town + Triumphant stands; the Grecians are o’erthrown; + Suppliant at Hector’s feet Achilles lies, + And Diomede from fierce Aeneas flies. + Say rapid Aufidus with awful dread + Runs backward from the sea, and hides his head, + When the great Trojan on his bank appears; + For that’s as true as thy dissembled fears + Of my revenge. Dismiss that vanity: + Thou, Drances, art below a death from me. + Let that vile soul in that vile body rest; + The lodging is well worthy of the guest. + + “Now, royal father, to the present state + Of our affairs, and of this high debate: + If in your arms thus early you diffide, + And think your fortune is already tried; + If one defeat has brought us down so low, + As never more in fields to meet the foe; + Then I conclude for peace: ’tis time to treat, + And lie like vassals at the victor’s feet. + But, O! if any ancient blood remains, + One drop of all our fathers’, in our veins, + That man would I prefer before the rest, + Who dar’d his death with an undaunted breast; + Who comely fell, by no dishonest wound, + To shun that sight, and, dying, gnaw’d the ground. + But, if we still have fresh recruits in store, + If our confederates can afford us more; + If the contended field we bravely fought, + And not a bloodless victory was bought; + Their losses equal’d ours; and, for their slain, + With equal fires they fill’d the shining plain; + Why thus, unforc’d, should we so tamely yield, + And, ere the trumpet sounds, resign the field? + Good unexpected, evils unforeseen, + Appear by turns, as fortune shifts the scene: + Some, rais’d aloft, come tumbling down amain; + Then fall so hard, they bound and rise again. + If Diomede refuse his aid to lend, + The great Messapus yet remains our friend: + Tolumnius, who foretells events, is ours; + Th’ Italian chiefs and princes join their pow’rs: + Nor least in number, nor in name the last, + Your own brave subjects have your cause embrac’d + Above the rest, the Volscian Amazon + Contains an army in herself alone, + And heads a squadron, terrible to sight, + With glitt’ring shields, in brazen armour bright. + Yet, if the foe a single fight demand, + And I alone the public peace withstand; + If you consent, he shall not be refus’d, + Nor find a hand to victory unus’d. + This new Achilles, let him take the field, + With fated armour, and Vulcanian shield! + For you, my royal father, and my fame, + I, Turnus, not the least of all my name, + Devote my soul. He calls me hand to hand, + And I alone will answer his demand. + Drances shall rest secure, and neither share + The danger, nor divide the prize of war.” + + While they debate, nor these nor those will yield, + Aeneas draws his forces to the field, + And moves his camp. The scouts with flying speed + Return, and thro’ the frighted city spread + Th’ unpleasing news, the Trojans are descried, + In battle marching by the river side, + And bending to the town. They take th’ alarm: + Some tremble, some are bold; all in confusion arm. + Th’ impetuous youth press forward to the field; + They clash the sword, and clatter on the shield: + The fearful matrons raise a screaming cry; + Old feeble men with fainter groans reply; + A jarring sound results, and mingles in the sky, + Like that of swans remurm’ring to the floods, + Or birds of diff’ring kinds in hollow woods. + + Turnus th’ occasion takes, and cries aloud: + “Talk on, ye quaint haranguers of the crowd: + Declaim in praise of peace, when danger calls, + And the fierce foes in arms approach the walls.” + He said, and, turning short, with speedy pace, + Casts back a scornful glance, and quits the place: + “Thou, Volusus, the Volscian troops command + To mount; and lead thyself our Ardean band. + Messapus and Catillus, post your force + Along the fields, to charge the Trojan horse. + Some guard the passes, others man the wall; + Drawn up in arms, the rest attend my call.” + + They swarm from ev’ry quarter of the town, + And with disorder’d haste the rampires crown. + Good old Latinus, when he saw, too late, + The gath’ring storm just breaking on the state, + Dismiss’d the council till a fitter time, + And own’d his easy temper as his crime, + Who, forc’d against his reason, had complied + To break the treaty for the promis’d bride. + + Some help to sink new trenches; others aid + To ram the stones, or raise the palisade. + Hoarse trumpets sound th’ alarm; around the walls + Runs a distracted crew, whom their last labour calls. + A sad procession in the streets is seen, + Of matrons, that attend the mother queen: + High in her chair she sits, and, at her side, + With downcast eyes, appears the fatal bride. + They mount the cliff, where Pallas’ temple stands; + Pray’rs in their mouths, and presents in their hands, + With censers first they fume the sacred shrine, + Then in this common supplication join: + “O patroness of arms, unspotted maid, + Propitious hear, and lend thy Latins aid! + Break short the pirate’s lance; pronounce his fate, + And lay the Phrygian low before the gate.” + + Now Turnus arms for fight. His back and breast + Well-temper’d steel and scaly brass invest: + The cuishes which his brawny thighs infold + Are mingled metal damask’d o’er with gold. + His faithful falchion sits upon his side; + Nor casque, nor crest, his manly features hide: + But, bare to view, amid surrounding friends, + With godlike grace, he from the tow’r descends. + Exulting in his strength, he seems to dare + His absent rival, and to promise war. + Freed from his keepers, thus, with broken reins, + The wanton courser prances o’er the plains, + Or in the pride of youth o’erleaps the mounds, + And snuffs the females in forbidden grounds. + Or seeks his wat’ring in the well-known flood, + To quench his thirst, and cool his fiery blood: + He swims luxuriant in the liquid plain, + And o’er his shoulder flows his waving mane: + He neighs, he snorts, he bears his head on high; + Before his ample chest the frothy waters fly. + + Soon as the prince appears without the gate, + The Volscians, with their virgin leader, wait + His last commands. Then, with a graceful mien, + Lights from her lofty steed the warrior queen: + Her squadron imitates, and each descends; + Whose common suit Camilla thus commends: + “If sense of honour, if a soul secure + Of inborn worth, that can all tests endure, + Can promise aught, or on itself rely + Greatly to dare, to conquer or to die; + Then, I alone, sustain’d by these, will meet + The Tyrrhene troops, and promise their defeat. + Ours be the danger, ours the sole renown: + You, gen’ral, stay behind, and guard the town.” + + Turnus a while stood mute, with glad surprise, + And on the fierce Virago fix’d his eyes; + Then thus return’d: “O grace of Italy, + With what becoming thanks can I reply? + Not only words lie lab’ring in my breast, + But thought itself is by thy praise oppress’d. + Yet rob me not of all; but let me join + My toils, my hazard, and my fame, with thine. + The Trojan, not in stratagem unskill’d, + Sends his light horse before to scour the field: + Himself, thro’ steep ascents and thorny brakes, + A larger compass to the city takes. + This news my scouts confirm, and I prepare + To foil his cunning, and his force to dare; + With chosen foot his passage to forelay, + And place an ambush in the winding way. + Thou, with thy Volscians, face the Tuscan horse; + The brave Messapus shall thy troops enforce + With those of Tibur, and the Latian band, + Subjected all to thy supreme command.” + This said, he warns Messapus to the war, + Then ev’ry chief exhorts with equal care. + All thus encourag’d, his own troops he joins, + And hastes to prosecute his deep designs. + + Inclos’d with hills, a winding valley lies, + By nature form’d for fraud, and fitted for surprise. + A narrow track, by human steps untrode, + Leads, thro’ perplexing thorns, to this obscure abode. + High o’er the vale a steepy mountain stands, + Whence the surveying sight the nether ground commands. + The top is level, an offensive seat + Of war; and from the war a safe retreat: + For, on the right and left, is room to press + The foes at hand, or from afar distress; + To drive ’em headlong downward, and to pour + On their descending backs a stony show’r. + Thither young Turnus took the well-known way, + Possess’d the pass, and in blind ambush lay. + + Meantime Latonian Phoebe, from the skies, + Beheld th’ approaching war with hateful eyes, + And call’d the light-foot Opis to her aid, + Her most belov’d and ever-trusty maid; + Then with a sigh began: “Camilla goes + To meet her death amidst her fatal foes: + The nymphs I lov’d of all my mortal train, + Invested with Diana’s arms, in vain. + Nor is my kindness for the virgin new: + ’Twas born with her; and with her years it grew. + Her father Metabus, when forc’d away + From old Privernum, for tyrannic sway, + Snatch’d up, and sav’d from his prevailing foes, + This tender babe, companion of his woes. + Casmilla was her mother; but he drown’d + One hissing letter in a softer sound, + And call’d Camilla. Thro’ the woods he flies; + Wrapp’d in his robe the royal infant lies. + His foes in sight, he mends his weary pace; + With shout and clamours they pursue the chase. + The banks of Amasene at length he gains: + + The raging flood his farther flight restrains, + Rais’d o’er the borders with unusual rains. + Prepar’d to plunge into the stream, he fears, + Not for himself, but for the charge he bears. + Anxious, he stops a while, and thinks in haste; + Then, desp’rate in distress, resolves at last. + A knotty lance of well-boil’d oak he bore; + The middle part with cork he cover’d o’er: + He clos’d the child within the hollow space; + With twigs of bending osier bound the case; + Then pois’d the spear, heavy with human weight, + And thus invok’d my favour for the freight: + ‘Accept, great goddess of the woods,’ he said, + ‘Sent by her sire, this dedicated maid! + Thro’ air she flies a suppliant to thy shrine; + And the first weapons that she knows, are thine.’ + He said; and with full force the spear he threw: + Above the sounding waves Camilla flew. + Then, press’d by foes, he stemm’d the stormy tide, + And gain’d, by stress of arms, the farther side. + His fasten’d spear he pull’d from out the ground, + And, victor of his vows, his infant nymph unbound; + Nor, after that, in towns which walls inclose, + Would trust his hunted life amidst his foes; + But, rough, in open air he chose to lie; + Earth was his couch, his cov’ring was the sky. + On hills unshorn, or in a desert den, + He shunn’d the dire society of men. + A shepherd’s solitary life he led; + His daughter with the milk of mares he fed. + The dugs of bears, and ev’ry salvage beast, + He drew, and thro’ her lips the liquor press’d. + The little Amazon could scarcely go: + He loads her with a quiver and a bow; + And, that she might her stagg’ring steps command, + He with a slender jav’lin fills her hand. + Her flowing hair no golden fillet bound; + Nor swept her trailing robe the dusty ground. + Instead of these, a tiger’s hide o’erspread + Her back and shoulders, fasten’d to her head. + The flying dart she first attempts to fling, + And round her tender temples toss’d the sling; + Then, as her strength with years increas’d, began + To pierce aloft in air the soaring swan, + And from the clouds to fetch the heron and the crane. + The Tuscan matrons with each other vied, + To bless their rival sons with such a bride; + But she disdains their love, to share with me + The sylvan shades and vow’d virginity. + And, O! I wish, contented with my cares + Of salvage spoils, she had not sought the wars! + Then had she been of my celestial train, + And shunn’d the fate that dooms her to be slain. + But since, opposing Heav’n’s decree, she goes + To find her death among forbidden foes, + Haste with these arms, and take thy steepy flight. + Where, with the gods, averse, the Latins fight. + This bow to thee, this quiver I bequeath, + This chosen arrow, to revenge her death: + By whate’er hand Camilla shall be slain, + Or of the Trojan or Italian train, + Let him not pass unpunish’d from the plain. + Then, in a hollow cloud, myself will aid + To bear the breathless body of my maid: + Unspoil’d shall be her arms, and unprofan’d + Her holy limbs with any human hand, + And in a marble tomb laid in her native land.” + + She said. The faithful nymph descends from high + With rapid flight, and cuts the sounding sky: + Black clouds and stormy winds around her body fly. + + By this, the Trojan and the Tuscan horse, + Drawn up in squadrons, with united force, + Approach the walls: the sprightly coursers bound, + Press forward on their bits, and shift their ground. + Shields, arms, and spears flash horribly from far; + And the fields glitter with a waving war. + Oppos’d to these, come on with furious force + Messapus, Coras, and the Latian horse; + These in the body plac’d, on either hand + Sustain’d and clos’d by fair Camilla’s band. + Advancing in a line, they couch their spears; + And less and less the middle space appears. + Thick smoke obscures the field; and scarce are seen + The neighing coursers, and the shouting men. + In distance of their darts they stop their course; + Then man to man they rush, and horse to horse. + The face of heav’n their flying jav’lins hide, + And deaths unseen are dealt on either side. + Tyrrhenus, and Aconteus, void of fear, + By mettled coursers borne in full career, + Meet first oppos’d; and, with a mighty shock, + Their horses’ heads against each other knock. + Far from his steed is fierce Aconteus cast, + As with an engine’s force, or lightning’s blast: + He rolls along in blood, and breathes his last. + The Latin squadrons take a sudden fright, + And sling their shields behind, to save their backs in flight + Spurring at speed to their own walls they drew; + Close in the rear the Tuscan troops pursue, + And urge their flight: Asylas leads the chase; + Till, seiz’d, with shame, they wheel about and face, + Receive their foes, and raise a threat’ning cry. + The Tuscans take their turn to fear and fly. + So swelling surges, with a thund’ring roar, + Driv’n on each other’s backs, insult the shore, + Bound o’er the rocks, incroach upon the land, + And far upon the beach eject the sand; + Then backward, with a swing, they take their way, + Repuls’d from upper ground, and seek their mother sea; + With equal hurry quit th’ invaded shore, + And swallow back the sand and stones they spew’d before. + + Twice were the Tuscans masters of the field, + Twice by the Latins, in their turn, repell’d. + Asham’d at length, to the third charge they ran; + Both hosts resolv’d, and mingled man to man. + Now dying groans are heard; the fields are strow’d + With falling bodies, and are drunk with blood. + Arms, horses, men, on heaps together lie: + Confus’d the fight, and more confus’d the cry. + Orsilochus, who durst not press too near + Strong Remulus, at distance drove his spear, + And stuck the steel beneath his horse’s ear. + The fiery steed, impatient of the wound, + Curvets, and, springing upward with a bound, + His helpless lord cast backward on the ground. + Catillus pierc’d Iolas first; then drew + His reeking lance, and at Herminius threw, + The mighty champion of the Tuscan crew. + His neck and throat unarm’d, his head was bare, + But shaded with a length of yellow hair: + Secure, he fought, expos’d on ev’ry part, + A spacious mark for swords, and for the flying dart. + Across the shoulders came the feather’d wound; + Transfix’d he fell, and doubled to the ground. + The sands with streaming blood are sanguine dyed, + And death with honour sought on either side. + + Resistless thro’ the war Camilla rode, + In danger unappall’d, and pleas’d with blood. + One side was bare for her exerted breast; + One shoulder with her painted quiver press’d. + Now from afar her fatal jav’lins play; + Now with her ax’s edge she hews her way: + Diana’s arms upon her shoulder sound; + And when, too closely press’d, she quits the ground, + From her bent bow she sends a backward wound. + Her maids, in martial pomp, on either side, + Larina, Tulla, fierce Tarpeia, ride: + Italians all; in peace, their queen’s delight; + In war, the bold companions of the fight. + So march’d the Thracian Amazons of old, + When Thermodon with bloody billows roll’d: + Such troops as these in shining arms were seen, + When Theseus met in fight their maiden queen: + Such to the field Penthesilea led, + From the fierce virgin when the Grecians fled; + With such, return’d triumphant from the war, + Her maids with cries attend the lofty car; + They clash with manly force their moony shields; + With female shouts resound the Phrygian fields. + + Who foremost, and who last, heroic maid, + On the cold earth were by thy courage laid? + Thy spear, of mountain ash, Eumenius first, + With fury driv’n, from side to side transpierc’d: + A purple stream came spouting from the wound; + Bath’d in his blood he lies, and bites the ground. + Liris and Pegasus at once she slew: + The former, as the slacken’d reins he drew + Of his faint steed; the latter, as he stretch’d + His arm to prop his friend, the jav’lin reach’d. + By the same weapon, sent from the same hand, + Both fall together, and both spurn the sand. + Amastrus next is added to the slain: + The rest in rout she follows o’er the plain: + Tereus, Harpalycus, Demophoon, + And Chromis, at full speed her fury shun. + Of all her deadly darts, not one she lost; + Each was attended with a Trojan ghost. + Young Ornithus bestrode a hunter steed, + Swift for the chase, and of Apulian breed. + Him from afar she spied, in arms unknown: + O’er his broad back an ox’s hide was thrown; + His helm a wolf, whose gaping jaws were spread + A cov’ring for his cheeks, and grinn’d around his head, + He clench’d within his hand an iron prong, + And tower’d above the rest, conspicuous in the throng. + Him soon she singled from the flying train, + And slew with ease; then thus insults the slain: + “Vain hunter, didst thou think thro’ woods to chase + The savage herd, a vile and trembling race? + Here cease thy vaunts, and own my victory: + A woman warrior was too strong for thee. + Yet, if the ghosts demand the conqu’ror’s name, + Confessing great Camilla, save thy shame.” + Then Butes and Orsilochus she slew, + The bulkiest bodies of the Trojan crew; + But Butes breast to breast: the spear descends + Above the gorget, where his helmet ends, + And o’er the shield which his left side defends. + Orsilochus and she their courses ply: + He seems to follow, and she seems to fly; + But in a narrower ring she makes the race; + And then he flies, and she pursues the chase. + Gath’ring at length on her deluded foe, + She swings her ax, and rises to the blow + Full on the helm behind, with such a sway + The weapon falls, the riven steel gives way: + He groans, he roars, he sues in vain for grace; + Brains, mingled with his blood, besmear his face. + + Astonish’d Aunus just arrives by chance, + To see his fall; nor farther dares advance; + But, fixing on the horrid maid his eye, + He stares, and shakes, and finds it vain to fly; + Yet, like a true Ligurian, born to cheat, + (At least while fortune favour’d his deceit,) + Cries out aloud: “What courage have you shown, + Who trust your courser’s strength, and not your own? + Forego the vantage of your horse, alight, + And then on equal terms begin the fight: + It shall be seen, weak woman, what you can, + When, foot to foot, you combat with a man,” + He said. She glows with anger and disdain, + Dismounts with speed to dare him on the plain, + And leaves her horse at large among her train; + With her drawn sword defies him to the field, + And, marching, lifts aloft her maiden shield. + The youth, who thought his cunning did succeed, + Reins round his horse, and urges all his speed; + Adds the remembrance of the spur, and hides + The goring rowels in his bleeding sides. + “Vain fool, and coward!” cries the lofty maid, + “Caught in the train which thou thyself hast laid! + On others practice thy Ligurian arts; + Thin stratagems and tricks of little hearts + Are lost on me: nor shalt thou safe retire, + With vaunting lies, to thy fallacious sire.” + At this, so fast her flying feet she sped, + That soon she strain’d beyond his horse’s head: + Then turning short, at once she seiz’d the rein, + And laid the boaster grov’ling on the plain. + Not with more ease the falcon, from above, + Trusses in middle air the trembling dove, + Then plumes the prey, in her strong pounces bound: + The feathers, foul with blood, come tumbling to the ground. + + Now mighty Jove, from his superior height, + With his broad eye surveys th’ unequal fight. + He fires the breast of Tarchon with disdain, + And sends him to redeem th’ abandon’d plain. + Betwixt the broken ranks the Tuscan rides, + And these encourages, and those he chides; + Recalls each leader, by his name, from flight; + Renews their ardour, and restores the fight. + “What panic fear has seiz’d your souls? O shame, + O brand perpetual of th’ Etrurian name! + Cowards incurable, a woman’s hand + Drives, breaks, and scatters your ignoble band! + Now cast away the sword, and quit the shield! + What use of weapons which you dare not wield? + Not thus you fly your female foes by night, + Nor shun the feast, when the full bowls invite; + When to fat off’rings the glad augur calls, + And the shrill hornpipe sounds to bacchanals. + These are your studied cares, your lewd delight: + Swift to debauch, but slow to manly fight.” + Thus having said, he spurs amid the foes, + Not managing the life he meant to lose. + The first he found he seiz’d with headlong haste, + In his strong gripe, and clasp’d around the waist; + ’Twas Venulus, whom from his horse he tore, + And, laid athwart his own, in triumph bore. + Loud shouts ensue; the Latins turn their eyes, + And view th’ unusual sight with vast surprise. + The fiery Tarchon, flying o’er the plains, + Press’d in his arms the pond’rous prey sustains; + Then, with his shorten’d spear, explores around + His jointed arms, to fix a deadly wound. + Nor less the captive struggles for his life: + He writhes his body to prolong the strife, + And, fencing for his naked throat, exerts + His utmost vigour, and the point averts. + So stoops the yellow eagle from on high, + And bears a speckled serpent thro’ the sky, + Fast’ning his crooked talons on the prey: + The pris’ner hisses thro’ the liquid way; + Resists the royal hawk; and, tho’ oppress’d, + She fights in volumes, and erects her crest: + Turn’d to her foe, she stiffens ev’ry scale, + And shoots her forky tongue, and whisks her threat’ning tail. + Against the victor, all defence is weak: + Th’ imperial bird still plies her with his beak; + He tears her bowels, and her breast he gores; + Then claps his pinions, and securely soars. + Thus, thro’ the midst of circling enemies, + Strong Tarchon snatch’d and bore away his prize. + The Tyrrhene troops, that shrunk before, now press + The Latins, and presume the like success. + + Then Aruns, doom’d to death, his arts assay’d, + To murder, unespied, the Volscian maid: + This way and that his winding course he bends, + And, whereso’er she turns, her steps attends. + When she retires victorious from the chase, + He wheels about with care, and shifts his place; + When, rushing on, she seeks her foes in fight, + He keeps aloof, but keeps her still in sight: + He threats, and trembles, trying ev’ry way, + Unseen to kill, and safely to betray. + Chloreus, the priest of Cybele, from far, + Glitt’ring in Phrygian arms amidst the war, + Was by the virgin view’d. The steed he press’d + Was proud with trappings, and his brawny chest + With scales of gilded brass was cover’d o’er; + A robe of Tyrian dye the rider wore. + With deadly wounds he gall’d the distant foe; + Gnossian his shafts, and Lycian was his bow: + A golden helm his front and head surrounds + A gilded quiver from his shoulder sounds. + Gold, weav’d with linen, on his thighs he wore, + With flowers of needlework distinguish’d o’er, + With golden buckles bound, and gather’d up before. + Him the fierce maid beheld with ardent eyes, + Fond and ambitious of so rich a prize, + Or that the temple might his trophies hold, + Or else to shine herself in Trojan gold. + Blind in her haste, she chases him alone. + And seeks his life, regardless of her own. + + This lucky moment the sly traitor chose: + Then, starting from his ambush, up he rose, + And threw, but first to Heav’n address’d his vows: + “O patron of Socrates’ high abodes, + Phoebus, the ruling pow’r among the gods, + Whom first we serve, whole woods of unctuous pine + Are fell’d for thee, and to thy glory shine; + By thee protected with our naked soles, + Thro’ flames unsing’d we march, and tread the kindled coals + Give me, propitious pow’r, to wash away + The stains of this dishonourable day: + Nor spoils, nor triumph, from the fact I claim, + But with my future actions trust my fame. + Let me, by stealth, this female plague o’ercome, + And from the field return inglorious home.” + Apollo heard, and, granting half his pray’r, + Shuffled in winds the rest, and toss’d in empty air. + He gives the death desir’d; his safe return + By southern tempests to the seas is borne. + + Now, when the jav’lin whizz’d along the skies, + Both armies on Camilla turn’d their eyes, + Directed by the sound. Of either host, + Th’ unhappy virgin, tho’ concern’d the most, + Was only deaf; so greedy was she bent + On golden spoils, and on her prey intent; + Till in her pap the winged weapon stood + Infix’d, and deeply drunk the purple blood. + Her sad attendants hasten to sustain + Their dying lady, drooping on the plain. + Far from their sight the trembling Aruns flies, + With beating heart, and fear confus’d with joys; + Nor dares he farther to pursue his blow, + Or ev’n to bear the sight of his expiring foe. + As, when the wolf has torn a bullock’s hide + At unawares, or ranch’d a shepherd’s side, + Conscious of his audacious deed, he flies, + And claps his quiv’ring tail between his thighs: + So, speeding once, the wretch no more attends, + But, spurring forward, herds among his friends. + + She wrench’d the jav’lin with her dying hands, + But wedg’d within her breast the weapon stands; + The wood she draws, the steely point remains; + She staggers in her seat with agonizing pains: + (A gath’ring mist o’erclouds her cheerful eyes, + And from her cheeks the rosy colour flies:) + Then turns to her, whom of her female train + She trusted most, and thus she speaks with pain: + “Acca, ’tis past! he swims before my sight, + Inexorable Death; and claims his right. + Bear my last words to Turnus; fly with speed, + And bid him timely to my charge succeed, + Repel the Trojans, and the town relieve: + Farewell! and in this kiss my parting breath receive.” + She said, and, sliding, sunk upon the plain: + Dying, her open’d hand forsakes the rein; + Short, and more short, she pants; by slow degrees + Her mind the passage from her body frees. + She drops her sword; she nods her plumy crest, + Her drooping head declining on her breast: + In the last sigh her struggling soul expires, + And, murm’ring with disdain, to Stygian sounds retires. + + A shout, that struck the golden stars, ensued; + Despair and rage the languish’d fight renew’d. + The Trojan troops and Tuscans, in a line, + Advance to charge; the mix’d Arcadians join. + + But Cynthia’s maid, high seated, from afar + Surveys the field, and fortune of the war, + Unmov’d a while, till, prostrate on the plain, + Welt’ring in blood, she sees Camilla slain, + And, round her corpse, of friends and foes a fighting train. + Then, from the bottom of her breast, she drew + A mournful sigh, and these sad words ensue: + “Too dear a fine, ah, much lamented maid, + For warring with the Trojans, thou hast paid! + Nor aught avail’d, in this unhappy strife, + Diana’s sacred arms, to save thy life. + Yet unreveng’d thy goddess will not leave + Her vot’ry’s death, nor; with vain sorrow grieve. + Branded the wretch, and be his name abhorr’d; + But after ages shall thy praise record. + Th’ inglorious coward soon shall press the plain: + Thus vows thy queen, and thus the Fates ordain.” + + High o’er the field there stood a hilly mound, + Sacred the place, and spread with oaks around, + Where, in a marble tomb, Dercennus lay, + A king that once in Latium bore the sway. + The beauteous Opis thither bent her flight, + To mark the traitor Aruns from the height. + Him in refulgent arms she soon espied, + Swoln with success; and loudly thus she cried: + “Thy backward steps, vain boaster, are too late; + Turn like a man, at length, and meet thy fate. + Charg’d with my message, to Camilla go, + And say I sent thee to the shades below, + An honour undeserv’d from Cynthia’s bow.” + + She said, and from her quiver chose with speed + The winged shaft, predestin’d for the deed; + Then to the stubborn yew her strength applied, + Till the far distant horns approach’d on either side. + The bowstring touch’d her breast, so strong she drew; + Whizzing in air the fatal arrow flew. + At once the twanging bow and sounding dart + The traitor heard, and felt the point within his heart. + Him, beating with his heels in pangs of death, + His flying friends to foreign fields bequeath. + The conqu’ring damsel, with expanded wings, + The welcome message to her mistress brings. + + Their leader lost, the Volscians quit the field, + And, unsustain’d, the chiefs of Turnus yield. + The frighted soldiers, when their captains fly, + More on their speed than on their strength rely. + Confus’d in flight, they bear each other down, + And spur their horses headlong to the town. + Driv’n by their foes, and to their fears resign’d, + Not once they turn, but take their wounds behind. + These drop the shield, and those the lance forego, + Or on their shoulders bear the slacken’d bow. + The hoofs of horses, with a rattling sound, + Beat short and thick, and shake the rotten ground. + Black clouds of dust come rolling in the sky, + And o’er the darken’d walls and rampires fly. + The trembling matrons, from their lofty stands, + Rend heav’n with female shrieks, and wring their hands. + All pressing on, pursuers and pursued, + Are crush’d in crowds, a mingled multitude. + Some happy few escape: the throng too late + Rush on for entrance, till they choke the gate. + Ev’n in the sight of home, the wretched sire + Looks on, and sees his helpless son expire. + Then, in a fright, the folding gates they close, + But leave their friends excluded with their foes. + The vanquish’d cry; the victors loudly shout; + ’Tis terror all within, and slaughter all without. + Blind in their fear, they bounce against the wall, + Or, to the moats pursued, precipitate their fall. + + The Latian virgins, valiant with despair, + Arm’d on the tow’rs, the common danger share: + So much of zeal their country’s cause inspir’d; + So much Camilla’s great example fir’d. + Poles, sharpen’d in the flames, from high they throw, + With imitated darts, to gall the foe. + Their lives for godlike freedom they bequeath, + And crowd each other to be first in death. + Meantime to Turnus, ambush’d in the shade, + With heavy tidings came th’ unhappy maid: + “The Volscians overthrown, Camilla kill’d; + The foes, entirely masters of the field, + Like a resistless flood, come rolling on: + The cry goes off the plain, and thickens to the town.” + + Inflam’d with rage, (for so the Furies fire + The Daunian’s breast, and so the Fates require,) + He leaves the hilly pass, the woods in vain + Possess’d, and downward issues on the plain. + Scarce was he gone, when to the straits, now freed + From secret foes, the Trojan troops succeed. + Thro’ the black forest and the ferny brake, + Unknowingly secure, their way they take; + From the rough mountains to the plain descend, + And there, in order drawn, their line extend. + Both armies now in open fields are seen; + Nor far the distance of the space between. + Both to the city bend. Aeneas sees, + Thro’ smoking fields, his hast’ning enemies; + And Turnus views the Trojans in array, + And hears th’ approaching horses proudly neigh. + Soon had their hosts in bloody battle join’d; + But westward to the sea the sun declin’d. + Intrench’d before the town both armies lie, + While night with sable wings involves the sky. + + + + BOOK XII + + THE ARGUMENT. + + + Turnus challenges Aeneas to a single combat: articles are agreed + on, but broken by the Rutuli, who wound Aeneas. He is + miraculously cured by Venus, forces Turnus to a duel, and + concludes the poem with his death. + + + When Turnus saw the Latins leave the field, + Their armies broken, and their courage quell’d, + Himself become the mark of public spite, + His honour question’d for the promis’d fight; + The more he was with vulgar hate oppress’d, + The more his fury boil’d within his breast: + He rous’d his vigour for the last debate, + And rais’d his haughty soul to meet his fate. + + As, when the swains the Libyan lion chase, + He makes a sour retreat, nor mends his pace; + But, if the pointed jav’lin pierce his side, + The lordly beast returns with double pride: + He wrenches out the steel, he roars for pain; + His sides he lashes, and erects his mane: + So Turnus fares; his eyeballs flash with fire, + Thro’ his wide nostrils clouds of smoke expire. + + Trembling with rage, around the court he ran, + At length approach’d the king, and thus began: + “No more excuses or delays: I stand + In arms prepar’d to combat, hand to hand, + This base deserter of his native land. + The Trojan, by his word, is bound to take + The same conditions which himself did make. + Renew the truce; the solemn rites prepare, + And to my single virtue trust the war. + The Latians unconcern’d shall see the fight; + This arm unaided shall assert your right: + Then, if my prostrate body press the plain, + To him the crown and beauteous bride remain.” + + To whom the king sedately thus replied: + “Brave youth, the more your valour has been tried, + The more becomes it us, with due respect, + To weigh the chance of war, which you neglect. + You want not wealth, or a successive throne, + Or cities which your arms have made your own: + My towns and treasures are at your command, + And stor’d with blooming beauties is my land; + Laurentum more than one Lavinia sees, + Unmarried, fair, of noble families. + Now let me speak, and you with patience hear, + Things which perhaps may grate a lover’s ear, + But sound advice, proceeding from a heart + Sincerely yours, and free from fraudful art. + The gods, by signs, have manifestly shown, + No prince Italian born should heir my throne: + Oft have our augurs, in prediction skill’d, + And oft our priests, a foreign son reveal’d. + Yet, won by worth that cannot be withstood, + Brib’d by my kindness to my kindred blood, + Urg’d by my wife, who would not be denied, + I promis’d my Lavinia for your bride: + Her from her plighted lord by force I took; + All ties of treaties, and of honour, broke: + On your account I wag’d an impious war— + With what success, ’tis needless to declare; + I and my subjects feel, and you have had your share. + Twice vanquish’d while in bloody fields we strive, + Scarce in our walls we keep our hopes alive: + The rolling flood runs warm with human gore; + The bones of Latians blanch the neighb’ring shore. + Why put I not an end to this debate, + Still unresolv’d, and still a slave to fate? + If Turnus’ death a lasting peace can give, + Why should I not procure it whilst you live? + Should I to doubtful arms your youth betray, + What would my kinsmen, the Rutulians, say? + And, should you fall in fight, (which Heav’n defend!) + How curse the cause which hasten’d to his end + The daughter’s lover and the father’s friend? + Weigh in your mind the various chance of war; + Pity your parent’s age, and ease his care.” + + Such balmy words he pour’d, but all in vain: + The proffer’d med’cine but provok’d the pain. + The wrathful youth, disdaining the relief, + With intermitting sobs thus vents his grief: + “The care, O best of fathers, which you take + For my concerns, at my desire forsake. + Permit me not to languish out my days, + But make the best exchange of life for praise. + This arm, this lance, can well dispute the prize; + And the blood follows, where the weapon flies. + His goddess mother is not near, to shroud + The flying coward with an empty cloud.” + + But now the queen, who fear’d for Turnus’ life, + And loath’d the hard conditions of the strife, + Held him by force; and, dying in his death, + In these sad accents gave her sorrow breath: + “O Turnus, I adjure thee by these tears, + And whate’er price Amata’s honour bears + Within thy breast, since thou art all my hope, + My sickly mind’s repose, my sinking age’s prop; + Since on the safety of thy life alone + Depends Latinus, and the Latian throne: + Refuse me not this one, this only pray’r, + To waive the combat, and pursue the war. + Whatever chance attends this fatal strife, + Think it includes, in thine, Amata’s life. + I cannot live a slave, or see my throne + Usurp’d by strangers or a Trojan son.” + + At this, a flood of tears Lavinia shed; + A crimson blush her beauteous face o’erspread, + Varying her cheeks by turns with white and red. + The driving colours, never at a stay, + Run here and there, and flush, and fade away. + Delightful change! Thus Indian iv’ry shows, + Which with the bord’ring paint of purple glows; + Or lilies damask’d by the neighb’ring rose. + + The lover gaz’d, and, burning with desire, + The more he look’d, the more he fed the fire: + Revenge, and jealous rage, and secret spite, + Roll in his breast, and rouse him to the fight. + Then fixing on the queen his ardent eyes, + Firm to his first intent, he thus replies: + “O mother, do not by your tears prepare + Such boding omens, and prejudge the war. + Resolv’d on fight, I am no longer free + To shun my death, if Heav’n my death decree.” + Then turning to the herald, thus pursues: + “Go, greet the Trojan with ungrateful news; + Denounce from me, that, when tomorrow’s light + Shall gild the heav’ns, he need not urge the fight; + The Trojan and Rutulian troops no more + Shall dye, with mutual blood, the Latian shore: + Our single swords the quarrel shall decide, + And to the victor be the beauteous bride.” + + He said, and striding on, with speedy pace, + He sought his coursers of the Thracian race. + At his approach they toss their heads on high, + And, proudly neighing, promise victory. + The sires of these Orythia sent from far, + To grace Pilumnus, when he went to war. + The drifts of Thracian snows were scarce so white, + Nor northern winds in fleetness match’d their flight. + Officious grooms stand ready by his side; + And some with combs their flowing manes divide, + And others stroke their chests and gently soothe their pride. + + He sheath’d his limbs in arms; a temper’d mass + Of golden metal those, and mountain brass. + Then to his head his glitt’ring helm he tied, + And girt his faithful falchion to his side. + In his Aetnaean forge, the God of Fire + That falchion labour’d for the hero’s sire; + Immortal keenness on the blade bestow’d, + And plung’d it hissing in the Stygian flood. + Propp’d on a pillar, which the ceiling bore, + Was plac’d the lance Auruncan Actor wore; + Which with such force he brandish’d in his hand, + The tough ash trembled like an osier wand: + Then cried: “O pond’rous spoil of Actor slain, + And never yet by Turnus toss’d in vain, + Fail not this day thy wonted force; but go, + Sent by this hand, to pierce the Trojan foe! + Give me to tear his corslet from his breast, + And from that eunuch head to rend the crest; + Dragg’d in the dust, his frizzled hair to soil, + Hot from the vexing ir’n, and smear’d with fragrant oil!” + + Thus while he raves, from his wide nostrils flies + A fiery steam, and sparkles from his eyes. + So fares the bull in his lov’d female’s sight: + Proudly he bellows, and preludes the fight; + He tries his goring horns against a tree, + And meditates his absent enemy; + He pushes at the winds; he digs the strand + With his black hoofs, and spurns the yellow sand. + + Nor less the Trojan, in his Lemnian arms, + To future fight his manly courage warms: + He whets his fury, and with joy prepares + To terminate at once the ling’ring wars; + To cheer his chiefs and tender son, relates + What Heav’n had promis’d, and expounds the fates. + Then to the Latian king he sends, to cease + The rage of arms, and ratify the peace. + + The morn ensuing, from the mountain’s height, + Had scarcely spread the skies with rosy light; + Th’ ethereal coursers, bounding from the sea, + From out their flaming nostrils breath’d the day; + When now the Trojan and Rutulian guard, + In friendly labour join’d, the list prepar’d. + Beneath the walls they measure out the space; + Then sacred altars rear, on sods of grass, + Where, with religious rites their common gods they place. + In purest white the priests their heads attire; + And living waters bear, and holy fire; + And, o’er their linen hoods and shaded hair, + Long twisted wreaths of sacred vervain wear. + + In order issuing from the town appears + The Latin legion, arm’d with pointed spears; + And from the fields, advancing on a line, + The Trojan and the Tuscan forces join: + Their various arms afford a pleasing sight; + A peaceful train they seem, in peace prepar’d for fight. + Betwixt the ranks the proud commanders ride, + Glitt’ring with gold, and vests in purple dyed; + Here Mnestheus, author of the Memmian line, + And there Messapus, born of seed divine. + The sign is giv’n; and, round the listed space, + Each man in order fills his proper place. + Reclining on their ample shields, they stand, + And fix their pointed lances in the sand. + Now, studious of the sight, a num’rous throng + Of either sex promiscuous, old and young, + Swarm the town: by those who rest behind, + The gates and walls and houses’ tops are lin’d. + Meantime the Queen of Heav’n beheld the sight, + With eyes unpleas’d, from Mount Albano’s height + (Since call’d Albano by succeeding fame, + But then an empty hill, without a name). + She thence survey’d the field, the Trojan pow’rs, + The Latian squadrons, and Laurentine tow’rs. + Then thus the goddess of the skies bespoke, + With sighs and tears, the goddess of the lake, + King Turnus’ sister, once a lovely maid, + Ere to the lust of lawless Jove betray’d: + Compress’d by force, but, by the grateful god, + Now made the Nais of the neighb’ring flood. + “O nymph, the pride of living lakes,” said she, + “O most renown’d, and most belov’d by me, + Long hast thou known, nor need I to record, + The wanton sallies of my wand’ring lord. + Of ev’ry Latian fair whom Jove misled + To mount by stealth my violated bed, + To thee alone I grudg’d not his embrace, + But gave a part of heav’n, and an unenvied place. + Now learn from me thy near approaching grief, + Nor think my wishes want to thy relief. + While fortune favour’d, nor Heav’n’s King denied + To lend my succour to the Latian side, + I sav’d thy brother, and the sinking state: + But now he struggles with unequal fate, + And goes, with gods averse, o’ermatch’d in might, + To meet inevitable death in fight; + Nor must I break the truce, nor can sustain the sight. + Thou, if thou dar’st thy present aid supply; + It well becomes a sister’s care to try.” + + At this the lovely nymph, with grief oppress’d, + Thrice tore her hair, and beat her comely breast. + To whom Saturnia thus: “Thy tears are late: + Haste, snatch him, if he can be snatch’d from fate: + New tumults kindle; violate the truce: + Who knows what changeful fortune may produce? + ’Tis not a crime t’ attempt what I decree; + Or, if it were, discharge the crime on me.” + She said, and, sailing on the winged wind, + Left the sad nymph suspended in her mind. + + And now in pomp the peaceful kings appear: + Four steeds the chariot of Latinus bear; + Twelve golden beams around his temples play, + To mark his lineage from the God of Day. + Two snowy coursers Turnus’ chariot yoke, + And in his hand two massy spears he shook: + Then issued from the camp, in arms divine, + Aeneas, author of the Roman line; + And by his side Ascanius took his place, + The second hope of Rome’s immortal race. + Adorn’d in white, a rev’rend priest appears, + And off’rings to the flaming altars bears; + A porket, and a lamb that never suffer’d shears. + Then to the rising sun he turns his eyes, + And strews the beasts, design’d for sacrifice, + With salt and meal: with like officious care + He marks their foreheads, and he clips their hair. + Betwixt their horns the purple wine he sheds; + With the same gen’rous juice the flame he feeds. + + Aeneas then unsheath’d his shining sword, + And thus with pious pray’rs the gods ador’d: + “All-seeing sun, and thou, Ausonian soil, + For which I have sustain’d so long a toil, + Thou, King of Heav’n, and thou, the Queen of Air, + Propitious now, and reconcil’d by pray’r; + Thou, God of War, whose unresisted sway + The labours and events of arms obey; + Ye living fountains, and ye running floods, + All pow’rs of ocean, all ethereal gods, + Hear, and bear record: if I fall in field, + Or, recreant in the fight, to Turnus yield, + My Trojans shall encrease Evander’s town; + Ascanius shall renounce th’ Ausonian crown: + All claims, all questions of debate, shall cease; + Nor he, nor they, with force infringe the peace. + But, if my juster arms prevail in fight, + (As sure they shall, if I divine aright,) + My Trojans shall not o’er th’ Italians reign: + Both equal, both unconquer’d shall remain, + Join’d in their laws, their lands, and their abodes; + I ask but altars for my weary gods. + The care of those religious rites be mine; + The crown to King Latinus I resign: + His be the sov’reign sway. Nor will I share + His pow’r in peace, or his command in war. + For me, my friends another town shall frame, + And bless the rising tow’rs with fair Lavinia’s name.” + + Thus he. Then, with erected eyes and hands, + The Latian king before his altar stands. + “By the same heav’n,” said he, “and earth, and main, + And all the pow’rs that all the three contain; + By hell below, and by that upper god + Whose thunder signs the peace, who seals it with his nod; + So let Latona’s double offspring hear, + And double-fronted Janus, what I swear: + I touch the sacred altars, touch the flames, + And all those pow’rs attest, and all their names; + Whatever chance befall on either side, + No term of time this union shall divide: + No force, no fortune, shall my vows unbind, + Or shake the steadfast tenor of my mind; + Not tho’ the circling seas should break their bound, + O’erflow the shores, or sap the solid ground; + Not tho’ the lamps of heav’n their spheres forsake, + Hurl’d down, and hissing in the nether lake: + Ev’n as this royal scepter” (for he bore + A scepter in his hand) “shall never more + Shoot out in branches, or renew the birth: + An orphan now, cut from the mother earth + By the keen ax, dishonour’d of its hair, + And cas’d in brass, for Latian kings to bear.” + + When thus in public view the peace was tied + With solemn vows, and sworn on either side, + All dues perform’d which holy rites require; + The victim beasts are slain before the fire, + The trembling entrails from their bodies torn, + And to the fatten’d flames in chargers borne. + + Already the Rutulians deem their man + O’ermatch’d in arms, before the fight began. + First rising fears are whisper’d thro’ the crowd; + Then, gath’ring sound, they murmur more aloud. + Now, side to side, they measure with their eyes + The champions’ bulk, their sinews, and their size: + The nearer they approach, the more is known + Th’ apparent disadvantage of their own. + Turnus himself appears in public sight + Conscious of fate, desponding of the fight. + Slowly he moves, and at his altar stands + With eyes dejected, and with trembling hands; + And, while he mutters undistinguish’d pray’rs, + A livid deadness in his cheeks appears. + + With anxious pleasure when Juturna view’d + Th’ increasing fright of the mad multitude, + When their short sighs and thick’ning sobs she heard, + And found their ready minds for change prepar’d; + Dissembling her immortal form, she took + Camertus’ mien, his habit, and his look; + A chief of ancient blood; in arms well known + Was his great sire, and he his greater son. + His shape assum’d, amid the ranks she ran, + And humoring their first motions, thus began: + “For shame, Rutulians, can you bear the sight + Of one expos’d for all, in single fight? + Can we, before the face of heav’n, confess + Our courage colder, or our numbers less? + View all the Trojan host, th’ Arcadian band, + And Tuscan army; count ’em as they stand: + Undaunted to the battle if we go, + Scarce ev’ry second man will share a foe. + Turnus, ’tis true, in this unequal strife, + Shall lose, with honour, his devoted life, + Or change it rather for immortal fame, + Succeeding to the gods, from whence he came: + But you, a servile and inglorious band, + For foreign lords shall sow your native land, + Those fruitful fields your fighting fathers gain’d, + Which have so long their lazy sons sustain’d.” + With words like these, she carried her design: + A rising murmur runs along the line. + Then ev’n the city troops, and Latians, tir’d + With tedious war, seem with new souls inspir’d: + Their champion’s fate with pity they lament, + And of the league, so lately sworn, repent. + + Nor fails the goddess to foment the rage + With lying wonders, and a false presage; + But adds a sign, which, present to their eyes, + Inspires new courage, and a glad surprise. + For, sudden, in the fiery tracts above, + Appears in pomp th’ imperial bird of Jove: + A plump of fowl he spies, that swim the lakes, + And o’er their heads his sounding pinions shakes; + Then, stooping on the fairest of the train, + In his strong talons truss’d a silver swan. + Th’ Italians wonder at th’ unusual sight; + But, while he lags, and labours in his flight, + Behold, the dastard fowl return anew, + And with united force the foe pursue: + Clam’rous around the royal hawk they fly, + And, thick’ning in a cloud, o’ershade the sky. + They cuff, they scratch, they cross his airy course; + Nor can th’ incumber’d bird sustain their force; + But vex’d, not vanquish’d, drops the pond’rous prey, + And, lighten’d of his burthen, wings his way. + + Th’ Ausonian bands with shouts salute the sight, + Eager of action, and demand the fight. + Then King Tolumnius, vers’d in augurs’ arts, + Cries out, and thus his boasted skill imparts: + “At length ’tis granted, what I long desir’d! + This, this is what my frequent vows requir’d. + Ye gods, I take your omen, and obey. + Advance, my friends, and charge! I lead the way. + These are the foreign foes, whose impious band, + Like that rapacious bird, infest our land: + But soon, like him, they shall be forc’d to sea + By strength united, and forego the prey. + Your timely succour to your country bring, + Haste to the rescue, and redeem your king.” + + He said; and, pressing onward thro’ the crew, + Pois’d in his lifted arm, his lance he threw. + The winged weapon, whistling in the wind, + Came driving on, nor miss’d the mark design’d. + At once the cornel rattled in the skies; + At once tumultuous shouts and clamours rise. + Nine brothers in a goodly band there stood, + Born of Arcadian mix’d with Tuscan blood, + Gylippus’ sons: the fatal jav’lin flew, + Aim’d at the midmost of the friendly crew. + A passage thro’ the jointed arms it found, + Just where the belt was to the body bound, + And struck the gentle youth extended on the ground. + Then, fir’d with pious rage, the gen’rous train + Run madly forward to revenge the slain. + And some with eager haste their jav’lins throw; + And some with sword in hand assault the foe. + + The wish’d insult the Latine troops embrace, + And meet their ardour in the middle space. + The Trojans, Tuscans, and Arcadian line, + With equal courage obviate their design. + Peace leaves the violated fields, and hate + Both armies urges to their mutual fate. + With impious haste their altars are o’erturn’d, + The sacrifice half-broil’d, and half-unburn’d. + Thick storms of steel from either army fly, + And clouds of clashing darts obscure the sky; + Brands from the fire are missive weapons made, + With chargers, bowls, and all the priestly trade. + Latinus, frighted, hastens from the fray, + And bears his unregarded gods away. + These on their horses vault; those yoke the car; + The rest, with swords on high, run headlong to the war. + + Messapus, eager to confound the peace, + Spurr’d his hot courser thro’ the fighting press, + At King Aulestes, by his purple known + A Tuscan prince, and by his regal crown; + And, with a shock encount’ring, bore him down. + Backward he fell; and, as his fate design’d, + The ruins of an altar were behind: + There, pitching on his shoulders and his head, + Amid the scatt’ring fires he lay supinely spread. + The beamy spear, descending from above, + His cuirass pierc’d, and thro’ his body drove. + Then, with a scornful smile, the victor cries: + “The gods have found a fitter sacrifice.” + Greedy of spoils, th’ Italians strip the dead + Of his rich armour, and uncrown his head. + + Priest Corynaeus, arm’d his better hand, + From his own altar, with a blazing brand; + And, as Ebusus with a thund’ring pace + Advanc’d to battle, dash’d it on his face: + His bristly beard shines out with sudden fires; + The crackling crop a noisome scent expires. + Following the blow, he seiz’d his curling crown + With his left hand; his other cast him down. + The prostrate body with his knees he press’d, + And plung’d his holy poniard in his breast. + + While Podalirius, with his sword, pursued + The shepherd Alsus thro’ the flying crowd, + Swiftly he turns, and aims a deadly blow + Full on the front of his unwary foe. + The broad ax enters with a crashing sound, + And cleaves the chin with one continued wound; + Warm blood, and mingled brains, besmear his arms around + An iron sleep his stupid eyes oppress’d, + And seal’d their heavy lids in endless rest. + + But good Aeneas rush’d amid the bands; + Bare was his head, and naked were his hands, + In sign of truce: then thus he cries aloud: + “What sudden rage, what new desire of blood, + Inflames your alter’d minds? O Trojans, cease + From impious arms, nor violate the peace! + By human sanctions, and by laws divine, + The terms are all agreed; the war is mine. + Dismiss your fears, and let the fight ensue; + This hand alone shall right the gods and you: + Our injur’d altars, and their broken vow, + To this avenging sword the faithless Turnus owe.” + + Thus while he spoke, unmindful of defence, + A winged arrow struck the pious prince. + But, whether from some human hand it came, + Or hostile god, is left unknown by fame: + No human hand or hostile god was found, + To boast the triumph of so base a wound. + + When Turnus saw the Trojan quit the plain, + His chiefs dismay’d, his troops a fainting train, + Th’ unhop’d event his heighten’d soul inspires: + At once his arms and coursers he requires; + Then, with a leap, his lofty chariot gains, + And with a ready hand assumes the reins. + He drives impetuous, and, where’er he goes, + He leaves behind a lane of slaughter’d foes. + These his lance reaches; over those he rolls + His rapid car, and crushes out their souls: + In vain the vanquish’d fly; the victor sends + The dead men’s weapons at their living friends. + Thus, on the banks of Hebrus’ freezing flood, + The God of Battles, in his angry mood, + Clashing his sword against his brazen shield, + Let loose the reins, and scours along the field: + Before the wind his fiery coursers fly; + Groans the sad earth, resounds the rattling sky. + Wrath, Terror, Treason, Tumult, and Despair + (Dire faces, and deform’d) surround the car; + Friends of the god, and followers of the war. + With fury not unlike, nor less disdain, + Exulting Turnus flies along the plain: + His smoking horses, at their utmost speed, + He lashes on, and urges o’er the dead. + Their fetlocks run with blood; and, when they bound, + The gore and gath’ring dust are dash’d around. + Thamyris and Pholus, masters of the war, + He kill’d at hand, but Sthenelus afar: + From far the sons of Imbracus he slew, + Glaucus and Lades, of the Lycian crew; + Both taught to fight on foot, in battle join’d, + Or mount the courser that outstrips the wind. + + Meantime Eumedes, vaunting in the field, + New fir’d the Trojans, and their foes repell’d. + This son of Dolon bore his grandsire’s name, + But emulated more his father’s fame; + His guileful father, sent a nightly spy, + The Grecian camp and order to descry: + Hard enterprise! and well he might require + Achilles’ car and horses, for his hire: + But, met upon the scout, th’ Aetolian prince + In death bestow’d a juster recompense. + Fierce Turnus view’d the Trojan from afar, + And launch’d his jav’lin from his lofty car; + Then lightly leaping down, pursued the blow, + And, pressing with his foot his prostrate foe, + Wrench’d from his feeble hold the shining sword, + And plung’d it in the bosom of its lord. + “Possess,” said he, “the fruit of all thy pains, + And measure, at thy length, our Latian plains. + Thus are my foes rewarded by my hand; + Thus may they build their town, and thus enjoy the land!” + + Then Dares, Butes, Sybaris he slew, + Whom o’er his neck his flound’ring courser threw. + As when loud Boreas, with his blust’ring train, + Stoops from above, incumbent on the main; + Where’er he flies, he drives the rack before, + And rolls the billows on th’ Aegaean shore: + So, where resistless Turnus takes his course, + The scatter’d squadrons bend before his force; + His crest of horses’ hair is blown behind + By adverse air, and rustles in the wind. + + This haughty Phegeus saw with high disdain, + And, as the chariot roll’d along the plain, + Light from the ground he leapt, and seiz’d the rein. + Thus hung in air, he still retain’d his hold, + The coursers frighted, and their course controll’d. + The lance of Turnus reach’d him as he hung, + And pierc’d his plated arms, but pass’d along, + And only raz’d the skin. He turn’d, and held + Against his threat’ning foe his ample shield; + Then call’d for aid: but, while he cried in vain, + The chariot bore him backward on the plain. + He lies revers’d; the victor king descends, + And strikes so justly where his helmet ends, + He lops the head. The Latian fields are drunk + With streams that issue from the bleeding trunk. + + While he triumphs, and while the Trojans yield, + The wounded prince is forc’d to leave the field: + Strong Mnestheus, and Achates often tried, + And young Ascanius, weeping by his side, + Conduct him to his tent. Scarce can he rear + His limbs from earth, supported on his spear. + Resolv’d in mind, regardless of the smart, + He tugs with both his hands, and breaks the dart. + The steel remains. No readier way he found + To draw the weapon, than t’ inlarge the wound. + Eager of fight, impatient of delay, + He begs; and his unwilling friends obey. + + Iapis was at hand to prove his art, + Whose blooming youth so fir’d Apollo’s heart, + That, for his love, he proffer’d to bestow + His tuneful harp and his unerring bow. + The pious youth, more studious how to save + His aged sire, now sinking to the grave, + Preferr’d the pow’r of plants, and silent praise + Of healing arts, before Phoebean bays. + + Propp’d on his lance the pensive hero stood, + And heard and saw, unmov’d, the mourning crowd. + The fam’d physician tucks his robes around + With ready hands, and hastens to the wound. + With gentle touches he performs his part, + This way and that, soliciting the dart, + And exercises all his heav’nly art. + All soft’ning simples, known of sov’reign use, + He presses out, and pours their noble juice. + These first infus’d, to lenify the pain, + He tugs with pincers, but he tugs in vain. + Then to the patron of his art he pray’d: + The patron of his art refus’d his aid. + + Meantime the war approaches to the tents; + Th’ alarm grows hotter, and the noise augments: + The driving dust proclaims the danger near; + And first their friends, and then their foes appear: + Their friends retreat; their foes pursue the rear. + The camp is fill’d with terror and affright: + The hissing shafts within the trench alight; + An undistinguish’d noise ascends the sky, + The shouts of those who kill, and groans of those who die. + + But now the goddess mother, mov’d with grief, + And pierc’d with pity, hastens her relief. + A branch of healing dittany she brought, + Which in the Cretan fields with care she sought: + Rough is the stem, which woolly leafs surround; + The leafs with flow’rs, the flow’rs with purple crown’d, + Well known to wounded goats; a sure relief + To draw the pointed steel, and ease the grief. + This Venus brings, in clouds involv’d, and brews + Th’ extracted liquor with ambrosian dews, + And odorous panacee. Unseen she stands, + Temp’ring the mixture with her heav’nly hands, + And pours it in a bowl, already crown’d + With juice of med’c’nal herbs prepar’d to bathe the wound. + The leech, unknowing of superior art + Which aids the cure, with this foments the part; + And in a moment ceas’d the raging smart. + Stanch’d is the blood, and in the bottom stands: + The steel, but scarcely touch’d with tender hands, + Moves up, and follows of its own accord, + And health and vigour are at once restor’d. + Iapis first perceiv’d the closing wound, + And first the footsteps of a god he found. + “Arms! arms!” he cries; “the sword and shield prepare, + And send the willing chief, renew’d, to war. + This is no mortal work, no cure of mine, + Nor art’s effect, but done by hands divine. + Some god our general to the battle sends; + Some god preserves his life for greater ends.” + + The hero arms in haste; his hands infold + His thighs with cuishes of refulgent gold: + Inflam’d to fight, and rushing to the field, + That hand sustaining the celestial shield, + This gripes the lance, and with such vigour shakes, + That to the rest the beamy weapon quakes. + Then with a close embrace he strain’d his son, + And, kissing thro’ his helmet, thus begun: + “My son, from my example learn the war, + In camps to suffer, and in fields to dare; + But happier chance than mine attend thy care! + This day my hand thy tender age shall shield, + And crown with honours of the conquer’d field: + Thou, when thy riper years shall send thee forth + To toils of war, be mindful of my worth; + Assert thy birthright, and in arms be known, + For Hector’s nephew, and Aeneas’ son.” + He said; and, striding, issued on the plain. + Anteus and Mnestheus, and a num’rous train, + Attend his steps; the rest their weapons take, + And, crowding to the field, the camp forsake. + A cloud of blinding dust is rais’d around, + Labours beneath their feet the trembling ground. + + Now Turnus, posted on a hill, from far + Beheld the progress of the moving war: + With him the Latins view’d the cover’d plains, + And the chill blood ran backward in their veins. + Juturna saw th’ advancing troops appear, + And heard the hostile sound, and fled for fear. + Aeneas leads; and draws a sweeping train, + Clos’d in their ranks, and pouring on the plain. + As when a whirlwind, rushing to the shore + From the mid ocean, drives the waves before; + The painful hind with heavy heart foresees + The flatted fields, and slaughter of the trees; + With like impetuous rage the prince appears + Before his doubled front, nor less destruction bears. + And now both armies shock in open field; + Osiris is by strong Thymbraeus kill’d. + Archetius, Ufens, Epulon, are slain + (All fam’d in arms, and of the Latian train) + By Gyas’, Mnestheus’, and Achates’ hand. + The fatal augur falls, by whose command + The truce was broken, and whose lance, embrued + With Trojan blood, th’ unhappy fight renew’d. + Loud shouts and clamours rend the liquid sky, + And o’er the field the frighted Latins fly. + The prince disdains the dastards to pursue, + Nor moves to meet in arms the fighting few; + Turnus alone, amid the dusky plain, + He seeks, and to the combat calls in vain. + Juturna heard, and, seiz’d with mortal fear, + Forc’d from the beam her brother’s charioteer; + Assumes his shape, his armour, and his mien, + And, like Metiscus, in his seat is seen. + + As the black swallow near the palace plies; + O’er empty courts, and under arches, flies; + Now hawks aloft, now skims along the flood, + To furnish her loquacious nest with food: + So drives the rapid goddess o’er the plains; + The smoking horses run with loosen’d reins. + She steers a various course among the foes; + Now here, now there, her conqu’ring brother shows; + Now with a straight, now with a wheeling flight, + She turns, and bends, but shuns the single fight. + Aeneas, fir’d with fury, breaks the crowd, + And seeks his foe, and calls by name aloud: + He runs within a narrower ring, and tries + To stop the chariot; but the chariot flies. + If he but gain a glimpse, Juturna fears, + And far away the Daunian hero bears. + + What should he do! Nor arts nor arms avail; + And various cares in vain his mind assail. + The great Messapus, thund’ring thro’ the field, + In his left hand two pointed jav’lins held: + Encount’ring on the prince, one dart he drew, + And with unerring aim and utmost vigour threw. + Aeneas saw it come, and, stooping low + Beneath his buckler, shunn’d the threat’ning blow. + The weapon hiss’d above his head, and tore + The waving plume which on his helm he wore. + Forced by this hostile act, and fir’d with spite, + That flying Turnus still declin’d the fight, + The Prince, whose piety had long repell’d + His inborn ardour, now invades the field; + Invokes the pow’rs of violated peace, + Their rites and injur’d altars to redress; + Then, to his rage abandoning the rein, + With blood and slaughter’d bodies fills the plain. + + What god can tell, what numbers can display, + The various labours of that fatal day; + What chiefs and champions fell on either side, + In combat slain, or by what deaths they died; + Whom Turnus, whom the Trojan hero kill’d; + Who shar’d the fame and fortune of the field! + Jove, could’st thou view, and not avert thy sight, + Two jarring nations join’d in cruel fight, + Whom leagues of lasting love so shortly shall unite! + + Aeneas first Rutulian Sucro found, + Whose valour made the Trojans quit their ground; + Betwixt his ribs the jav’lin drove so just, + It reach’d his heart, nor needs a second thrust. + Now Turnus, at two blows, two brethren slew; + First from his horse fierce Amycus he threw: + Then, leaping on the ground, on foot assail’d + Diores, and in equal fight prevail’d. + Their lifeless trunks he leaves upon the place; + Their heads, distilling gore, his chariot grace. + + Three cold on earth the Trojan hero threw, + Whom without respite at one charge he slew: + Cethegus, Tanais, Tagus, fell oppress’d, + And sad Onythes, added to the rest, + Of Theban blood, whom Peridia bore. + + Turnus two brothers from the Lycian shore, + And from Apollo’s fane to battle sent, + O’erthrew; nor Phoebus could their fate prevent. + Peaceful Menoetes after these he kill’d, + Who long had shunn’d the dangers of the field: + On Lerna’s lake a silent life he led, + And with his nets and angle earn’d his bread; + Nor pompous cares, nor palaces, he knew, + But wisely from th’ infectious world withdrew: + Poor was his house; his father’s painful hand + Discharg’d his rent, and plow’d another’s land. + + As flames among the lofty woods are thrown + On diff’rent sides, and both by winds are blown; + The laurels crackle in the sputt’ring fire; + The frighted sylvans from their shades retire: + Or as two neighb’ring torrents fall from high; + Rapid they run; the foamy waters fry; + They roll to sea with unresisted force, + And down the rocks precipitate their course: + Not with less rage the rival heroes take + Their diff’rent ways, nor less destruction make. + With spears afar, with swords at hand, they strike; + And zeal of slaughter fires their souls alike. + Like them, their dauntless men maintain the field; + And hearts are pierc’d, unknowing how to yield: + They blow for blow return, and wound for wound; + And heaps of bodies raise the level ground. + + Murranus, boasting of his blood, that springs + From a long royal race of Latian kings, + Is by the Trojan from his chariot thrown, + Crush’d with the weight of an unwieldy stone: + Betwixt the wheels he fell; the wheels, that bore + His living load, his dying body tore. + His starting steeds, to shun the glitt’ring sword, + Paw down his trampled limbs, forgetful of their lord. + + Fierce Hyllus threaten’d high, and, face to face, + Affronted Turnus in the middle space: + The prince encounter’d him in full career, + And at his temples aim’d the deadly spear; + So fatally the flying weapon sped, + That thro’ his brazen helm it pierc’d his head. + Nor, Cisseus, couldst thou scape from Turnus’ hand, + In vain the strongest of th’ Arcadian band: + Nor to Cupentus could his gods afford + Availing aid against th’ Aenean sword, + Which to his naked heart pursued the course; + Nor could his plated shield sustain the force. + + Iolas fell, whom not the Grecian pow’rs, + Nor great subverter of the Trojan tow’rs, + Were doom’d to kill, while Heav’n prolong’d his date; + But who can pass the bounds, prefix’d by fate? + In high Lyrnessus, and in Troy, he held + Two palaces, and was from each expell’d: + Of all the mighty man, the last remains + A little spot of foreign earth contains. + + And now both hosts their broken troops unite + In equal ranks, and mix in mortal fight. + Seresthus and undaunted Mnestheus join + The Trojan, Tuscan, and Arcadian line: + Sea-born Messapus, with Atinas, heads + The Latin squadrons, and to battle leads. + They strike, they push, they throng the scanty space, + Resolv’d on death, impatient of disgrace; + And, where one falls, another fills his place. + + The Cyprian goddess now inspires her son + To leave th’ unfinish’d fight, and storm the town: + For, while he rolls his eyes around the plain + In quest of Turnus, whom he seeks in vain, + He views th’ unguarded city from afar, + In careless quiet, and secure of war. + Occasion offers, and excites his mind + To dare beyond the task he first design’d. + Resolv’d, he calls his chiefs; they leave the fight: + Attended thus, he takes a neighb’ring height; + The crowding troops about their gen’ral stand, + All under arms, and wait his high command. + Then thus the lofty prince: “Hear and obey, + Ye Trojan bands, without the least delay + Jove is with us; and what I have decreed + Requires our utmost vigour, and our speed. + Your instant arms against the town prepare, + The source of mischief, and the seat of war. + This day the Latian tow’rs, that mate the sky, + Shall level with the plain in ashes lie: + The people shall be slaves, unless in time + They kneel for pardon, and repent their crime. + Twice have our foes been vanquish’d on the plain: + Then shall I wait till Turnus will be slain? + Your force against the perjur’d city bend. + There it began, and there the war shall end. + The peace profan’d our rightful arms requires; + Cleanse the polluted place with purging fires.” + + He finish’d; and, one soul inspiring all, + Form’d in a wedge, the foot approach the wall. + Without the town, an unprovided train + Of gaping, gazing citizens are slain. + Some firebrands, others scaling ladders bear, + And those they toss aloft, and these they rear: + The flames now launch’d, the feather’d arrows fly, + And clouds of missive arms obscure the sky. + Advancing to the front, the hero stands, + And, stretching out to heav’n his pious hands, + Attests the gods, asserts his innocence, + Upbraids with breach of faith th’ Ausonian prince; + Declares the royal honour doubly stain’d, + And twice the rites of holy peace profan’d. + + Dissenting clamours in the town arise; + Each will be heard, and all at once advise. + One part for peace, and one for war contends; + Some would exclude their foes, and some admit their friends. + The helpless king is hurried in the throng, + And, whate’er tide prevails, is borne along. + Thus, when the swain, within a hollow rock, + Invades the bees with suffocating smoke, + They run around, or labour on their wings, + Disus’d to flight, and shoot their sleepy stings; + To shun the bitter fumes in vain they try; + Black vapours, issuing from the vent, involve the sky. + + But fate and envious fortune now prepare + To plunge the Latins in the last despair. + The queen, who saw the foes invade the town, + And brands on tops of burning houses thrown, + Cast round her eyes, distracted with her fear— + No troops of Turnus in the field appear. + Once more she stares abroad, but still in vain, + And then concludes the royal youth is slain. + Mad with her anguish, impotent to bear + The mighty grief, she loathes the vital air. + She calls herself the cause of all this ill, + And owns the dire effects of her ungovern’d will; + She raves against the gods; she beats her breast; + She tears with both her hands her purple vest: + Then round a beam a running noose she tied, + And, fasten’d by the neck, obscenely died. + + Soon as the fatal news by Fame was blown, + And to her dames and to her daughter known, + The sad Lavinia rends her yellow hair + And rosy cheeks; the rest her sorrow share: + With shrieks the palace rings, and madness of despair. + The spreading rumour fills the public place: + Confusion, fear, distraction, and disgrace, + And silent shame, are seen in ev’ry face. + Latinus tears his garments as he goes, + Both for his public and his private woes; + With filth his venerable beard besmears, + And sordid dust deforms his silver hairs. + And much he blames the softness of his mind, + Obnoxious to the charms of womankind, + And soon seduc’d to change what he so well design’d; + To break the solemn league so long desir’d, + Nor finish what his fates, and those of Troy, requir’d. + + Now Turnus rolls aloof o’er empty plains, + And here and there some straggling foes he gleans. + His flying coursers please him less and less, + Asham’d of easy fight and cheap success. + Thus half-contented, anxious in his mind, + The distant cries come driving in the wind, + Shouts from the walls, but shouts in murmurs drown’d; + A jarring mixture, and a boding sound. + “Alas!” said he, “what mean these dismal cries? + What doleful clamours from the town arise?” + Confus’d, he stops, and backward pulls the reins. + She who the driver’s office now sustains, + Replies: “Neglect, my lord, these new alarms; + Here fight, and urge the fortune of your arms: + There want not others to defend the wall. + If by your rival’s hand th’ Italians fall, + So shall your fatal sword his friends oppress, + In honour equal, equal in success.” + + To this, the prince: “O sister—for I knew + The peace infring’d proceeded first from you; + I knew you, when you mingled first in fight; + And now in vain you would deceive my sight— + Why, goddess, this unprofitable care? + Who sent you down from heav’n, involv’d in air, + Your share of mortal sorrows to sustain, + And see your brother bleeding on the plain? + For to what pow’r can Turnus have recourse, + Or how resist his fate’s prevailing force? + These eyes beheld Murranus bite the ground: + Mighty the man, and mighty was the wound. + I heard my dearest friend, with dying breath, + My name invoking to revenge his death. + Brave Ufens fell with honour on the place, + To shun the shameful sight of my disgrace. + On earth supine, a manly corpse he lies; + His vest and armour are the victor’s prize. + Then, shall I see Laurentum in a flame, + Which only wanted, to complete my shame? + How will the Latins hoot their champion’s flight! + How Drances will insult and point them to the sight! + Is death so hard to bear? Ye gods below, + (Since those above so small compassion show,) + Receive a soul unsullied yet with shame, + Which not belies my great forefather’s name!” + + He said; and while he spoke, with flying speed + Came Sages urging on his foamy steed: + Fix’d on his wounded face a shaft he bore, + And, seeking Turnus, sent his voice before: + “Turnus, on you, on you alone, depends + Our last relief: compassionate your friends! + Like lightning, fierce Aeneas, rolling on, + With arms invests, with flames invades the town: + The brands are toss’d on high; the winds conspire + To drive along the deluge of the fire. + All eyes are fix’d on you: your foes rejoice; + Ev’n the king staggers, and suspends his choice; + Doubts to deliver or defend the town, + Whom to reject, or whom to call his son. + The queen, on whom your utmost hopes were plac’d, + Herself suborning death, has breath’d her last. + ’Tis true, Messapus, fearless of his fate, + With fierce Atinas’ aid, defends the gate: + On ev’ry side surrounded by the foe, + The more they kill, the greater numbers grow; + An iron harvest mounts, and still remains to mow. + You, far aloof from your forsaken bands, + Your rolling chariot drive o’er empty sands. + + Stupid he sate, his eyes on earth declin’d, + And various cares revolving in his mind: + Rage, boiling from the bottom of his breast, + And sorrow mix’d with shame, his soul oppress’d; + And conscious worth lay lab’ring in his thought, + And love by jealousy to madness wrought. + By slow degrees his reason drove away + The mists of passion, and resum’d her sway. + Then, rising on his car, he turn’d his look, + And saw the town involv’d in fire and smoke. + A wooden tow’r with flames already blaz’d, + Which his own hands on beams and rafters rais’d; + And bridges laid above to join the space, + And wheels below to roll from place to place. + “Sister, the Fates have vanquish’d: let us go + The way which Heav’n and my hard fortune show. + The fight is fix’d; nor shall the branded name + Of a base coward blot your brother’s fame. + Death is my choice; but suffer me to try + My force, and vent my rage before I die.” + He said; and, leaping down without delay, + Thro’ crowds of scatter’d foes he freed his way. + Striding he pass’d, impetuous as the wind, + And left the grieving goddess far behind. + As when a fragment, from a mountain torn + By raging tempests, or by torrents borne, + Or sapp’d by time, or loosen’d from the roots— + Prone thro’ the void the rocky ruin shoots, + Rolling from crag to crag, from steep to steep; + Down sink, at once, the shepherds and their sheep: + Involv’d alike, they rush to nether ground; + Stunn’d with the shock they fall, and stunn’d from earth rebound: + So Turnus, hasting headlong to the town, + Should’ring and shoving, bore the squadrons down. + Still pressing onward, to the walls he drew, + Where shafts, and spears, and darts promiscuous flew, + And sanguine streams the slipp’ry ground embrue. + First stretching out his arm, in sign of peace, + He cries aloud, to make the combat cease: + “Rutulians, hold; and Latin troops, retire! + The fight is mine; and me the gods require. + ’Tis just that I should vindicate alone + The broken truce, or for the breach atone. + This day shall free from wars th’ Ausonian state, + Or finish my misfortunes in my fate.” + + Both armies from their bloody work desist, + And, bearing backward, form a spacious list. + The Trojan hero, who receiv’d from fame + The welcome sound, and heard the champion’s name, + Soon leaves the taken works and mounted walls, + Greedy of war where greater glory calls. + He springs to fight, exulting in his force + His jointed armour rattles in the course. + Like Eryx, or like Athos, great he shows, + Or Father Apennine, when, white with snows, + His head divine obscure in clouds he hides, + And shakes the sounding forest on his sides. + The nations, overaw’d, surcease the fight; + Immovable their bodies, fix’d their sight. + Ev’n death stands still; nor from above they throw + Their darts, nor drive their batt’ring-rams below. + In silent order either army stands, + And drop their swords, unknowing, from their hands. + Th’ Ausonian king beholds, with wond’ring sight, + Two mighty champions match’d in single fight, + Born under climes remote, and brought by fate, + With swords to try their titles to the state. + + Now, in clos’d field, each other from afar + They view; and, rushing on, begin the war. + They launch their spears; then hand to hand they meet; + The trembling soil resounds beneath their feet: + Their bucklers clash; thick blows descend from high, + And flakes of fire from their hard helmets fly. + Courage conspires with chance, and both engage + With equal fortune yet, and mutual rage. + As when two bulls for their fair female fight + In Sila’s shades, or on Taburnus’ height; + With horns adverse they meet; the keeper flies; + Mute stands the herd; the heifers roll their eyes, + And wait th’ event; which victor they shall bear, + And who shall be the lord, to rule the lusty year: + With rage of love the jealous rivals burn, + And push for push, and wound for wound return; + Their dewlaps gor’d, their sides are lav’d in blood; + Loud cries and roaring sounds rebellow thro’ the wood: + Such was the combat in the listed ground; + So clash their swords, and so their shields resound. + + Jove sets the beam; in either scale he lays + The champions’ fate, and each exactly weighs. + On this side, life and lucky chance ascends; + Loaded with death, that other scale descends. + Rais’d on the stretch, young Turnus aims a blow + Full on the helm of his unguarded foe: + Shrill shouts and clamours ring on either side, + As hopes and fears their panting hearts divide. + But all in pieces flies the traitor sword, + And, in the middle stroke, deserts his lord. + Now is but death, or flight; disarm’d he flies, + When in his hand an unknown hilt he spies. + Fame says that Turnus, when his steeds he join’d, + Hurrying to war, disorder’d in his mind, + Snatch’d the first weapon which his haste could find. + ’Twas not the fated sword his father bore, + But that his charioteer Metiscus wore. + This, while the Trojans fled, the toughness held; + But, vain against the great Vulcanian shield, + The mortal-temper’d steel deceiv’d his hand: + The shiver’d fragments shone amid the sand. + + Surpris’d with fear, he fled along the field, + And now forthright, and now in orbits wheel’d; + For here the Trojan troops the list surround, + And there the pass is clos’d with pools and marshy ground. + Aeneas hastens, tho’ with heavier pace— + His wound, so newly knit, retards the chase, + And oft his trembling knees their aid refuse— + Yet, pressing foot by foot, his foe pursues. + + Thus, when a fearful stag is clos’d around + With crimson toils, or in a river found, + High on the bank the deep-mouth’d hound appears, + Still opening, following still, where’er he steers; + The persecuted creature, to and fro, + Turns here and there, to scape his Umbrian foe: + Steep is th’ ascent, and, if he gains the land, + The purple death is pitch’d along the strand. + His eager foe, determin’d to the chase, + Stretch’d at his length, gains ground at ev’ry pace; + Now to his beamy head he makes his way, + And now he holds, or thinks he holds, his prey: + Just at the pinch, the stag springs out with fear; + He bites the wind, and fills his sounding jaws with air: + The rocks, the lakes, the meadows ring with cries; + The mortal tumult mounts, and thunders in the skies. + Thus flies the Daunian prince, and, flying, blames + His tardy troops, and, calling by their names, + Demands his trusty sword. The Trojan threats + The realm with ruin, and their ancient seats + To lay in ashes, if they dare supply + With arms or aid his vanquish’d enemy: + Thus menacing, he still pursues the course, + With vigour, tho’ diminish’d of his force. + Ten times already round the listed place + One chief had fled, and t’ other giv’n the chase: + No trivial prize is play’d; for on the life + Or death of Turnus now depends the strife. + + Within the space, an olive tree had stood, + A sacred shade, a venerable wood, + For vows to Faunus paid, the Latins’ guardian god. + Here hung the vests, and tablets were engrav’d, + Of sinking mariners from shipwreck sav’d. + With heedless hands the Trojans fell’d the tree, + To make the ground enclos’d for combat free. + Deep in the root, whether by fate, or chance, + Or erring haste, the Trojan drove his lance; + Then stoop’d, and tugg’d with force immense, to free + Th’ incumber’d spear from the tenacious tree; + That, whom his fainting limbs pursued in vain, + His flying weapon might from far attain. + + Confus’d with fear, bereft of human aid, + Then Turnus to the gods, and first to Faunus pray’d: + “O Faunus, pity! and thou Mother Earth, + Where I thy foster son receiv’d my birth, + Hold fast the steel! If my religious hand + Your plant has honour’d, which your foes profan’d, + Propitious hear my pious pray’r!” He said, + Nor with successless vows invok’d their aid. + Th’ incumbent hero wrench’d, and pull’d, and strain’d; + But still the stubborn earth the steel detain’d. + Juturna took her time; and, while in vain + He strove, assum’d Meticus’ form again, + And, in that imitated shape, restor’d + To the despairing prince his Daunian sword. + The Queen of Love, who, with disdain and grief, + Saw the bold nymph afford this prompt relief, + T’ assert her offspring with a greater deed, + From the tough root the ling’ring weapon freed. + + Once more erect, the rival chiefs advance: + One trusts the sword, and one the pointed lance; + And both resolv’d alike to try their fatal chance. + + Meantime imperial Jove to Juno spoke, + Who from a shining cloud beheld the shock: + “What new arrest, O Queen of Heav’n, is sent + To stop the Fates now lab’ring in th’ event? + What farther hopes are left thee to pursue? + Divine Aeneas, (and thou know’st it too,) + Foredoom’d, to these celestial seats are due. + What more attempts for Turnus can be made, + That thus thou ling’rest in this lonely shade? + Is it becoming of the due respect + And awful honour of a god elect, + A wound unworthy of our state to feel, + Patient of human hands and earthly steel? + Or seems it just, the sister should restore + A second sword, when one was lost before, + And arm a conquer’d wretch against his conqueror? + For what, without thy knowledge and avow, + Nay more, thy dictate, durst Juturna do? + At last, in deference to my love, forbear + To lodge within thy soul this anxious care; + Reclin’d upon my breast, thy grief unload: + Who should relieve the goddess, but the god? + Now all things to their utmost issue tend, + Push’d by the Fates to their appointed end. + While leave was giv’n thee, and a lawful hour + For vengeance, wrath, and unresisted pow’r, + Toss’d on the seas, thou couldst thy foes distress, + And, driv’n ashore, with hostile arms oppress; + Deform the royal house; and, from the side + Of the just bridegroom, tear the plighted bride: + Now cease at my command.” The Thund’rer said; + And, with dejected eyes, this answer Juno made: + “Because your dread decree too well I knew, + From Turnus and from earth unwilling I withdrew. + Else should you not behold me here, alone, + Involv’d in empty clouds, my friends bemoan, + But, girt with vengeful flames, in open sight + Engag’d against my foes in mortal fight. + ’Tis true, Juturna mingled in the strife + By my command, to save her brother’s life, + At least to try; but, by the Stygian lake, + (The most religious oath the gods can take,) + With this restriction, not to bend the bow, + Or toss the spear, or trembling dart to throw. + And now, resign’d to your superior might, + And tir’d with fruitless toils, I loathe the fight. + This let me beg (and this no fates withstand) + Both for myself and for your father’s land, + That, when the nuptial bed shall bind the peace, + (Which I, since you ordain, consent to bless,) + The laws of either nation be the same; + But let the Latins still retain their name, + Speak the same language which they spoke before, + Wear the same habits which their grandsires wore. + Call them not Trojans: perish the renown + And name of Troy, with that detested town. + Latium be Latium still; let Alba reign + And Rome’s immortal majesty remain.” + + Then thus the founder of mankind replies + (Unruffled was his front, serene his eyes) + “Can Saturn’s issue, and heav’n’s other heir, + Such endless anger in her bosom bear? + Be mistress, and your full desires obtain; + But quench the choler you foment in vain. + From ancient blood th’ Ausonian people sprung, + Shall keep their name, their habit, and their tongue. + The Trojans to their customs shall be tied: + I will, myself, their common rites provide; + The natives shall command, the foreigners subside. + All shall be Latium; Troy without a name; + And her lost sons forget from whence they came. + From blood so mix’d, a pious race shall flow, + Equal to gods, excelling all below. + No nation more respect to you shall pay, + Or greater off’rings on your altars lay.” + Juno consents, well pleas’d that her desires + Had found success, and from the cloud retires. + + The peace thus made, the Thund’rer next prepares + To force the wat’ry goddess from the wars. + Deep in the dismal regions void of light, + Three daughters at a birth were born to Night: + These their brown mother, brooding on her care, + Indued with windy wings to flit in air, + With serpents girt alike, and crown’d with hissing hair. + In heav’n the Dirae call’d, and still at hand, + Before the throne of angry Jove they stand, + His ministers of wrath, and ready still + The minds of mortal men with fears to fill, + Whene’er the moody sire, to wreak his hate + On realms or towns deserving of their fate, + Hurls down diseases, death and deadly care, + And terrifies the guilty world with war. + One sister plague if these from heav’n he sent, + To fright Juturna with a dire portent. + The pest comes whirling down: by far more slow + Springs the swift arrow from the Parthian bow, + Or Cydon yew, when, traversing the skies, + And drench’d in pois’nous juice, the sure destruction flies. + With such a sudden and unseen a flight + Shot thro’ the clouds the daughter of the night. + Soon as the field inclos’d she had in view, + And from afar her destin’d quarry knew, + Contracted, to the boding bird she turns, + Which haunts the ruin’d piles and hallow’d urns, + And beats about the tombs with nightly wings, + Where songs obscene on sepulchers she sings. + Thus lessen’d in her form, with frightful cries + The Fury round unhappy Turnus flies, + Flaps on his shield, and flutters o’er his eyes. + + A lazy chillness crept along his blood; + Chok’d was his voice; his hair with horror stood. + Juturna from afar beheld her fly, + And knew th’ ill omen, by her screaming cry + And stridor of her wings. Amaz’d with fear, + Her beauteous breast she beat, and rent her flowing hair. + + “Ah me!” she cries, “in this unequal strife + What can thy sister more to save thy life? + Weak as I am, can I, alas! contend + In arms with that inexorable fiend? + Now, now, I quit the field! forbear to fright + My tender soul, ye baleful birds of night; + The lashing of your wings I know too well, + The sounding flight, and fun’ral screams of hell! + These are the gifts you bring from haughty Jove, + The worthy recompense of ravish’d love! + Did he for this exempt my life from fate? + O hard conditions of immortal state, + Tho’ born to death, not privileg’d to die, + But forc’d to bear impos’d eternity! + Take back your envious bribes, and let me go + Companion to my brother’s ghost below! + The joys are vanish’d: nothing now remains, + Of life immortal, but immortal pains. + What earth will open her devouring womb, + To rest a weary goddess in the tomb!” + She drew a length of sighs; nor more she said, + But in her azure mantle wrapp’d her head, + Then plung’d into her stream, with deep despair, + And her last sobs came bubbling up in air. + + Now stern Aeneas waves his weighty spear + Against his foe, and thus upbraids his fear: + “What farther subterfuge can Turnus find? + What empty hopes are harbour’d in his mind? + ’Tis not thy swiftness can secure thy flight; + Not with their feet, but hands, the valiant fight. + Vary thy shape in thousand forms, and dare + What skill and courage can attempt in war; + Wish for the wings of winds, to mount the sky; + Or hid, within the hollow earth to lie!” + The champion shook his head, and made this short reply: + “No threats of thine my manly mind can move; + ’Tis hostile heav’n I dread, and partial Jove.” + He said no more, but, with a sigh, repress’d + The mighty sorrow in his swelling breast. + + Then, as he roll’d his troubled eyes around, + An antique stone he saw, the common bound + Of neighb’ring fields, and barrier of the ground; + So vast, that twelve strong men of modern days + Th’ enormous weight from earth could hardly raise. + He heav’d it at a lift, and, pois’d on high, + Ran stagg’ring on against his enemy, + But so disorder’d, that he scarcely knew + His way, or what unwieldly weight he threw. + His knocking knees are bent beneath the load, + And shiv’ring cold congeals his vital blood. + The stone drops from his arms, and, falling short + For want of vigour, mocks his vain effort. + And as, when heavy sleep has clos’d the sight, + The sickly fancy labours in the night; + We seem to run; and, destitute of force, + Our sinking limbs forsake us in the course: + In vain we heave for breath; in vain we cry; + The nerves, unbrac’d, their usual strength deny; + And on the tongue the falt’ring accents die: + So Turnus far’d; whatever means he tried, + All force of arms and points of art employ’d, + The Fury flew athwart, and made th’ endeavor void. + + A thousand various thoughts his soul confound; + He star’d about, nor aid nor issue found; + His own men stop the pass, and his own walls surround. + Once more he pauses, and looks out again, + And seeks the goddess charioteer in vain. + Trembling he views the thund’ring chief advance, + And brandishing aloft the deadly lance: + Amaz’d he cow’rs beneath his conqu’ring foe, + Forgets to ward, and waits the coming blow. + Astonish’d while he stands, and fix’d with fear, + Aim’d at his shield he sees th’ impending spear. + + The hero measur’d first, with narrow view, + The destin’d mark; and, rising as he threw, + With its full swing the fatal weapon flew. + Not with less rage the rattling thunder falls, + Or stones from batt’ring-engines break the walls: + Swift as a whirlwind, from an arm so strong, + The lance drove on, and bore the death along. + Naught could his sev’nfold shield the prince avail, + Nor aught, beneath his arms, the coat of mail: + It pierc’d thro’ all, and with a grisly wound + Transfix’d his thigh, and doubled him to ground. + With groans the Latins rend the vaulted sky: + Woods, hills, and valleys, to the voice reply. + + Now low on earth the lofty chief is laid, + With eyes cast upward, and with arms display’d, + And, recreant, thus to the proud victor pray’d: + “I know my death deserv’d, nor hope to live: + Use what the gods and thy good fortune give. + Yet think, O think, if mercy may be shown, + Thou hadst a father once, and hast a son. + Pity my sire, now sinking to the grave; + And for Anchises’ sake old Daunus save! + Or, if thy vow’d revenge pursue my death, + Give to my friends my body void of breath! + The Latian chiefs have seen me beg my life; + Thine is the conquest, thine the royal wife: + Against a yielded man, ’tis mean ignoble strife.” + + In deep suspense the Trojan seem’d to stand, + And, just prepar’d to strike, repress’d his hand. + He roll’d his eyes, and ev’ry moment felt + His manly soul with more compassion melt; + When, casting down a casual glance, he spied + The golden belt that glitter’d on his side, + The fatal spoils which haughty Turnus tore + From dying Pallas, and in triumph wore. + Then, rous’d anew to wrath, he loudly cries + (Flames, while he spoke, came flashing from his eyes) + “Traitor, dost thou, dost thou to grace pretend, + Clad, as thou art, in trophies of my friend? + To his sad soul a grateful off’ring go! + ’Tis Pallas, Pallas gives this deadly blow.” + He rais’d his arm aloft, and, at the word, + Deep in his bosom drove the shining sword. + The streaming blood distain’d his arms around; + And the disdainful soul came rushing through the wound. + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 228 *** |