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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. + <br><br> + </p> + + <p class="pfirst"> + <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>rms, and the man I sing, who, forc’d by fate,<br> + And haughty Juno’s unrelenting hate,<br> + Expell’d and exil’d, left the Trojan shore.<br> + Long labours, both by sea and land, he bore,<br> + And in the doubtful war, before he won<br> + The Latian realm, and built the destin’d town;<br> + His banish’d gods restor’d to rites divine,<br> + And settled sure succession in his line,<br> + From whence the race of Alban fathers come,<br> + And the long glories of majestic Rome.<br> + O Muse! the causes and the crimes relate;<br> + What goddess was provok’d, and whence her hate;<br> + For what offence the Queen of Heav’n began<br> + To persecute so brave, so just a man;<br> + Involv’d his anxious life in endless cares,<br> + Expos’d to wants, and hurried into wars!<br> + Can heav’nly minds such high resentment show,<br> + Or exercise their spite in human woe?<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Against the Tiber’s mouth, but far away,<br> + An ancient town was seated on the sea;<br> + A Tyrian colony; the people made<br> + Stout for the war, and studious of their trade:<br> + Carthage the name; belov’d by Juno more<br> + Than her own Argos, or the Samian shore.<br> + Here stood her chariot; here, if Heav’n were kind,<br> + The seat of awful empire she design’d.<br> + Yet she had heard an ancient rumour fly,<br> + (Long cited by the people of the sky,)<br> + That times to come should see the Trojan race<br> + Her Carthage ruin, and her tow’rs deface;<br> + Nor thus confin’d, the yoke of sov’reign sway<br> + Should on the necks of all the nations lay.<br> + She ponder’d this, and fear’d it was in fate;<br> + Nor could forget the war she wag’d of late<br> + For conqu’ring Greece against the Trojan state.<br> + Besides, long causes working in her mind,<br> + And secret seeds of envy, lay behind;<br> + Deep graven in her heart the doom remain’d<br> + Of partial Paris, and her form disdain’d;<br> + The grace bestow’d on ravish’d Ganymed,<br> + Electra’s glories, and her injur’d bed.<br> + Each was a cause alone; and all combin’d<br> + To kindle vengeance in her haughty mind.<br> + For this, far distant from the Latian coast<br> + She drove the remnants of the Trojan host;<br> + And sev’n long years th’ unhappy wand’ring train<br> + Were toss’d by storms, and scatter’d thro’ the main.<br> + Such time, such toil, requir’d the Roman name,<br> + Such length of labour for so vast a frame.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now scarce the Trojan fleet, with sails and oars,<br> + Had left behind the fair Sicilian shores,<br> + Ent’ring with cheerful shouts the wat’ry reign,<br> + And plowing frothy furrows in the main;<br> + When, lab’ring still with endless discontent,<br> + The Queen of Heav’n did thus her fury vent:<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Then am I vanquish’d? must I yield?” said she,<br> + “And must the Trojans reign in Italy?<br> + So Fate will have it, and Jove adds his force;<br> + Nor can my pow’r divert their happy course.<br> + Could angry Pallas, with revengeful spleen,<br> + The Grecian navy burn, and drown the men?<br> + She, for the fault of one offending foe,<br> + The bolts of Jove himself presum’d to throw:<br> + With whirlwinds from beneath she toss’d the ship,<br> + And bare expos’d the bosom of the deep;<br> + Then, as an eagle gripes the trembling game,<br> + The wretch, yet hissing with her father’s flame,<br> + She strongly seiz’d, and with a burning wound<br> + Transfix’d, and naked, on a rock she bound.<br> + But I, who walk in awful state above,<br> + The majesty of heav’n, the sister wife of Jove,<br> + For length of years my fruitless force employ<br> + Against the thin remains of ruin’d Troy!<br> + What nations now to Juno’s pow’r will pray,<br> + Or off’rings on my slighted altars lay?”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus rag’d the goddess; and, with fury fraught.<br> + The restless regions of the storms she sought,<br> + Where, in a spacious cave of living stone,<br> + The tyrant Aeolus, from his airy throne,<br> + With pow’r imperial curbs the struggling winds,<br> + And sounding tempests in dark prisons binds.<br> + This way and that th’ impatient captives tend,<br> + And, pressing for release, the mountains rend.<br> + High in his hall th’ undaunted monarch stands,<br> + And shakes his scepter, and their rage commands;<br> + Which did he not, their unresisted sway<br> + Would sweep the world before them in their way;<br> + Earth, air, and seas thro’ empty space would roll,<br> + And heav’n would fly before the driving soul.<br> + In fear of this, the Father of the Gods<br> + Confin’d their fury to those dark abodes,<br> + And lock’d ’em safe within, oppress’d with mountain loads;<br> + Impos’d a king, with arbitrary sway,<br> + To loose their fetters, or their force allay.<br> + To whom the suppliant queen her pray’rs address’d,<br> + And thus the tenor of her suit express’d:<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “O Aeolus! for to thee the King of Heav’n<br> + The pow’r of tempests and of winds has giv’n;<br> + Thy force alone their fury can restrain,<br> + And smooth the waves, or swell the troubled main.<br> + A race of wand’ring slaves, abhorr’d by me,<br> + With prosp’rous passage cut the Tuscan sea;<br> + To fruitful Italy their course they steer,<br> + And for their vanquish’d gods design new temples there.<br> + Raise all thy winds; with night involve the skies;<br> + Sink or disperse my fatal enemies.<br> + Twice sev’n, the charming daughters of the main,<br> + Around my person wait, and bear my train:<br> + Succeed my wish, and second my design;<br> + The fairest, Deiopeia, shall be thine,<br> + And make thee father of a happy line.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + To this the god: “’Tis yours, O queen, to will<br> + The work which duty binds me to fulfil.<br> + These airy kingdoms, and this wide command,<br> + Are all the presents of your bounteous hand:<br> + Yours is my sov’reign’s grace; and, as your guest,<br> + I sit with gods at their celestial feast;<br> + Raise tempests at your pleasure, or subdue;<br> + Dispose of empire, which I hold from you.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + He said, and hurl’d against the mountain side<br> + His quiv’ring spear, and all the god applied.<br> + The raging winds rush thro’ the hollow wound,<br> + And dance aloft in air, and skim along the ground;<br> + Then, settling on the sea, the surges sweep,<br> + Raise liquid mountains, and disclose the deep.<br> + South, East, and West with mix’d confusion roar,<br> + And roll the foaming billows to the shore.<br> + The cables crack; the sailors’ fearful cries<br> + Ascend; and sable night involves the skies;<br> + And heav’n itself is ravish’d from their eyes.<br> + Loud peals of thunder from the poles ensue;<br> + Then flashing fires the transient light renew;<br> + The face of things a frightful image bears,<br> + And present death in various forms appears.<br> + Struck with unusual fright, the Trojan chief,<br> + With lifted hands and eyes, invokes relief;<br> + And, “Thrice and four times happy those,” he cried,<br> + “That under Ilian walls before their parents died!<br> + Tydides, bravest of the Grecian train!<br> + Why could not I by that strong arm be slain,<br> + And lie by noble Hector on the plain,<br> + Or great Sarpedon, in those bloody fields<br> + Where Simois rolls the bodies and the shields<br> + Of heroes, whose dismember’d hands yet bear<br> + The dart aloft, and clench the pointed spear!”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus while the pious prince his fate bewails,<br> + Fierce Boreas drove against his flying sails,<br> + And rent the sheets; the raging billows rise,<br> + And mount the tossing vessels to the skies:<br> + Nor can the shiv’ring oars sustain the blow;<br> + The galley gives her side, and turns her prow;<br> + While those astern, descending down the steep,<br> + Thro’ gaping waves behold the boiling deep.<br> + Three ships were hurried by the southern blast,<br> + And on the secret shelves with fury cast.<br> + Those hidden rocks th’ Ausonian sailors knew:<br> + They call’d them Altars, when they rose in view,<br> + And show’d their spacious backs above the flood.<br> + Three more fierce Eurus, in his angry mood,<br> + Dash’d on the shallows of the moving sand,<br> + And in mid ocean left them moor’d a-land.<br> + Orontes’ bark, that bore the Lycian crew,<br> + (A horrid sight!) ev’n in the hero’s view,<br> + From stem to stern by waves was overborne:<br> + The trembling pilot, from his rudder torn,<br> + Was headlong hurl’d; thrice round the ship was toss’d,<br> + Then bulg’d at once, and in the deep was lost;<br> + And here and there above the waves were seen<br> + Arms, pictures, precious goods, and floating men.<br> + The stoutest vessel to the storm gave way,<br> + And suck’d thro’ loosen’d planks the rushing sea.<br> + Ilioneus was her chief: Alethes old,<br> + Achates faithful, Abas young and bold,<br> + Endur’d not less; their ships, with gaping seams,<br> + Admit the deluge of the briny streams.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Meantime imperial Neptune heard the sound<br> + Of raging billows breaking on the ground.<br> + Displeas’d, and fearing for his wat’ry reign,<br> + He rear’d his awful head above the main,<br> + Serene in majesty; then roll’d his eyes<br> + Around the space of earth, and seas, and skies.<br> + He saw the Trojan fleet dispers’d, distress’d,<br> + By stormy winds and wintry heav’n oppress’d.<br> + Full well the god his sister’s envy knew,<br> + And what her aims and what her arts pursue.<br> + He summon’d Eurus and the western blast,<br> + And first an angry glance on both he cast;<br> + Then thus rebuk’d: “Audacious winds! from whence<br> + This bold attempt, this rebel insolence?<br> + Is it for you to ravage seas and land,<br> + Unauthoriz’d by my supreme command?<br> + To raise such mountains on the troubled main?<br> + Whom I—but first ’tis fit the billows to restrain;<br> + And then you shall be taught obedience to my reign.<br> + Hence! to your lord my royal mandate bear,<br> + The realms of ocean and the fields of air<br> + Are mine, not his. By fatal lot to me<br> + The liquid empire fell, and trident of the sea.<br> + His pow’r to hollow caverns is confin’d:<br> + There let him reign, the jailer of the wind,<br> + With hoarse commands his breathing subjects call,<br> + And boast and bluster in his empty hall.”<br> + He spoke; and, while he spoke, he smooth’d the sea,<br> + Dispell’d the darkness, and restor’d the day.<br> + Cymothoe, Triton, and the sea-green train<br> + Of beauteous nymphs, the daughters of the main,<br> + Clear from the rocks the vessels with their hands:<br> + The god himself with ready trident stands,<br> + And opes the deep, and spreads the moving sands;<br> + Then heaves them off the shoals. Where’er he guides<br> + His finny coursers and in triumph rides,<br> + The waves unruffle and the sea subsides.<br> + As, when in tumults rise th’ ignoble crowd,<br> + Mad are their motions, and their tongues are loud;<br> + And stones and brands in rattling volleys fly,<br> + And all the rustic arms that fury can supply:<br> + If then some grave and pious man appear,<br> + They hush their noise, and lend a list’ning ear;<br> + He soothes with sober words their angry mood,<br> + And quenches their innate desire of blood:<br> + So, when the Father of the Flood appears,<br> + And o’er the seas his sov’reign trident rears,<br> + Their fury falls: he skims the liquid plains,<br> + High on his chariot, and, with loosen’d reins,<br> + Majestic moves along, and awful peace maintains.<br> + The weary Trojans ply their shatter’d oars<br> + To nearest land, and make the Libyan shores.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Within a long recess there lies a bay:<br> + An island shades it from the rolling sea,<br> + And forms a port secure for ships to ride;<br> + Broke by the jutting land, on either side,<br> + In double streams the briny waters glide.<br> + Betwixt two rows of rocks a sylvan scene<br> + Appears above, and groves for ever green:<br> + A grot is form’d beneath, with mossy seats,<br> + To rest the Nereids, and exclude the heats.<br> + Down thro’ the crannies of the living walls<br> + The crystal streams descend in murm’ring falls:<br> + No haulsers need to bind the vessels here,<br> + Nor bearded anchors; for no storms they fear.<br> + Sev’n ships within this happy harbour meet,<br> + The thin remainders of the scatter’d fleet.<br> + The Trojans, worn with toils, and spent with woes,<br> + Leap on the welcome land, and seek their wish’d repose.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + First, good Achates, with repeated strokes<br> + Of clashing flints, their hidden fire provokes:<br> + Short flame succeeds; a bed of wither’d leaves<br> + The dying sparkles in their fall receives:<br> + Caught into life, in fiery fumes they rise,<br> + And, fed with stronger food, invade the skies.<br> + The Trojans, dropping wet, or stand around<br> + The cheerful blaze, or lie along the ground:<br> + Some dry their corn, infected with the brine,<br> + Then grind with marbles, and prepare to dine.<br> + Aeneas climbs the mountain’s airy brow,<br> + And takes a prospect of the seas below,<br> + If Capys thence, or Antheus he could spy,<br> + Or see the streamers of Caicus fly.<br> + No vessels were in view; but, on the plain,<br> + Three beamy stags command a lordly train<br> + Of branching heads: the more ignoble throng<br> + Attend their stately steps, and slowly graze along.<br> + He stood; and, while secure they fed below,<br> + He took the quiver and the trusty bow<br> + Achates us’d to bear: the leaders first<br> + He laid along, and then the vulgar pierc’d;<br> + Nor ceas’d his arrows, till the shady plain<br> + Sev’n mighty bodies with their blood distain.<br> + For the sev’n ships he made an equal share,<br> + And to the port return’d, triumphant from the war.<br> + The jars of gen’rous wine (Acestes’ gift,<br> + When his Trinacrian shores the navy left)<br> + He set abroach, and for the feast prepar’d,<br> + In equal portions with the ven’son shar’d.<br> + Thus while he dealt it round, the pious chief<br> + With cheerful words allay’d the common grief:<br> + “Endure, and conquer! Jove will soon dispose<br> + To future good our past and present woes.<br> + With me, the rocks of Scylla you have tried;<br> + Th’ inhuman Cyclops and his den defied.<br> + What greater ills hereafter can you bear?<br> + Resume your courage and dismiss your care,<br> + An hour will come, with pleasure to relate<br> + Your sorrows past, as benefits of Fate.<br> + Thro’ various hazards and events, we move<br> + To Latium and the realms foredoom’d by Jove.<br> + Call’d to the seat (the promise of the skies)<br> + Where Trojan kingdoms once again may rise,<br> + Endure the hardships of your present state;<br> + Live, and reserve yourselves for better fate.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + These words he spoke, but spoke not from his heart;<br> + His outward smiles conceal’d his inward smart.<br> + The jolly crew, unmindful of the past,<br> + The quarry share, their plenteous dinner haste.<br> + Some strip the skin; some portion out the spoil;<br> + The limbs, yet trembling, in the caldrons boil;<br> + Some on the fire the reeking entrails broil.<br> + Stretch’d on the grassy turf, at ease they dine,<br> + Restore their strength with meat, and cheer their souls with wine.<br> + Their hunger thus appeas’d, their care attends<br> + The doubtful fortune of their absent friends:<br> + Alternate hopes and fears their minds possess,<br> + Whether to deem ’em dead, or in distress.<br> + Above the rest, Aeneas mourns the fate<br> + Of brave Orontes, and th’ uncertain state<br> + Of Gyas, Lycus, and of Amycus.<br> + The day, but not their sorrows, ended thus.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + When, from aloft, almighty Jove surveys<br> + Earth, air, and shores, and navigable seas,<br> + At length on Libyan realms he fix’d his eyes:<br> + Whom, pond’ring thus on human miseries,<br> + When Venus saw, she with a lowly look,<br> + Not free from tears, her heav’nly sire bespoke:<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “O King of Gods and Men! whose awful hand<br> + Disperses thunder on the seas and land,<br> + Disposing all with absolute command;<br> + How could my pious son thy pow’r incense?<br> + Or what, alas! is vanish’d Troy’s offence?<br> + Our hope of Italy not only lost,<br> + On various seas by various tempests toss’d,<br> + But shut from ev’ry shore, and barr’d from ev’ry coast.<br> + You promis’d once, a progeny divine<br> + Of Romans, rising from the Trojan line,<br> + In after times should hold the world in awe,<br> + And to the land and ocean give the law.<br> + How is your doom revers’d, which eas’d my care<br> + When Troy was ruin’d in that cruel war?<br> + Then fates to fates I could oppose; but now,<br> + When Fortune still pursues her former blow,<br> + What can I hope? What worse can still succeed?<br> + What end of labours has your will decreed?<br> + Antenor, from the midst of Grecian hosts,<br> + Could pass secure, and pierce th’ Illyrian coasts,<br> + Where, rolling down the steep, Timavus raves<br> + And thro’ nine channels disembogues his waves.<br> + At length he founded Padua’s happy seat,<br> + And gave his Trojans a secure retreat;<br> + There fix’d their arms, and there renew’d their name,<br> + And there in quiet rules, and crown’d with fame.<br> + But we, descended from your sacred line,<br> + Entitled to your heav’n and rites divine,<br> + Are banish’d earth; and, for the wrath of one,<br> + Remov’d from Latium and the promis’d throne.<br> + Are these our scepters? these our due rewards?<br> + And is it thus that Jove his plighted faith regards?”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + To whom the Father of th’ immortal race,<br> + Smiling with that serene indulgent face,<br> + With which he drives the clouds and clears the skies,<br> + First gave a holy kiss; then thus replies:<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Daughter, dismiss thy fears; to thy desire<br> + The fates of thine are fix’d, and stand entire.<br> + Thou shalt behold thy wish’d Lavinian walls;<br> + And, ripe for heav’n, when fate Aeneas calls,<br> + Then shalt thou bear him up, sublime, to me:<br> + No councils have revers’d my firm decree.<br> + And, lest new fears disturb thy happy state,<br> + Know, I have search’d the mystic rolls of Fate:<br> + Thy son (nor is th’ appointed season far)<br> + In Italy shall wage successful war,<br> + Shall tame fierce nations in the bloody field,<br> + And sov’reign laws impose, and cities build,<br> + Till, after ev’ry foe subdued, the sun<br> + Thrice thro’ the signs his annual race shall run:<br> + This is his time prefix’d. Ascanius then,<br> + Now call’d Iulus, shall begin his reign.<br> + He thirty rolling years the crown shall wear,<br> + Then from Lavinium shall the seat transfer,<br> + And, with hard labour, Alba Longa build.<br> + The throne with his succession shall be fill’d<br> + Three hundred circuits more: then shall be seen<br> + Ilia the fair, a priestess and a queen,<br> + Who, full of Mars, in time, with kindly throes,<br> + Shall at a birth two goodly boys disclose.<br> + The royal babes a tawny wolf shall drain:<br> + Then Romulus his grandsire’s throne shall gain,<br> + Of martial tow’rs the founder shall become,<br> + The people Romans call, the city Rome.<br> + To them no bounds of empire I assign,<br> + Nor term of years to their immortal line.<br> + Ev’n haughty Juno, who, with endless broils,<br> + Earth, seas, and heav’n, and Jove himself turmoils;<br> + At length aton’d, her friendly pow’r shall join,<br> + To cherish and advance the Trojan line.<br> + The subject world shall Rome’s dominion own,<br> + And, prostrate, shall adore the nation of the gown.<br> + An age is ripening in revolving fate<br> + When Troy shall overturn the Grecian state,<br> + And sweet revenge her conqu’ring sons shall call,<br> + To crush the people that conspir’d her fall.<br> + Then Caesar from the Julian stock shall rise,<br> + Whose empire ocean, and whose fame the skies<br> + Alone shall bound; whom, fraught with eastern spoils,<br> + Our heav’n, the just reward of human toils,<br> + Securely shall repay with rites divine;<br> + And incense shall ascend before his sacred shrine.<br> + Then dire debate and impious war shall cease,<br> + And the stern age be soften’d into peace:<br> + Then banish’d Faith shall once again return,<br> + And Vestal fires in hallow’d temples burn;<br> + And Remus with Quirinus shall sustain<br> + The righteous laws, and fraud and force restrain.<br> + Janus himself before his fane shall wait,<br> + And keep the dreadful issues of his gate,<br> + With bolts and iron bars: within remains<br> + Imprison’d Fury, bound in brazen chains;<br> + High on a trophy rais’d, of useless arms,<br> + He sits, and threats the world with vain alarms.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + He said, and sent Cyllenius with command<br> + To free the ports, and ope the Punic land<br> + To Trojan guests; lest, ignorant of fate,<br> + The queen might force them from her town and state.<br> + Down from the steep of heav’n Cyllenius flies,<br> + And cleaves with all his wings the yielding skies.<br> + Soon on the Libyan shore descends the god,<br> + Performs his message, and displays his rod:<br> + The surly murmurs of the people cease;<br> + And, as the fates requir’d, they give the peace:<br> + The queen herself suspends the rigid laws,<br> + The Trojans pities, and protects their cause.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Meantime, in shades of night Aeneas lies:<br> + Care seiz’d his soul, and sleep forsook his eyes.<br> + But, when the sun restor’d the cheerful day,<br> + He rose, the coast and country to survey,<br> + Anxious and eager to discover more.<br> + It look’d a wild uncultivated shore;<br> + But, whether humankind, or beasts alone<br> + Possess’d the new-found region, was unknown.<br> + Beneath a ledge of rocks his fleet he hides:<br> + Tall trees surround the mountain’s shady sides;<br> + The bending brow above a safe retreat provides.<br> + Arm’d with two pointed darts, he leaves his friends,<br> + And true Achates on his steps attends.<br> + Lo! in the deep recesses of the wood,<br> + Before his eyes his goddess mother stood:<br> + A huntress in her habit and her mien;<br> + Her dress a maid, her air confess’d a queen.<br> + Bare were her knees, and knots her garments bind;<br> + Loose was her hair, and wanton’d in the wind;<br> + Her hand sustain’d a bow; her quiver hung behind.<br> + She seem’d a virgin of the Spartan blood:<br> + With such array Harpalyce bestrode<br> + Her Thracian courser and outstripp’d the rapid flood.<br> + “Ho, strangers! have you lately seen,” she said,<br> + “One of my sisters, like myself array’d,<br> + Who cross’d the lawn, or in the forest stray’d?<br> + A painted quiver at her back she bore;<br> + Varied with spots, a lynx’s hide she wore;<br> + And at full cry pursued the tusky boar.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus Venus: thus her son replied again:<br> + “None of your sisters have we heard or seen,<br> + O virgin! or what other name you bear<br> + Above that style; O more than mortal fair!<br> + Your voice and mien celestial birth betray!<br> + If, as you seem, the sister of the day,<br> + Or one at least of chaste Diana’s train,<br> + Let not an humble suppliant sue in vain;<br> + But tell a stranger, long in tempests toss’d,<br> + What earth we tread, and who commands the coast?<br> + Then on your name shall wretched mortals call,<br> + And offer’d victims at your altars fall.”<br> + “I dare not,” she replied, “assume the name<br> + Of goddess, or celestial honours claim:<br> + For Tyrian virgins bows and quivers bear,<br> + And purple buskins o’er their ankles wear.<br> + Know, gentle youth, in Libyan lands you are:<br> + A people rude in peace, and rough in war.<br> + The rising city, which from far you see,<br> + Is Carthage, and a Tyrian colony.<br> + Phoenician Dido rules the growing state,<br> + Who fled from Tyre, to shun her brother’s hate.<br> + Great were her wrongs, her story full of fate;<br> + Which I will sum in short. Sichaeus, known<br> + For wealth, and brother to the Punic throne,<br> + Possess’d fair Dido’s bed; and either heart<br> + At once was wounded with an equal dart.<br> + Her father gave her, yet a spotless maid;<br> + Pygmalion then the Tyrian scepter sway’d:<br> + One who condemn’d divine and human laws.<br> + Then strife ensued, and cursed gold the cause.<br> + The monarch, blinded with desire of wealth,<br> + With steel invades his brother’s life by stealth;<br> + Before the sacred altar made him bleed,<br> + And long from her conceal’d the cruel deed.<br> + Some tale, some new pretence, he daily coin’d,<br> + To soothe his sister, and delude her mind.<br> + At length, in dead of night, the ghost appears<br> + Of her unhappy lord: the spectre stares,<br> + And, with erected eyes, his bloody bosom bares.<br> + The cruel altars and his fate he tells,<br> + And the dire secret of his house reveals,<br> + Then warns the widow, with her household gods,<br> + To seek a refuge in remote abodes.<br> + Last, to support her in so long a way,<br> + He shows her where his hidden treasure lay.<br> + Admonish’d thus, and seiz’d with mortal fright,<br> + The queen provides companions of her flight:<br> + They meet, and all combine to leave the state,<br> + Who hate the tyrant, or who fear his hate.<br> + They seize a fleet, which ready rigg’d they find;<br> + Nor is Pygmalion’s treasure left behind.<br> + The vessels, heavy laden, put to sea<br> + With prosp’rous winds; a woman leads the way.<br> + I know not, if by stress of weather driv’n,<br> + Or was their fatal course dispos’d by Heav’n;<br> + At last they landed, where from far your eyes<br> + May view the turrets of new Carthage rise;<br> + There bought a space of ground, which Byrsa call’d,<br> + From the bull’s hide, they first inclos’d, and wall’d.<br> + But whence are you? what country claims your birth?<br> + What seek you, strangers, on our Libyan earth?”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + To whom, with sorrow streaming from his eyes,<br> + And deeply sighing, thus her son replies:<br> + “Could you with patience hear, or I relate,<br> + O nymph, the tedious annals of our fate!<br> + Thro’ such a train of woes if I should run,<br> + The day would sooner than the tale be done!<br> + From ancient Troy, by force expell’d, we came,<br> + If you by chance have heard the Trojan name.<br> + On various seas by various tempests toss’d,<br> + At length we landed on your Libyan coast.<br> + The good Aeneas am I call’d, a name,<br> + While Fortune favour’d, not unknown to fame.<br> + My household gods, companions of my woes,<br> + With pious care I rescued from our foes.<br> + To fruitful Italy my course was bent;<br> + And from the King of Heav’n is my descent.<br> + With twice ten sail I cross’d the Phrygian sea;<br> + Fate and my mother goddess led my way.<br> + Scarce sev’n, the thin remainders of my fleet,<br> + From storms preserv’d, within your harbour meet.<br> + Myself distress’d, an exile, and unknown,<br> + Debarr’d from Europe, and from Asia thrown,<br> + In Libyan deserts wander thus alone.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + His tender parent could no longer bear;<br> + But, interposing, sought to soothe his care.<br> + “Whoe’er you are, not unbelov’d by Heav’n,<br> + Since on our friendly shore your ships are driv’n:<br> + Have courage: to the gods permit the rest,<br> + And to the queen expose your just request.<br> + Now take this earnest of success, for more:<br> + Your scatter’d fleet is join’d upon the shore;<br> + The winds are chang’d, your friends from danger free;<br> + Or I renounce my skill in augury.<br> + Twelve swans behold in beauteous order move,<br> + And stoop with closing pinions from above;<br> + Whom late the bird of Jove had driv’n along,<br> + And thro’ the clouds pursued the scatt’ring throng:<br> + Now, all united in a goodly team,<br> + They skim the ground, and seek the quiet stream.<br> + As they, with joy returning, clap their wings,<br> + And ride the circuit of the skies in rings;<br> + Not otherwise your ships, and ev’ry friend,<br> + Already hold the port, or with swift sails descend.<br> + No more advice is needful; but pursue<br> + The path before you, and the town in view.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus having said, she turn’d, and made appear<br> + Her neck refulgent, and dishevel’d hair,<br> + Which, flowing from her shoulders, reach’d the ground.<br> + And widely spread ambrosial scents around:<br> + In length of train descends her sweeping gown;<br> + And, by her graceful walk, the Queen of Love is known.<br> + The prince pursued the parting deity<br> + With words like these: “Ah! whither do you fly?<br> + Unkind and cruel! to deceive your son<br> + In borrow’d shapes, and his embrace to shun;<br> + Never to bless my sight, but thus unknown;<br> + And still to speak in accents not your own.”<br> + Against the goddess these complaints he made,<br> + But took the path, and her commands obey’d.<br> + They march, obscure; for Venus kindly shrouds<br> + With mists their persons, and involves in clouds,<br> + That, thus unseen, their passage none might stay,<br> + Or force to tell the causes of their way.<br> + This part perform’d, the goddess flies sublime<br> + To visit Paphos and her native clime;<br> + Where garlands, ever green and ever fair,<br> + With vows are offer’d, and with solemn pray’r:<br> + A hundred altars in her temple smoke;<br> + A thousand bleeding hearts her pow’r invoke.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + They climb the next ascent, and, looking down,<br> + Now at a nearer distance view the town.<br> + The prince with wonder sees the stately tow’rs,<br> + Which late were huts and shepherds’ homely bow’rs,<br> + The gates and streets; and hears, from ev’ry part,<br> + The noise and busy concourse of the mart.<br> + The toiling Tyrians on each other call<br> + To ply their labour: some extend the wall;<br> + Some build the citadel; the brawny throng<br> + Or dig, or push unwieldly stones along.<br> + Some for their dwellings choose a spot of ground,<br> + Which, first design’d, with ditches they surround.<br> + Some laws ordain; and some attend the choice<br> + Of holy senates, and elect by voice.<br> + Here some design a mole, while others there<br> + Lay deep foundations for a theatre;<br> + From marble quarries mighty columns hew,<br> + For ornaments of scenes, and future view.<br> + Such is their toil, and such their busy pains,<br> + As exercise the bees in flow’ry plains,<br> + When winter past, and summer scarce begun,<br> + Invites them forth to labour in the sun;<br> + Some lead their youth abroad, while some condense<br> + Their liquid store, and some in cells dispense;<br> + Some at the gate stand ready to receive<br> + The golden burthen, and their friends relieve;<br> + All with united force, combine to drive<br> + The lazy drones from the laborious hive:<br> + With envy stung, they view each other’s deeds;<br> + The fragrant work with diligence proceeds.<br> + “Thrice happy you, whose walls already rise!”<br> + Aeneas said, and view’d, with lifted eyes,<br> + Their lofty tow’rs; then, ent’ring at the gate,<br> + Conceal’d in clouds (prodigious to relate)<br> + He mix’d, unmark’d, among the busy throng,<br> + Borne by the tide, and pass’d unseen along.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Full in the centre of the town there stood,<br> + Thick set with trees, a venerable wood.<br> + The Tyrians, landing near this holy ground,<br> + And digging here, a prosp’rous omen found:<br> + From under earth a courser’s head they drew,<br> + Their growth and future fortune to foreshew.<br> + This fated sign their foundress Juno gave,<br> + Of a soil fruitful, and a people brave.<br> + Sidonian Dido here with solemn state<br> + Did Juno’s temple build, and consecrate,<br> + Enrich’d with gifts, and with a golden shrine;<br> + But more the goddess made the place divine.<br> + On brazen steps the marble threshold rose,<br> + And brazen plates the cedar beams inclose:<br> + The rafters are with brazen cov’rings crown’d;<br> + The lofty doors on brazen hinges sound.<br> + What first Aeneas in this place beheld,<br> + Reviv’d his courage, and his fear expell’d.<br> + For while, expecting there the queen, he rais’d<br> + His wond’ring eyes, and round the temple gaz’d,<br> + Admir’d the fortune of the rising town,<br> + The striving artists, and their arts’ renown;<br> + He saw, in order painted on the wall,<br> + Whatever did unhappy Troy befall:<br> + The wars that fame around the world had blown,<br> + All to the life, and ev’ry leader known.<br> + There Agamemnon, Priam here, he spies,<br> + And fierce Achilles, who both kings defies.<br> + He stopp’d, and weeping said: “O friend! ev’n here<br> + The monuments of Trojan woes appear!<br> + Our known disasters fill ev’n foreign lands:<br> + See there, where old unhappy Priam stands!<br> + Ev’n the mute walls relate the warrior’s fame,<br> + And Trojan griefs the Tyrians’ pity claim.”<br> + He said, his tears a ready passage find,<br> + Devouring what he saw so well design’d,<br> + And with an empty picture fed his mind:<br> + For there he saw the fainting Grecians yield,<br> + And here the trembling Trojans quit the field,<br> + Pursued by fierce Achilles thro’ the plain,<br> + On his high chariot driving o’er the slain.<br> + The tents of Rhesus next, his grief renew,<br> + By their white sails betray’d to nightly view;<br> + And wakeful Diomede, whose cruel sword<br> + The sentries slew, nor spar’d their slumb’ring lord,<br> + Then took the fiery steeds, ere yet the food<br> + Of Troy they taste, or drink the Xanthian flood.<br> + Elsewhere he saw where Troilus defied<br> + Achilles, and unequal combat tried;<br> + Then, where the boy disarm’d, with loosen’d reins,<br> + Was by his horses hurried o’er the plains,<br> + Hung by the neck and hair, and dragg’d around:<br> + The hostile spear, yet sticking in his wound,<br> + With tracks of blood inscrib’d the dusty ground.<br> + Meantime the Trojan dames, oppress’d with woe,<br> + To Pallas’ fane in long procession go,<br> + In hopes to reconcile their heav’nly foe.<br> + They weep, they beat their breasts, they rend their hair,<br> + And rich embroider’d vests for presents bear;<br> + But the stern goddess stands unmov’d with pray’r.<br> + Thrice round the Trojan walls Achilles drew<br> + The corpse of Hector, whom in fight he slew.<br> + Here Priam sues; and there, for sums of gold,<br> + The lifeless body of his son is sold.<br> + So sad an object, and so well express’d,<br> + Drew sighs and groans from the griev’d hero’s breast,<br> + To see the figure of his lifeless friend,<br> + And his old sire his helpless hand extend.<br> + Himself he saw amidst the Grecian train,<br> + Mix’d in the bloody battle on the plain;<br> + And swarthy Memnon in his arms he knew,<br> + His pompous ensigns, and his Indian crew.<br> + Penthisilea there, with haughty grace,<br> + Leads to the wars an Amazonian race:<br> + In their right hands a pointed dart they wield;<br> + The left, for ward, sustains the lunar shield.<br> + Athwart her breast a golden belt she throws,<br> + Amidst the press alone provokes a thousand foes,<br> + And dares her maiden arms to manly force oppose.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus while the Trojan prince employs his eyes,<br> + Fix’d on the walls with wonder and surprise,<br> + The beauteous Dido, with a num’rous train<br> + And pomp of guards, ascends the sacred fane.<br> + Such on Eurotas’ banks, or Cynthus’ height,<br> + Diana seems; and so she charms the sight,<br> + When in the dance the graceful goddess leads<br> + The choir of nymphs, and overtops their heads:<br> + Known by her quiver, and her lofty mien,<br> + She walks majestic, and she looks their queen;<br> + Latona sees her shine above the rest,<br> + And feeds with secret joy her silent breast.<br> + Such Dido was; with such becoming state,<br> + Amidst the crowd, she walks serenely great.<br> + Their labour to her future sway she speeds,<br> + And passing with a gracious glance proceeds;<br> + Then mounts the throne, high plac’d before the shrine:<br> + In crowds around, the swarming people join.<br> + She takes petitions, and dispenses laws,<br> + Hears and determines ev’ry private cause;<br> + Their tasks in equal portions she divides,<br> + And, where unequal, there by lots decides.<br> + Another way by chance Aeneas bends<br> + His eyes, and unexpected sees his friends,<br> + Antheus, Sergestus grave, Cloanthus strong,<br> + And at their backs a mighty Trojan throng,<br> + Whom late the tempest on the billows toss’d,<br> + And widely scatter’d on another coast.<br> + The prince, unseen, surpris’d with wonder stands,<br> + And longs, with joyful haste, to join their hands;<br> + But, doubtful of the wish’d event, he stays,<br> + And from the hollow cloud his friends surveys,<br> + Impatient till they told their present state,<br> + And where they left their ships, and what their fate,<br> + And why they came, and what was their request;<br> + For these were sent, commission’d by the rest,<br> + To sue for leave to land their sickly men,<br> + And gain admission to the gracious queen.<br> + Ent’ring, with cries they fill’d the holy fane;<br> + Then thus, with lowly voice, Ilioneus began:<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “O Queen! indulg’d by favour of the gods<br> + To found an empire in these new abodes,<br> + To build a town, with statutes to restrain<br> + The wild inhabitants beneath thy reign,<br> + We wretched Trojans, toss’d on ev’ry shore,<br> + From sea to sea, thy clemency implore.<br> + Forbid the fires our shipping to deface!<br> + Receive th’ unhappy fugitives to grace,<br> + And spare the remnant of a pious race!<br> + We come not with design of wasteful prey,<br> + To drive the country, force the swains away:<br> + Nor such our strength, nor such is our desire;<br> + The vanquish’d dare not to such thoughts aspire.<br> + A land there is, Hesperia nam’d of old;<br> + The soil is fruitful, and the men are bold<br> + Th’ Oenotrians held it once, by common fame<br> + Now call’d Italia, from the leader’s name.<br> + To that sweet region was our voyage bent,<br> + When winds and ev’ry warring element<br> + Disturb’d our course, and, far from sight of land,<br> + Cast our torn vessels on the moving sand:<br> + The sea came on; the South, with mighty roar,<br> + Dispers’d and dash’d the rest upon the rocky shore.<br> + Those few you see escap’d the storm, and fear,<br> + Unless you interpose, a shipwreck here.<br> + What men, what monsters, what inhuman race,<br> + What laws, what barb’rous customs of the place,<br> + Shut up a desert shore to drowning men,<br> + And drive us to the cruel seas again?<br> + If our hard fortune no compassion draws,<br> + Nor hospitable rights, nor human laws,<br> + The gods are just, and will revenge our cause.<br> + Aeneas was our prince: a juster lord,<br> + Or nobler warrior, never drew a sword;<br> + Observant of the right, religious of his word.<br> + If yet he lives, and draws this vital air,<br> + Nor we, his friends, of safety shall despair;<br> + Nor you, great queen, these offices repent,<br> + Which he will equal, and perhaps augment.<br> + We want not cities, nor Sicilian coasts,<br> + Where King Acestes Trojan lineage boasts.<br> + Permit our ships a shelter on your shores,<br> + Refitted from your woods with planks and oars,<br> + That, if our prince be safe, we may renew<br> + Our destin’d course, and Italy pursue.<br> + But if, O best of men, the Fates ordain<br> + That thou art swallow’d in the Libyan main,<br> + And if our young Iulus be no more,<br> + Dismiss our navy from your friendly shore,<br> + That we to good Acestes may return,<br> + And with our friends our common losses mourn.”<br> + Thus spoke Ilioneus: the Trojan crew<br> + With cries and clamours his request renew.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The modest queen a while, with downcast eyes,<br> + Ponder’d the speech; then briefly thus replies:<br> + “Trojans, dismiss your fears; my cruel fate,<br> + And doubts attending an unsettled state,<br> + Force me to guard my coast from foreign foes.<br> + Who has not heard the story of your woes,<br> + The name and fortune of your native place,<br> + The fame and valour of the Phrygian race?<br> + We Tyrians are not so devoid of sense,<br> + Nor so remote from Phoebus’ influence.<br> + Whether to Latian shores your course is bent,<br> + Or, driv’n by tempests from your first intent,<br> + You seek the good Acestes’ government,<br> + Your men shall be receiv’d, your fleet repair’d,<br> + And sail, with ships of convoy for your guard:<br> + Or, would you stay, and join your friendly pow’rs<br> + To raise and to defend the Tyrian tow’rs,<br> + My wealth, my city, and myself are yours.<br> + And would to Heav’n, the Storm, you felt, would bring<br> + On Carthaginian coasts your wand’ring king.<br> + My people shall, by my command, explore<br> + The ports and creeks of ev’ry winding shore,<br> + And towns, and wilds, and shady woods, in quest<br> + Of so renown’d and so desir’d a guest.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Rais’d in his mind the Trojan hero stood,<br> + And long’d to break from out his ambient cloud:<br> + Achates found it, and thus urg’d his way:<br> + “From whence, O goddess-born, this long delay?<br> + What more can you desire, your welcome sure,<br> + Your fleet in safety, and your friends secure?<br> + One only wants; and him we saw in vain<br> + Oppose the Storm, and swallow’d in the main.<br> + Orontes in his fate our forfeit paid;<br> + The rest agrees with what your mother said.”<br> + Scarce had he spoken, when the cloud gave way,<br> + The mists flew upward and dissolv’d in day.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The Trojan chief appear’d in open sight,<br> + August in visage, and serenely bright.<br> + His mother goddess, with her hands divine,<br> + Had form’d his curling locks, and made his temples shine,<br> + And giv’n his rolling eyes a sparkling grace,<br> + And breath’d a youthful vigour on his face;<br> + Like polish’d ivory, beauteous to behold,<br> + Or Parian marble, when enchas’d in gold:<br> + Thus radiant from the circling cloud he broke,<br> + And thus with manly modesty he spoke:<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “He whom you seek am I; by tempests toss’d,<br> + And sav’d from shipwreck on your Libyan coast;<br> + Presenting, gracious queen, before your throne,<br> + A prince that owes his life to you alone.<br> + Fair majesty, the refuge and redress<br> + Of those whom fate pursues, and wants oppress,<br> + You, who your pious offices employ<br> + To save the relics of abandon’d Troy;<br> + Receive the shipwreck’d on your friendly shore,<br> + With hospitable rites relieve the poor;<br> + Associate in your town a wand’ring train,<br> + And strangers in your palace entertain:<br> + What thanks can wretched fugitives return,<br> + Who, scatter’d thro’ the world, in exile mourn?<br> + The gods, if gods to goodness are inclin’d;<br> + If acts of mercy touch their heav’nly mind,<br> + And, more than all the gods, your gen’rous heart.<br> + Conscious of worth, requite its own desert!<br> + In you this age is happy, and this earth,<br> + And parents more than mortal gave you birth.<br> + While rolling rivers into seas shall run,<br> + And round the space of heav’n the radiant sun;<br> + While trees the mountain tops with shades supply,<br> + Your honour, name, and praise shall never die.<br> + Whate’er abode my fortune has assign’d,<br> + Your image shall be present in my mind.”<br> + Thus having said, he turn’d with pious haste,<br> + And joyful his expecting friends embrac’d:<br> + With his right hand Ilioneus was grac’d,<br> + Serestus with his left; then to his breast<br> + Cloanthus and the noble Gyas press’d;<br> + And so by turns descended to the rest.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The Tyrian queen stood fix’d upon his face,<br> + Pleas’d with his motions, ravish’d with his grace;<br> + Admir’d his fortunes, more admir’d the man;<br> + Then recollected stood, and thus began:<br> + “What fate, O goddess-born; what angry pow’rs<br> + Have cast you shipwreck’d on our barren shores?<br> + Are you the great Aeneas, known to fame,<br> + Who from celestial seed your lineage claim?<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The same Aeneas whom fair Venus bore<br> + To fam’d Anchises on th’ Idaean shore?<br> + It calls into my mind, tho’ then a child,<br> + When Teucer came, from Salamis exil’d,<br> + And sought my father’s aid, to be restor’d:<br> + My father Belus then with fire and sword<br> + Invaded Cyprus, made the region bare,<br> + And, conqu’ring, finish’d the successful war.<br> + From him the Trojan siege I understood,<br> + The Grecian chiefs, and your illustrious blood.<br> + Your foe himself the Dardan valour prais’d,<br> + And his own ancestry from Trojans rais’d.<br> + Enter, my noble guest, and you shall find,<br> + If not a costly welcome, yet a kind:<br> + For I myself, like you, have been distress’d,<br> + Till Heav’n afforded me this place of rest;<br> + Like you, an alien in a land unknown,<br> + I learn to pity woes so like my own.”<br> + She said, and to the palace led her guest;<br> + Then offer’d incense, and proclaim’d a feast.<br> + Nor yet less careful for her absent friends,<br> + Twice ten fat oxen to the ships she sends;<br> + Besides a hundred boars, a hundred lambs,<br> + With bleating cries, attend their milky dams;<br> + And jars of gen’rous wine and spacious bowls<br> + She gives, to cheer the sailors’ drooping souls.<br> + Now purple hangings clothe the palace walls,<br> + And sumptuous feasts are made in splendid halls:<br> + On Tyrian carpets, richly wrought, they dine;<br> + With loads of massy plate the sideboards shine,<br> + And antique vases, all of gold emboss’d<br> + (The gold itself inferior to the cost),<br> + Of curious work, where on the sides were seen<br> + The fights and figures of illustrious men,<br> + From their first founder to the present queen.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The good Aeneas, whose paternal care<br> + Iulus’ absence could no longer bear,<br> + Dispatch’d Achates to the ships in haste,<br> + To give a glad relation of the past,<br> + And, fraught with precious gifts, to bring the boy,<br> + Snatch’d from the ruins of unhappy Troy:<br> + A robe of tissue, stiff with golden wire;<br> + An upper vest, once Helen’s rich attire,<br> + From Argos by the fam’d adultress brought,<br> + With golden flow’rs and winding foliage wrought,<br> + Her mother Leda’s present, when she came<br> + To ruin Troy and set the world on flame;<br> + The scepter Priam’s eldest daughter bore,<br> + Her orient necklace, and the crown she wore<br> + Of double texture, glorious to behold,<br> + One order set with gems, and one with gold.<br> + Instructed thus, the wise Achates goes,<br> + And in his diligence his duty shows.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + But Venus, anxious for her son’s affairs,<br> + New counsels tries, and new designs prepares:<br> + That Cupid should assume the shape and face<br> + Of sweet Ascanius, and the sprightly grace;<br> + Should bring the presents, in her nephew’s stead,<br> + And in Eliza’s veins the gentle poison shed:<br> + For much she fear’d the Tyrians, double-tongued,<br> + And knew the town to Juno’s care belong’d.<br> + These thoughts by night her golden slumbers broke,<br> + And thus alarm’d, to winged Love she spoke:<br> + “My son, my strength, whose mighty pow’r alone<br> + Controls the Thund’rer on his awful throne,<br> + To thee thy much-afflicted mother flies,<br> + And on thy succour and thy faith relies.<br> + Thou know’st, my son, how Jove’s revengeful wife,<br> + By force and fraud, attempts thy brother’s life;<br> + And often hast thou mourn’d with me his pains.<br> + Him Dido now with blandishment detains;<br> + But I suspect the town where Juno reigns.<br> + For this ’tis needful to prevent her art,<br> + And fire with love the proud Phoenician’s heart:<br> + A love so violent, so strong, so sure,<br> + As neither age can change, nor art can cure.<br> + How this may be perform’d, now take my mind:<br> + Ascanius by his father is design’d<br> + To come, with presents laden, from the port,<br> + To gratify the queen, and gain the court.<br> + I mean to plunge the boy in pleasing sleep,<br> + And, ravish’d, in Idalian bow’rs to keep,<br> + Or high Cythera, that the sweet deceit<br> + May pass unseen, and none prevent the cheat.<br> + Take thou his form and shape. I beg the grace<br> + But only for a night’s revolving space:<br> + Thyself a boy, assume a boy’s dissembled face;<br> + That when, amidst the fervour of the feast,<br> + The Tyrian hugs and fonds thee on her breast,<br> + And with sweet kisses in her arms constrains,<br> + Thou may’st infuse thy venom in her veins.”<br> + The God of Love obeys, and sets aside<br> + His bow and quiver, and his plumy pride;<br> + He walks Iulus in his mother’s sight,<br> + And in the sweet resemblance takes delight.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The goddess then to young Ascanius flies,<br> + And in a pleasing slumber seals his eyes:<br> + Lull’d in her lap, amidst a train of Loves,<br> + She gently bears him to her blissful groves,<br> + Then with a wreath of myrtle crowns his head,<br> + And softly lays him on a flow’ry bed.<br> + Cupid meantime assum’d his form and face,<br> + Foll’wing Achates with a shorter pace,<br> + And brought the gifts. The queen already sate<br> + Amidst the Trojan lords, in shining state,<br> + High on a golden bed: her princely guest<br> + Was next her side; in order sate the rest.<br> + Then canisters with bread are heap’d on high;<br> + Th’ attendants water for their hands supply,<br> + And, having wash’d, with silken towels dry.<br> + Next fifty handmaids in long order bore<br> + The censers, and with fumes the gods adore:<br> + Then youths, and virgins twice as many, join<br> + To place the dishes, and to serve the wine.<br> + The Tyrian train, admitted to the feast,<br> + Approach, and on the painted couches rest.<br> + All on the Trojan gifts with wonder gaze,<br> + But view the beauteous boy with more amaze,<br> + His rosy-colour’d cheeks, his radiant eyes,<br> + His motions, voice, and shape, and all the god’s disguise;<br> + Nor pass unprais’d the vest and veil divine,<br> + Which wand’ring foliage and rich flow’rs entwine.<br> + But, far above the rest, the royal dame,<br> + (Already doom’d to love’s disastrous flame,)<br> + With eyes insatiate, and tumultuous joy,<br> + Beholds the presents, and admires the boy.<br> + The guileful god about the hero long,<br> + With children’s play, and false embraces, hung;<br> + Then sought the queen: she took him to her arms<br> + With greedy pleasure, and devour’d his charms.<br> + Unhappy Dido little thought what guest,<br> + How dire a god, she drew so near her breast;<br> + But he, not mindless of his mother’s pray’r,<br> + Works in the pliant bosom of the fair,<br> + And moulds her heart anew, and blots her former care.<br> + The dead is to the living love resign’d;<br> + And all Aeneas enters in her mind.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now, when the rage of hunger was appeas’d,<br> + The meat remov’d, and ev’ry guest was pleas’d,<br> + The golden bowls with sparkling wine are crown’d,<br> + And thro’ the palace cheerful cries resound.<br> + From gilded roofs depending lamps display<br> + Nocturnal beams, that emulate the day.<br> + A golden bowl, that shone with gems divine,<br> + The queen commanded to be crown’d with wine:<br> + The bowl that Belus us’d, and all the Tyrian line.<br> + Then, silence thro’ the hall proclaim’d, she spoke:<br> + “O hospitable Jove! we thus invoke,<br> + With solemn rites, thy sacred name and pow’r;<br> + Bless to both nations this auspicious hour!<br> + So may the Trojan and the Tyrian line<br> + In lasting concord from this day combine.<br> + Thou, Bacchus, god of joys and friendly cheer,<br> + And gracious Juno, both be present here!<br> + And you, my lords of Tyre, your vows address<br> + To Heav’n with mine, to ratify the peace.”<br> + The goblet then she took, with nectar crown’d<br> + (Sprinkling the first libations on the ground,)<br> + And rais’d it to her mouth with sober grace;<br> + Then, sipping, offer’d to the next in place.<br> + ’Twas Bitias whom she call’d, a thirsty soul;<br> + He took the challenge, and embrac’d the bowl,<br> + With pleasure swill’d the gold, nor ceas’d to draw,<br> + Till he the bottom of the brimmer saw.<br> + The goblet goes around: Iopas brought<br> + His golden lyre, and sung what ancient Atlas taught:<br> + The various labours of the wand’ring moon,<br> + And whence proceed th’ eclipses of the sun;<br> + Th’ original of men and beasts; and whence<br> + The rains arise, and fires their warmth dispense,<br> + And fix’d and erring stars dispose their influence;<br> + What shakes the solid earth; what cause delays<br> + The summer nights and shortens winter days.<br> + With peals of shouts the Tyrians praise the song:<br> + Those peals are echo’d by the Trojan throng.<br> + Th’ unhappy queen with talk prolong’d the night,<br> + And drank large draughts of love with vast delight;<br> + Of Priam much enquir’d, of Hector more;<br> + Then ask’d what arms the swarthy Memnon wore,<br> + What troops he landed on the Trojan shore;<br> + The steeds of Diomede varied the discourse,<br> + And fierce Achilles, with his matchless force;<br> + At length, as fate and her ill stars requir’d,<br> + To hear the series of the war desir’d.<br> + “Relate at large, my godlike guest,” she said,<br> + “The Grecian stratagems, the town betray’d:<br> + The fatal issue of so long a war,<br> + Your flight, your wand’rings, and your woes, declare;<br> + For, since on ev’ry sea, on ev’ry coast,<br> + Your men have been distress’d, your navy toss’d,<br> + Sev’n times the sun has either tropic view’d,<br> + The winter banish’d, and the spring renew’d.” + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="chap02"></a>BOOK II</h2> + + <h5> THE ARGUMENT. </h5> + + <p> + 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. + <br><br> + </p> + + <p class="pfirst"> + <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>ll were attentive to the godlike man,<br> + When from his lofty couch he thus began:<br> + “Great queen, what you command me to relate<br> + Renews the sad remembrance of our fate:<br> + An empire from its old foundations rent,<br> + And ev’ry woe the Trojans underwent;<br> + A peopled city made a desert place;<br> + All that I saw, and part of which I was:<br> + Not ev’n the hardest of our foes could hear,<br> + Nor stern Ulysses tell without a tear.<br> + And now the latter watch of wasting night,<br> + And setting stars, to kindly rest invite;<br> + But, since you take such int’rest in our woe,<br> + And Troy’s disastrous end desire to know,<br> + I will restrain my tears, and briefly tell<br> + What in our last and fatal night befell.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “By destiny compell’d, and in despair,<br> + The Greeks grew weary of the tedious war,<br> + And by Minerva’s aid a fabric rear’d,<br> + Which like a steed of monstrous height appear’d:<br> + The sides were plank’d with pine; they feign’d it made<br> + For their return, and this the vow they paid.<br> + Thus they pretend, but in the hollow side<br> + Selected numbers of their soldiers hide:<br> + With inward arms the dire machine they load,<br> + And iron bowels stuff the dark abode.<br> + In sight of Troy lies Tenedos, an isle<br> + (While Fortune did on Priam’s empire smile)<br> + Renown’d for wealth; but, since, a faithless bay,<br> + Where ships expos’d to wind and weather lay.<br> + There was their fleet conceal’d. We thought, for Greece<br> + Their sails were hoisted, and our fears release.<br> + The Trojans, coop’d within their walls so long,<br> + Unbar their gates, and issue in a throng,<br> + Like swarming bees, and with delight survey<br> + The camp deserted, where the Grecians lay:<br> + The quarters of the sev’ral chiefs they show’d;<br> + Here Phoenix, here Achilles, made abode;<br> + Here join’d the battles; there the navy rode.<br> + Part on the pile their wond’ring eyes employ:<br> + The pile by Pallas rais’d to ruin Troy.<br> + Thymoetes first (’tis doubtful whether hir’d,<br> + Or so the Trojan destiny requir’d)<br> + Mov’d that the ramparts might be broken down,<br> + To lodge the monster fabric in the town.<br> + But Capys, and the rest of sounder mind,<br> + The fatal present to the flames designed,<br> + Or to the wat’ry deep; at least to bore<br> + The hollow sides, and hidden frauds explore.<br> + The giddy vulgar, as their fancies guide,<br> + With noise say nothing, and in parts divide.<br> + Laocoon, follow’d by a num’rous crowd,<br> + Ran from the fort, and cried, from far, aloud:<br> + ‘O wretched countrymen! what fury reigns?<br> + What more than madness has possess’d your brains?<br> + Think you the Grecians from your coasts are gone?<br> + And are Ulysses’ arts no better known?<br> + This hollow fabric either must inclose,<br> + Within its blind recess, our secret foes;<br> + Or ’tis an engine rais’d above the town,<br> + T’ o’erlook the walls, and then to batter down.<br> + Somewhat is sure design’d, by fraud or force:<br> + Trust not their presents, nor admit the horse.’<br> + Thus having said, against the steed he threw<br> + His forceful spear, which, hissing as it flew,<br> + Pierc’d thro’ the yielding planks of jointed wood,<br> + And trembling in the hollow belly stood.<br> + The sides, transpierc’d, return a rattling sound,<br> + And groans of Greeks inclos’d come issuing thro’ the wound<br> + And, had not Heav’n the fall of Troy design’d,<br> + Or had not men been fated to be blind,<br> + Enough was said and done t’inspire a better mind.<br> + Then had our lances pierc’d the treach’rous wood,<br> + And Ilian tow’rs and Priam’s empire stood.<br> + Meantime, with shouts, the Trojan shepherds bring<br> + A captive Greek, in bands, before the king;<br> + Taken to take; who made himself their prey,<br> + T’ impose on their belief, and Troy betray;<br> + Fix’d on his aim, and obstinately bent<br> + To die undaunted, or to circumvent.<br> + About the captive, tides of Trojans flow;<br> + All press to see, and some insult the foe.<br> + Now hear how well the Greeks their wiles disguis’d;<br> + Behold a nation in a man compris’d.<br> + Trembling the miscreant stood, unarm’d and bound;<br> + He star’d, and roll’d his haggard eyes around,<br> + Then said: ‘Alas! what earth remains, what sea<br> + Is open to receive unhappy me?<br> + What fate a wretched fugitive attends,<br> + Scorn’d by my foes, abandon’d by my friends?’<br> + He said, and sigh’d, and cast a rueful eye:<br> + Our pity kindles, and our passions die.<br> + We cheer the youth to make his own defence,<br> + And freely tell us what he was, and whence:<br> + What news he could impart, we long to know,<br> + And what to credit from a captive foe.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “His fear at length dismiss’d, he said: ‘Whate’er<br> + My fate ordains, my words shall be sincere:<br> + I neither can nor dare my birth disclaim;<br> + Greece is my country, Sinon is my name.<br> + Tho’ plung’d by Fortune’s pow’r in misery,<br> + ’Tis not in Fortune’s pow’r to make me lie.<br> + If any chance has hither brought the name<br> + Of Palamedes, not unknown to fame,<br> + Who suffer’d from the malice of the times,<br> + Accus’d and sentenc’d for pretended crimes,<br> + Because these fatal wars he would prevent;<br> + Whose death the wretched Greeks too late lament;<br> + Me, then a boy, my father, poor and bare<br> + Of other means, committed to his care,<br> + His kinsman and companion in the war.<br> + While Fortune favour’d, while his arms support<br> + The cause, and rul’d the counsels, of the court,<br> + I made some figure there; nor was my name<br> + Obscure, nor I without my share of fame.<br> + But when Ulysses, with fallacious arts,<br> + Had made impression in the people’s hearts,<br> + And forg’d a treason in my patron’s name<br> + (I speak of things too far divulg’d by fame),<br> + My kinsman fell. Then I, without support,<br> + In private mourn’d his loss, and left the court.<br> + Mad as I was, I could not bear his fate<br> + With silent grief, but loudly blam’d the state,<br> + And curs’d the direful author of my woes.<br> + ’Twas told again; and hence my ruin rose.<br> + I threaten’d, if indulgent Heav’n once more<br> + Would land me safely on my native shore,<br> + His death with double vengeance to restore.<br> + This mov’d the murderer’s hate; and soon ensued<br> + Th’ effects of malice from a man so proud.<br> + Ambiguous rumours thro’ the camp he spread,<br> + And sought, by treason, my devoted head;<br> + New crimes invented; left unturn’d no stone,<br> + To make my guilt appear, and hide his own;<br> + Till Calchas was by force and threat’ning wrought:<br> + But why—why dwell I on that anxious thought?<br> + If on my nation just revenge you seek,<br> + And ’tis t’ appear a foe, t’ appear a Greek;<br> + Already you my name and country know;<br> + Assuage your thirst of blood, and strike the blow:<br> + My death will both the kingly brothers please,<br> + And set insatiate Ithacus at ease.’<br> + This fair unfinish’d tale, these broken starts,<br> + Rais’d expectations in our longing hearts:<br> + Unknowing as we were in Grecian arts.<br> + His former trembling once again renew’d,<br> + With acted fear, the villain thus pursued:<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “‘Long had the Grecians (tir’d with fruitless care,<br> + And wearied with an unsuccessful war)<br> + Resolv’d to raise the siege, and leave the town;<br> + And, had the gods permitted, they had gone;<br> + But oft the wintry seas and southern winds<br> + Withstood their passage home, and chang’d their minds.<br> + Portents and prodigies their souls amaz’d;<br> + But most, when this stupendous pile was rais’d:<br> + Then flaming meteors, hung in air, were seen,<br> + And thunders rattled thro’ a sky serene.<br> + Dismay’d, and fearful of some dire event,<br> + Eurypylus t’ enquire their fate was sent.<br> + He from the gods this dreadful answer brought:<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “O Grecians, when the Trojan shores you sought,<br> + Your passage with a virgin’s blood was bought:<br> + So must your safe return be bought again,<br> + And Grecian blood once more atone the main.”<br> + The spreading rumour round the people ran;<br> + All fear’d, and each believ’d himself the man.<br> + Ulysses took th’ advantage of their fright;<br> + Call’d Calchas, and produc’d in open sight:<br> + Then bade him name the wretch, ordain’d by fate<br> + The public victim, to redeem the state.<br> + Already some presag’d the dire event,<br> + And saw what sacrifice Ulysses meant.<br> + For twice five days the good old seer withstood<br> + Th’ intended treason, and was dumb to blood,<br> + Till, tir’d, with endless clamours and pursuit<br> + Of Ithacus, he stood no longer mute;<br> + But, as it was agreed, pronounc’d that I<br> + Was destin’d by the wrathful gods to die.<br> + All prais’d the sentence, pleas’d the storm should fall<br> + On one alone, whose fury threaten’d all.<br> + The dismal day was come; the priests prepare<br> + Their leaven’d cakes, and fillets for my hair.<br> + I follow’d nature’s laws, and must avow<br> + I broke my bonds and fled the fatal blow.<br> + Hid in a weedy lake all night I lay,<br> + Secure of safety when they sail’d away.<br> + But now what further hopes for me remain,<br> + To see my friends, or native soil, again;<br> + My tender infants, or my careful sire,<br> + Whom they returning will to death require;<br> + Will perpetrate on them their first design,<br> + And take the forfeit of their heads for mine?<br> + Which, O! if pity mortal minds can move,<br> + If there be faith below, or gods above,<br> + If innocence and truth can claim desert,<br> + Ye Trojans, from an injur’d wretch avert.’<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “False tears true pity move; the king commands<br> + To loose his fetters, and unbind his hands:<br> + Then adds these friendly words: ‘Dismiss thy fears;<br> + Forget the Greeks; be mine as thou wert theirs.<br> + But truly tell, was it for force or guile,<br> + Or some religious end, you rais’d the pile?’<br> + Thus said the king. He, full of fraudful arts,<br> + This well-invented tale for truth imparts:<br> + ‘Ye lamps of heav’n!’ he said, and lifted high<br> + His hands now free, ‘thou venerable sky!<br> + Inviolable pow’rs, ador’d with dread!<br> + Ye fatal fillets, that once bound this head!<br> + Ye sacred altars, from whose flames I fled!<br> + Be all of you adjur’d; and grant I may,<br> + Without a crime, th’ ungrateful Greeks betray,<br> + Reveal the secrets of the guilty state,<br> + And justly punish whom I justly hate!<br> + But you, O king, preserve the faith you gave,<br> + If I, to save myself, your empire save.<br> + The Grecian hopes, and all th’ attempts they made,<br> + Were only founded on Minerva’s aid.<br> + But from the time when impious Diomede,<br> + And false Ulysses, that inventive head,<br> + Her fatal image from the temple drew,<br> + The sleeping guardians of the castle slew,<br> + Her virgin statue with their bloody hands<br> + Polluted, and profan’d her holy bands;<br> + From thence the tide of fortune left their shore,<br> + And ebb’d much faster than it flow’d before:<br> + Their courage languish’d, as their hopes decay’d;<br> + And Pallas, now averse, refus’d her aid.<br> + Nor did the goddess doubtfully declare<br> + Her alter’d mind and alienated care.<br> + When first her fatal image touch’d the ground,<br> + She sternly cast her glaring eyes around,<br> + That sparkled as they roll’d, and seem’d to threat:<br> + Her heav’nly limbs distill’d a briny sweat.<br> + Thrice from the ground she leap’d, was seen to wield<br> + Her brandish’d lance, and shake her horrid shield.<br> + Then Calchas bade our host for flight<br> + And hope no conquest from the tedious war,<br> + Till first they sail’d for Greece; with pray’rs besought<br> + Her injur’d pow’r, and better omens brought.<br> + And now their navy plows the wat’ry main,<br> + Yet soon expect it on your shores again,<br> + With Pallas pleas’d; as Calchas did ordain.<br> + But first, to reconcile the blue-ey’d maid<br> + For her stol’n statue and her tow’r betray’d,<br> + Warn’d by the seer, to her offended name<br> + We rais’d and dedicate this wondrous frame,<br> + So lofty, lest thro’ your forbidden gates<br> + It pass, and intercept our better fates:<br> + For, once admitted there, our hopes are lost;<br> + And Troy may then a new Palladium boast;<br> + For so religion and the gods ordain,<br> + That, if you violate with hands profane<br> + Minerva’s gift, your town in flames shall burn,<br> + (Which omen, O ye gods, on Grecia turn!)<br> + But if it climb, with your assisting hands,<br> + The Trojan walls, and in the city stands;<br> + Then Troy shall Argos and Mycenae burn,<br> + And the reverse of fate on us return.’<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “With such deceits he gain’d their easy hearts,<br> + Too prone to credit his perfidious arts.<br> + What Diomede, nor Thetis’ greater son,<br> + A thousand ships, nor ten years’ siege, had done:<br> + False tears and fawning words the city won.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “A greater omen, and of worse portent,<br> + Did our unwary minds with fear torment,<br> + Concurring to produce the dire event.<br> + Laocoon, Neptune’s priest by lot that year,<br> + With solemn pomp then sacrific’d a steer;<br> + When, dreadful to behold, from sea we spied<br> + Two serpents, rank’d abreast, the seas divide,<br> + And smoothly sweep along the swelling tide.<br> + Their flaming crests above the waves they show;<br> + Their bellies seem to burn the seas below;<br> + Their speckled tails advance to steer their course,<br> + And on the sounding shore the flying billows force.<br> + And now the strand, and now the plain they held;<br> + Their ardent eyes with bloody streaks were fill’d;<br> + Their nimble tongues they brandish’d as they came,<br> + And lick’d their hissing jaws, that sputter’d flame.<br> + We fled amaz’d; their destin’d way they take,<br> + And to Laocoon and his children make;<br> + And first around the tender boys they wind,<br> + Then with their sharpen’d fangs their limbs and bodies grind.<br> + The wretched father, running to their aid<br> + With pious haste, but vain, they next invade;<br> + Twice round his waist their winding volumes roll’d;<br> + And twice about his gasping throat they fold.<br> + The priest thus doubly chok’d, their crests divide,<br> + And tow’ring o’er his head in triumph ride.<br> + With both his hands he labours at the knots;<br> + His holy fillets the blue venom blots;<br> + His roaring fills the flitting air around.<br> + Thus, when an ox receives a glancing wound,<br> + He breaks his bands, the fatal altar flies,<br> + And with loud bellowings breaks the yielding skies.<br> + Their tasks perform’d, the serpents quit their prey,<br> + And to the tow’r of Pallas make their way:<br> + Couch’d at her feet, they lie protected there<br> + By her large buckler and protended spear.<br> + Amazement seizes all; the gen’ral cry<br> + Proclaims Laocoon justly doom’d to die,<br> + Whose hand the will of Pallas had withstood,<br> + And dared to violate the sacred wood.<br> + All vote t’ admit the steed, that vows be paid<br> + And incense offer’d to th’ offended maid.<br> + A spacious breach is made; the town lies bare;<br> + Some hoisting levers, some the wheels prepare<br> + And fasten to the horse’s feet; the rest<br> + With cables haul along th’ unwieldly beast.<br> + Each on his fellow for assistance calls;<br> + At length the fatal fabric mounts the walls,<br> + Big with destruction. Boys with chaplets crown’d,<br> + And choirs of virgins, sing and dance around.<br> + Thus rais’d aloft, and then descending down,<br> + It enters o’er our heads, and threats the town.<br> + O sacred city, built by hands divine!<br> + O valiant heroes of the Trojan line!<br> + Four times he struck: as oft the clashing sound<br> + Of arms was heard, and inward groans rebound.<br> + Yet, mad with zeal, and blinded with our fate,<br> + We haul along the horse in solemn state;<br> + Then place the dire portent within the tow’r.<br> + Cassandra cried, and curs’d th’ unhappy hour;<br> + Foretold our fate; but, by the god’s decree,<br> + All heard, and none believ’d the prophecy.<br> + With branches we the fanes adorn, and waste,<br> + In jollity, the day ordain’d to be the last.<br> + Meantime the rapid heav’ns roll’d down the light,<br> + And on the shaded ocean rush’d the night;<br> + Our men, secure, nor guards nor sentries held,<br> + But easy sleep their weary limbs compell’d.<br> + The Grecians had embark’d their naval pow’rs<br> + From Tenedos, and sought our well-known shores,<br> + Safe under covert of the silent night,<br> + And guided by th’ imperial galley’s light;<br> + When Sinon, favour’d by the partial gods,<br> + Unlock’d the horse, and op’d his dark abodes;<br> + Restor’d to vital air our hidden foes,<br> + Who joyful from their long confinement rose.<br> + Tysander bold, and Sthenelus their guide,<br> + And dire Ulysses down the cable slide:<br> + Then Thoas, Athamas, and Pyrrhus haste;<br> + Nor was the Podalirian hero last,<br> + Nor injur’d Menelaus, nor the fam’d<br> + Epeus, who the fatal engine fram’d.<br> + A nameless crowd succeed; their forces join<br> + T’ invade the town, oppress’d with sleep and wine.<br> + Those few they find awake first meet their fate;<br> + Then to their fellows they unbar the gate.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “’Twas in the dead of night, when sleep repairs<br> + Our bodies worn with toils, our minds with cares,<br> + When Hector’s ghost before my sight appears:<br> + A bloody shroud he seem’d, and bath’d in tears;<br> + Such as he was, when, by Pelides slain,<br> + Thessalian coursers dragg’d him o’er the plain.<br> + Swoln were his feet, as when the thongs were thrust<br> + Thro’ the bor’d holes; his body black with dust;<br> + Unlike that Hector who return’d from toils<br> + Of war, triumphant, in Aeacian spoils,<br> + Or him who made the fainting Greeks retire,<br> + And launch’d against their navy Phrygian fire.<br> + His hair and beard stood stiffen’d with his gore;<br> + And all the wounds he for his country bore<br> + Now stream’d afresh, and with new purple ran.<br> + I wept to see the visionary man,<br> + And, while my trance continued, thus began:<br> + ‘O light of Trojans, and support of Troy,<br> + Thy father’s champion, and thy country’s joy!<br> + O, long expected by thy friends! from whence<br> + Art thou so late return’d for our defence?<br> + Do we behold thee, wearied as we are<br> + With length of labours, and with toils of war?<br> + After so many fun’rals of thy own<br> + Art thou restor’d to thy declining town?<br> + But say, what wounds are these? What new disgrace<br> + Deforms the manly features of thy face?’<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “To this the spectre no reply did frame,<br> + But answer’d to the cause for which he came,<br> + And, groaning from the bottom of his breast,<br> + This warning in these mournful words express’d:<br> + ‘O goddess-born! escape, by timely flight,<br> + The flames and horrors of this fatal night.<br> + The foes already have possess’d the wall;<br> + Troy nods from high, and totters to her fall.<br> + Enough is paid to Priam’s royal name,<br> + More than enough to duty and to fame.<br> + If by a mortal hand my father’s throne<br> + Could be defended, ’twas by mine alone.<br> + Now Troy to thee commends her future state,<br> + And gives her gods companions of thy fate:<br> + From their assistance walls expect,<br> + Which, wand’ring long, at last thou shalt erect.’<br> + He said, and brought me, from their blest abodes,<br> + The venerable statues of the gods,<br> + With ancient Vesta from the sacred choir,<br> + The wreaths and relics of th’ immortal fire.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Now peals of shouts come thund’ring from afar,<br> + Cries, threats, and loud laments, and mingled war:<br> + The noise approaches, tho’ our palace stood<br> + Aloof from streets, encompass’d with a wood.<br> + Louder, and yet more loud, I hear th’ alarms<br> + Of human cries distinct, and clashing arms.<br> + Fear broke my slumbers; I no longer stay,<br> + But mount the terrace, thence the town survey,<br> + And hearken what the frightful sounds convey.<br> + Thus, when a flood of fire by wind is borne,<br> + Crackling it rolls, and mows the standing corn;<br> + Or deluges, descending on the plains,<br> + Sweep o’er the yellow ear, destroy the pains<br> + Of lab’ring oxen and the peasant’s gains;<br> + Unroot the forest oaks, and bear away<br> + Flocks, folds, and trees, and undistinguish’d prey:<br> + The shepherd climbs the cliff, and sees from far<br> + The wasteful ravage of the wat’ry war.<br> + Then Hector’s faith was manifestly clear’d,<br> + And Grecian frauds in open light appear’d.<br> + The palace of Deiphobus ascends<br> + In smoky flames, and catches on his friends.<br> + Ucalegon burns next: the seas are bright<br> + With splendour not their own, and shine with Trojan light.<br> + New clamours and new clangours now arise,<br> + The sound of trumpets mix’d with fighting cries.<br> + With frenzy seiz’d, I run to meet th’ alarms,<br> + Resolv’d on death, resolv’d to die in arms,<br> + But first to gather friends, with them t’ oppose<br> + If fortune favour’d, and repel the foes;<br> + Spurr’d by my courage, by my country fir’d,<br> + With sense of honour and revenge inspir’d.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Pantheus, Apollo’s priest, a sacred name,<br> + Had scap’d the Grecian swords, and pass’d the flame:<br> + With relics loaden, to my doors he fled,<br> + And by the hand his tender grandson led.<br> + ‘What hope, O Pantheus? whither can we run?<br> + Where make a stand? and what may yet be done?’<br> + Scarce had I said, when Pantheus, with a groan:<br> + ‘Troy is no more, and Ilium was a town!<br> + The fatal day, th’ appointed hour, is come,<br> + When wrathful Jove’s irrevocable doom<br> + Transfers the Trojan state to Grecian hands.<br> + The fire consumes the town, the foe commands;<br> + And armed hosts, an unexpected force,<br> + Break from the bowels of the fatal horse.<br> + Within the gates, proud Sinon throws about<br> + The flames; and foes for entrance press without,<br> + With thousand others, whom I fear to name,<br> + More than from Argos or Mycenae came.<br> + To sev’ral posts their parties they divide;<br> + Some block the narrow streets, some scour the wide:<br> + The bold they kill, th’ unwary they surprise;<br> + Who fights finds death, and death finds him who flies.<br> + The warders of the gate but scarce maintain<br> + Th’ unequal combat, and resist in vain.’<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “I heard; and Heav’n, that well-born souls inspires,<br> + Prompts me thro’ lifted swords and rising fires<br> + To run where clashing arms and clamour calls,<br> + And rush undaunted to defend the walls.<br> + Ripheus and Iph’itas by my side engage,<br> + For valour one renown’d, and one for age.<br> + Dymas and Hypanis by moonlight knew<br> + My motions and my mien, and to my party drew;<br> + With young Coroebus, who by love was led<br> + To win renown and fair Cassandra’s bed,<br> + And lately brought his troops to Priam’s aid,<br> + Forewarn’d in vain by the prophetic maid.<br> + Whom when I saw resolv’d in arms to fall,<br> + And that one spirit animated all:<br> + ‘Brave souls!’ said I, ‘but brave, alas! in vain:<br> + Come, finish what our cruel fates ordain.<br> + You see the desp’rate state of our affairs,<br> + And heav’n’s protecting pow’rs are deaf to pray’rs.<br> + The passive gods behold the Greeks defile<br> + Their temples, and abandon to the spoil<br> + Their own abodes: we, feeble few, conspire<br> + To save a sinking town, involv’d in fire.<br> + Then let us fall, but fall amidst our foes:<br> + Despair of life the means of living shows.’<br> + So bold a speech incourag’d their desire<br> + Of death, and added fuel to their fire.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “As hungry wolves, with raging appetite,<br> + Scour thro’ the fields, nor fear the stormy night;<br> + Their whelps at home expect the promis’d food,<br> + And long to temper their dry chaps in blood:<br> + So rush’d we forth at once; resolv’d to die,<br> + Resolv’d, in death, the last extremes to try.<br> + We leave the narrow lanes behind, and dare<br> + Th’ unequal combat in the public square:<br> + Night was our friend; our leader was despair.<br> + What tongue can tell the slaughter of that night?<br> + What eyes can weep the sorrows and affright?<br> + An ancient and imperial city falls:<br> + The streets are fill’d with frequent funerals;<br> + Houses and holy temples float in blood,<br> + And hostile nations make a common flood.<br> + Not only Trojans fall; but, in their turn,<br> + The vanquish’d triumph, and the victors mourn.<br> + Ours take new courage from despair and night:<br> + Confus’d the fortune is, confus’d the fight.<br> + All parts resound with tumults, plaints, and fears;<br> + And grisly Death in sundry shapes appears.<br> + Androgeos fell among us, with his band,<br> + Who thought us Grecians newly come to land.<br> + ‘From whence,’ said he, ‘my friends, this long delay?<br> + You loiter, while the spoils are borne away:<br> + Our ships are laden with the Trojan store;<br> + And you, like truants, come too late ashore.’<br> + He said, but soon corrected his mistake,<br> + Found, by the doubtful answers which we make:<br> + Amaz’d, he would have shunn’d th’ unequal fight;<br> + But we, more num’rous, intercept his flight.<br> + As when some peasant, in a bushy brake,<br> + Has with unwary footing press’d a snake;<br> + He starts aside, astonish’d, when he spies<br> + His rising crest, blue neck, and rolling eyes;<br> + So from our arms surpris’d Androgeos flies.<br> + In vain; for him and his we compass’d round,<br> + Possess’d with fear, unknowing of the ground,<br> + And of their lives an easy conquest found.<br> + Thus Fortune on our first endeavor smil’d.<br> + Coroebus then, with youthful hopes beguil’d,<br> + Swoln with success, and a daring mind,<br> + This new invention fatally design’d.<br> + ‘My friends,’ said he, ‘since Fortune shows the way,<br> + ’Tis fit we should th’ auspicious guide obey.<br> + For what has she these Grecian arms bestow’d,<br> + But their destruction, and the Trojans’ good?<br> + Then change we shields, and their devices bear:<br> + Let fraud supply the want of force in war.<br> + They find us arms.’ This said, himself he dress’d<br> + In dead Androgeos’ spoils, his upper vest,<br> + His painted buckler, and his plumy crest.<br> + Thus Ripheus, Dymas, all the Trojan train,<br> + Lay down their own attire, and strip the slain.<br> + Mix’d with the Greeks, we go with ill presage,<br> + Flatter’d with hopes to glut our greedy rage;<br> + Unknown, assaulting whom we blindly meet,<br> + And strew with Grecian carcasses the street.<br> + Thus while their straggling parties we defeat,<br> + Some to the shore and safer ships retreat;<br> + And some, oppress’d with more ignoble fear,<br> + Remount the hollow horse, and pant in secret there.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “But, ah! what use of valour can be made,<br> + When heav’n’s propitious pow’rs refuse their aid!<br> + Behold the royal prophetess, the fair<br> + Cassandra, dragg’d by her dishevel’d hair,<br> + Whom not Minerva’s shrine, nor sacred bands,<br> + In safety could protect from sacrilegious hands:<br> + On heav’n she cast her eyes, she sigh’d, she cried,<br> + (’Twas all she could) her tender arms were tied.<br> + So sad a sight Coroebus could not bear;<br> + But, fir’d with rage, distracted with despair,<br> + Amid the barb’rous ravishers he flew:<br> + Our leader’s rash example we pursue.<br> + But storms of stones, from the proud temple’s height,<br> + Pour down, and on our batter’d helms alight:<br> + We from our friends receiv’d this fatal blow,<br> + Who thought us Grecians, as we seem’d in show.<br> + They aim at the mistaken crests, from high;<br> + And ours beneath the pond’rous ruin lie.<br> + Then, mov’d with anger and disdain, to see<br> + Their troops dispers’d, the royal virgin free,<br> + The Grecians rally, and their pow’rs unite,<br> + With fury charge us, and renew the fight.<br> + The brother kings with Ajax join their force,<br> + And the whole squadron of Thessalian horse.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Thus, when the rival winds their quarrel try,<br> + Contending for the kingdom of the sky,<br> + South, east, and west, on airy coursers borne;<br> + The whirlwind gathers, and the woods are torn:<br> + Then Nereus strikes the deep; the billows rise,<br> + And, mix’d with ooze and sand, pollute the skies.<br> + The troops we squander’d first again appear<br> + From several quarters, and enclose the rear.<br> + They first observe, and to the rest betray,<br> + Our diff’rent speech; our borrow’d arms survey.<br> + Oppress’d with odds, we fall; Coroebus first,<br> + At Pallas’ altar, by Peneleus pierc’d.<br> + Then Ripheus follow’d, in th’ unequal fight;<br> + Just of his word, observant of the right:<br> + Heav’n thought not so. Dymas their fate attends,<br> + With Hypanis, mistaken by their friends.<br> + Nor, Pantheus, thee, thy mitre, nor the bands<br> + Of awful Phoebus, sav’d from impious hands.<br> + Ye Trojan flames, your testimony bear,<br> + What I perform’d, and what I suffer’d there;<br> + No sword avoiding in the fatal strife,<br> + Expos’d to death, and prodigal of life;<br> + Witness, ye heavens! I live not by my fault:<br> + I strove to have deserv’d the death I sought.<br> + But, when I could not fight, and would have died,<br> + Borne off to distance by the growing tide,<br> + Old Iphitus and I were hurried thence,<br> + With Pelias wounded, and without defence.<br> + New clamours from th’ invested palace ring:<br> + We run to die, or disengage the king.<br> + So hot th’ assault, so high the tumult rose,<br> + While ours defend, and while the Greeks oppose<br> + As all the Dardan and Argolic race<br> + Had been contracted in that narrow space;<br> + Or as all Ilium else were void of fear,<br> + And tumult, war, and slaughter, only there.<br> + Their targets in a tortoise cast, the foes,<br> + Secure advancing, to the turrets rose:<br> + Some mount the scaling ladders; some, more bold,<br> + Swerve upwards, and by posts and pillars hold;<br> + Their left hand gripes their bucklers in th’ ascent,<br> + While with their right they seize the battlement.<br> + From their demolish’d tow’rs the Trojans throw<br> + Huge heaps of stones, that, falling, crush the foe;<br> + And heavy beams and rafters from the sides<br> + (Such arms their last necessity provides)<br> + And gilded roofs, come tumbling from on high,<br> + The marks of state and ancient royalty.<br> + The guards below, fix’d in the pass, attend<br> + The charge undaunted, and the gate defend.<br> + Renew’d in courage with recover’d breath,<br> + A second time we ran to tempt our death,<br> + To clear the palace from the foe, succeed<br> + The weary living, and revenge the dead.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “A postern door, yet unobserv’d and free,<br> + Join’d by the length of a blind gallery,<br> + To the king’s closet led: a way well known<br> + To Hector’s wife, while Priam held the throne,<br> + Thro’ which she brought Astyanax, unseen,<br> + To cheer his grandsire and his grandsire’s queen.<br> + Thro’ this we pass, and mount the tow’r, from whence<br> + With unavailing arms the Trojans make defence.<br> + From this the trembling king had oft descried<br> + The Grecian camp, and saw their navy ride.<br> + Beams from its lofty height with swords we hew,<br> + Then, wrenching with our hands, th’ assault renew;<br> + And, where the rafters on the columns meet,<br> + We push them headlong with our arms and feet.<br> + The lightning flies not swifter than the fall,<br> + Nor thunder louder than the ruin’d wall:<br> + Down goes the top at once; the Greeks beneath<br> + Are piecemeal torn, or pounded into death.<br> + Yet more succeed, and more to death are sent;<br> + We cease not from above, nor they below relent.<br> + Before the gate stood Pyrrhus, threat’ning loud,<br> + With glitt’ring arms conspicuous in the crowd.<br> + So shines, renew’d in youth, the crested snake,<br> + Who slept the winter in a thorny brake,<br> + And, casting off his slough when spring returns,<br> + Now looks aloft, and with new glory burns;<br> + Restor’d with poisonous herbs, his ardent sides<br> + Reflect the sun; and rais’d on spires he rides;<br> + High o’er the grass, hissing he rolls along,<br> + And brandishes by fits his forky tongue.<br> + Proud Periphas, and fierce Automedon,<br> + His father’s charioteer, together run<br> + To force the gate; the Scyrian infantry<br> + Rush on in crowds, and the barr’d passage free.<br> + Ent’ring the court, with shouts the skies they rend;<br> + And flaming firebrands to the roofs ascend.<br> + Himself, among the foremost, deals his blows,<br> + And with his ax repeated strokes bestows<br> + On the strong doors; then all their shoulders ply,<br> + Till from the posts the brazen hinges fly.<br> + He hews apace; the double bars at length<br> + Yield to his ax and unresisted strength.<br> + A mighty breach is made: the rooms conceal’d<br> + Appear, and all the palace is reveal’d;<br> + The halls of audience, and of public state,<br> + And where the lonely queen in secret sate.<br> + Arm’d soldiers now by trembling maids are seen,<br> + With not a door, and scarce a space, between.<br> + The house is fill’d with loud laments and cries,<br> + And shrieks of women rend the vaulted skies;<br> + The fearful matrons run from place to place,<br> + And kiss the thresholds, and the posts embrace.<br> + The fatal work inhuman Pyrrhus plies,<br> + And all his father sparkles in his eyes;<br> + Nor bars, nor fighting guards, his force sustain:<br> + The bars are broken, and the guards are slain.<br> + In rush the Greeks, and all the apartments fill;<br> + Those few defendants whom they find, they kill.<br> + Not with so fierce a rage the foaming flood<br> + Roars, when he finds his rapid course withstood;<br> + Bears down the dams with unresisted sway,<br> + And sweeps the cattle and the cots away.<br> + These eyes beheld him when he march’d between<br> + The brother kings: I saw th’ unhappy queen,<br> + The hundred wives, and where old Priam stood,<br> + To stain his hallow’d altar with his brood.<br> + The fifty nuptial beds (such hopes had he,<br> + So large a promise, of a progeny),<br> + The posts, of plated gold, and hung with spoils,<br> + Fell the reward of the proud victor’s toils.<br> + Where’er the raging fire had left a space,<br> + The Grecians enter and possess the place.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Perhaps you may of Priam’s fate enquire.<br> + He, when he saw his regal town on fire,<br> + His ruin’d palace, and his ent’ring foes,<br> + On ev’ry side inevitable woes,<br> + In arms, disus’d, invests his limbs, decay’d,<br> + Like them, with age; a late and useless aid.<br> + His feeble shoulders scarce the weight sustain;<br> + Loaded, not arm’d, he creeps along with pain,<br> + Despairing of success, ambitious to be slain!<br> + Uncover’d but by heav’n, there stood in view<br> + An altar; near the hearth a laurel grew,<br> + Dodder’d with age, whose boughs encompass round<br> + The household gods, and shade the holy ground.<br> + Here Hecuba, with all her helpless train<br> + Of dames, for shelter sought, but sought in vain.<br> + Driv’n like a flock of doves along the sky,<br> + Their images they hug, and to their altars fly.<br> + The Queen, when she beheld her trembling lord,<br> + And hanging by his side a heavy sword,<br> + ‘What rage,’ she cried, ‘has seiz’d my husband’s mind?<br> + What arms are these, and to what use design’d?<br> + These times want other aids! Were Hector here,<br> + Ev’n Hector now in vain, like Priam, would appear.<br> + With us, one common shelter thou shalt find,<br> + Or in one common fate with us be join’d.’<br> + She said, and with a last salute embrac’d<br> + The poor old man, and by the laurel plac’d.<br> + Behold! Polites, one of Priam’s sons,<br> + Pursued by Pyrrhus, there for safety runs.<br> + Thro’ swords and foes, amaz’d and hurt, he flies<br> + Thro’ empty courts and open galleries.<br> + Him Pyrrhus, urging with his lance, pursues,<br> + And often reaches, and his thrusts renews.<br> + The youth, transfix’d, with lamentable cries,<br> + Expires before his wretched parent’s eyes:<br> + Whom gasping at his feet when Priam saw,<br> + The fear of death gave place to nature’s law;<br> + And, shaking more with anger than with age,<br> + ‘The gods,’ said he, ‘requite thy brutal rage!<br> + As sure they will, barbarian, sure they must,<br> + If there be gods in heav’n, and gods be just:<br> + Who tak’st in wrongs an insolent delight;<br> + With a son’s death t’ infect a father’s sight.<br> + Not he, whom thou and lying fame conspire<br> + To call thee his; not he, thy vaunted sire,<br> + Thus us’d my wretched age: the gods he fear’d,<br> + The laws of nature and of nations heard.<br> + He cheer’d my sorrows, and, for sums of gold,<br> + The bloodless carcass of my Hector sold;<br> + Pitied the woes a parent underwent,<br> + And sent me back in safety from his tent.’<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “This said, his feeble hand a javelin threw,<br> + Which, flutt’ring, seem’d to loiter as it flew:<br> + Just, and but barely, to the mark it held,<br> + And faintly tinkled on the brazen shield.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Then Pyrrhus thus: ‘Go thou from me to fate,<br> + And to my father my foul deeds relate.<br> + Now die!’ With that he dragg’d the trembling sire,<br> + Slidd’ring thro’ clotter’d blood and holy mire,<br> + (The mingled paste his murder’d son had made,)<br> + Haul’d from beneath the violated shade,<br> + And on the sacred pile the royal victim laid.<br> + His right hand held his bloody falchion bare,<br> + His left he twisted in his hoary hair;<br> + Then, with a speeding thrust, his heart he found:<br> + The lukewarm blood came rushing thro’ the wound,<br> + And sanguine streams distain’d the sacred ground.<br> + Thus Priam fell, and shar’d one common fate<br> + With Troy in ashes, and his ruin’d state:<br> + He, who the scepter of all Asia sway’d,<br> + Whom monarchs like domestic slaves obey’d.<br> + On the bleak shore now lies th’ abandon’d king,<br> + A headless carcass, and a nameless thing.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Then, not before, I felt my curdled blood<br> + Congeal with fear, my hair with horror stood:<br> + My father’s image fill’d my pious mind,<br> + Lest equal years might equal fortune find.<br> + Again I thought on my forsaken wife,<br> + And trembled for my son’s abandon’d life.<br> + I look’d about, but found myself alone,<br> + Deserted at my need! My friends were gone.<br> + Some spent with toil, some with despair oppress’d,<br> + Leap’d headlong from the heights; the flames consum’d the rest.<br> + Thus, wand’ring in my way, without a guide,<br> + The graceless Helen in the porch I spied<br> + Of Vesta’s temple; there she lurk’d alone;<br> + Muffled she sate, and, what she could, unknown:<br> + But, by the flames that cast their blaze around,<br> + That common bane of Greece and Troy I found.<br> + For Ilium burnt, she dreads the Trojan sword;<br> + More dreads the vengeance of her injur’d lord;<br> + Ev’n by those gods who refug’d her abhorr’d.<br> + Trembling with rage, the strumpet I regard,<br> + Resolv’d to give her guilt the due reward:<br> + ‘Shall she triumphant sail before the wind,<br> + And leave in flames unhappy Troy behind?<br> + Shall she her kingdom and her friends review,<br> + In state attended with a captive crew,<br> + While unreveng’d the good old Priam falls,<br> + And Grecian fires consume the Trojan walls?<br> + For this the Phrygian fields and Xanthian flood<br> + Were swell’d with bodies, and were drunk with blood?<br> + ’Tis true, a soldier can small honour gain,<br> + And boast no conquest, from a woman slain:<br> + Yet shall the fact not pass without applause,<br> + Of vengeance taken in so just a cause;<br> + The punish’d crime shall set my soul at ease,<br> + And murm’ring manes of my friends appease.’<br> + Thus while I rave, a gleam of pleasing light<br> + Spread o’er the place; and, shining heav’nly bright,<br> + My mother stood reveal’d before my sight<br> + Never so radiant did her eyes appear;<br> + Not her own star confess’d a light so clear:<br> + Great in her charms, as when on gods above<br> + She looks, and breathes herself into their love.<br> + She held my hand, the destin’d blow to break;<br> + Then from her rosy lips began to speak:<br> + ‘My son, from whence this madness, this neglect<br> + Of my commands, and those whom I protect?<br> + Why this unmanly rage? Recall to mind<br> + Whom you forsake, what pledges leave behind.<br> + Look if your helpless father yet survive,<br> + Or if Ascanius or Creusa live.<br> + Around your house the greedy Grecians err;<br> + And these had perish’d in the nightly war,<br> + But for my presence and protecting care.<br> + Not Helen’s face, nor Paris, was in fault;<br> + But by the gods was this destruction brought.<br> + Now cast your eyes around, while I dissolve<br> + The mists and films that mortal eyes involve,<br> + Purge from your sight the dross, and make you see<br> + The shape of each avenging deity.<br> + Enlighten’d thus, my just commands fulfil,<br> + Nor fear obedience to your mother’s will.<br> + Where yon disorder’d heap of ruin lies,<br> + Stones rent from stones; where clouds of dust arise,<br> + Amid that smother Neptune holds his place,<br> + Below the wall’s foundation drives his mace,<br> + And heaves the building from the solid base.<br> + Look where, in arms, imperial Juno stands<br> + Full in the Scaean gate, with loud commands,<br> + Urging on shore the tardy Grecian bands.<br> + See! Pallas, of her snaky buckler proud,<br> + Bestrides the tow’r, refulgent thro’ the cloud:<br> + See! Jove new courage to the foe supplies,<br> + And arms against the town the partial deities.<br> + Haste hence, my son; this fruitless labour end:<br> + Haste, where your trembling spouse and sire attend:<br> + Haste; and a mother’s care your passage shall befriend.’<br> + She said, and swiftly vanish’d from my sight,<br> + Obscure in clouds and gloomy shades of night.<br> + I look’d, I listen’d; dreadful sounds I hear;<br> + And the dire forms of hostile gods appear.<br> + Troy sunk in flames I saw, nor could prevent;<br> + And Ilium from its old foundations rent;<br> + Rent like a mountain ash, which dar’d the winds,<br> + And stood the sturdy strokes of lab’ring hinds.<br> + About the roots the cruel ax resounds;<br> + The stumps are pierc’d with oft-repeated wounds:<br> + The war is felt on high; the nodding crown<br> + Now threats a fall, and throws the leafy honours down.<br> + To their united force it yields, tho’ late,<br> + And mourns with mortal groans th’ approaching fate:<br> + The roots no more their upper load sustain;<br> + But down she falls, and spreads a ruin thro’ the plain.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Descending thence, I scape thro’ foes and fire:<br> + Before the goddess, foes and flames retire.<br> + Arriv’d at home, he, for whose only sake,<br> + Or most for his, such toils I undertake,<br> + The good Anchises, whom, by timely flight,<br> + I purpos’d to secure on Ida’s height,<br> + Refus’d the journey, resolute to die<br> + And add his fun’rals to the fate of Troy,<br> + Rather than exile and old age sustain.<br> + ‘Go you, whose blood runs warm in ev’ry vein.<br> + Had Heav’n decreed that I should life enjoy,<br> + Heav’n had decreed to save unhappy Troy.<br> + ’Tis, sure, enough, if not too much, for one,<br> + Twice to have seen our Ilium overthrown.<br> + Make haste to save the poor remaining crew,<br> + And give this useless corpse a long adieu.<br> + These weak old hands suffice to stop my breath;<br> + At least the pitying foes will aid my death,<br> + To take my spoils, and leave my body bare:<br> + As for my sepulcher, let Heav’n take care.<br> + ’Tis long since I, for my celestial wife<br> + Loath’d by the gods, have dragg’d a ling’ring life;<br> + Since ev’ry hour and moment I expire,<br> + Blasted from heav’n by Jove’s avenging fire.’<br> + This oft repeated, he stood fix’d to die:<br> + Myself, my wife, my son, my family,<br> + Intreat, pray, beg, and raise a doleful cry.<br> + ‘What, will he still persist, on death resolve,<br> + And in his ruin all his house involve!’<br> + He still persists his reasons to maintain;<br> + Our pray’rs, our tears, our loud laments, are vain.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Urg’d by despair, again I go to try<br> + The fate of arms, resolv’d in fight to die:<br> + ‘What hope remains, but what my death must give?<br> + Can I, without so dear a father, live?<br> + You term it prudence, what I baseness call:<br> + Could such a word from such a parent fall?<br> + If Fortune please, and so the gods ordain,<br> + That nothing should of ruin’d Troy remain,<br> + And you conspire with Fortune to be slain,<br> + The way to death is wide, th’ approaches near:<br> + For soon relentless Pyrrhus will appear,<br> + Reeking with Priam’s blood: the wretch who slew<br> + The son (inhuman) in the father’s view,<br> + And then the sire himself to the dire altar drew.<br> + O goddess mother, give me back to Fate;<br> + Your gift was undesir’d, and came too late!<br> + Did you, for this, unhappy me convey<br> + Thro’ foes and fires, to see my house a prey?<br> + Shall I my father, wife, and son behold,<br> + Welt’ring in blood, each other’s arms infold?<br> + Haste! gird my sword, tho’ spent and overcome:<br> + ’Tis the last summons to receive our doom.<br> + I hear thee, Fate; and I obey thy call!<br> + Not unreveng’d the foe shall see my fall.<br> + Restore me to the yet unfinish’d fight:<br> + My death is wanting to conclude the night.’<br> + Arm’d once again, my glitt’ring sword I wield,<br> + While th’ other hand sustains my weighty shield,<br> + And forth I rush to seek th’ abandon’d field.<br> + I went; but sad Creusa stopp’d my way,<br> + And cross the threshold in my passage lay,<br> + Embrac’d my knees, and, when I would have gone,<br> + Shew’d me my feeble sire and tender son:<br> + ‘If death be your design, at least,’ said she,<br> + ‘Take us along to share your destiny.<br> + If any farther hopes in arms remain,<br> + This place, these pledges of your love, maintain.<br> + To whom do you expose your father’s life,<br> + Your son’s, and mine, your now forgotten wife!’<br> + While thus she fills the house with clam’rous cries,<br> + Our hearing is diverted by our eyes:<br> + For, while I held my son, in the short space<br> + Betwixt our kisses and our last embrace;<br> + Strange to relate, from young Iulus’ head<br> + A lambent flame arose, which gently spread<br> + Around his brows, and on his temples fed.<br> + Amaz’d, with running water we prepare<br> + To quench the sacred fire, and slake his hair;<br> + But old Anchises, vers’d in omens, rear’d<br> + His hands to heav’n, and this request preferr’d:<br> + ‘If any vows, almighty Jove, can bend<br> + Thy will; if piety can pray’rs commend,<br> + Confirm the glad presage which thou art pleas’d to send.’<br> + Scarce had he said, when, on our left, we hear<br> + A peal of rattling thunder roll in air:<br> + There shot a streaming lamp along the sky,<br> + Which on the winged lightning seem’d to fly;<br> + From o’er the roof the blaze began to move,<br> + And, trailing, vanish’d in th’ Idaean grove.<br> + It swept a path in heav’n, and shone a guide,<br> + Then in a steaming stench of sulphur died.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “The good old man with suppliant hands implor’d<br> + The gods’ protection, and their star ador’d.<br> + ‘Now, now,’ said he, ‘my son, no more delay!<br> + I yield, I follow where Heav’n shews the way.<br> + Keep, O my country gods, our dwelling place,<br> + And guard this relic of the Trojan race,<br> + This tender child! These omens are your own,<br> + And you can yet restore the ruin’d town.<br> + At least accomplish what your signs foreshow:<br> + I stand resign’d, and am prepar’d to go.’<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “He said. The crackling flames appear on high.<br> + And driving sparkles dance along the sky.<br> + With Vulcan’s rage the rising winds conspire,<br> + And near our palace roll the flood of fire.<br> + ‘Haste, my dear father, (’tis no time to wait,)<br> + And load my shoulders with a willing freight.<br> + Whate’er befalls, your life shall be my care;<br> + One death, or one deliv’rance, we will share.<br> + My hand shall lead our little son; and you,<br> + My faithful consort, shall our steps pursue.<br> + Next, you, my servants, heed my strict commands:<br> + Without the walls a ruin’d temple stands,<br> + To Ceres hallow’d once; a cypress nigh<br> + Shoots up her venerable head on high,<br> + By long religion kept; there bend your feet,<br> + And in divided parties let us meet.<br> + Our country gods, the relics, and the bands,<br> + Hold you, my father, in your guiltless hands:<br> + In me ’tis impious holy things to bear,<br> + Red as I am with slaughter, new from war,<br> + Till in some living stream I cleanse the guilt<br> + Of dire debate, and blood in battle spilt.’<br> + Thus, ord’ring all that prudence could provide,<br> + I clothe my shoulders with a lion’s hide<br> + And yellow spoils; then, on my bending back,<br> + The welcome load of my dear father take;<br> + While on my better hand Ascanius hung,<br> + And with unequal paces tripp’d along.<br> + Creusa kept behind; by choice we stray<br> + Thro’ ev’ry dark and ev’ry devious way.<br> + I, who so bold and dauntless just before,<br> + The Grecian darts and shock of lances bore,<br> + At ev’ry shadow now am seiz’d with fear,<br> + Not for myself, but for the charge I bear;<br> + Till, near the ruin’d gate arriv’d at last,<br> + Secure, and deeming all the danger past,<br> + A frightful noise of trampling feet we hear.<br> + My father, looking thro’ the shades, with fear,<br> + Cried out: ‘Haste, haste, my son, the foes are nigh;<br> + Their swords and shining armour I descry.’<br> + Some hostile god, for some unknown offence,<br> + Had sure bereft my mind of better sense;<br> + For, while thro’ winding ways I took my flight,<br> + And sought the shelter of the gloomy night,<br> + Alas! I lost Creusa: hard to tell<br> + If by her fatal destiny she fell,<br> + Or weary sate, or wander’d with affright;<br> + But she was lost for ever to my sight.<br> + I knew not, or reflected, till I meet<br> + My friends, at Ceres’ now deserted seat.<br> + We met: not one was wanting; only she<br> + Deceiv’d her friends, her son, and wretched me.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “What mad expressions did my tongue refuse!<br> + Whom did I not, of gods or men, accuse!<br> + This was the fatal blow, that pain’d me more<br> + Than all I felt from ruin’d Troy before.<br> + Stung with my loss, and raving with despair,<br> + Abandoning my now forgotten care,<br> + Of counsel, comfort, and of hope bereft,<br> + My sire, my son, my country gods I left.<br> + In shining armour once again I sheathe<br> + My limbs, not feeling wounds, nor fearing death.<br> + Then headlong to the burning walls I run,<br> + And seek the danger I was forc’d to shun.<br> + I tread my former tracks; thro’ night explore<br> + Each passage, ev’ry street I cross’d before.<br> + All things were full of horror and affright,<br> + And dreadful ev’n the silence of the night.<br> + Then to my father’s house I make repair,<br> + With some small glimpse of hope to find her there.<br> + Instead of her, the cruel Greeks I met;<br> + The house was fill’d with foes, with flames beset.<br> + Driv’n on the wings of winds, whole sheets of fire,<br> + Thro’ air transported, to the roofs aspire.<br> + From thence to Priam’s palace I resort,<br> + And search the citadel and desert court.<br> + Then, unobserv’d, I pass by Juno’s church:<br> + A guard of Grecians had possess’d the porch;<br> + There Phoenix and Ulysses watch the prey,<br> + And thither all the wealth of Troy convey:<br> + The spoils which they from ransack’d houses brought,<br> + And golden bowls from burning altars caught,<br> + The tables of the gods, the purple vests,<br> + The people’s treasure, and the pomp of priests.<br> + A rank of wretched youths, with pinion’d hands,<br> + And captive matrons, in long order stands.<br> + Then, with ungovern’d madness, I proclaim,<br> + Thro’ all the silent street, Creusa’s name:<br> + Creusa still I call; at length she hears,<br> + And sudden thro’ the shades of night appears.<br> + Appears, no more Creusa, nor my wife,<br> + But a pale spectre, larger than the life.<br> + Aghast, astonish’d, and struck dumb with fear,<br> + I stood; like bristles rose my stiffen’d hair.<br> + Then thus the ghost began to soothe my grief<br> + ‘Nor tears, nor cries, can give the dead relief.<br> + Desist, my much-lov’d lord, t’ indulge your pain;<br> + You bear no more than what the gods ordain.<br> + My fates permit me not from hence to fly;<br> + Nor he, the great controller of the sky.<br> + Long wand’ring ways for you the pow’rs decree;<br> + On land hard labours, and a length of sea.<br> + Then, after many painful years are past,<br> + On Latium’s happy shore you shall be cast,<br> + Where gentle Tiber from his bed beholds<br> + The flow’ry meadows, and the feeding folds.<br> + There end your toils; and there your fates provide<br> + A quiet kingdom, and a royal bride:<br> + There fortune shall the Trojan line restore,<br> + And you for lost Creusa weep no more.<br> + Fear not that I shall watch, with servile shame,<br> + Th’ imperious looks of some proud Grecian dame;<br> + Or, stooping to the victor’s lust, disgrace<br> + My goddess mother, or my royal race.<br> + And now, farewell! The parent of the gods<br> + Restrains my fleeting soul in her abodes:<br> + I trust our common issue to your care.’<br> + She said, and gliding pass’d unseen in air.<br> + I strove to speak: but horror tied my tongue;<br> + And thrice about her neck my arms I flung,<br> + And, thrice deceiv’d, on vain embraces hung.<br> + Light as an empty dream at break of day,<br> + Or as a blast of wind, she rush’d away.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Thus having pass’d the night in fruitless pain,<br> + I to my longing friends return again,<br> + Amaz’d th’ augmented number to behold,<br> + Of men and matrons mix’d, of young and old;<br> + A wretched exil’d crew together brought,<br> + With arms appointed, and with treasure fraught,<br> + Resolv’d, and willing, under my command,<br> + To run all hazards both of sea and land.<br> + The Morn began, from Ida, to display<br> + Her rosy cheeks; and Phosphor led the day:<br> + Before the gates the Grecians took their post,<br> + And all pretence of late relief was lost.<br> + I yield to Fate, unwillingly retire,<br> + And, loaded, up the hill convey my sire.” + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="chap03"></a>BOOK III</h2> + + <h5> THE ARGUMENT. </h5> + + <p> + 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. + <br><br> + </p> + + + <p class="pfirst"> + <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen Heav’n had overturn’d the Trojan state<br> + And Priam’s throne, by too severe a fate;<br> + When ruin’d Troy became the Grecians’ prey,<br> + And Ilium’s lofty tow’rs in ashes lay;<br> + Warn’d by celestial omens, we retreat,<br> + To seek in foreign lands a happier seat.<br> + Near old Antandros, and at Ida’s foot,<br> + The timber of the sacred groves we cut,<br> + And build our fleet; uncertain yet to find<br> + What place the gods for our repose assign’d.<br> + Friends daily flock; and scarce the kindly spring<br> + Began to clothe the ground, and birds to sing,<br> + When old Anchises summon’d all to sea:<br> + The crew my father and the Fates obey.<br> + With sighs and tears I leave my native shore,<br> + And empty fields, where Ilium stood before.<br> + My sire, my son, our less and greater gods,<br> + All sail at once, and cleave the briny floods.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Against our coast appears a spacious land,<br> + Which once the fierce Lycurgus did command,<br> + Thracia the name; the people bold in war;<br> + Vast are their fields, and tillage is their care,<br> + A hospitable realm while Fate was kind,<br> + With Troy in friendship and religion join’d.<br> + I land; with luckless omens, then adore<br> + Their gods, and draw a line along the shore;<br> + I lay the deep foundations of a wall,<br> + And Aenos, nam’d from me, the city call.<br> + To Dionaean Venus vows are paid,<br> + And all the pow’rs that rising labours aid;<br> + A bull on Jove’s imperial altar laid.<br> + Not far, a rising hillock stood in view;<br> + Sharp myrtles on the sides, and cornels grew.<br> + There, while I went to crop the sylvan scenes,<br> + And shade our altar with their leafy greens,<br> + I pull’d a plant; with horror I relate<br> + A prodigy so strange and full of fate.<br> + The rooted fibers rose, and from the wound<br> + Black bloody drops distill’d upon the ground.<br> + Mute and amaz’d, my hair with terror stood;<br> + Fear shrunk my sinews, and congeal’d my blood.<br> + Mann’d once again, another plant I try:<br> + That other gush’d with the same sanguine dye.<br> + Then, fearing guilt for some offence unknown,<br> + With pray’rs and vows the Dryads I atone,<br> + With all the sisters of the woods, and most<br> + The God of Arms, who rules the Thracian coast,<br> + That they, or he, these omens would avert,<br> + Release our fears, and better signs impart.<br> + Clear’d, as I thought, and fully fix’d at length<br> + To learn the cause, I tugged with all my strength:<br> + I bent my knees against the ground; once more<br> + The violated myrtle ran with gore.<br> + Scarce dare I tell the sequel: from the womb<br> + Of wounded earth, and caverns of the tomb,<br> + A groan, as of a troubled ghost, renew’d<br> + My fright, and then these dreadful words ensued:<br> + ‘Why dost thou thus my buried body rend?<br> + O spare the corpse of thy unhappy friend!<br> + Spare to pollute thy pious hands with blood:<br> + The tears distil not from the wounded wood;<br> + But ev’ry drop this living tree contains<br> + Is kindred blood, and ran in Trojan veins.<br> + O fly from this unhospitable shore,<br> + Warn’d by my fate; for I am Polydore!<br> + Here loads of lances, in my blood embrued,<br> + Again shoot upward, by my blood renew’d.’<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “My falt’ring tongue and shiv’ring limbs declare<br> + My horror, and in bristles rose my hair.<br> + When Troy with Grecian arms was closely pent,<br> + Old Priam, fearful of the war’s event,<br> + This hapless Polydore to Thracia sent:<br> + Loaded with gold, he sent his darling, far<br> + From noise and tumults, and destructive war,<br> + Committed to the faithless tyrant’s care;<br> + Who, when he saw the pow’r of Troy decline,<br> + Forsook the weaker, with the strong to join;<br> + Broke ev’ry bond of nature and of truth,<br> + And murder’d, for his wealth, the royal youth.<br> + O sacred hunger of pernicious gold!<br> + What bands of faith can impious lucre hold?<br> + Now, when my soul had shaken off her fears,<br> + I call my father and the Trojan peers;<br> + Relate the prodigies of Heav’n, require<br> + What he commands, and their advice desire.<br> + All vote to leave that execrable shore,<br> + Polluted with the blood of Polydore;<br> + But, ere we sail, his fun’ral rites prepare,<br> + Then, to his ghost, a tomb and altars rear.<br> + In mournful pomp the matrons walk the round,<br> + With baleful cypress and blue fillets crown’d,<br> + With eyes dejected, and with hair unbound.<br> + Then bowls of tepid milk and blood we pour,<br> + And thrice invoke the soul of Polydore.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Now, when the raging storms no longer reign,<br> + But southern gales invite us to the main,<br> + We launch our vessels, with a prosp’rous wind,<br> + And leave the cities and the shores behind.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “An island in th’ Aegaean main appears;<br> + Neptune and wat’ry Doris claim it theirs.<br> + It floated once, till Phoebus fix’d the sides<br> + To rooted earth, and now it braves the tides.<br> + Here, borne by friendly winds, we come ashore,<br> + With needful ease our weary limbs restore,<br> + And the Sun’s temple and his town adore.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Anius, the priest and king, with laurel crown’d,<br> + His hoary locks with purple fillets bound,<br> + Who saw my sire the Delian shore ascend,<br> + Came forth with eager haste to meet his friend;<br> + Invites him to his palace; and, in sign<br> + Of ancient love, their plighted hands they join.<br> + Then to the temple of the god I went,<br> + And thus, before the shrine, my vows present:<br> + ‘Give, O Thymbraeus, give a resting place<br> + To the sad relics of the Trojan race;<br> + A seat secure, a region of their own,<br> + A lasting empire, and a happier town.<br> + Where shall we fix? where shall our labours end?<br> + Whom shall we follow, and what fate attend?<br> + Let not my pray’rs a doubtful answer find;<br> + But in clear auguries unveil thy mind.’<br> + Scarce had I said: he shook the holy ground,<br> + The laurels, and the lofty hills around;<br> + And from the tripos rush’d a bellowing sound.<br> + Prostrate we fell; confess’d the present god,<br> + Who gave this answer from his dark abode:<br> + ‘Undaunted youths, go, seek that mother earth<br> + From which your ancestors derive their birth.<br> + The soil that sent you forth, her ancient race<br> + In her old bosom shall again embrace.<br> + Through the wide world th’ Aeneian house shall reign,<br> + And children’s children shall the crown sustain.’<br> + Thus Phoebus did our future fates disclose:<br> + A mighty tumult, mix’d with joy, arose.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “All are concern’d to know what place the god<br> + Assign’d, and where determin’d our abode.<br> + My father, long revolving in his mind<br> + The race and lineage of the Trojan kind,<br> + Thus answer’d their demands: ‘Ye princes, hear<br> + Your pleasing fortune, and dispel your fear.<br> + The fruitful isle of Crete, well known to fame,<br> + Sacred of old to Jove’s imperial name,<br> + In the mid ocean lies, with large command,<br> + And on its plains a hundred cities stand.<br> + Another Ida rises there, and we<br> + From thence derive our Trojan ancestry.<br> + From thence, as ’tis divulg’d by certain fame,<br> + To the Rhoetean shores old Teucrus came;<br> + There fix’d, and there the seat of empire chose,<br> + Ere Ilium and the Trojan tow’rs arose.<br> + In humble vales they built their soft abodes,<br> + Till Cybele, the mother of the gods,<br> + With tinkling cymbals charm’d th’ Idaean woods,<br> + She secret rites and ceremonies taught,<br> + And to the yoke the savage lions brought.<br> + Let us the land which Heav’n appoints, explore;<br> + Appease the winds, and seek the Gnossian shore.<br> + If Jove assists the passage of our fleet,<br> + The third propitious dawn discovers Crete.’<br> + Thus having said, the sacrifices, laid<br> + On smoking altars, to the gods he paid:<br> + A bull, to Neptune an oblation due,<br> + Another bull to bright Apollo slew;<br> + A milk-white ewe, the western winds to please,<br> + And one coal-black, to calm the stormy seas.<br> + Ere this, a flying rumour had been spread<br> + That fierce Idomeneus from Crete was fled,<br> + Expell’d and exil’d; that the coast was free<br> + From foreign or domestic enemy.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “We leave the Delian ports, and put to sea.<br> + By Naxos, fam’d for vintage, make our way;<br> + Then green Donysa pass; and sail in sight<br> + Of Paros’ isle, with marble quarries white.<br> + We pass the scatter’d isles of Cyclades,<br> + That, scarce distinguish’d, seem to stud the seas.<br> + The shouts of sailors double near the shores;<br> + They stretch their canvas, and they ply their oars.<br> + ‘All hands aloft! for Crete! for Crete!’ they cry,<br> + And swiftly thro’ the foamy billows fly.<br> + Full on the promis’d land at length we bore,<br> + With joy descending on the Cretan shore.<br> + With eager haste a rising town I frame,<br> + Which from the Trojan Pergamus I name:<br> + The name itself was grateful; I exhort<br> + To found their houses, and erect a fort.<br> + Our ships are haul’d upon the yellow strand;<br> + The youth begin to till the labour’d land;<br> + And I myself new marriages promote,<br> + Give laws, and dwellings I divide by lot;<br> + When rising vapours choke the wholesome air,<br> + And blasts of noisome winds corrupt the year;<br> + The trees devouring caterpillars burn;<br> + Parch’d was the grass, and blighted was the corn:<br> + Nor ’scape the beasts; for Sirius, from on high,<br> + With pestilential heat infects the sky:<br> + My men, some fall, the rest in fevers fry.<br> + Again my father bids me seek the shore<br> + Of sacred Delos, and the god implore,<br> + To learn what end of woes we might expect,<br> + And to what clime our weary course direct.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “’Twas night, when ev’ry creature, void of cares,<br> + The common gift of balmy slumber shares:<br> + The statues of my gods (for such they seem’d),<br> + Those gods whom I from flaming Troy redeem’d,<br> + Before me stood, majestically bright,<br> + Full in the beams of Phoebe’s ent’ring light.<br> + Then thus they spoke, and eas’d my troubled mind:<br> + ‘What from the Delian god thou go’st to find,<br> + He tells thee here, and sends us to relate.<br> + Those pow’rs are we, companions of thy fate,<br> + Who from the burning town by thee were brought,<br> + Thy fortune follow’d, and thy safety wrought.<br> + Thro’ seas and lands as we thy steps attend,<br> + So shall our care thy glorious race befriend.<br> + An ample realm for thee thy fates ordain,<br> + A town that o’er the conquer’d world shall reign.<br> + Thou, mighty walls for mighty nations build;<br> + Nor let thy weary mind to labours yield:<br> + But change thy seat; for not the Delian god,<br> + Nor we, have giv’n thee Crete for our abode.<br> + A land there is, Hesperia call’d of old,<br> + The soil is fruitful, and the natives bold.<br> + Th’ Oenotrians held it once, by later fame<br> + Now call’d Italia, from the leader’s name.<br> + Jasius there and Dardanus were born;<br> + From thence we came, and thither must return.<br> + Rise, and thy sire with these glad tidings greet.<br> + Search Italy; for Jove denies thee Crete.’<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Astonish’d at their voices and their sight,<br> + (Nor were they dreams, but visions of the night;<br> + I saw, I knew their faces, and descried,<br> + In perfect view, their hair with fillets tied;)<br> + I started from my couch; a clammy sweat<br> + On all my limbs and shiv’ring body sate.<br> + To heav’n I lift my hands with pious haste,<br> + And sacred incense in the flames I cast.<br> + Thus to the gods their perfect honours done,<br> + More cheerful, to my good old sire I run,<br> + And tell the pleasing news. In little space<br> + He found his error of the double race;<br> + Not, as before he deem’d, deriv’d from Crete;<br> + No more deluded by the doubtful seat:<br> + Then said: ‘O son, turmoil’d in Trojan fate!<br> + Such things as these Cassandra did relate.<br> + This day revives within my mind what she<br> + Foretold of Troy renew’d in Italy,<br> + And Latian lands; but who could then have thought<br> + That Phrygian gods to Latium should be brought,<br> + Or who believ’d what mad Cassandra taught?<br> + Now let us go where Phoebus leads the way.’<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “He said; and we with glad consent obey,<br> + Forsake the seat, and, leaving few behind,<br> + We spread our sails before the willing wind.<br> + Now from the sight of land our galleys move,<br> + With only seas around and skies above;<br> + When o’er our heads descends a burst of rain,<br> + And night with sable clouds involves the main;<br> + The ruffling winds the foamy billows raise;<br> + The scatter’d fleet is forc’d to sev’ral ways;<br> + The face of heav’n is ravish’d from our eyes,<br> + And in redoubled peals the roaring thunder flies.<br> + Cast from our course, we wander in the dark.<br> + No stars to guide, no point of land to mark.<br> + Ev’n Palinurus no distinction found<br> + Betwixt the night and day; such darkness reign’d around.<br> + Three starless nights the doubtful navy strays,<br> + Without distinction, and three sunless days;<br> + The fourth renews the light, and, from our shrouds,<br> + We view a rising land, like distant clouds;<br> + The mountain-tops confirm the pleasing sight,<br> + And curling smoke ascending from their height.<br> + The canvas falls; their oars the sailors ply;<br> + From the rude strokes the whirling waters fly.<br> + At length I land upon the Strophades,<br> + Safe from the danger of the stormy seas.<br> + Those isles are compass’d by th’ Ionian main,<br> + The dire abode where the foul Harpies reign,<br> + Forc’d by the winged warriors to repair<br> + To their old homes, and leave their costly fare.<br> + Monsters more fierce offended Heav’n ne’er sent<br> + From hell’s abyss, for human punishment:<br> + With virgin faces, but with wombs obscene,<br> + Foul paunches, and with ordure still unclean;<br> + With claws for hands, and looks for ever lean.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “We landed at the port, and soon beheld<br> + Fat herds of oxen graze the flow’ry field,<br> + And wanton goats without a keeper stray’d.<br> + With weapons we the welcome prey invade,<br> + Then call the gods for partners of our feast,<br> + And Jove himself, the chief invited guest.<br> + We spread the tables on the greensward ground;<br> + We feed with hunger, and the bowls go round;<br> + When from the mountain-tops, with hideous cry,<br> + And clatt’ring wings, the hungry Harpies fly;<br> + They snatch the meat, defiling all they find,<br> + And, parting, leave a loathsome stench behind.<br> + Close by a hollow rock, again we sit,<br> + New dress the dinner, and the beds refit,<br> + Secure from sight, beneath a pleasing shade,<br> + Where tufted trees a native arbour made.<br> + Again the holy fires on altars burn;<br> + And once again the rav’nous birds return,<br> + Or from the dark recesses where they lie,<br> + Or from another quarter of the sky;<br> + With filthy claws their odious meal repeat,<br> + And mix their loathsome ordures with their meat.<br> + I bid my friends for vengeance then prepare,<br> + And with the hellish nation wage the war.<br> + They, as commanded, for the fight provide,<br> + And in the grass their glitt’ring weapons hide;<br> + Then, when along the crooked shore we hear<br> + Their clatt’ring wings, and saw the foes appear,<br> + Misenus sounds a charge: we take th’ alarm,<br> + And our strong hands with swords and bucklers arm.<br> + In this new kind of combat all employ<br> + Their utmost force, the monsters to destroy.<br> + In vain, the fated skin is proof to wounds;<br> + And from their plumes the shining sword rebounds.<br> + At length rebuff’d, they leave their mangled prey,<br> + And their stretch’d pinions to the skies display.<br> + Yet one remain’d, the messenger of Fate:<br> + High on a craggy cliff Celaeno sate,<br> + And thus her dismal errand did relate:<br> + ‘What! not contented with our oxen slain,<br> + Dare you with Heav’n an impious war maintain,<br> + And drive the Harpies from their native reign?<br> + Heed therefore what I say; and keep in mind<br> + What Jove decrees, what Phoebus has design’d,<br> + And I, the Furies’ queen, from both relate:<br> + You seek th’ Italian shores, foredoom’d by fate:<br> + Th’ Italian shores are granted you to find,<br> + And a safe passage to the port assign’d.<br> + But know, that ere your promis’d walls you build,<br> + My curses shall severely be fulfill’d.<br> + Fierce famine is your lot for this misdeed,<br> + Reduc’d to grind the plates on which you feed.’<br> + She said, and to the neighb’ring forest flew.<br> + Our courage fails us, and our fears renew.<br> + Hopeless to win by war, to pray’rs we fall,<br> + And on th’ offended Harpies humbly call,<br> + And whether gods or birds obscene they were,<br> + Our vows for pardon and for peace prefer.<br> + But old Anchises, off’ring sacrifice,<br> + And lifting up to heav’n his hands and eyes,<br> + Ador’d the greater gods: ‘Avert,’ said he,<br> + ‘These omens; render vain this prophecy,<br> + And from th’ impending curse a pious people free!’<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Thus having said, he bids us put to sea;<br> + We loose from shore our haulsers, and obey,<br> + And soon with swelling sails pursue the wat’ry way.<br> + Amidst our course, Zacynthian woods appear;<br> + And next by rocky Neritos we steer:<br> + We fly from Ithaca’s detested shore,<br> + And curse the land which dire Ulysses bore.<br> + At length Leucate’s cloudy top appears,<br> + And the Sun’s temple, which the sailor fears.<br> + Resolv’d to breathe a while from labour past,<br> + Our crooked anchors from the prow we cast,<br> + And joyful to the little city haste.<br> + Here, safe beyond our hopes, our vows we pay<br> + To Jove, the guide and patron of our way.<br> + The customs of our country we pursue,<br> + And Trojan games on Actian shores renew.<br> + Our youth their naked limbs besmear with oil,<br> + And exercise the wrastlers’ noble toil;<br> + Pleas’d to have sail’d so long before the wind,<br> + And left so many Grecian towns behind.<br> + The sun had now fulfill’d his annual course,<br> + And Boreas on the seas display’d his force:<br> + I fix’d upon the temple’s lofty door<br> + The brazen shield which vanquish’d Abas bore;<br> + The verse beneath my name and action speaks:<br> + ‘These arms Aeneas took from conqu’ring Greeks.’<br> + Then I command to weigh; the seamen ply<br> + Their sweeping oars; the smoking billows fly.<br> + The sight of high Phaeacia soon we lost,<br> + And skimm’d along Epirus’ rocky coast.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Then to Chaonia’s port our course we bend,<br> + And, landed, to Buthrotus’ heights ascend.<br> + Here wondrous things were loudly blaz’d fame:<br> + How Helenus reviv’d the Trojan name,<br> + And reign’d in Greece; that Priam’s captive son<br> + Succeeded Pyrrhus in his bed and throne;<br> + And fair Andromache, restor’d by fate,<br> + Once more was happy in a Trojan mate.<br> + I leave my galleys riding in the port,<br> + And long to see the new Dardanian court.<br> + By chance, the mournful queen, before the gate,<br> + Then solemniz’d her former husband’s fate.<br> + Green altars, rais’d of turf, with gifts she crown’d,<br> + And sacred priests in order stand around,<br> + And thrice the name of hapless Hector sound.<br> + The grove itself resembles Ida’s wood;<br> + And Simois seem’d the well-dissembled flood.<br> + But when at nearer distance she beheld<br> + My shining armour and my Trojan shield,<br> + Astonish’d at the sight, the vital heat<br> + Forsakes her limbs; her veins no longer beat:<br> + She faints, she falls, and scarce recov’ring strength,<br> + Thus, with a falt’ring tongue, she speaks at length:<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “‘Are you alive, O goddess-born?’ she said,<br> + ‘Or if a ghost, then where is Hector’s shade?’<br> + At this, she cast a loud and frightful cry.<br> + With broken words I made this brief reply:<br> + ‘All of me that remains appears in sight;<br> + I live, if living be to loathe the light.<br> + No phantom; but I drag a wretched life,<br> + My fate resembling that of Hector’s wife.<br> + What have you suffer’d since you lost your lord?<br> + By what strange blessing are you now restor’d?<br> + Still are you Hector’s? or is Hector fled,<br> + And his remembrance lost in Pyrrhus’ bed?’<br> + With eyes dejected, in a lowly tone,<br> + After a modest pause she thus begun:<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “‘O only happy maid of Priam’s race,<br> + Whom death deliver’d from the foes’ embrace!<br> + Commanded on Achilles’ tomb to die,<br> + Not forc’d, like us, to hard captivity,<br> + Or in a haughty master’s arms to lie.<br> + In Grecian ships unhappy we were borne,<br> + Endur’d the victor’s lust, sustain’d the scorn:<br> + Thus I submitted to the lawless pride<br> + Of Pyrrhus, more a handmaid than a bride.<br> + Cloy’d with possession, he forsook my bed,<br> + And Helen’s lovely daughter sought to wed;<br> + Then me to Trojan Helenus resign’d,<br> + And his two slaves in equal marriage join’d;<br> + Till young Orestes, pierc’d with deep despair,<br> + And longing to redeem the promis’d fair,<br> + Before Apollo’s altar slew the ravisher.<br> + By Pyrrhus’ death the kingdom we regain’d:<br> + At least one half with Helenus remain’d.<br> + Our part, from Chaon, he Chaonia calls,<br> + And names from Pergamus his rising walls.<br> + But you, what fates have landed on our coast?<br> + What gods have sent you, or what storms have toss’d?<br> + Does young Ascanius life and health enjoy,<br> + Sav’d from the ruins of unhappy Troy?<br> + O tell me how his mother’s loss he bears,<br> + What hopes are promis’d from his blooming years,<br> + How much of Hector in his face appears?’<br> + She spoke; and mix’d her speech with mournful cries,<br> + And fruitless tears came trickling from her eyes.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “At length her lord descends upon the plain,<br> + In pomp, attended with a num’rous train;<br> + Receives his friends, and to the city leads,<br> + And tears of joy amidst his welcome sheds.<br> + Proceeding on, another Troy I see,<br> + Or, in less compass, Troy’s epitome.<br> + A riv’let by the name of Xanthus ran,<br> + And I embrace the Scaean gate again.<br> + My friends in porticoes were entertain’d,<br> + And feasts and pleasures thro’ the city reign’d.<br> + The tables fill’d the spacious hall around,<br> + And golden bowls with sparkling wine were crown’d.<br> + Two days we pass’d in mirth, till friendly gales,<br> + Blown from the south supplied our swelling sails.<br> + Then to the royal seer I thus began:<br> + ‘O thou, who know’st, beyond the reach of man,<br> + The laws of heav’n, and what the stars decree;<br> + Whom Phoebus taught unerring prophecy,<br> + From his own tripod, and his holy tree;<br> + Skill’d in the wing’d inhabitants of air,<br> + What auspices their notes and flights declare:<br> + O say; for all religious rites portend<br> + A happy voyage, and a prosp’rous end;<br> + And ev’ry power and omen of the sky<br> + Direct my course for destin’d Italy;<br> + But only dire Celaeno, from the gods,<br> + A dismal famine fatally forebodes:<br> + O say what dangers I am first to shun,<br> + What toils vanquish, and what course to run.’<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “The prophet first with sacrifice adores<br> + The greater gods; their pardon then implores;<br> + Unbinds the fillet from his holy head;<br> + To Phoebus, next, my trembling steps he led,<br> + Full of religious doubts and awful dread.<br> + Then, with his god possess’d, before the shrine,<br> + These words proceeded from his mouth divine:<br> + ‘O goddess-born, (for Heav’n’s appointed will,<br> + With greater auspices of good than ill,<br> + Foreshows thy voyage, and thy course directs;<br> + Thy fates conspire, and Jove himself protects,)<br> + Of many things some few I shall explain,<br> + Teach thee to shun the dangers of the main,<br> + And how at length the promis’d shore to gain.<br> + The rest the fates from Helenus conceal,<br> + And Juno’s angry pow’r forbids to tell.<br> + First, then, that happy shore, that seems so nigh,<br> + Will far from your deluded wishes fly;<br> + Long tracts of seas divide your hopes from Italy:<br> + For you must cruise along Sicilian shores,<br> + And stem the currents with your struggling oars;<br> + Then round th’ Italian coast your navy steer;<br> + And, after this, to Circe’s island veer;<br> + And, last, before your new foundations rise,<br> + Must pass the Stygian lake, and view the nether skies.<br> + Now mark the signs of future ease and rest,<br> + And bear them safely treasur’d in thy breast.<br> + When, in the shady shelter of a wood,<br> + And near the margin of a gentle flood,<br> + Thou shalt behold a sow upon the ground,<br> + With thirty sucking young encompass’d round;<br> + The dam and offspring white as falling snow:<br> + These on thy city shall their name bestow,<br> + And there shall end thy labours and thy woe.<br> + Nor let the threaten’d famine fright thy mind,<br> + For Phoebus will assist, and Fate the way will find.<br> + Let not thy course to that ill coast be bent,<br> + Which fronts from far th’ Epirian continent:<br> + Those parts are all by Grecian foes possess’d;<br> + The salvage Locrians here the shores infest;<br> + There fierce Idomeneus his city builds,<br> + And guards with arms the Salentinian fields;<br> + And on the mountain’s brow Petilia stands,<br> + Which Philoctetes with his troops commands.<br> + Ev’n when thy fleet is landed on the shore,<br> + And priests with holy vows the gods adore,<br> + Then with a purple veil involve your eyes,<br> + Lest hostile faces blast the sacrifice.<br> + These rites and customs to the rest commend,<br> + That to your pious race they may descend.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + ‘When, parted hence, the wind, that ready waits<br> + For Sicily, shall bear you to the straits<br> + Where proud Pelorus opes a wider way,<br> + Tack to the larboard, and stand off to sea:<br> + Veer starboard sea and land. Th’ Italian shore<br> + And fair Sicilia’s coast were one, before<br> + An earthquake caus’d the flaw: the roaring tides<br> + The passage broke that land from land divides;<br> + And where the lands retir’d, the rushing ocean rides.<br> + Distinguish’d by the straits, on either hand,<br> + Now rising cities in long order stand,<br> + And fruitful fields: so much can time invade<br> + The mould’ring work that beauteous Nature made.<br> + Far on the right, her dogs foul Scylla hides:<br> + Charybdis roaring on the left presides,<br> + And in her greedy whirlpool sucks the tides;<br> + Then spouts them from below: with fury driv’n,<br> + The waves mount up and wash the face of heav’n.<br> + But Scylla from her den, with open jaws,<br> + The sinking vessel in her eddy draws,<br> + Then dashes on the rocks. A human face,<br> + And virgin bosom, hides her tail’s disgrace:<br> + Her parts obscene below the waves descend,<br> + With dogs inclos’d, and in a dolphin end.<br> + ’Tis safer, then, to bear aloof to sea,<br> + And coast Pachynus, tho’ with more delay,<br> + Than once to view misshapen Scylla near,<br> + And the loud yell of wat’ry wolves to hear.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “‘Besides, if faith to Helenus be due,<br> + And if prophetic Phoebus tell me true,<br> + Do not this precept of your friend forget,<br> + Which therefore more than once I must repeat:<br> + Above the rest, great Juno’s name adore;<br> + Pay vows to Juno; Juno’s aid implore.<br> + Let gifts be to the mighty queen design’d,<br> + And mollify with pray’rs her haughty mind.<br> + Thus, at the length, your passage shall be free,<br> + And you shall safe descend on Italy.<br> + Arriv’d at Cumae, when you view the flood<br> + Of black Avernus, and the sounding wood,<br> + The mad prophetic Sibyl you shall find,<br> + Dark in a cave, and on a rock reclin’d.<br> + She sings the fates, and, in her frantic fits,<br> + The notes and names, inscrib’d, to leafs commits.<br> + What she commits to leafs, in order laid,<br> + Before the cavern’s entrance are display’d:<br> + Unmov’d they lie; but, if a blast of wind<br> + Without, or vapours issue from behind,<br> + The leafs are borne aloft in liquid air,<br> + And she resumes no more her museful care,<br> + Nor gathers from the rocks her scatter’d verse,<br> + Nor sets in order what the winds disperse.<br> + Thus, many not succeeding, most upbraid<br> + The madness of the visionary maid,<br> + And with loud curses leave the mystic shade.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “‘Think it not loss of time a while to stay,<br> + Tho’ thy companions chide thy long delay;<br> + Tho’ summon’d to the seas, tho’ pleasing gales<br> + Invite thy course, and stretch thy swelling sails:<br> + But beg the sacred priestess to relate<br> + With willing words, and not to write thy fate.<br> + The fierce Italian people she will show,<br> + And all thy wars, and all thy future woe,<br> + And what thou may’st avoid, and what must undergo.<br> + She shall direct thy course, instruct thy mind,<br> + And teach thee how the happy shores to find.<br> + This is what Heav’n allows me to relate:<br> + Now part in peace; pursue thy better fate,<br> + And raise, by strength of arms, the Trojan state.’<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “This when the priest with friendly voice declar’d,<br> + He gave me license, and rich gifts prepar’d:<br> + Bounteous of treasure, he supplied my want<br> + With heavy gold, and polish’d elephant;<br> + Then Dodonaean caldrons put on board,<br> + And ev’ry ship with sums of silver stor’d.<br> + A trusty coat of mail to me he sent,<br> + Thrice chain’d with gold, for use and ornament;<br> + The helm of Pyrrhus added to the rest,<br> + That flourish’d with a plume and waving crest.<br> + Nor was my sire forgotten, nor my friends;<br> + And large recruits he to my navy sends:<br> + Men, horses, captains, arms, and warlike stores;<br> + Supplies new pilots, and new sweeping oars.<br> + Meantime, my sire commands to hoist our sails,<br> + Lest we should lose the first auspicious gales.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “The prophet bless’d the parting crew, and last,<br> + With words like these, his ancient friend embrac’d:<br> + ‘Old happy man, the care of gods above,<br> + Whom heav’nly Venus honour’d with her love,<br> + And twice preserv’d thy life, when Troy was lost,<br> + Behold from far the wish’d Ausonian coast:<br> + There land; but take a larger compass round,<br> + For that before is all forbidden ground.<br> + The shore that Phoebus has design’d for you,<br> + At farther distance lies, conceal’d from view.<br> + Go happy hence, and seek your new abodes,<br> + Blest in a son, and favour’d by the gods:<br> + For I with useless words prolong your stay,<br> + When southern gales have summon’d you away.’<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Nor less the queen our parting thence deplor’d,<br> + Nor was less bounteous than her Trojan lord.<br> + A noble present to my son she brought,<br> + A robe with flow’rs on golden tissue wrought,<br> + A phrygian vest; and loads with gifts beside<br> + Of precious texture, and of Asian pride.<br> + ‘Accept,’ she said, ‘these monuments of love,<br> + Which in my youth with happier hands I wove:<br> + Regard these trifles for the giver’s sake;<br> + ’Tis the last present Hector’s wife can make.<br> + Thou call’st my lost Astyanax to mind;<br> + In thee his features and his form I find:<br> + His eyes so sparkled with a lively flame;<br> + Such were his motions; such was all his frame;<br> + And ah! had Heav’n so pleas’d, his years had been the same.’<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “With tears I took my last adieu, and said:<br> + ‘Your fortune, happy pair, already made,<br> + Leaves you no farther wish. My diff’rent state,<br> + Avoiding one, incurs another fate.<br> + To you a quiet seat the gods allow:<br> + You have no shores to search, no seas to plow,<br> + Nor fields of flying Italy to chase:<br> + (Deluding visions, and a vain embrace!)<br> + You see another Simois, and enjoy<br> + The labour of your hands, another Troy,<br> + With better auspice than her ancient tow’rs,<br> + And less obnoxious to the Grecian pow’rs.<br> + If e’er the gods, whom I with vows adore,<br> + Conduct my steps to Tiber’s happy shore;<br> + If ever I ascend the Latian throne,<br> + And build a city I may call my own;<br> + As both of us our birth from Troy derive,<br> + So let our kindred lines in concord live,<br> + And both in acts of equal friendship strive.<br> + Our fortunes, good or bad, shall be the same:<br> + The double Troy shall differ but in name;<br> + That what we now begin may never end,<br> + But long to late posterity descend.’<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Near the Ceraunian rocks our course we bore;<br> + The shortest passage to th’ Italian shore.<br> + Now had the sun withdrawn his radiant light,<br> + And hills were hid in dusky shades of night:<br> + We land, and, on the bosom of the ground,<br> + A safe retreat and a bare lodging found.<br> + Close by the shore we lay; the sailors keep<br> + Their watches, and the rest securely sleep.<br> + The night, proceeding on with silent pace,<br> + Stood in her noon, and view’d with equal face<br> + Her steepy rise and her declining race.<br> + Then wakeful Palinurus rose, to spy<br> + The face of heav’n, and the nocturnal sky;<br> + And listen’d ev’ry breath of air to try;<br> + Observes the stars, and notes their sliding course,<br> + The Pleiads, Hyads, and their wat’ry force;<br> + And both the Bears is careful to behold,<br> + And bright Orion, arm’d with burnish’d gold.<br> + Then, when he saw no threat’ning tempest nigh,<br> + But a sure promise of a settled sky,<br> + He gave the sign to weigh; we break our sleep,<br> + Forsake the pleasing shore, and plow the deep.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “And now the rising morn with rosy light<br> + Adorns the skies, and puts the stars to flight;<br> + When we from far, like bluish mists, descry<br> + The hills, and then the plains, of Italy.<br> + Achates first pronounc’d the joyful sound;<br> + Then, ‘Italy!’ the cheerful crew rebound.<br> + My sire Anchises crown’d a cup with wine,<br> + And, off’ring, thus implor’d the pow’rs divine:<br> + ‘Ye gods, presiding over lands and seas,<br> + And you who raging winds and waves appease,<br> + Breathe on our swelling sails a prosp’rous wind,<br> + And smooth our passage to the port assign’d!’<br> + The gentle gales their flagging force renew,<br> + And now the happy harbour is in view.<br> + Minerva’s temple then salutes our sight,<br> + Plac’d, as a landmark, on the mountain’s height.<br> + We furl our sails, and turn the prows to shore;<br> + The curling waters round the galleys roar.<br> + The land lies open to the raging east,<br> + Then, bending like a bow, with rocks compress’d,<br> + Shuts out the storms; the winds and waves complain,<br> + And vent their malice on the cliffs in vain.<br> + The port lies hid within; on either side<br> + Two tow’ring rocks the narrow mouth divide.<br> + The temple, which aloft we view’d before,<br> + To distance flies, and seems to shun the shore.<br> + Scarce landed, the first omens I beheld<br> + Were four white steeds that cropp’d the flow’ry field.<br> + ‘War, war is threaten’d from this foreign ground,’<br> + My father cried, ‘where warlike steeds are found.<br> + Yet, since reclaim’d to chariots they submit,<br> + And bend to stubborn yokes, and champ the bit,<br> + Peace may succeed to war.’ Our way we bend<br> + To Pallas, and the sacred hill ascend;<br> + There prostrate to the fierce Virago pray,<br> + Whose temple was the landmark of our way.<br> + Each with a Phrygian mantle veil’d his head,<br> + And all commands of Helenus obey’d,<br> + And pious rites to Grecian Juno paid.<br> + These dues perform’d, we stretch our sails, and stand<br> + To sea, forsaking that suspected land.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “From hence Tarentum’s bay appears in view,<br> + For Hercules renown’d, if fame be true.<br> + Just opposite, Lacinian Juno stands;<br> + Caulonian tow’rs, and Scylacaean strands,<br> + For shipwrecks fear’d. Mount Aetna thence we spy,<br> + Known by the smoky flames which cloud the sky.<br> + Far off we hear the waves with surly sound<br> + Invade the rocks, the rocks their groans rebound.<br> + The billows break upon the sounding strand,<br> + And roll the rising tide, impure with sand.<br> + Then thus Anchises, in experience old:<br> + ‘’Tis that Charybdis which the seer foretold,<br> + And those the promis’d rocks! Bear off to sea!’<br> + With haste the frighted mariners obey.<br> + First Palinurus to the larboard veer’d;<br> + Then all the fleet by his example steer’d.<br> + To heav’n aloft on ridgy waves we ride,<br> + Then down to hell descend, when they divide;<br> + And thrice our galleys knock’d the stony ground,<br> + And thrice the hollow rocks return’d the sound,<br> + And thrice we saw the stars, that stood with dews around.<br> + The flagging winds forsook us, with the sun;<br> + And, wearied, on Cyclopian shores we run.<br> + The port capacious, and secure from wind,<br> + Is to the foot of thund’ring Aetna join’d.<br> + By turns a pitchy cloud she rolls on high;<br> + By turns hot embers from her entrails fly,<br> + And flakes of mounting flames, that lick the sky.<br> + Oft from her bowels massy rocks are thrown,<br> + And, shiver’d by the force, come piecemeal down.<br> + Oft liquid lakes of burning sulphur flow,<br> + Fed from the fiery springs that boil below.<br> + Enceladus, they say, transfix’d by Jove,<br> + With blasted limbs came tumbling from above;<br> + And, where he fell, th’ avenging father drew<br> + This flaming hill, and on his body threw.<br> + As often as he turns his weary sides,<br> + He shakes the solid isle, and smoke the heavens hides.<br> + In shady woods we pass the tedious night,<br> + Where bellowing sounds and groans our souls affright,<br> + Of which no cause is offer’d to the sight;<br> + For not one star was kindled in the sky,<br> + Nor could the moon her borrow’d light supply;<br> + For misty clouds involv’d the firmament,<br> + The stars were muffled, and the moon was pent.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Scarce had the rising sun the day reveal’d,<br> + Scarce had his heat the pearly dews dispell’d,<br> + When from the woods there bolts, before our sight,<br> + Somewhat betwixt a mortal and a sprite,<br> + So thin, so ghastly meager, and so wan,<br> + So bare of flesh, he scarce resembled man.<br> + This thing, all tatter’d, seem’d from far t’implore<br> + Our pious aid, and pointed to the shore.<br> + We look behind, then view his shaggy beard;<br> + His clothes were tagg’d with thorns, and filth his limbs besmear’d;<br> + The rest, in mien, in habit, and in face,<br> + Appear’d a Greek, and such indeed he was.<br> + He cast on us, from far, a frightful view,<br> + Whom soon for Trojans and for foes he knew;<br> + Stood still, and paus’d; then all at once began<br> + To stretch his limbs, and trembled as he ran.<br> + Soon as approach’d, upon his knees he falls,<br> + And thus with tears and sighs for pity calls:<br> + ‘Now, by the pow’rs above, and what we share<br> + From Nature’s common gift, this vital air,<br> + O Trojans, take me hence! I beg no more;<br> + But bear me far from this unhappy shore.<br> + ’Tis true, I am a Greek, and farther own,<br> + Among your foes besieg’d th’ imperial town.<br> + For such demerits if my death be due,<br> + No more for this abandon’d life I sue;<br> + This only favour let my tears obtain,<br> + To throw me headlong in the rapid main:<br> + Since nothing more than death my crime demands,<br> + I die content, to die by human hands.’<br> + He said, and on his knees my knees embrac’d:<br> + I bade him boldly tell his fortune past,<br> + His present state, his lineage, and his name,<br> + Th’ occasion of his fears, and whence he came.<br> + The good Anchises rais’d him with his hand;<br> + Who, thus encourag’d, answer’d our demand:<br> + ‘From Ithaca, my native soil, I came<br> + To Troy; and Achaemenides my name.<br> + Me my poor father with Ulysses sent;<br> + (O had I stay’d, with poverty content!)<br> + But, fearful for themselves, my countrymen<br> + Left me forsaken in the Cyclops’ den.<br> + The cave, tho’ large, was dark; the dismal floor<br> + Was pav’d with mangled limbs and putrid gore.<br> + Our monstrous host, of more than human size,<br> + Erects his head, and stares within the skies;<br> + Bellowing his voice, and horrid is his hue.<br> + Ye gods, remove this plague from mortal view!<br> + The joints of slaughter’d wretches are his food;<br> + And for his wine he quaffs the streaming blood.<br> + These eyes beheld, when with his spacious hand<br> + He seiz’d two captives of our Grecian band;<br> + Stretch’d on his back, he dash’d against the stones<br> + Their broken bodies, and their crackling bones:<br> + With spouting blood the purple pavement swims,<br> + While the dire glutton grinds the trembling limbs.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “‘Not unreveng’d Ulysses bore their fate,<br> + Nor thoughtless of his own unhappy state;<br> + For, gorg’d with flesh, and drunk with human wine<br> + While fast asleep the giant lay supine,<br> + Snoring aloud, and belching from his maw<br> + His indigested foam, and morsels raw;<br> + We pray; we cast the lots, and then surround<br> + The monstrous body, stretch’d along the ground:<br> + Each, as he could approach him, lends a hand<br> + To bore his eyeball with a flaming brand.<br> + Beneath his frowning forehead lay his eye;<br> + For only one did the vast frame supply;<br> + But that a globe so large, his front it fill’d,<br> + Like the sun’s disk or like a Grecian shield.<br> + The stroke succeeds; and down the pupil bends:<br> + This vengeance follow’d for our slaughter’d friends.<br> + But haste, unhappy wretches, haste to fly!<br> + Your cables cut, and on your oars rely!<br> + Such, and so vast as Polypheme appears,<br> + A hundred more this hated island bears:<br> + Like him, in caves they shut their woolly sheep;<br> + Like him, their herds on tops of mountains keep;<br> + Like him, with mighty strides, they stalk from steep to steep<br> + And now three moons their sharpen’d horns renew,<br> + Since thus, in woods and wilds, obscure from view,<br> + I drag my loathsome days with mortal fright,<br> + And in deserted caverns lodge by night;<br> + Oft from the rocks a dreadful prospect see<br> + Of the huge Cyclops, like a walking tree:<br> + From far I hear his thund’ring voice resound,<br> + And trampling feet that shake the solid ground.<br> + Cornels and salvage berries of the wood,<br> + And roots and herbs, have been my meager food.<br> + While all around my longing eyes I cast,<br> + I saw your happy ships appear at last.<br> + On those I fix’d my hopes, to these I run;<br> + ’Tis all I ask, this cruel race to shun;<br> + What other death you please, yourselves bestow.’<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Scarce had he said, when on the mountain’s brow<br> + We saw the giant shepherd stalk before<br> + His following flock, and leading to the shore:<br> + A monstrous bulk, deform’d, depriv’d of sight;<br> + His staff a trunk of pine, to guide his steps aright.<br> + His pond’rous whistle from his neck descends;<br> + His woolly care their pensive lord attends:<br> + This only solace his hard fortune sends.<br> + Soon as he reach’d the shore and touch’d the waves,<br> + From his bor’d eye the gutt’ring blood he laves:<br> + He gnash’d his teeth, and groan’d; thro’ seas he strides,<br> + And scarce the topmost billows touch’d his sides.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Seiz’d with a sudden fear, we run to sea,<br> + The cables cut, and silent haste away;<br> + The well-deserving stranger entertain;<br> + Then, buckling to the work, our oars divide the main.<br> + The giant harken’d to the dashing sound:<br> + But, when our vessels out of reach he found,<br> + He strided onward, and in vain essay’d<br> + Th’ Ionian deep, and durst no farther wade.<br> + With that he roar’d aloud: the dreadful cry<br> + Shakes earth, and air, and seas; the billows fly<br> + Before the bellowing noise to distant Italy.<br> + The neighb’ring Aetna trembling all around,<br> + The winding caverns echo to the sound.<br> + His brother Cyclops hear the yelling roar,<br> + And, rushing down the mountains, crowd the shore.<br> + We saw their stern distorted looks, from far,<br> + And one-eyed glance, that vainly threaten’d war:<br> + A dreadful council, with their heads on high;<br> + (The misty clouds about their foreheads fly;)<br> + Not yielding to the tow’ring tree of Jove,<br> + Or tallest cypress of Diana’s grove.<br> + New pangs of mortal fear our minds assail;<br> + We tug at ev’ry oar, and hoist up ev’ry sail,<br> + And take th’ advantage of the friendly gale.<br> + Forewarn’d by Helenus, we strive to shun<br> + Charybdis’ gulf, nor dare to Scylla run.<br> + An equal fate on either side appears:<br> + We, tacking to the left, are free from fears;<br> + For, from Pelorus’ point, the North arose,<br> + And drove us back where swift Pantagias flows.<br> + His rocky mouth we pass, and make our way<br> + By Thapsus and Megara’s winding bay.<br> + This passage Achaemenides had shown,<br> + Tracing the course which he before had run.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Right o’er against Plemmyrium’s wat’ry strand,<br> + There lies an isle once call’d th’ Ortygian land.<br> + Alpheus, as old fame reports, has found<br> + From Greece a secret passage under ground,<br> + By love to beauteous Arethusa led;<br> + And, mingling here, they roll in the same sacred bed.<br> + As Helenus enjoin’d, we next adore<br> + Diana’s name, protectress of the shore.<br> + With prosp’rous gales we pass the quiet sounds<br> + Of still Elorus, and his fruitful bounds.<br> + Then, doubling Cape Pachynus, we survey<br> + The rocky shore extended to the sea.<br> + The town of Camarine from far we see,<br> + And fenny lake, undrain’d by fate’s decree.<br> + In sight of the Geloan fields we pass,<br> + And the large walls, where mighty Gela was;<br> + Then Agragas, with lofty summits crown’d,<br> + Long for the race of warlike steeds renown’d.<br> + We pass’d Selinus, and the palmy land,<br> + And widely shun the Lilybaean strand,<br> + Unsafe, for secret rocks and moving sand.<br> + At length on shore the weary fleet arriv’d,<br> + Which Drepanum’s unhappy port receiv’d.<br> + Here, after endless labours, often toss’d<br> + By raging storms, and driv’n on ev’ry coast,<br> + My dear, dear father, spent with age, I lost:<br> + Ease of my cares, and solace of my pain,<br> + Sav’d thro’ a thousand toils, but sav’d in vain<br> + The prophet, who my future woes reveal’d,<br> + Yet this, the greatest and the worst, conceal’d;<br> + And dire Celaeno, whose foreboding skill<br> + Denounc’d all else, was silent of the ill.<br> + This my last labour was. Some friendly god<br> + From thence convey’d us to your blest abode.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus, to the list’ning queen, the royal guest<br> + His wand’ring course and all his toils express’d;<br> + And here concluding, he retir’d to rest. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="chap04"></a>BOOK IV</h2> + + <h5> THE ARGUMENT. </h5> + + <p> + 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. + <br><br> + </p> + + <p class="pfirst"> + <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>ut anxious cares already seiz’d the queen:<br> + She fed within her veins a flame unseen;<br> + The hero’s valour, acts, and birth inspire<br> + Her soul with love, and fan the secret fire.<br> + His words, his looks, imprinted in her heart,<br> + Improve the passion, and increase the smart.<br> + Now, when the purple morn had chas’d away<br> + The dewy shadows, and restor’d the day,<br> + Her sister first with early care she sought,<br> + And thus in mournful accents eas’d her thought:<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “My dearest Anna, what new dreams affright<br> + My lab’ring soul! what visions of the night<br> + Disturb my quiet, and distract my breast<br> + With strange ideas of our Trojan guest!<br> + His worth, his actions, and majestic air,<br> + A man descended from the gods declare.<br> + Fear ever argues a degenerate kind;<br> + His birth is well asserted by his mind.<br> + Then, what he suffer’d, when by Fate betray’d!<br> + What brave attempts for falling Troy he made!<br> + Such were his looks, so gracefully he spoke,<br> + That, were I not resolv’d against the yoke<br> + Of hapless marriage, never to be curst<br> + With second love, so fatal was my first,<br> + To this one error I might yield again;<br> + For, since Sichaeus was untimely slain,<br> + This only man is able to subvert<br> + The fix’d foundations of my stubborn heart.<br> + And, to confess my frailty, to my shame,<br> + Somewhat I find within, if not the same,<br> + Too like the sparkles of my former flame.<br> + But first let yawning earth a passage rend,<br> + And let me thro’ the dark abyss descend;<br> + First let avenging Jove, with flames from high,<br> + Drive down this body to the nether sky,<br> + Condemn’d with ghosts in endless night to lie,<br> + Before I break the plighted faith I gave!<br> + No! he who had my vows shall ever have;<br> + For, whom I lov’d on earth, I worship in the grave.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + She said: the tears ran gushing from her eyes,<br> + And stopp’d her speech. Her sister thus replies:<br> + “O dearer than the vital air I breathe,<br> + Will you to grief your blooming years bequeath,<br> + Condemn’d to waste in woes your lonely life,<br> + Without the joys of mother or of wife?<br> + Think you these tears, this pompous train of woe,<br> + Are known or valued by the ghosts below?<br> + I grant that, while your sorrows yet were green,<br> + It well became a woman, and a queen,<br> + The vows of Tyrian princes to neglect,<br> + To scorn Hyarbas, and his love reject,<br> + With all the Libyan lords of mighty name;<br> + But will you fight against a pleasing flame!<br> + This little spot of land, which Heav’n bestows,<br> + On ev’ry side is hemm’d with warlike foes;<br> + Gaetulian cities here are spread around,<br> + And fierce Numidians there your frontiers bound;<br> + Here lies a barren waste of thirsty land,<br> + And there the Syrtes raise the moving sand;<br> + Barcaean troops besiege the narrow shore,<br> + And from the sea Pygmalion threatens more.<br> + Propitious Heav’n, and gracious Juno, lead<br> + This wand’ring navy to your needful aid:<br> + How will your empire spread, your city rise,<br> + From such a union, and with such allies?<br> + Implore the favour of the pow’rs above,<br> + And leave the conduct of the rest to love.<br> + Continue still your hospitable way,<br> + And still invent occasions of their stay,<br> + Till storms and winter winds shall cease to threat,<br> + And planks and oars repair their shatter’d fleet.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + These words, which from a friend and sister came,<br> + With ease resolv’d the scruples of her fame,<br> + And added fury to the kindled flame.<br> + Inspir’d with hope, the project they pursue;<br> + On ev’ry altar sacrifice renew:<br> + A chosen ewe of two years old they pay<br> + To Ceres, Bacchus, and the God of Day;<br> + Preferring Juno’s pow’r, for Juno ties<br> + The nuptial knot and makes the marriage joys.<br> + The beauteous queen before her altar stands,<br> + And holds the golden goblet in her hands.<br> + A milk-white heifer she with flow’rs adorns,<br> + And pours the ruddy wine betwixt her horns;<br> + And, while the priests with pray’r the gods invoke,<br> + She feeds their altars with Sabaean smoke,<br> + With hourly care the sacrifice renews,<br> + And anxiously the panting entrails views.<br> + What priestly rites, alas! what pious art,<br> + What vows avail to cure a bleeding heart!<br> + A gentle fire she feeds within her veins,<br> + Where the soft god secure in silence reigns.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Sick with desire, and seeking him she loves,<br> + From street to street the raving Dido roves.<br> + So when the watchful shepherd, from the blind,<br> + Wounds with a random shaft the careless hind,<br> + Distracted with her pain she flies the woods,<br> + Bounds o’er the lawn, and seeks the silent floods,<br> + With fruitless care; for still the fatal dart<br> + Sticks in her side, and rankles in her heart.<br> + And now she leads the Trojan chief along<br> + The lofty walls, amidst the busy throng;<br> + Displays her Tyrian wealth, and rising town,<br> + Which love, without his labour, makes his own.<br> + This pomp she shows, to tempt her wand’ring guest;<br> + Her falt’ring tongue forbids to speak the rest.<br> + When day declines, and feasts renew the night,<br> + Still on his face she feeds her famish’d sight;<br> + She longs again to hear the prince relate<br> + His own adventures and the Trojan fate.<br> + He tells it o’er and o’er; but still in vain,<br> + For still she begs to hear it once again.<br> + The hearer on the speaker’s mouth depends,<br> + And thus the tragic story never ends.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then, when they part, when Phoebe’s paler light<br> + Withdraws, and falling stars to sleep invite,<br> + She last remains, when ev’ry guest is gone,<br> + Sits on the bed he press’d, and sighs alone;<br> + Absent, her absent hero sees and hears;<br> + Or in her bosom young Ascanius bears,<br> + And seeks the father’s image in the child,<br> + If love by likeness might be so beguil’d.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Meantime the rising tow’rs are at a stand;<br> + No labours exercise the youthful band,<br> + Nor use of arts, nor toils of arms they know;<br> + The mole is left unfinish’d to the foe;<br> + The mounds, the works, the walls, neglected lie,<br> + Short of their promis’d heighth, that seem’d to threat the sky,<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + But when imperial Juno, from above,<br> + Saw Dido fetter’d in the chains of love,<br> + Hot with the venom which her veins inflam’d,<br> + And by no sense of shame to be reclaim’d,<br> + With soothing words to Venus she begun:<br> + “High praises, endless honours, you have won,<br> + And mighty trophies, with your worthy son!<br> + Two gods a silly woman have undone!<br> + Nor am I ignorant, you both suspect<br> + This rising city, which my hands erect:<br> + But shall celestial discord never cease?<br> + ’Tis better ended in a lasting peace.<br> + You stand possess’d of all your soul desir’d:<br> + Poor Dido with consuming love is fir’d.<br> + Your Trojan with my Tyrian let us join;<br> + So Dido shall be yours, Aeneas mine:<br> + One common kingdom, one united line.<br> + Eliza shall a Dardan lord obey,<br> + And lofty Carthage for a dow’r convey.”<br> + Then Venus, who her hidden fraud descried,<br> + Which would the scepter of the world misguide<br> + To Libyan shores, thus artfully replied:<br> + “Who, but a fool, would wars with Juno choose,<br> + And such alliance and such gifts refuse,<br> + If Fortune with our joint desires comply?<br> + The doubt is all from Jove and destiny;<br> + Lest he forbid, with absolute command,<br> + To mix the people in one common land.<br> + Or will the Trojan and the Tyrian line<br> + In lasting leagues and sure succession join?<br> + But you, the partner of his bed and throne,<br> + May move his mind; my wishes are your own.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Mine,” said imperial Juno, “be the care;<br> + Time urges, now, to perfect this affair:<br> + Attend my counsel, and the secret share.<br> + When next the Sun his rising light displays,<br> + And gilds the world below with purple rays,<br> + The queen, Aeneas, and the Tyrian court<br> + Shall to the shady woods, for sylvan game, resort.<br> + There, while the huntsmen pitch their toils around,<br> + And cheerful horns from side to side resound,<br> + A pitchy cloud shall cover all the plain<br> + With hail, and thunder, and tempestuous rain;<br> + The fearful train shall take their speedy flight,<br> + Dispers’d, and all involv’d in gloomy night;<br> + One cave a grateful shelter shall afford<br> + To the fair princess and the Trojan lord.<br> + I will myself the bridal bed prepare,<br> + If you, to bless the nuptials, will be there:<br> + So shall their loves be crown’d with due delights,<br> + And Hymen shall be present at the rites.”<br> + The Queen of Love consents, and closely smiles<br> + At her vain project, and discover’d wiles.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The rosy morn was risen from the main,<br> + And horns and hounds awake the princely train:<br> + They issue early thro’ the city gate,<br> + Where the more wakeful huntsmen ready wait,<br> + With nets, and toils, and darts, beside the force<br> + Of Spartan dogs, and swift Massylian horse.<br> + The Tyrian peers and officers of state<br> + For the slow queen in antechambers wait;<br> + Her lofty courser, in the court below,<br> + Who his majestic rider seems to know,<br> + Proud of his purple trappings, paws the ground,<br> + And champs the golden bit, and spreads the foam around.<br> + The queen at length appears; on either hand<br> + The brawny guards in martial order stand.<br> + A flow’r’d simar with golden fringe she wore,<br> + And at her back a golden quiver bore;<br> + Her flowing hair a golden caul restrains,<br> + A golden clasp the Tyrian robe sustains.<br> + Then young Ascanius, with a sprightly grace,<br> + Leads on the Trojan youth to view the chase.<br> + But far above the rest in beauty shines<br> + The great Aeneas, the troop he joins;<br> + Like fair Apollo, when he leaves the frost<br> + Of wint’ry Xanthus, and the Lycian coast,<br> + When to his native Delos he resorts,<br> + Ordains the dances, and renews the sports;<br> + Where painted Scythians, mix’d with Cretan bands,<br> + Before the joyful altars join their hands:<br> + Himself, on Cynthus walking, sees below<br> + The merry madness of the sacred show.<br> + Green wreaths of bays his length of hair inclose;<br> + A golden fillet binds his awful brows;<br> + His quiver sounds: not less the prince is seen<br> + In manly presence, or in lofty mien.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now had they reach’d the hills, and storm’d the seat<br> + Of salvage beasts, in dens, their last retreat.<br> + The cry pursues the mountain goats: they bound<br> + From rock to rock, and keep the craggy ground;<br> + Quite otherwise the stags, a trembling train,<br> + In herds unsingled, scour the dusty plain,<br> + And a long chase in open view maintain.<br> + The glad Ascanius, as his courser guides,<br> + Spurs thro’ the vale, and these and those outrides.<br> + His horse’s flanks and sides are forc’d to feel<br> + The clanking lash, and goring of the steel.<br> + Impatiently he views the feeble prey,<br> + Wishing some nobler beast to cross his way,<br> + And rather would the tusky boar attend,<br> + Or see the tawny lion downward bend.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Meantime, the gath’ring clouds obscure the skies:<br> + From pole to pole the forky lightning flies;<br> + The rattling thunders roll; and Juno pours<br> + A wintry deluge down, and sounding show’rs.<br> + The company, dispers’d, to converts ride,<br> + And seek the homely cots, or mountain’s hollow side.<br> + The rapid rains, descending from the hills,<br> + To rolling torrents raise the creeping rills.<br> + The queen and prince, as love or fortune guides,<br> + One common cavern in her bosom hides.<br> + Then first the trembling earth the signal gave,<br> + And flashing fires enlighten all the cave;<br> + Hell from below, and Juno from above,<br> + And howling nymphs, were conscious of their love.<br> + From this ill-omen’d hour in time arose<br> + Debate and death, and all succeeding woes.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The queen, whom sense of honour could not move,<br> + No longer made a secret of her love,<br> + But call’d it marriage, by that specious name<br> + To veil the crime and sanctify the shame.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The loud report thro’ Libyan cities goes.<br> + Fame, the great ill, from small beginnings grows:<br> + Swift from the first; and ev’ry moment brings<br> + New vigour to her flights, new pinions to her wings.<br> + Soon grows the pigmy to gigantic size;<br> + Her feet on earth, her forehead in the skies.<br> + Inrag’d against the gods, revengeful Earth<br> + Produc’d her last of the Titanian birth.<br> + Swift is her walk, more swift her winged haste:<br> + A monstrous phantom, horrible and vast.<br> + As many plumes as raise her lofty flight,<br> + So many piercing eyes inlarge her sight;<br> + Millions of opening mouths to Fame belong,<br> + And ev’ry mouth is furnish’d with a tongue,<br> + And round with list’ning ears the flying plague is hung.<br> + She fills the peaceful universe with cries;<br> + No slumbers ever close her wakeful eyes;<br> + By day, from lofty tow’rs her head she shews,<br> + And spreads thro’ trembling crowds disastrous news;<br> + With court informers haunts, and royal spies;<br> + Things done relates, not done she feigns, and mingles truth with lies.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Talk is her business, and her chief delight<br> + To tell of prodigies and cause affright.<br> + She fills the people’s ears with Dido’s name,<br> + Who, lost to honour and the sense of shame,<br> + Admits into her throne and nuptial bed<br> + A wand’ring guest, who from his country fled:<br> + Whole days with him she passes in delights,<br> + And wastes in luxury long winter nights,<br> + Forgetful of her fame and royal trust,<br> + Dissolv’d in ease, abandon’d to her lust.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The goddess widely spreads the loud report,<br> + And flies at length to King Hyarba’s court.<br> + When first possess’d with this unwelcome news<br> + Whom did he not of men and gods accuse?<br> + This prince, from ravish’d Garamantis born,<br> + A hundred temples did with spoils adorn,<br> + In Ammon’s honour, his celestial sire;<br> + A hundred altars fed with wakeful fire;<br> + And, thro’ his vast dominions, priests ordain’d,<br> + Whose watchful care these holy rites maintain’d.<br> + The gates and columns were with garlands crown’d,<br> + And blood of victim beasts enrich’d the ground.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + He, when he heard a fugitive could move<br> + The Tyrian princess, who disdain’d his love,<br> + His breast with fury burn’d, his eyes with fire,<br> + Mad with despair, impatient with desire;<br> + Then on the sacred altars pouring wine,<br> + He thus with pray’rs implor’d his sire divine:<br> + “Great Jove! propitious to the Moorish race,<br> + Who feast on painted beds, with off’rings grace<br> + Thy temples, and adore thy pow’r divine<br> + With blood of victims, and with sparkling wine,<br> + Seest thou not this? or do we fear in vain<br> + Thy boasted thunder, and thy thoughtless reign?<br> + Do thy broad hands the forky lightnings lance?<br> + Thine are the bolts, or the blind work of chance?<br> + A wand’ring woman builds, within our state,<br> + A little town, bought at an easy rate;<br> + She pays me homage, and my grants allow<br> + A narrow space of Libyan lands to plow;<br> + Yet, scorning me, by passion blindly led,<br> + Admits a banish’d Trojan to her bed!<br> + And now this other Paris, with his train<br> + Of conquer’d cowards, must in Afric reign!<br> + (Whom, what they are, their looks and garb confess,<br> + Their locks with oil perfum’d, their Lydian dress.)<br> + He takes the spoil, enjoys the princely dame;<br> + And I, rejected I, adore an empty name.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + His vows, in haughty terms, he thus preferr’d,<br> + And held his altar’s horns. The mighty Thund’rer heard;<br> + Then cast his eyes on Carthage, where he found<br> + The lustful pair in lawless pleasure drown’d,<br> + Lost in their loves, insensible of shame,<br> + And both forgetful of their better fame.<br> + He calls Cyllenius, and the god attends,<br> + By whom his menacing command he sends:<br> + “Go, mount the western winds, and cleave the sky;<br> + Then, with a swift descent, to Carthage fly:<br> + There find the Trojan chief, who wastes his days<br> + In slothful riot and inglorious ease,<br> + Nor minds the future city, giv’n by fate.<br> + To him this message from my mouth relate:<br> + ‘Not so fair Venus hop’d, when twice she won<br> + Thy life with pray’rs, nor promis’d such a son.<br> + Hers was a hero, destin’d to command<br> + A martial race, and rule the Latian land,<br> + Who should his ancient line from Teucer draw,<br> + And on the conquer’d world impose the law.’<br> + If glory cannot move a mind so mean,<br> + Nor future praise from fading pleasure wean,<br> + Yet why should he defraud his son of fame,<br> + And grudge the Romans their immortal name!<br> + What are his vain designs! what hopes he more<br> + From his long ling’ring on a hostile shore,<br> + Regardless to redeem his honour lost,<br> + And for his race to gain th’ Ausonian coast!<br> + Bid him with speed the Tyrian court forsake;<br> + With this command the slumb’ring warrior wake.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Hermes obeys; with golden pinions binds<br> + His flying feet, and mounts the western winds:<br> + And, whether o’er the seas or earth he flies,<br> + With rapid force they bear him down the skies.<br> + But first he grasps within his awful hand<br> + The mark of sov’reign pow’r, his magic wand;<br> + With this he draws the ghosts from hollow graves;<br> + With this he drives them down the Stygian waves;<br> + With this he seals in sleep the wakeful sight,<br> + And eyes, tho’ clos’d in death, restores to light.<br> + Thus arm’d, the god begins his airy race,<br> + And drives the racking clouds along the liquid space;<br> + Now sees the tops of Atlas, as he flies,<br> + Whose brawny back supports the starry skies;<br> + Atlas, whose head, with piny forests crown’d,<br> + Is beaten by the winds, with foggy vapours bound.<br> + Snows hide his shoulders; from beneath his chin<br> + The founts of rolling streams their race begin;<br> + A beard of ice on his large breast depends.<br> + Here, pois’d upon his wings, the god descends:<br> + Then, rested thus, he from the tow’ring height<br> + Plung’d downward, with precipitated flight,<br> + Lights on the seas, and skims along the flood.<br> + As waterfowl, who seek their fishy food,<br> + Less, and yet less, to distant prospect show;<br> + By turns they dance aloft, and dive below:<br> + Like these, the steerage of his wings he plies,<br> + And near the surface of the water flies,<br> + Till, having pass’d the seas, and cross’d the sands,<br> + He clos’d his wings, and stoop’d on Libyan lands:<br> + Where shepherds once were hous’d in homely sheds,<br> + Now tow’rs within the clouds advance their heads.<br> + Arriving there, he found the Trojan prince<br> + New ramparts raising for the town’s defence.<br> + A purple scarf, with gold embroider’d o’er,<br> + (Queen Dido’s gift,) about his waist he wore;<br> + A sword, with glitt’ring gems diversified,<br> + For ornament, not use, hung idly by his side.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then thus, with winged words, the god began,<br> + Resuming his own shape: “Degenerate man,<br> + Thou woman’s property, what mak’st thou here,<br> + These foreign walls and Tyrian tow’rs to rear,<br> + Forgetful of thy own? All-pow’rful Jove,<br> + Who sways the world below and heav’n above,<br> + Has sent me down with this severe command:<br> + What means thy ling’ring in the Libyan land?<br> + If glory cannot move a mind so mean,<br> + Nor future praise from flitting pleasure wean,<br> + Regard the fortunes of thy rising heir:<br> + The promis’d crown let young Ascanius wear,<br> + To whom th’ Ausonian scepter, and the state<br> + Of Rome’s imperial name is ow’d by fate.”<br> + So spoke the god; and, speaking, took his flight,<br> + Involv’d in clouds, and vanish’d out of sight.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The pious prince was seiz’d with sudden fear;<br> + Mute was his tongue, and upright stood his hair.<br> + Revolving in his mind the stern command,<br> + He longs to fly, and loathes the charming land.<br> + What should he say? or how should he begin?<br> + What course, alas! remains to steer between<br> + Th’ offended lover and the pow’rful queen?<br> + This way and that he turns his anxious mind,<br> + And all expedients tries, and none can find.<br> + Fix’d on the deed, but doubtful of the means,<br> + After long thought, to this advice he leans:<br> + Three chiefs he calls, commands them to repair<br> + The fleet, and ship their men with silent care;<br> + Some plausible pretence he bids them find,<br> + To colour what in secret he design’d.<br> + Himself, meantime, the softest hours would choose,<br> + Before the love-sick lady heard the news;<br> + And move her tender mind, by slow degrees,<br> + To suffer what the sov’reign pow’r decrees:<br> + Jove will inspire him, when, and what to say.<br> + They hear with pleasure, and with haste obey.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + But soon the queen perceives the thin disguise:<br> + (What arts can blind a jealous woman’s eyes!)<br> + She was the first to find the secret fraud,<br> + Before the fatal news was blaz’d abroad.<br> + Love the first motions of the lover hears,<br> + Quick to presage, and ev’n in safety fears.<br> + Nor impious Fame was wanting to report<br> + The ships repair’d, the Trojans’ thick resort,<br> + And purpose to forsake the Tyrian court.<br> + Frantic with fear, impatient of the wound,<br> + And impotent of mind, she roves the city round.<br> + Less wild the Bacchanalian dames appear,<br> + When, from afar, their nightly god they hear,<br> + And howl about the hills, and shake the wreathy spear.<br> + At length she finds the dear perfidious man;<br> + Prevents his form’d excuse, and thus began:<br> + “Base and ungrateful! could you hope to fly,<br> + And undiscover’d scape a lover’s eye?<br> + Nor could my kindness your compassion move.<br> + Nor plighted vows, nor dearer bands of love?<br> + Or is the death of a despairing queen<br> + Not worth preventing, tho’ too well foreseen?<br> + Ev’n when the wintry winds command your stay,<br> + You dare the tempests, and defy the sea.<br> + False as you are, suppose you were not bound<br> + To lands unknown, and foreign coasts to sound;<br> + Were Troy restor’d, and Priam’s happy reign,<br> + Now durst you tempt, for Troy, the raging main?<br> + See whom you fly! am I the foe you shun?<br> + Now, by those holy vows, so late begun,<br> + By this right hand, (since I have nothing more<br> + To challenge, but the faith you gave before;)<br> + I beg you by these tears too truly shed,<br> + By the new pleasures of our nuptial bed;<br> + If ever Dido, when you most were kind,<br> + Were pleasing in your eyes, or touch’d your mind;<br> + By these my pray’rs, if pray’rs may yet have place,<br> + Pity the fortunes of a falling race.<br> + For you I have provok’d a tyrant’s hate,<br> + Incens’d the Libyan and the Tyrian state;<br> + For you alone I suffer in my fame,<br> + Bereft of honour, and expos’d to shame.<br> + Whom have I now to trust, ungrateful guest?<br> + (That only name remains of all the rest!)<br> + What have I left? or whither can I fly?<br> + Must I attend Pygmalion’s cruelty,<br> + Or till Hyarba shall in triumph lead<br> + A queen that proudly scorn’d his proffer’d bed?<br> + Had you deferr’d, at least, your hasty flight,<br> + And left behind some pledge of our delight,<br> + Some babe to bless the mother’s mournful sight,<br> + Some young Aeneas, to supply your place,<br> + Whose features might express his father’s face;<br> + I should not then complain to live bereft<br> + Of all my husband, or be wholly left.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Here paus’d the queen. Unmov’d he holds his eyes,<br> + By Jove’s command; nor suffer’d love to rise,<br> + Tho’ heaving in his heart; and thus at length replies:<br> + “Fair queen, you never can enough repeat<br> + Your boundless favours, or I own my debt;<br> + Nor can my mind forget Eliza’s name,<br> + While vital breath inspires this mortal frame.<br> + This only let me speak in my defence:<br> + I never hop’d a secret flight from hence,<br> + Much less pretended to the lawful claim<br> + Of sacred nuptials, or a husband’s name.<br> + For, if indulgent Heav’n would leave me free,<br> + And not submit my life to fate’s decree,<br> + My choice would lead me to the Trojan shore,<br> + Those relics to review, their dust adore,<br> + And Priam’s ruin’d palace to restore.<br> + But now the Delphian oracle commands,<br> + And fate invites me to the Latian lands.<br> + That is the promis’d place to which I steer,<br> + And all my vows are terminated there.<br> + If you, a Tyrian, and a stranger born,<br> + With walls and tow’rs a Libyan town adorn,<br> + Why may not we, like you, a foreign race,<br> + Like you, seek shelter in a foreign place?<br> + As often as the night obscures the skies<br> + With humid shades, or twinkling stars arise,<br> + Anchises’ angry ghost in dreams appears,<br> + Chides my delay, and fills my soul with fears;<br> + And young Ascanius justly may complain<br> + Of his defrauded and destin’d reign.<br> + Ev’n now the herald of the gods appear’d:<br> + Waking I saw him, and his message heard.<br> + From Jove he came commission’d, heav’nly bright<br> + With radiant beams, and manifest to sight<br> + (The sender and the sent I both attest)<br> + These walls he enter’d, and those words express’d.<br> + Fair queen, oppose not what the gods command;<br> + Forc’d by my fate, I leave your happy land.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus while he spoke, already she began,<br> + With sparkling eyes, to view the guilty man;<br> + From head to foot survey’d his person o’er,<br> + Nor longer these outrageous threats forebore:<br> + “False as thou art, and, more than false, forsworn!<br> + Not sprung from noble blood, nor goddess-born,<br> + But hewn from harden’d entrails of a rock!<br> + And rough Hyrcanian tigers gave thee suck!<br> + Why should I fawn? what have I worse to fear?<br> + Did he once look, or lent a list’ning ear,<br> + Sigh’d when I sobb’d, or shed one kindly tear?<br> + All symptoms of a base ungrateful mind,<br> + So foul, that, which is worse, ’tis hard to find.<br> + Of man’s injustice why should I complain?<br> + The gods, and Jove himself, behold in vain<br> + Triumphant treason; yet no thunder flies,<br> + Nor Juno views my wrongs with equal eyes;<br> + Faithless is earth, and faithless are the skies!<br> + Justice is fled, and Truth is now no more!<br> + I sav’d the shipwreck’d exile on my shore;<br> + With needful food his hungry Trojans fed;<br> + I took the traitor to my throne and bed:<br> + Fool that I was—— ’tis little to repeat<br> + The rest, I stor’d and rigg’d his ruin’d fleet.<br> + I rave, I rave! A god’s command he pleads,<br> + And makes Heav’n accessary to his deeds.<br> + Now Lycian lots, and now the Delian god,<br> + Now Hermes is employ’d from Jove’s abode,<br> + To warn him hence; as if the peaceful state<br> + Of heav’nly pow’rs were touch’d with human fate!<br> + But go! thy flight no longer I detain;<br> + Go seek thy promis’d kingdom thro’ the main!<br> + Yet, if the heav’ns will hear my pious vow,<br> + The faithless waves, not half so false as thou,<br> + Or secret sands, shall sepulchers afford<br> + To thy proud vessels, and their perjur’d lord.<br> + Then shalt thou call on injur’d Dido’s name:<br> + Dido shall come in a black sulph’ry flame,<br> + When death has once dissolv’d her mortal frame;<br> + Shall smile to see the traitor vainly weep:<br> + Her angry ghost, arising from the deep,<br> + Shall haunt thee waking, and disturb thy sleep.<br> + At least my shade thy punishment shall know,<br> + And Fame shall spread the pleasing news below.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Abruptly here she stops; then turns away<br> + Her loathing eyes, and shuns the sight of day.<br> + Amaz’d he stood, revolving in his mind<br> + What speech to frame, and what excuse to find.<br> + Her fearful maids their fainting mistress led,<br> + And softly laid her on her ivory bed.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + But good Aeneas, tho’ he much desir’d<br> + To give that pity which her grief requir’d;<br> + Tho’ much he mourn’d, and labour’d with his love,<br> + Resolv’d at length, obeys the will of Jove;<br> + Reviews his forces: they with early care<br> + Unmoor their vessels, and for sea prepare.<br> + The fleet is soon afloat, in all its pride,<br> + And well-calk’d galleys in the harbour ride.<br> + Then oaks for oars they fell’d; or, as they stood,<br> + Of its green arms despoil’d the growing wood,<br> + Studious of flight. The beach is cover’d o’er<br> + With Trojan bands, that blacken all the shore:<br> + On ev’ry side are seen, descending down,<br> + Thick swarms of soldiers, loaden from the town.<br> + Thus, in battalia, march embodied ants,<br> + Fearful of winter, and of future wants,<br> + T’ invade the corn, and to their cells convey<br> + The plunder’d forage of their yellow prey.<br> + The sable troops, along the narrow tracks,<br> + Scarce bear the weighty burthen on their backs:<br> + Some set their shoulders to the pond’rous grain;<br> + Some guard the spoil; some lash the lagging train;<br> + All ply their sev’ral tasks, and equal toil sustain.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + What pangs the tender breast of Dido tore,<br> + When, from the tow’r, she saw the cover’d shore,<br> + And heard the shouts of sailors from afar,<br> + Mix’d with the murmurs of the wat’ry war!<br> + All-pow’rful Love! what changes canst thou cause<br> + In human hearts, subjected to thy laws!<br> + Once more her haughty soul the tyrant bends:<br> + To pray’rs and mean submissions she descends.<br> + No female arts or aids she left untried,<br> + Nor counsels unexplor’d, before she died.<br> + “Look, Anna! look! the Trojans crowd to sea;<br> + They spread their canvas, and their anchors weigh.<br> + The shouting crew their ships with garlands bind,<br> + Invoke the sea gods, and invite the wind.<br> + Could I have thought this threat’ning blow so near,<br> + My tender soul had been forewarn’d to bear.<br> + But do not you my last request deny;<br> + With yon perfidious man your int’rest try,<br> + And bring me news, if I must live or die.<br> + You are his fav’rite; you alone can find<br> + The dark recesses of his inmost mind:<br> + In all his trusted secrets you have part,<br> + And know the soft approaches to his heart.<br> + Haste then, and humbly seek my haughty foe;<br> + Tell him, I did not with the Grecians go,<br> + Nor did my fleet against his friends employ,<br> + Nor swore the ruin of unhappy Troy,<br> + Nor mov’d with hands profane his father’s dust:<br> + Why should he then reject a suit so just!<br> + Whom does he shun, and whither would he fly!<br> + Can he this last, this only pray’r deny!<br> + Let him at least his dang’rous flight delay,<br> + Wait better winds, and hope a calmer sea.<br> + The nuptials he disclaims I urge no more:<br> + Let him pursue the promis’d Latian shore.<br> + A short delay is all I ask him now;<br> + A pause of grief, an interval from woe,<br> + Till my soft soul be temper’d to sustain<br> + Accustom’d sorrows, and inur’d to pain.<br> + If you in pity grant this one request,<br> + My death shall glut the hatred of his breast.”<br> + This mournful message pious Anna bears,<br> + And seconds with her own her sister’s tears:<br> + But all her arts are still employ’d in vain;<br> + Again she comes, and is refus’d again.<br> + His harden’d heart nor pray’rs nor threat’nings move;<br> + Fate, and the god, had stopp’d his ears to love.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + As, when the winds their airy quarrel try,<br> + Justling from ev’ry quarter of the sky,<br> + This way and that the mountain oak they bend,<br> + His boughs they shatter, and his branches rend;<br> + With leaves and falling mast they spread the ground;<br> + The hollow valleys echo to the sound:<br> + Unmov’d, the royal plant their fury mocks,<br> + Or, shaken, clings more closely to the rocks;<br> + Far as he shoots his tow’ring head on high,<br> + So deep in earth his fix’d foundations lie.<br> + No less a storm the Trojan hero bears;<br> + Thick messages and loud complaints he hears,<br> + And bandied words, still beating on his ears.<br> + Sighs, groans, and tears proclaim his inward pains;<br> + But the firm purpose of his heart remains.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The wretched queen, pursued by cruel fate,<br> + Begins at length the light of heav’n to hate,<br> + And loathes to live. Then dire portents she sees,<br> + To hasten on the death her soul decrees:<br> + Strange to relate! for when, before the shrine,<br> + She pours in sacrifice the purple wine,<br> + The purple wine is turn’d to putrid blood,<br> + And the white offer’d milk converts to mud.<br> + This dire presage, to her alone reveal’d,<br> + From all, and ev’n her sister, she conceal’d.<br> + A marble temple stood within the grove,<br> + Sacred to death, and to her murder’d love;<br> + That honour’d chapel she had hung around<br> + With snowy fleeces, and with garlands crown’d:<br> + Oft, when she visited this lonely dome,<br> + Strange voices issued from her husband’s tomb;<br> + She thought she heard him summon her away,<br> + Invite her to his grave, and chide her stay.<br> + Hourly ’tis heard, when with a boding note<br> + The solitary screech owl strains her throat,<br> + And, on a chimney’s top, or turret’s height,<br> + With songs obscene disturbs the silence of the night.<br> + Besides, old prophecies augment her fears;<br> + And stern Aeneas in her dreams appears,<br> + Disdainful as by day: she seems, alone,<br> + To wander in her sleep, thro’ ways unknown,<br> + Guideless and dark; or, in a desert plain,<br> + To seek her subjects, and to seek in vain:<br> + Like Pentheus, when, distracted with his fear,<br> + He saw two suns, and double Thebes, appear;<br> + Or mad Orestes, when his mother’s ghost<br> + Full in his face infernal torches toss’d,<br> + And shook her snaky locks: he shuns the sight,<br> + Flies o’er the stage, surpris’d with mortal fright;<br> + The Furies guard the door and intercept his flight.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now, sinking underneath a load of grief,<br> + From death alone she seeks her last relief;<br> + The time and means resolv’d within her breast,<br> + She to her mournful sister thus address’d<br> + (Dissembling hope, her cloudy front she clears,<br> + And a false vigour in her eyes appears):<br> + “Rejoice!” she said. “Instructed from above,<br> + My lover I shall gain, or lose my love.<br> + Nigh rising Atlas, next the falling sun,<br> + Long tracts of Ethiopian climates run:<br> + There a Massylian priestess I have found,<br> + Honour’d for age, for magic arts renown’d:<br> + Th’ Hesperian temple was her trusted care;<br> + ’Twas she supplied the wakeful dragon’s fare.<br> + She poppy seeds in honey taught to steep,<br> + Reclaim’d his rage, and sooth’d him into sleep.<br> + She watch’d the golden fruit; her charms unbind<br> + The chains of love, or fix them on the mind:<br> + She stops the torrents, leaves the channel dry,<br> + Repels the stars, and backward bears the sky.<br> + The yawning earth rebellows to her call,<br> + Pale ghosts ascend, and mountain ashes fall.<br> + Witness, ye gods, and thou my better part,<br> + How loth I am to try this impious art!<br> + Within the secret court, with silent care,<br> + Erect a lofty pile, expos’d in air:<br> + Hang on the topmost part the Trojan vest,<br> + Spoils, arms, and presents, of my faithless guest.<br> + Next, under these, the bridal bed be plac’d,<br> + Where I my ruin in his arms embrac’d:<br> + All relics of the wretch are doom’d to fire;<br> + For so the priestess and her charms require.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus far she said, and farther speech forbears;<br> + A mortal paleness in her face appears:<br> + Yet the mistrustless Anna could not find<br> + The secret fun’ral in these rites design’d;<br> + Nor thought so dire a rage possess’d her mind.<br> + Unknowing of a train conceal’d so well,<br> + She fear’d no worse than when Sichaeus fell;<br> + Therefore obeys. The fatal pile they rear,<br> + Within the secret court, expos’d in air.<br> + The cloven holms and pines are heap’d on high,<br> + And garlands on the hollow spaces lie.<br> + Sad cypress, vervain, yew, compose the wreath,<br> + And ev’ry baleful green denoting death.<br> + The queen, determin’d to the fatal deed,<br> + The spoils and sword he left, in order spread,<br> + And the man’s image on the nuptial bed.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + And now (the sacred altars plac’d around)<br> + The priestess enters, with her hair unbound,<br> + And thrice invokes the pow’rs below the ground.<br> + Night, Erebus, and Chaos she proclaims,<br> + And threefold Hecate, with her hundred names,<br> + And three Dianas: next, she sprinkles round<br> + With feign’d Avernian drops the hallow’d ground;<br> + Culls hoary simples, found by Phoebe’s light,<br> + With brazen sickles reap’d at noon of night;<br> + Then mixes baleful juices in the bowl,<br> + And cuts the forehead of a newborn foal,<br> + Robbing the mother’s love. The destin’d queen<br> + Observes, assisting at the rites obscene;<br> + A leaven’d cake in her devoted hands<br> + She holds, and next the highest altar stands:<br> + One tender foot was shod, her other bare;<br> + Girt was her gather’d gown, and loose her hair.<br> + Thus dress’d, she summon’d, with her dying breath,<br> + The heav’ns and planets conscious of her death,<br> + And ev’ry pow’r, if any rules above,<br> + Who minds, or who revenges, injur’d love.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “’Twas dead of night, when weary bodies close<br> + Their eyes in balmy sleep and soft repose:<br> + The winds no longer whisper thro’ the woods,<br> + Nor murm’ring tides disturb the gentle floods.<br> + The stars in silent order mov’d around;<br> + And Peace, with downy wings, was brooding on the ground<br> + The flocks and herds, and party-colour’d fowl,<br> + Which haunt the woods, or swim the weedy pool,<br> + Stretch’d on the quiet earth, securely lay,<br> + Forgetting the past labours of the day.<br> + All else of nature’s common gift partake:<br> + Unhappy Dido was alone awake.<br> + Nor sleep nor ease the furious queen can find;<br> + Sleep fled her eyes, as quiet fled her mind.<br> + Despair, and rage, and love divide her heart;<br> + Despair and rage had some, but love the greater part.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then thus she said within her secret mind:<br> + “What shall I do? what succour can I find?<br> + Become a suppliant to Hyarba’s pride,<br> + And take my turn, to court and be denied?<br> + Shall I with this ungrateful Trojan go,<br> + Forsake an empire, and attend a foe?<br> + Himself I refug’d, and his train reliev’d;<br> + ’Tis true; but am I sure to be receiv’d?<br> + Can gratitude in Trojan souls have place!<br> + Laomedon still lives in all his race!<br> + Then, shall I seek alone the churlish crew,<br> + Or with my fleet their flying sails pursue?<br> + What force have I but those whom scarce before<br> + I drew reluctant from their native shore?<br> + Will they again embark at my desire,<br> + Once more sustain the seas, and quit their second Tyre?<br> + Rather with steel thy guilty breast invade,<br> + And take the fortune thou thyself hast made.<br> + Your pity, sister, first seduc’d my mind,<br> + Or seconded too well what I design’d.<br> + These dear-bought pleasures had I never known,<br> + Had I continued free, and still my own;<br> + Avoiding love, I had not found despair,<br> + But shar’d with salvage beasts the common air.<br> + Like them, a lonely life I might have led,<br> + Not mourn’d the living, nor disturb’d the dead.”<br> + These thoughts she brooded in her anxious breast.<br> + On board, the Trojan found more easy rest.<br> + Resolv’d to sail, in sleep he pass’d the night;<br> + And order’d all things for his early flight.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + To whom once more the winged god appears;<br> + His former youthful mien and shape he wears,<br> + And with this new alarm invades his ears:<br> + “Sleep’st thou, O goddess-born! and canst thou drown<br> + Thy needful cares, so near a hostile town,<br> + Beset with foes; nor hear’st the western gales<br> + Invite thy passage, and inspire thy sails?<br> + She harbours in her heart a furious hate,<br> + And thou shalt find the dire effects too late;<br> + Fix’d on revenge, and obstinate to die.<br> + Haste swiftly hence, while thou hast pow’r to fly.<br> + The sea with ships will soon be cover’d o’er,<br> + And blazing firebrands kindle all the shore.<br> + Prevent her rage, while night obscures the skies,<br> + And sail before the purple morn arise.<br> + Who knows what hazards thy delay may bring?<br> + Woman’s a various and a changeful thing.”<br> + Thus Hermes in the dream; then took his flight<br> + Aloft in air unseen, and mix’d with night.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Twice warn’d by the celestial messenger,<br> + The pious prince arose with hasty fear;<br> + Then rous’d his drowsy train without delay:<br> + “Haste to your banks; your crooked anchors weigh,<br> + And spread your flying sails, and stand to sea.<br> + A god commands: he stood before my sight,<br> + And urg’d us once again to speedy flight.<br> + O sacred pow’r, what pow’r soe’er thou art,<br> + To thy blest orders I resign my heart.<br> + Lead thou the way; protect thy Trojan bands,<br> + And prosper the design thy will commands.”<br> + He said: and, drawing forth his flaming sword,<br> + His thund’ring arm divides the many-twisted cord.<br> + An emulating zeal inspires his train:<br> + They run; they snatch; they rush into the main.<br> + With headlong haste they leave the desert shores,<br> + And brush the liquid seas with lab’ring oars.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Aurora now had left her saffron bed,<br> + And beams of early light the heav’ns o’erspread,<br> + When, from a tow’r, the queen, with wakeful eyes,<br> + Saw day point upward from the rosy skies.<br> + She look’d to seaward; but the sea was void,<br> + And scarce in ken the sailing ships descried.<br> + Stung with despite, and furious with despair,<br> + She struck her trembling breast, and tore her hair.<br> + “And shall th’ ungrateful traitor go,” she said,<br> + “My land forsaken, and my love betray’d?<br> + Shall we not arm? not rush from ev’ry street,<br> + To follow, sink, and burn his perjur’d fleet?<br> + Haste, haul my galleys out! pursue the foe!<br> + Bring flaming brands! set sail, and swiftly row!<br> + What have I said? where am I? Fury turns<br> + My brain; and my distemper’d bosom burns.<br> + Then, when I gave my person and my throne,<br> + This hate, this rage, had been more timely shown.<br> + See now the promis’d faith, the vaunted name,<br> + The pious man, who, rushing thro’ the flame,<br> + Preserv’d his gods, and to the Phrygian shore<br> + The burthen of his feeble father bore!<br> + I should have torn him piecemeal; strow’d in floods<br> + His scatter’d limbs, or left expos’d in woods;<br> + Destroy’d his friends and son; and, from the fire,<br> + Have set the reeking boy before the sire.<br> + Events are doubtful, which on battles wait:<br> + Yet where’s the doubt, to souls secure of fate?<br> + My Tyrians, at their injur’d queen’s command,<br> + Had toss’d their fires amid the Trojan band;<br> + At once extinguish’d all the faithless name;<br> + And I myself, in vengeance of my shame,<br> + Had fall’n upon the pile, to mend the fun’ral flame.<br> + Thou Sun, who view’st at once the world below;<br> + Thou Juno, guardian of the nuptial vow;<br> + Thou Hecate hearken from thy dark abodes!<br> + Ye Furies, fiends, and violated gods,<br> + All pow’rs invok’d with Dido’s dying breath,<br> + Attend her curses and avenge her death!<br> + If so the Fates ordain, Jove commands,<br> + Th’ ungrateful wretch should find the Latian lands,<br> + Yet let a race untam’d, and haughty foes,<br> + His peaceful entrance with dire arms oppose:<br> + Oppress’d with numbers in th’ unequal field,<br> + His men discourag’d, and himself expell’d,<br> + Let him for succour sue from place to place,<br> + Torn from his subjects, and his son’s embrace.<br> + First, let him see his friends in battle slain,<br> + And their untimely fate lament in vain;<br> + And when, at length, the cruel war shall cease,<br> + On hard conditions may he buy his peace:<br> + Nor let him then enjoy supreme command;<br> + But fall, untimely, by some hostile hand,<br> + And lie unburied on the barren sand!<br> + These are my pray’rs, and this my dying will;<br> + And you, my Tyrians, ev’ry curse fulfil.<br> + Perpetual hate and mortal wars proclaim,<br> + Against the prince, the people, and the name.<br> + These grateful off’rings on my grave bestow;<br> + Nor league, nor love, the hostile nations know!<br> + Now, and from hence, in ev’ry future age,<br> + When rage excites your arms, and strength supplies the rage<br> + Rise some avenger of our Libyan blood,<br> + With fire and sword pursue the perjur’d brood;<br> + Our arms, our seas, our shores, oppos’d to theirs;<br> + And the same hate descend on all our heirs!”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + This said, within her anxious mind she weighs<br> + The means of cutting short her odious days.<br> + Then to Sichaeus’ nurse she briefly said<br> + (For, when she left her country, hers was dead):<br> + “Go, Barce, call my sister. Let her care<br> + The solemn rites of sacrifice prepare;<br> + The sheep, and all th’ atoning off’rings bring,<br> + Sprinkling her body from the crystal spring<br> + With living drops; then let her come, and thou<br> + With sacred fillets bind thy hoary brow.<br> + Thus will I pay my vows to Stygian Jove,<br> + And end the cares of my disastrous love;<br> + Then cast the Trojan image on the fire,<br> + And, as that burns, my passions shall expire.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The nurse moves onward, with officious care,<br> + And all the speed her aged limbs can bear.<br> + But furious Dido, with dark thoughts involv’d,<br> + Shook at the mighty mischief she resolv’d.<br> + With livid spots distinguish’d was her face;<br> + Red were her rolling eyes, and discompos’d her pace;<br> + Ghastly she gaz’d, with pain she drew her breath,<br> + And nature shiver’d at approaching death.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then swiftly to the fatal place she pass’d,<br> + And mounts the fun’ral pile with furious haste;<br> + Unsheathes the sword the Trojan left behind<br> + (Not for so dire an enterprise design’d).<br> + But when she view’d the garments loosely spread,<br> + Which once he wore, and saw the conscious bed,<br> + She paus’d, and with a sigh the robes embrac’d;<br> + Then on the couch her trembling body cast,<br> + Repress’d the ready tears, and spoke her last:<br> + “Dear pledges of my love, while Heav’n so pleas’d,<br> + Receive a soul, of mortal anguish eas’d:<br> + My fatal course is finish’d; and I go,<br> + A glorious name, among the ghosts below.<br> + A lofty city by my hands is rais’d,<br> + Pygmalion punish’d, and my lord appeas’d.<br> + What could my fortune have afforded more,<br> + Had the false Trojan never touch’d my shore!”<br> + Then kiss’d the couch; and, “Must I die,” she said,<br> + “And unreveng’d? ’Tis doubly to be dead!<br> + Yet ev’n this death with pleasure I receive:<br> + On any terms, ’tis better than to live.<br> + These flames, from far, may the false Trojan view;<br> + These boding omens his base flight pursue!”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + She said, and struck; deep enter’d in her side<br> + The piercing steel, with reeking purple dyed:<br> + Clogg’d in the wound the cruel weapon stands;<br> + The spouting blood came streaming on her hands.<br> + Her sad attendants saw the deadly stroke,<br> + And with loud cries the sounding palace shook.<br> + Distracted, from the fatal sight they fled,<br> + And thro’ the town the dismal rumour spread.<br> + First from the frighted court the yell began;<br> + Redoubled, thence from house to house it ran:<br> + The groans of men, with shrieks, laments, and cries<br> + Of mixing women, mount the vaulted skies.<br> + Not less the clamour, than if ancient Tyre,<br> + Or the new Carthage, set by foes on fire,<br> + The rolling ruin, with their lov’d abodes,<br> + Involv’d the blazing temples of their gods.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Her sister hears; and, furious with despair,<br> + She beats her breast, and rends her yellow hair,<br> + And, calling on Eliza’s name aloud,<br> + Runs breathless to the place, and breaks the crowd.<br> + “Was all that pomp of woe for this prepar’d;<br> + These fires, this fun’ral pile, these altars rear’d?<br> + Was all this train of plots contriv’d,” said she,<br> + “All only to deceive unhappy me?<br> + Which is the worst? Didst thou in death pretend<br> + To scorn thy sister, or delude thy friend?<br> + Thy summon’d sister, and thy friend, had come;<br> + One sword had serv’d us both, one common tomb:<br> + Was I to raise the pile, the pow’rs invoke,<br> + Not to be present at the fatal stroke?<br> + At once thou hast destroy’d thyself and me,<br> + Thy town, thy senate, and thy colony!<br> + Bring water; bathe the wound; while I in death<br> + Lay close my lips to hers, and catch the flying breath.”<br> + This said, she mounts the pile with eager haste,<br> + And in her arms the gasping queen embrac’d;<br> + Her temples chaf’d; and her own garments tore,<br> + To stanch the streaming blood, and cleanse the gore.<br> + Thrice Dido tried to raise her drooping head,<br> + And, fainting thrice, fell grov’ling on the bed;<br> + Thrice op’d her heavy eyes, and sought the light,<br> + But, having found it, sicken’d at the sight,<br> + And clos’d her lids at last in endless night.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then Juno, grieving that she should sustain<br> + A death so ling’ring, and so full of pain,<br> + Sent Iris down, to free her from the strife<br> + Of lab’ring nature, and dissolve her life.<br> + For since she died, not doom’d by Heav’n’s decree,<br> + Or her own crime, but human casualty,<br> + And rage of love, that plung’d her in despair,<br> + The Sisters had not cut the topmost hair,<br> + Which Proserpine and they can only know;<br> + Nor made her sacred to the shades below.<br> + Downward the various goddess took her flight,<br> + And drew a thousand colours from the light;<br> + Then stood above the dying lover’s head,<br> + And said: “I thus devote thee to the dead.<br> + This off’ring to th’ infernal gods I bear.”<br> + Thus while she spoke, she cut the fatal hair:<br> + The struggling soul was loos’d, and life dissolv’d in air. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="chap05"></a>BOOK V</h2> + + <h5> THE ARGUMENT. </h5> + + <p> + 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. + <br><br> + </p> + + <p class="pfirst"> + <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>eantime the Trojan cuts his wat’ry way,<br> + Fix’d on his voyage, thro’ the curling sea;<br> + Then, casting back his eyes, with dire amaze,<br> + Sees on the Punic shore the mounting blaze.<br> + The cause unknown; yet his presaging mind<br> + The fate of Dido from the fire divin’d;<br> + He knew the stormy souls of womankind,<br> + What secret springs their eager passions move,<br> + How capable of death for injur’d love.<br> + Dire auguries from hence the Trojans draw;<br> + Till neither fires nor shining shores they saw.<br> + Now seas and skies their prospect only bound;<br> + An empty space above, a floating field around.<br> + But soon the heav’ns with shadows were o’erspread;<br> + A swelling cloud hung hov’ring o’er their head:<br> + Livid it look’d, the threat’ning of a storm:<br> + Then night and horror ocean’s face deform.<br> + The pilot, Palinurus, cried aloud:<br> + “What gusts of weather from that gath’ring cloud<br> + My thoughts presage! Ere yet the tempest roars,<br> + Stand to your tackle, mates, and stretch your oars;<br> + Contract your swelling sails, and luff to wind.”<br> + The frighted crew perform the task assign’d.<br> + Then, to his fearless chief: “Not Heav’n,” said he,<br> + “Tho’ Jove himself should promise Italy,<br> + Can stem the torrent of this raging sea.<br> + Mark how the shifting winds from west arise,<br> + And what collected night involves the skies!<br> + Nor can our shaken vessels live at sea,<br> + Much less against the tempest force their way.<br> + ’Tis fate diverts our course, and fate we must obey.<br> + Not far from hence, if I observ’d aright<br> + The southing of the stars, and polar light,<br> + Sicilia lies, whose hospitable shores<br> + In safety we may reach with struggling oars.”<br> + Aeneas then replied: “Too sure I find<br> + We strive in vain against the seas and wind:<br> + Now shift your sails; what place can please me more<br> + Than what you promise, the Sicilian shore,<br> + Whose hallow’d earth Anchises’ bones contains,<br> + And where a prince of Trojan lineage reigns?”<br> + The course resolv’d, before the western wind<br> + They scud amain, and make the port assign’d.<br> + Meantime Acestes, from a lofty stand,<br> + Beheld the fleet descending on the land;<br> + And, not unmindful of his ancient race,<br> + Down from the cliff he ran with eager pace,<br> + And held the hero in a strict embrace.<br> + Of a rough Libyan bear the spoils he wore,<br> + And either hand a pointed jav’lin bore.<br> + His mother was a dame of Dardan blood;<br> + His sire Crinisus, a Sicilian flood.<br> + He welcomes his returning friends ashore<br> + With plenteous country cates and homely store.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now, when the following morn had chas’d away<br> + The flying stars, and light restor’d the day,<br> + Aeneas call’d the Trojan troops around,<br> + And thus bespoke them from a rising ground:<br> + “Offspring of heav’n, divine Dardanian race!<br> + The sun, revolving thro’ th’ ethereal space,<br> + The shining circle of the year has fill’d,<br> + Since first this isle my father’s ashes held:<br> + And now the rising day renews the year;<br> + A day for ever sad, for ever dear.<br> + This would I celebrate with annual games,<br> + With gifts on altars pil’d, and holy flames,<br> + Tho’ banish’d to Gaetulia’s barren sands,<br> + Caught on the Grecian seas, or hostile lands:<br> + But since this happy storm our fleet has driv’n<br> + (Not, as I deem, without the will of Heav’n)<br> + Upon these friendly shores and flow’ry plains,<br> + Which hide Anchises and his blest remains,<br> + Let us with joy perform his honours due,<br> + And pray for prosp’rous winds, our voyage to renew;<br> + Pray, that in towns and temples of our own,<br> + The name of great Anchises may be known,<br> + And yearly games may spread the gods’ renown.<br> + Our sports Acestes, of the Trojan race,<br> + With royal gifts ordain’d, is pleas’d to grace:<br> + Two steers on ev’ry ship the king bestows;<br> + His gods and ours shall share your equal vows.<br> + Besides, if, nine days hence, the rosy morn<br> + Shall with unclouded light the skies adorn,<br> + That day with solemn sports I mean to grace:<br> + Light galleys on the seas shall run a wat’ry race;<br> + Some shall in swiftness for the goal contend,<br> + And others try the twanging bow to bend;<br> + The strong, with iron gauntlets arm’d, shall stand<br> + Oppos’d in combat on the yellow sand.<br> + Let all be present at the games prepar’d,<br> + And joyful victors wait the just reward.<br> + But now assist the rites, with garlands crown’d.”<br> + He said, and first his brows with myrtle bound.<br> + Then Helymus, by his example led,<br> + And old Acestes, each adorn’d his head;<br> + Thus young Ascanius, with a sprightly grace,<br> + His temples tied, and all the Trojan race.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Aeneas then advanc’d amidst the train,<br> + By thousands follow’d thro’ the flow’ry plain,<br> + To great Anchises’ tomb; which when he found,<br> + He pour’d to Bacchus, on the hallow’d ground,<br> + Two bowls of sparkling wine, of milk two more,<br> + And two from offer’d bulls of purple gore,<br> + With roses then the sepulcher he strow’d<br> + And thus his father’s ghost bespoke aloud:<br> + “Hail, O ye holy manes! hail again,<br> + Paternal ashes, now review’d in vain!<br> + The gods permitted not, that you, with me,<br> + Should reach the promis’d shores of Italy,<br> + Or Tiber’s flood, what flood soe’er it be.”<br> + Scarce had he finish’d, when, with speckled pride,<br> + A serpent from the tomb began to glide;<br> + His hugy bulk on sev’n high volumes roll’d;<br> + Blue was his breadth of back, but streak’d with scaly gold:<br> + Thus riding on his curls, he seem’d to pass<br> + A rolling fire along, and singe the grass.<br> + More various colours thro’ his body run,<br> + Than Iris when her bow imbibes the sun.<br> + Betwixt the rising altars, and around,<br> + The sacred monster shot along the ground;<br> + With harmless play amidst the bowls he pass’d,<br> + And with his lolling tongue assay’d the taste:<br> + Thus fed with holy food, the wondrous guest<br> + Within the hollow tomb retir’d to rest.<br> + The pious prince, surpris’d at what he view’d,<br> + The fun’ral honours with more zeal renew’d,<br> + Doubtful if this place’s genius were,<br> + Or guardian of his father’s sepulcher.<br> + Five sheep, according to the rites, he slew;<br> + As many swine, and steers of sable hue;<br> + New gen’rous wine he from the goblets pour’d.<br> + And call’d his father’s ghost, from hell restor’d.<br> + The glad attendants in long order come,<br> + Off’ring their gifts at great Anchises’ tomb:<br> + Some add more oxen: some divide the spoil;<br> + Some place the chargers on the grassy soil;<br> + Some blow the fires, and offered entrails broil.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now came the day desir’d. The skies were bright<br> + With rosy luster of the rising light:<br> + The bord’ring people, rous’d by sounding fame<br> + Of Trojan feasts and great Acestes’ name,<br> + The crowded shore with acclamations fill,<br> + Part to behold, and part to prove their skill.<br> + And first the gifts in public view they place,<br> + Green laurel wreaths, and palm, the victors’ grace:<br> + Within the circle, arms and tripods lie,<br> + Ingots of gold and silver, heap’d on high,<br> + And vests embroider’d, of the Tyrian dye.<br> + The trumpet’s clangour then the feast proclaims,<br> + And all prepare for their appointed games.<br> + Four galleys first, which equal rowers bear,<br> + Advancing, in the wat’ry lists appear.<br> + The speedy Dolphin, that outstrips the wind,<br> + Bore Mnestheus, author of the Memmian kind:<br> + Gyas the vast Chimaera’s bulk commands,<br> + Which rising, like a tow’ring city stands;<br> + Three Trojans tug at ev’ry lab’ring oar;<br> + Three banks in three degrees the sailors bore;<br> + Beneath their sturdy strokes the billows roar.<br> + Sergesthus, who began the Sergian race,<br> + In the great Centaur took the leading place;<br> + Cloanthus on the sea-green Scylla stood,<br> + From whom Cluentius draws his Trojan blood.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Far in the sea, against the foaming shore,<br> + There stands a rock: the raging billows roar<br> + Above his head in storms; but, when ’tis clear,<br> + Uncurl their ridgy backs, and at his foot appear.<br> + In peace below the gentle waters run;<br> + The cormorants above lie basking in the sun.<br> + On this the hero fix’d an oak in sight,<br> + The mark to guide the mariners aright.<br> + To bear with this, the seamen stretch their oars;<br> + Then round the rock they steer, and seek the former shores.<br> + The lots decide their place. Above the rest,<br> + Each leader shining in his Tyrian vest;<br> + The common crew with wreaths of poplar boughs<br> + Their temples crown, and shade their sweaty brows:<br> + Besmear’d with oil, their naked shoulders shine.<br> + All take their seats, and wait the sounding sign:<br> + They gripe their oars; and ev’ry panting breast<br> + Is rais’d by turns with hope, by turns with fear depress’d.<br> + The clangour of the trumpet gives the sign;<br> + At once they start, advancing in a line:<br> + With shouts the sailors rend the starry skies;<br> + Lash’d with their oars, the smoky billows rise;<br> + Sparkles the briny main, and the vex’d ocean fries.<br> + Exact in time, with equal strokes they row:<br> + At once the brushing oars and brazen prow<br> + Dash up the sandy waves, and ope the depths below.<br> + Not fiery coursers, in a chariot race,<br> + Invade the field with half so swift a pace;<br> + Not the fierce driver with more fury lends<br> + The sounding lash, and, ere the stroke descends,<br> + Low to the wheels his pliant body bends.<br> + The partial crowd their hopes and fears divide,<br> + And aid with eager shouts the favour’d side.<br> + Cries, murmurs, clamours, with a mixing sound,<br> + From woods to woods, from hills to hills rebound.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Amidst the loud applauses of the shore,<br> + Gyas outstripp’d the rest, and sprung before:<br> + Cloanthus, better mann’d, pursued him fast,<br> + But his o’er-masted galley check’d his haste.<br> + The Centaur and the Dolphin brush the brine<br> + With equal oars, advancing in a line;<br> + And now the mighty Centaur seems to lead,<br> + And now the speedy Dolphin gets ahead;<br> + Now board to board the rival vessels row,<br> + The billows lave the skies, and ocean groans below.<br> + They reach’d the mark; proud Gyas and his train<br> + In triumph rode, the victors of the main;<br> + But, steering round, he charg’d his pilot stand<br> + More close to shore, and skim along the sand.<br> + “Let others bear to sea!” Menoetes heard;<br> + But secret shelves too cautiously he fear’d,<br> + And, fearing, sought the deep; and still aloof he steer’d.<br> + With louder cries the captain call’d again:<br> + “Bear to the rocky shore, and shun the main.”<br> + He spoke, and, speaking, at his stern he saw<br> + The bold Cloanthus near the shelvings draw.<br> + Betwixt the mark and him the Scylla stood,<br> + And in a closer compass plow’d the flood.<br> + He pass’d the mark; and, wheeling, got before:<br> + Gyas blasphem’d the gods, devoutly swore,<br> + Cried out for anger, and his hair he tore.<br> + Mindless of others’ lives (so high was grown<br> + His rising rage) and careless of his own,<br> + The trembling dotard to the deck he drew;<br> + Then hoisted up, and overboard he threw:<br> + This done, he seiz’d the helm; his fellows cheer’d,<br> + Turn’d short upon the shelfs, and madly steer’d.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Hardly his head the plunging pilot rears,<br> + Clogg’d with his clothes, and cumber’d with his years:<br> + Now dropping wet, he climbs the cliff with pain.<br> + The crowd, that saw him fall and float again,<br> + Shout from the distant shore; and loudly laugh’d,<br> + To see his heaving breast disgorge the briny draught.<br> + The following Centaur, and the Dolphin’s crew,<br> + Their vanish’d hopes of victory renew;<br> + While Gyas lags, they kindle in the race,<br> + To reach the mark. Sergesthus takes the place;<br> + Mnestheus pursues; and while around they wind,<br> + Comes up, not half his galley’s length behind;<br> + Then, on the deck, amidst his mates appear’d,<br> + And thus their drooping courages he cheer’d:<br> + “My friends, and Hector’s followers heretofore,<br> + Exert your vigour; tug the lab’ring oar;<br> + Stretch to your strokes, my still unconquer’d crew,<br> + Whom from the flaming walls of Troy I drew.<br> + In this, our common int’rest, let me find<br> + That strength of hand, that courage of the mind,<br> + As when you stemm’d the strong Malean flood,<br> + And o’er the Syrtes’ broken billows row’d.<br> + I seek not now the foremost palm to gain;<br> + Tho’ yet——But, ah! that haughty wish is vain!<br> + Let those enjoy it whom the gods ordain.<br> + But to be last, the lags of all the race!<br> + Redeem yourselves and me from that disgrace.”<br> + Now, one and all, they tug amain; they row<br> + At the full stretch, and shake the brazen prow.<br> + The sea beneath ’em sinks; their lab’ring sides<br> + Are swell’d, and sweat runs gutt’ring down in tides.<br> + Chance aids their daring with unhop’d success;<br> + Sergesthus, eager with his beak to press<br> + Betwixt the rival galley and the rock,<br> + Shuts up th’ unwieldly Centaur in the lock.<br> + The vessel struck; and, with the dreadful shock,<br> + Her oars she shiver’d, and her head she broke.<br> + The trembling rowers from their banks arise,<br> + And, anxious for themselves, renounce the prize.<br> + With iron poles they heave her off the shores,<br> + And gather from the sea their floating oars.<br> + The crew of Mnestheus, with elated minds,<br> + Urge their success, and call the willing winds;<br> + Then ply their oars, and cut their liquid way<br> + In larger compass on the roomy sea.<br> + As, when the dove her rocky hold forsakes,<br> + Rous’d in a fright, her sounding wings she shakes;<br> + The cavern rings with clatt’ring; out she flies,<br> + And leaves her callow care, and cleaves the skies:<br> + At first she flutters; but at length she springs<br> + To smoother flight, and shoots upon her wings:<br> + So Mnestheus in the Dolphin cuts the sea;<br> + And, flying with a force, that force assists his way.<br> + Sergesthus in the Centaur soon he pass’d,<br> + Wedg’d in the rocky shoals, and sticking fast.<br> + In vain the victor he with cries implores,<br> + And practices to row with shatter’d oars.<br> + Then Mnestheus bears with Gyas, and outflies:<br> + The ship, without a pilot, yields the prize.<br> + Unvanquish’d Scylla now alone remains;<br> + Her he pursues, and all his vigour strains.<br> + Shouts from the fav’ring multitude arise;<br> + Applauding Echo to the shouts replies;<br> + Shouts, wishes, and applause run rattling thro’ the skies.<br> + These clamours with disdain the Scylla heard,<br> + Much grudg’d the praise, but more the robb’d reward:<br> + Resolv’d to hold their own, they mend their pace,<br> + All obstinate to die, or gain the race.<br> + Rais’d with success, the Dolphin swiftly ran;<br> + For they can conquer, who believe they can.<br> + Both urge their oars, and fortune both supplies,<br> + And both perhaps had shar’d an equal prize;<br> + When to the seas Cloanthus holds his hands,<br> + And succour from the wat’ry pow’rs demands:<br> + “Gods of the liquid realms, on which I row!<br> + If, giv’n by you, the laurel bind my brow,<br> + Assist to make me guilty of my vow!<br> + A snow-white bull shall on your shore be slain;<br> + His offer’d entrails cast into the main,<br> + And ruddy wine, from golden goblets thrown,<br> + Your grateful gift and my return shall own.”<br> + The choir of nymphs, and Phorcus, from below,<br> + With virgin Panopea, heard his vow;<br> + And old Portunus, with his breadth of hand,<br> + Push’d on, and sped the galley to the land.<br> + Swift as a shaft, or winged wind, she flies,<br> + And, darting to the port, obtains the prize.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The herald summons all, and then proclaims<br> + Cloanthus conqu’ror of the naval games.<br> + The prince with laurel crowns the victor’s head,<br> + And three fat steers are to his vessel led,<br> + The ship’s reward; with gen’rous wine beside,<br> + And sums of silver, which the crew divide.<br> + The leaders are distinguish’d from the rest;<br> + The victor honour’d with a nobler vest,<br> + Where gold and purple strive in equal rows,<br> + And needlework its happy cost bestows.<br> + There Ganymede is wrought with living art,<br> + Chasing thro’ Ida’s groves the trembling hart:<br> + Breathless he seems, yet eager to pursue;<br> + When from aloft descends, in open view,<br> + The bird of Jove, and, sousing on his prey,<br> + With crooked talons bears the boy away.<br> + In vain, with lifted hands and gazing eyes,<br> + His guards behold him soaring thro’ the skies,<br> + And dogs pursue his flight with imitated cries.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Mnestheus the second victor was declar’d;<br> + And, summon’d there, the second prize he shar’d.<br> + A coat of mail, brave Demoleus bore,<br> + More brave Aeneas from his shoulders tore,<br> + In single combat on the Trojan shore:<br> + This was ordain’d for Mnestheus to possess;<br> + In war for his defence, for ornament in peace.<br> + Rich was the gift, and glorious to behold,<br> + But yet so pond’rous with its plates of gold,<br> + That scarce two servants could the weight sustain;<br> + Yet, loaded thus, Demoleus o’er the plain<br> + Pursued and lightly seiz’d the Trojan train.<br> + The third, succeeding to the last reward,<br> + Two goodly bowls of massy silver shar’d,<br> + With figures prominent, and richly wrought,<br> + And two brass caldrons from Dodona brought.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus all, rewarded by the hero’s hands,<br> + Their conqu’ring temples bound with purple bands;<br> + And now Sergesthus, clearing from the rock,<br> + Brought back his galley shatter’d with the shock.<br> + Forlorn she look’d, without an aiding oar,<br> + And, houted by the vulgar, made to shore.<br> + As when a snake, surpris’d upon the road,<br> + Is crush’d athwart her body by the load<br> + Of heavy wheels; or with a mortal wound<br> + Her belly bruis’d, and trodden to the ground:<br> + In vain, with loosen’d curls, she crawls along;<br> + Yet, fierce above, she brandishes her tongue;<br> + Glares with her eyes, and bristles with her scales;<br> + But, groveling in the dust, her parts unsound she trails:<br> + So slowly to the port the Centaur tends,<br> + But, what she wants in oars, with sails amends.<br> + Yet, for his galley sav’d, the grateful prince<br> + Is pleas’d th’ unhappy chief to recompense.<br> + Pholoe, the Cretan slave, rewards his care,<br> + Beauteous herself, with lovely twins as fair.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + From thence his way the Trojan hero bent<br> + Into the neighb’ring plain, with mountains pent,<br> + Whose sides were shaded with surrounding wood.<br> + Full in the midst of this fair valley stood<br> + A native theatre, which, rising slow<br> + By just degrees, o’erlook’d the ground below.<br> + High on a sylvan throne the leader sate;<br> + A num’rous train attend in solemn state.<br> + Here those that in the rapid course delight,<br> + Desire of honour and the prize invite.<br> + The rival runners without order stand;<br> + The Trojans mix’d with the Sicilian band.<br> + First Nisus, with Euryalus, appears;<br> + Euryalus a boy of blooming years,<br> + With sprightly grace and equal beauty crown’d;<br> + Nisus, for friendship to the youth renown’d.<br> + Diores next, of Priam’s royal race,<br> + Then Salius joined with Patron, took their place;<br> + But Patron in Arcadia had his birth,<br> + And Salius his from Arcananian earth;<br> + Then two Sicilian youths, the names of these,<br> + Swift Helymus, and lovely Panopes:<br> + Both jolly huntsmen, both in forest bred,<br> + And owning old Acestes for their head;<br> + With sev’ral others of ignobler name,<br> + Whom time has not deliver’d o’er to fame.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + To these the hero thus his thoughts explain’d,<br> + In words which gen’ral approbation gain’d:<br> + “One common largess is for all design’d,<br> + The vanquish’d and the victor shall be join’d,<br> + Two darts of polish’d steel and Gnosian wood,<br> + A silver-studded ax alike bestow’d.<br> + The foremost three have olive wreaths decreed:<br> + The first of these obtains a stately steed,<br> + Adorn’d with trappings; and the next in fame,<br> + The quiver of an Amazonian dame,<br> + With feather’d Thracian arrows well supplied:<br> + A golden belt shall gird his manly side,<br> + Which with a sparkling diamond shall be tied.<br> + The third this Grecian helmet shall content.”<br> + He said. To their appointed base they went;<br> + With beating hearts th’ expected sign receive,<br> + And, starting all at once, the barrier leave.<br> + Spread out, as on the winged winds, they flew,<br> + And seiz’d the distant goal with greedy view.<br> + Shot from the crowd, swift Nisus all o’erpass’d;<br> + Nor storms, nor thunder, equal half his haste.<br> + The next, but tho’ the next, yet far disjoin’d,<br> + Came Salius, and Euryalus behind;<br> + Then Helymus, whom young Diores plied,<br> + Step after step, and almost side by side,<br> + His shoulders pressing; and, in longer space,<br> + Had won, or left at least a dubious race.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now, spent, the goal they almost reach at last,<br> + When eager Nisus, hapless in his haste,<br> + Slipp’d first, and, slipping, fell upon the plain,<br> + Soak’d with the blood of oxen newly slain.<br> + The careless victor had not mark’d his way;<br> + But, treading where the treach’rous puddle lay,<br> + His heels flew up; and on the grassy floor<br> + He fell, besmear’d with filth and holy gore.<br> + Not mindless then, Euryalus, of thee,<br> + Nor of the sacred bonds of amity,<br> + He strove th’ immediate rival’s hope to cross,<br> + And caught the foot of Salius as he rose.<br> + So Salius lay extended on the plain;<br> + Euryalus springs out, the prize to gain,<br> + And leaves the crowd: applauding peals attend<br> + The victor to the goal, who vanquish’d by his friend.<br> + Next Helymus; and then Diores came,<br> + By two misfortunes made the third in fame.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + But Salius enters, and, exclaiming loud<br> + For justice, deafens and disturbs the crowd;<br> + Urges his cause may in the court be heard;<br> + And pleads the prize is wrongfully conferr’d.<br> + But favour for Euryalus appears;<br> + His blooming beauty, with his tender tears,<br> + Had brib’d the judges for the promis’d prize.<br> + Besides, Diores fills the court with cries,<br> + Who vainly reaches at the last reward,<br> + If the first palm on Salius be conferr’d.<br> + Then thus the prince: “Let no disputes arise:<br> + Where fortune plac’d it, I award the prize.<br> + But fortune’s errors give me leave to mend,<br> + At least to pity my deserving friend.”<br> + He said, and, from among the spoils, he draws<br> + (Pond’rous with shaggy mane and golden paws)<br> + A lion’s hide: to Salius this he gives.<br> + Nisus with envy sees the gift, and grieves.<br> + “If such rewards to vanquish’d men are due.”<br> + He said, “and falling is to rise by you,<br> + What prize may Nisus from your bounty claim,<br> + Who merited the first rewards and fame?<br> + In falling, both an equal fortune tried;<br> + Would fortune for my fall so well provide!”<br> + With this he pointed to his face, and show’d<br> + His hand and all his habit smear’d with blood.<br> + Th’ indulgent father of the people smil’d,<br> + And caus’d to be produc’d an ample shield,<br> + Of wondrous art, by Didymaon wrought,<br> + Long since from Neptune’s bars in triumph brought.<br> + This giv’n to Nisus, he divides the rest,<br> + And equal justice in his gifts express’d.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The race thus ended, and rewards bestow’d,<br> + Once more the prince bespeaks th’ attentive crowd:<br> + “If there be here, whose dauntless courage dare<br> + In gauntlet fight, with limbs and body bare,<br> + His opposite sustain in open view,<br> + Stand forth the champion, and the games renew.<br> + Two prizes I propose, and thus divide:<br> + A bull with gilded horns, and fillets tied,<br> + Shall be the portion of the conqu’ring chief;<br> + A sword and helm shall cheer the loser’s grief.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then haughty Dares in the lists appears;<br> + Stalking he strides, his head erected bears:<br> + His nervous arms the weighty gauntlet wield,<br> + And loud applauses echo thro’ the field.<br> + Dares alone in combat us’d to stand<br> + The match of mighty Paris, hand to hand;<br> + The same, at Hector’s fun’rals, undertook<br> + Gigantic Butes, of th’ Amycian stock,<br> + And, by the stroke of his resistless hand,<br> + Stretch’d the vast bulk upon the yellow sand.<br> + Such Dares was; and such he strode along,<br> + And drew the wonder of the gazing throng.<br> + His brawny back and ample breast he shows,<br> + His lifted arms around his head he throws,<br> + And deals in whistling air his empty blows.<br> + His match is sought; but, thro’ the trembling band,<br> + Not one dares answer to the proud demand.<br> + Presuming of his force, with sparkling eyes<br> + Already he devours the promis’d prize.<br> + He claims the bull with awless insolence,<br> + And having seiz’d his horns, accosts the prince:<br> + “If none my matchless valour dares oppose,<br> + How long shall Dares wait his dastard foes?<br> + Permit me, chief, permit without delay,<br> + To lead this uncontended gift away.”<br> + The crowd assents, and with redoubled cries<br> + For the proud challenger demands the prize.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Acestes, fir’d with just disdain, to see<br> + The palm usurp’d without a victory,<br> + Reproach’d Entellus thus, who sate beside,<br> + And heard and saw, unmov’d, the Trojan’s pride:<br> + “Once, but in vain, a champion of renown,<br> + So tamely can you bear the ravish’d crown,<br> + A prize in triumph borne before your sight,<br> + And shun, for fear, the danger of the fight?<br> + Where is our Eryx now, the boasted name,<br> + The god who taught your thund’ring arm the game?<br> + Where now your baffled honour? Where the spoil<br> + That fill’d your house, and fame that fill’d our isle?”<br> + Entellus, thus: “My soul is still the same,<br> + Unmov’d with fear, and mov’d with martial fame;<br> + But my chill blood is curdled in my veins,<br> + And scarce the shadow of a man remains.<br> + O could I turn to that fair prime again,<br> + That prime of which this boaster is so vain,<br> + The brave, who this decrepid age defies,<br> + Should feel my force, without the promis’d prize.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + He said; and, rising at the word, he threw<br> + Two pond’rous gauntlets down in open view;<br> + Gauntlets which Eryx wont in fight to wield,<br> + And sheathe his hands with in the listed field.<br> + With fear and wonder seiz’d, the crowd beholds<br> + The gloves of death, with sev’n distinguish’d folds<br> + Of tough bull hides; the space within is spread<br> + With iron, or with loads of heavy lead:<br> + Dares himself was daunted at the sight,<br> + Renounc’d his challenge, and refus’d to fight.<br> + Astonish’d at their weight, the hero stands,<br> + And pois’d the pond’rous engines in his hands.<br> + “What had your wonder,” said Entellus, “been,<br> + Had you the gauntlets of Alcides seen,<br> + Or view’d the stern debate on this unhappy green!<br> + These which I bear your brother Eryx bore,<br> + Still mark’d with batter’d brains and mingled gore.<br> + With these he long sustain’d th’ Herculean arm;<br> + And these I wielded while my blood was warm,<br> + This languish’d frame while better spirits fed,<br> + Ere age unstrung my nerves, or time o’ersnow’d my head.<br> + But if the challenger these arms refuse,<br> + And cannot wield their weight, or dare not use;<br> + If great Aeneas and Acestes join<br> + In his request, these gauntlets I resign;<br> + Let us with equal arms perform the fight,<br> + And let him leave to fear, since I resign my right.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + This said, Entellus for the strife prepares;<br> + Stripp’d of his quilted coat, his body bares;<br> + Compos’d of mighty bones and brawn he stands,<br> + A goodly tow’ring object on the sands.<br> + Then just Aeneas equal arms supplied,<br> + Which round their shoulders to their wrists they tied.<br> + Both on the tiptoe stand, at full extent,<br> + Their arms aloft, their bodies inly bent;<br> + Their heads from aiming blows they bear afar;<br> + With clashing gauntlets then provoke the war.<br> + One on his youth and pliant limbs relies;<br> + One on his sinews and his giant size.<br> + The last is stiff with age, his motion slow;<br> + He heaves for breath, he staggers to and fro,<br> + And clouds of issuing smoke his nostrils loudly blow.<br> + Yet equal in success, they ward, they strike;<br> + Their ways are diff’rent, but their art alike.<br> + Before, behind, the blows are dealt; around<br> + Their hollow sides the rattling thumps resound.<br> + A storm of strokes, well meant, with fury flies,<br> + And errs about their temples, ears, and eyes.<br> + Nor always errs; for oft the gauntlet draws<br> + A sweeping stroke along the crackling jaws.<br> + Heavy with age, Entellus stands his ground,<br> + But with his warping body wards the wound.<br> + His hand and watchful eye keep even pace;<br> + While Dares traverses and shifts his place,<br> + And, like a captain who beleaguers round<br> + Some strong-built castle on a rising ground,<br> + Views all th’ approaches with observing eyes:<br> + This and that other part in vain he tries,<br> + And more on industry than force relies.<br> + With hands on high, Entellus threats the foe;<br> + But Dares watch’d the motion from below,<br> + And slipp’d aside, and shunn’d the long descending blow.<br> + Entellus wastes his forces on the wind,<br> + And, thus deluded of the stroke design’d,<br> + Headlong and heavy fell; his ample breast<br> + And weighty limbs his ancient mother press’d.<br> + So falls a hollow pine, that long had stood<br> + On Ida’s height, or Erymanthus’ wood,<br> + Torn from the roots. The diff’ring nations rise,<br> + And shouts and mingled murmurs rend the skies,<br> + Acestus runs with eager haste, to raise<br> + The fall’n companion of his youthful days.<br> + Dauntless he rose, and to the fight return’d;<br> + With shame his glowing cheeks, his eyes with fury burn’d.<br> + Disdain and conscious virtue fir’d his breast,<br> + And with redoubled force his foe he press’d.<br> + He lays on load with either hand, amain,<br> + And headlong drives the Trojan o’er the plain;<br> + Nor stops, nor stays; nor rest nor breath allows;<br> + But storms of strokes descend about his brows,<br> + A rattling tempest, and a hail of blows.<br> + But now the prince, who saw the wild increase<br> + Of wounds, commands the combatants to cease,<br> + And bounds Entellus’ wrath, and bids the peace.<br> + First to the Trojan, spent with toil, he came,<br> + And sooth’d his sorrow for the suffer’d shame.<br> + “What fury seiz’d my friend? The gods,” said he,<br> + “To him propitious, and averse to thee,<br> + Have giv’n his arm superior force to thine.<br> + ’Tis madness to contend with strength divine.”<br> + The gauntlet fight thus ended, from the shore<br> + His faithful friends unhappy Dares bore:<br> + His mouth and nostrils pour’d a purple flood,<br> + And pounded teeth came rushing with his blood.<br> + Faintly he stagger’d thro’ the hissing throng,<br> + And hung his head, and trail’d his legs along.<br> + The sword and casque are carried by his train;<br> + But with his foe the palm and ox remain.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The champion, then, before Aeneas came,<br> + Proud of his prize, but prouder of his fame:<br> + “O goddess-born, and you, Dardanian host,<br> + Mark with attention, and forgive my boast;<br> + Learn what I was, by what remains; and know<br> + From what impending fate you sav’d my foe.”<br> + Sternly he spoke, and then confronts the bull;<br> + And, on his ample forehead aiming full,<br> + The deadly stroke, descending, pierc’d the skull.<br> + Down drops the beast, nor needs a second wound,<br> + But sprawls in pangs of death, and spurns the ground.<br> + Then, thus: “In Dares’ stead I offer this.<br> + Eryx, accept a nobler sacrifice;<br> + Take the last gift my wither’d arms can yield:<br> + Thy gauntlets I resign, and here renounce the field.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + This done, Aeneas orders, for the close,<br> + The strife of archers with contending bows.<br> + The mast Sergesthus’ shatter’d galley bore<br> + With his own hands he raises on the shore.<br> + A flutt’ring dove upon the top they tie,<br> + The living mark at which their arrows fly.<br> + The rival archers in a line advance,<br> + Their turn of shooting to receive from chance.<br> + A helmet holds their names; the lots are drawn:<br> + On the first scroll was read Hippocoon.<br> + The people shout. Upon the next was found<br> + Young Mnestheus, late with naval honours crown’d.<br> + The third contain’d Eurytion’s noble name,<br> + Thy brother, Pandarus, and next in fame,<br> + Whom Pallas urg’d the treaty to confound,<br> + And send among the Greeks a feather’d wound.<br> + Acestes in the bottom last remain’d,<br> + Whom not his age from youthful sports restrain’d.<br> + Soon all with vigour bend their trusty bows,<br> + And from the quiver each his arrow chose.<br> + Hippocoon’s was the first: with forceful sway<br> + It flew, and, whizzing, cut the liquid way.<br> + Fix’d in the mast the feather’d weapon stands:<br> + The fearful pigeon flutters in her bands,<br> + And the tree trembled, and the shouting cries<br> + Of the pleas’d people rend the vaulted skies.<br> + Then Mnestheus to the head his arrow drove,<br> + With lifted eyes, and took his aim above,<br> + But made a glancing shot, and missed the dove;<br> + Yet miss’d so narrow, that he cut the cord<br> + Which fasten’d by the foot the flitting bird.<br> + The captive thus releas’d, away she flies,<br> + And beats with clapping wings the yielding skies.<br> + His bow already bent, Eurytion stood;<br> + And, having first invok’d his brother god,<br> + His winged shaft with eager haste he sped.<br> + The fatal message reach’d her as she fled:<br> + She leaves her life aloft; she strikes the ground,<br> + And renders back the weapon in the wound.<br> + Acestes, grudging at his lot, remains,<br> + Without a prize to gratify his pains.<br> + Yet, shooting upward, sends his shaft, to show<br> + An archer’s art, and boast his twanging bow.<br> + The feather’d arrow gave a dire portent,<br> + And latter augurs judge from this event.<br> + Chaf’d by the speed, it fir’d; and, as it flew,<br> + A trail of following flames ascending drew:<br> + Kindling they mount, and mark the shiny way;<br> + Across the skies as falling meteors play,<br> + And vanish into wind, or in a blaze decay.<br> + The Trojans and Sicilians wildly stare,<br> + And, trembling, turn their wonder into pray’r.<br> + The Dardan prince put on a smiling face,<br> + And strain’d Acestes with a close embrace;<br> + Then, hon’ring him with gifts above the rest,<br> + Turn’d the bad omen, nor his fears confess’d.<br> + “The gods,” said he, “this miracle have wrought,<br> + And order’d you the prize without the lot.<br> + Accept this goblet, rough with figur’d gold,<br> + Which Thracian Cisseus gave my sire of old:<br> + This pledge of ancient amity receive,<br> + Which to my second sire I justly give.”<br> + He said, and, with the trumpets’ cheerful sound,<br> + Proclaim’d him victor, and with laurel-crown’d.<br> + Nor good Eurytion envied him the prize,<br> + Tho’ he transfix’d the pigeon in the skies.<br> + Who cut the line, with second gifts was grac’d;<br> + The third was his whose arrow pierc’d the mast.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The chief, before the games were wholly done,<br> + Call’d Periphantes, tutor to his son,<br> + And whisper’d thus: “With speed Ascanius find;<br> + And, if his childish troop be ready join’d,<br> + On horseback let him grace his grandsire’s day,<br> + And lead his equals arm’d in just array.”<br> + He said; and, calling out, the cirque he clears.<br> + The crowd withdrawn, an open plain appears.<br> + And now the noble youths, of form divine,<br> + Advance before their fathers, in a line;<br> + The riders grace the steeds; the steeds with glory shine.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus marching on in military pride,<br> + Shouts of applause resound from side to side.<br> + Their casques adorn’d with laurel wreaths they wear,<br> + Each brandishing aloft a cornel spear.<br> + Some at their backs their gilded quivers bore;<br> + Their chains of burnish’d gold hung down before.<br> + Three graceful troops they form’d upon the green;<br> + Three graceful leaders at their head were seen;<br> + Twelve follow’d ev’ry chief, and left a space between.<br> + The first young Priam led; a lovely boy,<br> + Whose grandsire was th’ unhappy king of Troy;<br> + His race in after times was known to fame,<br> + New honours adding to the Latian name;<br> + And well the royal boy his Thracian steed became.<br> + White were the fetlocks of his feet before,<br> + And on his front a snowy star he bore.<br> + Then beauteous Atys, with Iulus bred,<br> + Of equal age, the second squadron led.<br> + The last in order, but the first in place,<br> + First in the lovely features of his face,<br> + Rode fair Ascanius on a fiery steed,<br> + Queen Dido’s gift, and of the Tyrian breed.<br> + Sure coursers for the rest the king ordains,<br> + With golden bits adorn’d, and purple reins.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The pleas’d spectators peals of shouts renew,<br> + And all the parents in the children view;<br> + Their make, their motions, and their sprightly grace,<br> + And hopes and fears alternate in their face.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Th’ unfledg’d commanders and their martial train<br> + First make the circuit of the sandy plain<br> + Around their sires, and, at th’ appointed sign,<br> + Drawn up in beauteous order, form a line.<br> + The second signal sounds, the troop divides<br> + In three distinguish’d parts, with three distinguish’d guides<br> + Again they close, and once again disjoin;<br> + In troop to troop oppos’d, and line to line.<br> + They meet; they wheel; they throw their darts afar<br> + With harmless rage and well-dissembled war.<br> + Then in a round the mingled bodies run:<br> + Flying they follow, and pursuing shun;<br> + Broken, they break; and, rallying, they renew<br> + In other forms the military shew.<br> + At last, in order, undiscern’d they join,<br> + And march together in a friendly line.<br> + And, as the Cretan labyrinth of old,<br> + With wand’ring ways and many a winding fold,<br> + Involv’d the weary feet, without redress,<br> + In a round error, which denied recess;<br> + So fought the Trojan boys in warlike play,<br> + Turn’d and return’d, and still a diff’rent way.<br> + Thus dolphins in the deep each other chase<br> + In circles, when they swim around the wat’ry race.<br> + This game, these carousels, Ascanius taught;<br> + And, building Alba, to the Latins brought;<br> + Shew’d what he learn’d: the Latin sires impart<br> + To their succeeding sons the graceful art;<br> + From these imperial Rome receiv’d the game,<br> + Which Troy, the youths the Trojan troop, they name.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus far the sacred sports they celebrate:<br> + But Fortune soon resum’d her ancient hate;<br> + For, while they pay the dead his annual dues,<br> + Those envied rites Saturnian Juno views;<br> + And sends the goddess of the various bow,<br> + To try new methods of revenge below;<br> + Supplies the winds to wing her airy way,<br> + Where in the port secure the navy lay.<br> + Swiftly fair Iris down her arch descends,<br> + And, undiscern’d, her fatal voyage ends.<br> + She saw the gath’ring crowd; and, gliding thence,<br> + The desert shore, and fleet without defence.<br> + The Trojan matrons, on the sands alone,<br> + With sighs and tears Anchises’ death bemoan;<br> + Then, turning to the sea their weeping eyes,<br> + Their pity to themselves renews their cries.<br> + “Alas!” said one, “what oceans yet remain<br> + For us to sail! what labours to sustain!”<br> + All take the word, and, with a gen’ral groan,<br> + Implore the gods for peace, and places of their own.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The goddess, great in mischief, views their pains,<br> + And in a woman’s form her heav’nly limbs restrains.<br> + In face and shape old Beroe she became,<br> + Doryclus’ wife, a venerable dame,<br> + Once blest with riches, and a mother’s name.<br> + Thus chang’d, amidst the crying crowd she ran,<br> + Mix’d with the matrons, and these words began:<br> + “O wretched we, whom not the Grecian pow’r,<br> + Nor flames, destroy’d, in Troy’s unhappy hour!<br> + O wretched we, reserv’d by cruel fate,<br> + Beyond the ruins of the sinking state!<br> + Now sev’n revolving years are wholly run,<br> + Since this improsp’rous voyage we begun;<br> + Since, toss’d from shores to shores, from lands to lands,<br> + Inhospitable rocks and barren sands,<br> + Wand’ring in exile thro’ the stormy sea,<br> + We search in vain for flying Italy.<br> + Now cast by fortune on this kindred land,<br> + What should our rest and rising walls withstand,<br> + Or hinder here to fix our banish’d band?<br> + O country lost, and gods redeem’d in vain,<br> + If still in endless exile we remain!<br> + Shall we no more the Trojan walls renew,<br> + Or streams of some dissembled Simois view!<br> + Haste, join with me, th’ unhappy fleet consume!<br> + Cassandra bids; and I declare her doom.<br> + In sleep I saw her; she supplied my hands<br> + (For this I more than dreamt) with flaming brands:<br> + ‘With these,’ said she, ‘these wand’ring ships destroy:<br> + These are your fatal seats, and this your Troy.’<br> + Time calls you now; the precious hour employ:<br> + Slack not the good presage, while Heav’n inspires<br> + Our minds to dare, and gives the ready fires.<br> + See! Neptune’s altars minister their brands:<br> + The god is pleas’d; the god supplies our hands.”<br> + Then from the pile a flaming fire she drew,<br> + And, toss’d in air, amidst the galleys threw.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Wrapp’d in amaze, the matrons wildly stare:<br> + Then Pyrgo, reverenc’d for her hoary hair,<br> + Pyrgo, the nurse of Priam’s num’rous race:<br> + “No Beroe this, tho’ she belies her face!<br> + What terrors from her frowning front arise!<br> + Behold a goddess in her ardent eyes!<br> + What rays around her heav’nly face are seen!<br> + Mark her majestic voice, and more than mortal mien!<br> + Beroe but now I left, whom, pin’d with pain,<br> + Her age and anguish from these rites detain,”<br> + She said. The matrons, seiz’d with new amaze,<br> + Roll their malignant eyes, and on the navy gaze.<br> + They fear, and hope, and neither part obey:<br> + They hope the fated land, but fear the fatal way.<br> + The goddess, having done her task below,<br> + Mounts up on equal wings, and bends her painted bow.<br> + Struck with the sight, and seiz’d with rage divine,<br> + The matrons prosecute their mad design:<br> + They shriek aloud; they snatch, with impious hands,<br> + The food of altars; fires and flaming brands.<br> + Green boughs and saplings, mingled in their haste,<br> + And smoking torches, on the ships they cast.<br> + The flame, unstopp’d at first, more fury gains,<br> + And Vulcan rides at large with loosen’d reins:<br> + Triumphant to the painted sterns he soars,<br> + And seizes, in this way, the banks and crackling oars.<br> + Eumelus was the first the news to bear,<br> + While yet they crowd the rural theatre.<br> + Then, what they hear, is witness’d by their eyes:<br> + A storm of sparkles and of flames arise.<br> + Ascanius took th’ alarm, while yet he led<br> + His early warriors on his prancing steed,<br> + And, spurring on, his equals soon o’erpass’d;<br> + Nor could his frighted friends reclaim his haste.<br> + Soon as the royal youth appear’d in view,<br> + He sent his voice before him as he flew:<br> + “What madness moves you, matrons, to destroy<br> + The last remainders of unhappy Troy!<br> + Not hostile fleets, but your own hopes, you burn,<br> + And on your friends your fatal fury turn.<br> + Behold your own Ascanius!” While he said,<br> + He drew his glitt’ring helmet from his head,<br> + In which the youths to sportful arms he led.<br> + By this, Aeneas and his train appear;<br> + And now the women, seiz’d with shame and fear,<br> + Dispers’d, to woods and caverns take their flight,<br> + Abhor their actions, and avoid the light;<br> + Their friends acknowledge, and their error find,<br> + And shake the goddess from their alter’d mind.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Not so the raging fires their fury cease,<br> + But, lurking in the seams, with seeming peace,<br> + Work on their way amid the smould’ring tow,<br> + Sure in destruction, but in motion slow.<br> + The silent plague thro’ the green timber eats,<br> + And vomits out a tardy flame by fits.<br> + Down to the keels, and upward to the sails,<br> + The fire descends, or mounts, but still prevails;<br> + Nor buckets pour’d, nor strength of human hand,<br> + Can the victorious element withstand.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The pious hero rends his robe, and throws<br> + To heav’n his hands, and with his hands his vows.<br> + “O Jove,” he cried, “if pray’rs can yet have place;<br> + If thou abhorr’st not all the Dardan race;<br> + If any spark of pity still remain;<br> + If gods are gods, and not invok’d in vain;<br> + Yet spare the relics of the Trojan train!<br> + Yet from the flames our burning vessels free,<br> + Or let thy fury fall alone on me!<br> + At this devoted head thy thunder throw,<br> + And send the willing sacrifice below!”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Scarce had he said, when southern storms arise:<br> + From pole to pole the forky lightning flies;<br> + Loud rattling shakes the mountains and the plain;<br> + Heav’n bellies downward, and descends in rain.<br> + Whole sheets of water from the clouds are sent,<br> + Which, hissing thro’ the planks, the flames prevent,<br> + And stop the fiery pest. Four ships alone<br> + Burn to the waist, and for the fleet atone.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + But doubtful thoughts the hero’s heart divide;<br> + If he should still in Sicily reside,<br> + Forgetful of his fates, or tempt the main,<br> + In hope the promis’d Italy to gain.<br> + Then Nautes, old and wise, to whom alone<br> + The will of Heav’n by Pallas was foreshown;<br> + Vers’d in portents, experienc’d, and inspir’d<br> + To tell events, and what the fates requir’d;<br> + Thus while he stood, to neither part inclin’d,<br> + With cheerful words reliev’d his lab’ring mind:<br> + “O goddess-born, resign’d in ev’ry state,<br> + With patience bear, with prudence push your fate.<br> + By suff’ring well, our Fortune we subdue;<br> + Fly when she frowns, and, when she calls, pursue.<br> + Your friend Acestes is of Trojan kind;<br> + To him disclose the secrets of your mind:<br> + Trust in his hands your old and useless train;<br> + Too num’rous for the ships which yet remain:<br> + The feeble, old, indulgent of their ease,<br> + The dames who dread the dangers of the seas,<br> + With all the dastard crew, who dare not stand<br> + The shock of battle with your foes by land.<br> + Here you may build a common town for all,<br> + And, from Acestes’ name, Acesta call.”<br> + The reasons, with his friend’s experience join’d,<br> + Encourag’d much, but more disturb’d his mind.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + ’Twas dead of night; when to his slumb’ring eyes<br> + His father’s shade descended from the skies,<br> + And thus he spoke: “O more than vital breath,<br> + Lov’d while I liv’d, and dear ev’n after death;<br> + O son, in various toils and troubles toss’d,<br> + The King of Heav’n employs my careful ghost<br> + On his commands: the god, who sav’d from fire<br> + Your flaming fleet, and heard your just desire.<br> + The wholesome counsel of your friend receive,<br> + And here the coward train and woman leave:<br> + The chosen youth, and those who nobly dare,<br> + Transport, to tempt the dangers of the war.<br> + The stern Italians will their courage try;<br> + Rough are their manners, and their minds are high.<br> + But first to Pluto’s palace you shall go,<br> + And seek my shade among the blest below:<br> + For not with impious ghosts my soul remains,<br> + Nor suffers with the damn’d perpetual pains,<br> + But breathes the living air of soft Elysian plains.<br> + The chaste Sibylla shall your steps convey,<br> + And blood of offer’d victims free the way.<br> + There shall you know what realms the gods assign,<br> + And learn the fates and fortunes of your line.<br> + But now, farewell! I vanish with the night,<br> + And feel the blast of heav’n’s approaching light.”<br> + He said, and mix’d with shades, and took his airy flight.<br> + “Whither so fast?” the filial duty cried;<br> + “And why, ah why, the wish’d embrace denied?”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + He said, and rose; as holy zeal inspires,<br> + He rakes hot embers, and renews the fires;<br> + His country gods and Vesta then adores<br> + With cakes and incense, and their aid implores.<br> + Next, for his friends and royal host he sent,<br> + Reveal’d his vision, and the gods’ intent,<br> + With his own purpose. All, without delay,<br> + The will of Jove, and his desires obey.<br> + They list with women each degenerate name,<br> + Who dares not hazard life for future fame.<br> + These they cashier: the brave remaining few,<br> + Oars, banks, and cables, half consum’d, renew.<br> + The prince designs a city with the plow;<br> + The lots their sev’ral tenements allow.<br> + This part is nam’d from Ilium, that from Troy,<br> + And the new king ascends the throne with joy;<br> + A chosen senate from the people draws;<br> + Appoints the judges, and ordains the laws.<br> + Then, on the top of Eryx, they begin<br> + A rising temple to the Paphian queen.<br> + Anchises, last, is honour’d as a god;<br> + A priest is added, annual gifts bestow’d,<br> + And groves are planted round his blest abode.<br> + Nine days they pass in feasts, their temples crown’d;<br> + And fumes of incense in the fanes abound.<br> + Then from the south arose a gentle breeze<br> + That curl’d the smoothness of the glassy seas;<br> + The rising winds a ruffling gale afford,<br> + And call the merry mariners aboard.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now loud laments along the shores resound,<br> + Of parting friends in close embraces bound.<br> + The trembling women, the degenerate train,<br> + Who shunn’d the frightful dangers of the main,<br> + Ev’n those desire to sail, and take their share<br> + Of the rough passage and the promis’d war:<br> + Whom good Aeneas cheers, and recommends<br> + To their new master’s care his fearful friends.<br> + On Eryx’s altars three fat calves he lays;<br> + A lamb new-fallen to the stormy seas;<br> + Then slips his haulsers, and his anchors weighs.<br> + High on the deck the godlike hero stands,<br> + With olive crown’d, a charger in his hands;<br> + Then cast the reeking entrails in the brine,<br> + And pour’d the sacrifice of purple wine.<br> + Fresh gales arise; with equal strokes they vie,<br> + And brush the buxom seas, and o’er the billows fly.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Meantime the mother goddess, full of fears,<br> + To Neptune thus address’d, with tender tears:<br> + “The pride of Jove’s imperious queen, the rage,<br> + The malice which no suff’rings can assuage,<br> + Compel me to these pray’rs; since neither fate,<br> + Nor time, nor pity, can remove her hate:<br> + Ev’n Jove is thwarted by his haughty wife;<br> + Still vanquish’d, yet she still renews the strife.<br> + As if ’twere little to consume the town<br> + Which aw’d the world, and wore th’ imperial crown,<br> + She prosecutes the ghost of Troy with pains,<br> + And gnaws, ev’n to the bones, the last remains.<br> + Let her the causes of her hatred tell;<br> + But you can witness its effects too well.<br> + You saw the storm she rais’d on Libyan floods,<br> + That mix’d the mounting billows with the clouds;<br> + When, bribing Aeolus, she shook the main,<br> + And mov’d rebellion in your wat’ry reign.<br> + With fury she possess’d the Dardan dames,<br> + To burn their fleet with execrable flames,<br> + And forc’d Aeneas, when his ships were lost,<br> + To leave his foll’wers on a foreign coast.<br> + For what remains, your godhead I implore,<br> + And trust my son to your protecting pow’r.<br> + If neither Jove’s nor Fate’s decree withstand,<br> + Secure his passage to the Latian land.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then thus the mighty Ruler of the Main:<br> + “What may not Venus hope from Neptune’s reign?<br> + My kingdom claims your birth; my late defence<br> + Of your indanger’d fleet may claim your confidence.<br> + Nor less by land than sea my deeds declare<br> + How much your lov’d Aeneas is my care.<br> + Thee, Xanthus, and thee, Simois, I attest.<br> + Your Trojan troops when proud Achilles press’d,<br> + And drove before him headlong on the plain,<br> + And dash’d against the walls the trembling train;<br> + When floods were fill’d with bodies of the slain;<br> + When crimson Xanthus, doubtful of his way,<br> + Stood up on ridges to behold the sea;<br> + New heaps came tumbling in, and chok’d his way;<br> + When your Aeneas fought, but fought with odds<br> + Of force unequal, and unequal gods;<br> + I spread a cloud before the victor’s sight,<br> + Sustain’d the vanquish’d, and secur’d his flight;<br> + Ev’n then secur’d him, when I sought with joy<br> + The vow’d destruction of ungrateful Troy.<br> + My will’s the same: fair goddess, fear no more,<br> + Your fleet shall safely gain the Latian shore;<br> + Their lives are giv’n; one destin’d head alone<br> + Shall perish, and for multitudes atone.”<br> + Thus having arm’d with hopes her anxious mind,<br> + His finny team Saturnian Neptune join’d,<br> + Then adds the foamy bridle to their jaws,<br> + And to the loosen’d reins permits the laws.<br> + High on the waves his azure car he guides;<br> + Its axles thunder, and the sea subsides,<br> + And the smooth ocean rolls her silent tides.<br> + The tempests fly before their father’s face,<br> + Trains of inferior gods his triumph grace,<br> + And monster whales before their master play,<br> + And choirs of Tritons crowd the wat’ry way.<br> + The marshal’d pow’rs in equal troops divide<br> + To right and left; the gods his better side<br> + Inclose, and on the worse the Nymphs and Nereids ride.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now smiling hope, with sweet vicissitude,<br> + Within the hero’s mind his joys renew’d.<br> + He calls to raise the masts, the sheets display;<br> + The cheerful crew with diligence obey;<br> + They scud before the wind, and sail in open sea.<br> + Ahead of all the master pilot steers;<br> + And, as he leads, the following navy veers.<br> + The steeds of Night had travel’d half the sky,<br> + The drowsy rowers on their benches lie,<br> + When the soft God of Sleep, with easy flight,<br> + Descends, and draws behind a trail of light.<br> + Thou, Palinurus, art his destin’d prey;<br> + To thee alone he takes his fatal way.<br> + Dire dreams to thee, and iron sleep, he bears;<br> + And, lighting on thy prow, the form of Phorbas wears.<br> + Then thus the traitor god began his tale:<br> + “The winds, my friend, inspire a pleasing gale;<br> + The ships, without thy care, securely sail.<br> + Now steal an hour of sweet repose; and I<br> + Will take the rudder and thy room supply.”<br> + To whom the yawning pilot, half asleep:<br> + “Me dost thou bid to trust the treach’rous deep,<br> + The harlot smiles of her dissembling face,<br> + And to her faith commit the Trojan race?<br> + Shall I believe the Siren South again,<br> + And, oft betray’d, not know the monster main?”<br> + He said: his fasten’d hands the rudder keep,<br> + And, fix’d on heav’n, his eyes repel invading sleep.<br> + The god was wroth, and at his temples threw<br> + A branch in Lethe dipp’d, and drunk with Stygian dew:<br> + The pilot, vanquish’d by the pow’r divine,<br> + Soon clos’d his swimming eyes, and lay supine.<br> + Scarce were his limbs extended at their length,<br> + The god, insulting with superior strength,<br> + Fell heavy on him, plung’d him in the sea,<br> + And, with the stern, the rudder tore away.<br> + Headlong he fell, and, struggling in the main,<br> + Cried out for helping hands, but cried in vain.<br> + The victor daemon mounts obscure in air,<br> + While the ship sails without the pilot’s care.<br> + On Neptune’s faith the floating fleet relies;<br> + But what the man forsook, the god supplies,<br> + And o’er the dang’rous deep secure the navy flies;<br> + Glides by the Sirens’ cliffs, a shelfy coast,<br> + Long infamous for ships and sailors lost,<br> + And white with bones. Th’ impetuous ocean roars,<br> + And rocks rebellow from the sounding shores.<br> + The watchful hero felt the knocks, and found<br> + The tossing vessel sail’d on shoaly ground.<br> + Sure of his pilot’s loss, he takes himself<br> + The helm, and steers aloof, and shuns the shelf.<br> + Inly he griev’d, and, groaning from the breast,<br> + Deplor’d his death; and thus his pain express’d:<br> + “For faith repos’d on seas, and on the flatt’ring sky,<br> + Thy naked corpse is doom’d on shores unknown to lie.” + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="chap06"></a>BOOK VI</h2> + + <h5> THE ARGUMENT. </h5> + + <p> + 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. + <br><br> + </p> + + <p class="pfirst"> + <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e said, and wept; then spread his sails before<br> + The winds, and reach’d at length the Cumaean shore:<br> + Their anchors dropp’d, his crew the vessels moor.<br> + They turn their heads to sea, their sterns to land,<br> + And greet with greedy joy th’ Italian strand.<br> + Some strike from clashing flints their fiery seed;<br> + Some gather sticks, the kindled flames to feed,<br> + Or search for hollow trees, and fell the woods,<br> + Or trace thro’ valleys the discover’d floods.<br> + Thus, while their sev’ral charges they fulfil,<br> + The pious prince ascends the sacred hill<br> + Where Phoebus is ador’d; and seeks the shade<br> + Which hides from sight his venerable maid.<br> + Deep in a cave the Sibyl makes abode;<br> + Thence full of fate returns, and of the god.<br> + Thro’ Trivia’s grove they walk; and now behold,<br> + And enter now, the temple roof’d with gold.<br> + When Daedalus, to fly the Cretan shore,<br> + His heavy limbs on jointed pinions bore,<br> + (The first who sail’d in air,) ’tis sung by Fame,<br> + To the Cumaean coast at length he came,<br> + And here alighting, built this costly frame.<br> + Inscrib’d to Phoebus, here he hung on high<br> + The steerage of his wings, that cut the sky:<br> + Then o’er the lofty gate his art emboss’d<br> + Androgeos’ death, and off’rings to his ghost;<br> + Sev’n youths from Athens yearly sent, to meet<br> + The fate appointed by revengeful Crete.<br> + And next to those the dreadful urn was plac’d,<br> + In which the destin’d names by lots were cast:<br> + The mournful parents stand around in tears,<br> + And rising Crete against their shore appears.<br> + There too, in living sculpture, might be seen<br> + The mad affection of the Cretan queen;<br> + Then how she cheats her bellowing lover’s eye;<br> + The rushing leap, the doubtful progeny,<br> + The lower part a beast, a man above,<br> + The monument of their polluted love.<br> + Not far from thence he grav’d the wondrous maze,<br> + A thousand doors, a thousand winding ways:<br> + Here dwells the monster, hid from human view,<br> + Not to be found, but by the faithful clue;<br> + Till the kind artist, mov’d with pious grief,<br> + Lent to the loving maid this last relief,<br> + And all those erring paths describ’d so well<br> + That Theseus conquer’d and the monster fell.<br> + Here hapless Icarus had found his part,<br> + Had not the father’s grief restrain’d his art.<br> + He twice assay’d to cast his son in gold;<br> + Twice from his hands he dropp’d the forming mould.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + All this with wond’ring eyes Aeneas view’d;<br> + Each varying object his delight renew’d:<br> + Eager to read the rest, Achates came,<br> + And by his side the mad divining dame,<br> + The priestess of the god, Deiphobe her name.<br> + “Time suffers not,” she said, “to feed your eyes<br> + With empty pleasures; haste the sacrifice.<br> + Sev’n bullocks, yet unyok’d, for Phoebus choose,<br> + And for Diana sev’n unspotted ewes.”<br> + This said, the servants urge the sacred rites,<br> + While to the temple she the prince invites.<br> + A spacious cave, within its farmost part,<br> + Was hew’d and fashion’d by laborious art<br> + Thro’ the hill’s hollow sides: before the place,<br> + A hundred doors a hundred entries grace;<br> + As many voices issue, and the sound<br> + Of Sybil’s words as many times rebound.<br> + Now to the mouth they come. Aloud she cries:<br> + “This is the time; enquire your destinies.<br> + He comes; behold the god!” Thus while she said,<br> + (And shiv’ring at the sacred entry stay’d,)<br> + Her colour chang’d; her face was not the same,<br> + And hollow groans from her deep spirit came.<br> + Her hair stood up; convulsive rage possess’d<br> + Her trembling limbs, and heav’d her lab’ring breast.<br> + Greater than humankind she seem’d to look,<br> + And with an accent more than mortal spoke.<br> + Her staring eyes with sparkling fury roll;<br> + When all the god came rushing on her soul.<br> + Swiftly she turn’d, and, foaming as she spoke:<br> + “Why this delay?” she cried; “the pow’rs invoke!<br> + Thy pray’rs alone can open this abode;<br> + Else vain are my demands, and dumb the god.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + She said no more. The trembling Trojans hear,<br> + O’erspread with a damp sweat and holy fear.<br> + The prince himself, with awful dread possess’d,<br> + His vows to great Apollo thus address’d:<br> + “Indulgent god, propitious pow’r to Troy,<br> + Swift to relieve, unwilling to destroy,<br> + Directed by whose hand the Dardan dart<br> + Pierc’d the proud Grecian’s only mortal part:<br> + Thus far, by fate’s decrees and thy commands,<br> + Thro’ ambient seas and thro’ devouring sands,<br> + Our exil’d crew has sought th’ Ausonian ground;<br> + And now, at length, the flying coast is found.<br> + Thus far the fate of Troy, from place to place,<br> + With fury has pursued her wand’ring race.<br> + Here cease, ye pow’rs, and let your vengeance end:<br> + Troy is no more, and can no more offend.<br> + And thou, O sacred maid, inspir’d to see<br> + Th’ event of things in dark futurity;<br> + Give me what Heav’n has promis’d to my fate,<br> + To conquer and command the Latian state;<br> + To fix my wand’ring gods, and find a place<br> + For the long exiles of the Trojan race.<br> + Then shall my grateful hands a temple rear<br> + To the twin gods, with vows and solemn pray’r;<br> + And annual rites, and festivals, and games,<br> + Shall be perform’d to their auspicious names.<br> + Nor shalt thou want thy honours in my land;<br> + For there thy faithful oracles shall stand,<br> + Preserv’d in shrines; and ev’ry sacred lay,<br> + Which, by thy mouth, Apollo shall convey:<br> + All shall be treasur’d by a chosen train<br> + Of holy priests, and ever shall remain.<br> + But O! commit not thy prophetic mind<br> + To flitting leaves, the sport of ev’ry wind,<br> + Lest they disperse in air our empty fate;<br> + Write not, but, what the pow’rs ordain, relate.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Struggling in vain, impatient of her load,<br> + And lab’ring underneath the pond’rous god,<br> + The more she strove to shake him from her breast,<br> + With more and far superior force he press’d;<br> + Commands his entrance, and, without control,<br> + Usurps her organs and inspires her soul.<br> + Now, with a furious blast, the hundred doors<br> + Ope of themselves; a rushing whirlwind roars<br> + Within the cave, and Sibyl’s voice restores:<br> + “Escap’d the dangers of the wat’ry reign,<br> + Yet more and greater ills by land remain.<br> + The coast, so long desir’d (nor doubt th’ event),<br> + Thy troops shall reach, but, having reach’d, repent.<br> + Wars, horrid wars, I view; a field of blood,<br> + And Tiber rolling with a purple flood.<br> + Simois nor Xanthus shall be wanting there:<br> + A new Achilles shall in arms appear,<br> + And he, too, goddess-born. Fierce Juno’s hate,<br> + Added to hostile force, shall urge thy fate.<br> + To what strange nations shalt not thou resort,<br> + Driv’n to solicit aid at ev’ry court!<br> + The cause the same which Ilium once oppress’d;<br> + A foreign mistress, and a foreign guest.<br> + But thou, secure of soul, unbent with woes,<br> + The more thy fortune frowns, the more oppose.<br> + The dawnings of thy safety shall be shown<br> + From whence thou least shalt hope, a Grecian town.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus, from the dark recess, the Sibyl spoke,<br> + And the resisting air the thunder broke;<br> + The cave rebellow’d, and the temple shook.<br> + Th’ ambiguous god, who rul’d her lab’ring breast,<br> + In these mysterious words his mind express’d;<br> + Some truths reveal’d, in terms involv’d the rest.<br> + At length her fury fell, her foaming ceas’d,<br> + And, ebbing in her soul, the god decreas’d.<br> + Then thus the chief: “No terror to my view,<br> + No frightful face of danger can be new.<br> + Inur’d to suffer, and resolv’d to dare,<br> + The Fates, without my pow’r, shall be without my care.<br> + This let me crave, since near your grove the road<br> + To hell lies open, and the dark abode<br> + Which Acheron surrounds, th’ innavigable flood;<br> + Conduct me thro’ the regions void of light,<br> + And lead me longing to my father’s sight.<br> + For him, a thousand dangers I have sought,<br> + And, rushing where the thickest Grecians fought,<br> + Safe on my back the sacred burthen brought.<br> + He, for my sake, the raging ocean tried,<br> + And wrath of Heav’n, my still auspicious guide,<br> + And bore beyond the strength decrepid age supplied.<br> + Oft, since he breath’d his last, in dead of night<br> + His reverend image stood before my sight;<br> + Enjoin’d to seek, below, his holy shade;<br> + Conducted there by your unerring aid.<br> + But you, if pious minds by pray’rs are won,<br> + Oblige the father, and protect the son.<br> + Yours is the pow’r; nor Proserpine in vain<br> + Has made you priestess of her nightly reign.<br> + If Orpheus, arm’d with his enchanting lyre,<br> + The ruthless king with pity could inspire,<br> + And from the shades below redeem his wife;<br> + If Pollux, off’ring his alternate life,<br> + Could free his brother, and can daily go<br> + By turns aloft, by turns descend below:<br> + Why name I Theseus, or his greater friend,<br> + Who trod the downward path, and upward could ascend?<br> + Not less than theirs from Jove my lineage came;<br> + My mother greater, my descent the same.”<br> + So pray’d the Trojan prince, and, while he pray’d,<br> + His hand upon the holy altar laid.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then thus replied the prophetess divine:<br> + “O goddess-born of great Anchises’ line,<br> + The gates of hell are open night and day;<br> + Smooth the descent, and easy is the way:<br> + But to return, and view the cheerful skies,<br> + In this the task and mighty labour lies.<br> + To few great Jupiter imparts this grace,<br> + And those of shining worth and heav’nly race.<br> + Betwixt those regions and our upper light,<br> + Deep forests and impenetrable night<br> + Possess the middle space: th’ infernal bounds<br> + Cocytus, with his sable waves, surrounds.<br> + But if so dire a love your soul invades,<br> + As twice below to view the trembling shades;<br> + If you so hard a toil will undertake,<br> + As twice to pass th’ innavigable lake;<br> + Receive my counsel. In the neighb’ring grove<br> + There stands a tree; the queen of Stygian Jove<br> + Claims it her own; thick woods and gloomy night<br> + Conceal the happy plant from human sight.<br> + One bough it bears; but wondrous to behold!<br> + The ductile rind and leaves of radiant gold:<br> + This from the vulgar branches must be torn,<br> + And to fair Proserpine the present borne,<br> + Ere leave be giv’n to tempt the nether skies.<br> + The first thus rent a second will arise,<br> + And the same metal the same room supplies.<br> + Look round the wood, with lifted eyes, to see<br> + The lurking gold upon the fatal tree:<br> + Then rend it off, as holy rites command;<br> + The willing metal will obey thy hand,<br> + Following with ease, if favour’d by thy fate,<br> + Thou art foredoom’d to view the Stygian state:<br> + If not, no labour can the tree constrain;<br> + And strength of stubborn arms and steel are vain.<br> + Besides, you know not, while you here attend,<br> + Th’ unworthy fate of your unhappy friend:<br> + Breathless he lies; and his unburied ghost,<br> + Depriv’d of fun’ral rites, pollutes your host.<br> + Pay first his pious dues; and, for the dead,<br> + Two sable sheep around his hearse be led;<br> + Then, living turfs upon his body lay:<br> + This done, securely take the destin’d way,<br> + To find the regions destitute of day.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + She said, and held her peace. Aeneas went<br> + Sad from the cave, and full of discontent,<br> + Unknowing whom the sacred Sibyl meant.<br> + Achates, the companion of his breast,<br> + Goes grieving by his side, with equal cares oppress’d.<br> + Walking, they talk’d, and fruitlessly divin’d<br> + What friend the priestess by those words design’d.<br> + But soon they found an object to deplore:<br> + Misenus lay extended on the shore;<br> + Son of the God of Winds: none so renown’d<br> + The warrior trumpet in the field to sound;<br> + With breathing brass to kindle fierce alarms,<br> + And rouse to dare their fate in honourable arms.<br> + He serv’d great Hector, and was ever near,<br> + Not with his trumpet only, but his spear.<br> + But by Pelides’ arms when Hector fell,<br> + He chose Aeneas; and he chose as well.<br> + Swoln with applause, and aiming still at more,<br> + He now provokes the sea gods from the shore;<br> + With envy Triton heard the martial sound,<br> + And the bold champion, for his challenge, drown’d;<br> + Then cast his mangled carcass on the strand:<br> + The gazing crowd around the body stand.<br> + All weep; but most Aeneas mourns his fate,<br> + And hastens to perform the funeral state.<br> + In altar-wise, a stately pile they rear;<br> + The basis broad below, and top advanc’d in air.<br> + An ancient wood, fit for the work design’d,<br> + (The shady covert of the salvage kind,)<br> + The Trojans found: the sounding ax is plied;<br> + Firs, pines, and pitch trees, and the tow’ring pride<br> + Of forest ashes, feel the fatal stroke,<br> + And piercing wedges cleave the stubborn oak.<br> + Huge trunks of trees, fell’d from the steepy crown<br> + Of the bare mountains, roll with ruin down.<br> + Arm’d like the rest the Trojan prince appears,<br> + And by his pious labour urges theirs.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus while he wrought, revolving in his mind<br> + The ways to compass what his wish design’d,<br> + He cast his eyes upon the gloomy grove,<br> + And then with vows implor’d the Queen of Love:<br> + “O may thy pow’r, propitious still to me,<br> + Conduct my steps to find the fatal tree,<br> + In this deep forest; since the Sibyl’s breath<br> + Foretold, alas! too true, Misenus’ death.”<br> + Scarce had he said, when, full before his sight,<br> + Two doves, descending from their airy flight,<br> + Secure upon the grassy plain alight.<br> + He knew his mother’s birds; and thus he pray’d:<br> + “Be you my guides, with your auspicious aid,<br> + And lead my footsteps, till the branch be found,<br> + Whose glitt’ring shadow gilds the sacred ground.<br> + And thou, great parent, with celestial care,<br> + In this distress be present to my pray’r!”<br> + Thus having said, he stopp’d with watchful sight,<br> + Observing still the motions of their flight,<br> + What course they took, what happy signs they shew.<br> + They fed, and, flutt’ring, by degrees withdrew<br> + Still farther from the place, but still in view:<br> + Hopping and flying, thus they led him on<br> + To the slow lake, whose baleful stench to shun<br> + They wing’d their flight aloft; then, stooping low,<br> + Perch’d on the double tree that bears the golden bough.<br> + Thro’ the green leafs the glitt’ring shadows glow;<br> + As, on the sacred oak, the wintry mistletoe,<br> + Where the proud mother views her precious brood,<br> + And happier branches, which she never sow’d.<br> + Such was the glitt’ring; such the ruddy rind,<br> + And dancing leaves, that wanton’d in the wind.<br> + He seiz’d the shining bough with griping hold,<br> + And rent away, with ease, the ling’ring gold;<br> + Then to the Sibyl’s palace bore the prize.<br> + Meantime the Trojan troops, with weeping eyes,<br> + To dead Misenus pay his obsequies.<br> + First, from the ground a lofty pile they rear,<br> + Of pitch trees, oaks, and pines, and unctuous fir:<br> + The fabric’s front with cypress twigs they strew,<br> + And stick the sides with boughs of baleful yew.<br> + The topmost part his glitt’ring arms adorn;<br> + Warm waters, then, in brazen caldrons borne,<br> + Are pour’d to wash his body, joint by joint,<br> + And fragrant oils the stiffen’d limbs anoint.<br> + With groans and cries Misenus they deplore:<br> + Then on a bier, with purple cover’d o’er,<br> + The breathless body, thus bewail’d, they lay,<br> + And fire the pile, their faces turn’d away:<br> + Such reverend rites their fathers us’d to pay.<br> + Pure oil and incense on the fire they throw,<br> + And fat of victims, which his friends bestow.<br> + These gifts the greedy flames to dust devour;<br> + Then on the living coals red wine they pour;<br> + And, last, the relics by themselves dispose,<br> + Which in a brazen urn the priests inclose.<br> + Old Corynaeus compass’d thrice the crew,<br> + And dipp’d an olive branch in holy dew;<br> + Which thrice he sprinkled round, and thrice aloud<br> + Invok’d the dead, and then dismissed the crowd.<br> + But good Aeneas order’d on the shore<br> + A stately tomb, whose top a trumpet bore,<br> + A soldier’s falchion, and a seaman’s oar.<br> + Thus was his friend interr’d; and deathless fame<br> + Still to the lofty cape consigns his name.<br> + These rites perform’d, the prince, without delay,<br> + Hastes to the nether world his destin’d way.<br> + Deep was the cave; and, downward as it went<br> + From the wide mouth, a rocky rough descent;<br> + And here th’ access a gloomy grove defends,<br> + And there th’ unnavigable lake extends,<br> + O’er whose unhappy waters, void of light,<br> + No bird presumes to steer his airy flight;<br> + Such deadly stenches from the depths arise,<br> + And steaming sulphur, that infects the skies.<br> + From hence the Grecian bards their legends make,<br> + And give the name Avernus to the lake.<br> + Four sable bullocks, in the yoke untaught,<br> + For sacrifice the pious hero brought.<br> + The priestess pours the wine betwixt their horns;<br> + Then cuts the curling hair; that first oblation burns,<br> + Invoking Hecate hither to repair:<br> + A pow’rful name in hell and upper air.<br> + The sacred priests with ready knives bereave<br> + The beasts of life, and in full bowls receive<br> + The streaming blood: a lamb to Hell and Night<br> + (The sable wool without a streak of white)<br> + Aeneas offers; and, by fate’s decree,<br> + A barren heifer, Proserpine, to thee,<br> + With holocausts he Pluto’s altar fills;<br> + Sev’n brawny bulls with his own hand he kills;<br> + Then on the broiling entrails oil he pours;<br> + Which, ointed thus, the raging flame devours.<br> + Late the nocturnal sacrifice begun,<br> + Nor ended till the next returning sun.<br> + Then earth began to bellow, trees to dance,<br> + And howling dogs in glimm’ring light advance,<br> + Ere Hecate came. “Far hence be souls profane!”<br> + The Sibyl cried, “and from the grove abstain!<br> + Now, Trojan, take the way thy fates afford;<br> + Assume thy courage, and unsheathe thy sword.”<br> + She said, and pass’d along the gloomy space;<br> + The prince pursued her steps with equal pace.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Ye realms, yet unreveal’d to human sight,<br> + Ye gods who rule the regions of the night,<br> + Ye gliding ghosts, permit me to relate<br> + The mystic wonders of your silent state!<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Obscure they went thro’ dreary shades, that led<br> + Along the waste dominions of the dead.<br> + Thus wander travelers in woods by night,<br> + By the moon’s doubtful and malignant light,<br> + When Jove in dusky clouds involves the skies,<br> + And the faint crescent shoots by fits before their eyes.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Just in the gate and in the jaws of hell,<br> + Revengeful Cares and sullen Sorrows dwell,<br> + And pale Diseases, and repining Age,<br> + Want, Fear, and Famine’s unresisted rage;<br> + Here Toils, and Death, and Death’s half-brother, Sleep,<br> + Forms terrible to view, their sentry keep;<br> + With anxious Pleasures of a guilty mind,<br> + Deep Frauds before, and open Force behind;<br> + The Furies’ iron beds; and Strife, that shakes<br> + Her hissing tresses and unfolds her snakes.<br> + Full in the midst of this infernal road,<br> + An elm displays her dusky arms abroad:<br> + The God of Sleep there hides his heavy head,<br> + And empty dreams on ev’ry leaf are spread.<br> + Of various forms unnumber’d spectres more,<br> + Centaurs, and double shapes, besiege the door.<br> + Before the passage, horrid Hydra stands,<br> + And Briareus with all his hundred hands;<br> + Gorgons, Geryon with his triple frame;<br> + And vain Chimaera vomits empty flame.<br> + The chief unsheath’d his shining steel, prepar’d,<br> + Tho’ seiz’d with sudden fear, to force the guard,<br> + Off’ring his brandish’d weapon at their face;<br> + Had not the Sibyl stopp’d his eager pace,<br> + And told him what those empty phantoms were:<br> + Forms without bodies, and impassive air.<br> + Hence to deep Acheron they take their way,<br> + Whose troubled eddies, thick with ooze and clay,<br> + Are whirl’d aloft, and in Cocytus lost.<br> + There Charon stands, who rules the dreary coast:<br> + A sordid god: down from his hoary chin<br> + A length of beard descends, uncomb’d, unclean;<br> + His eyes, like hollow furnaces on fire;<br> + A girdle, foul with grease, binds his obscene attire.<br> + He spreads his canvas; with his pole he steers;<br> + The freights of flitting ghosts in his thin bottom bears.<br> + He look’d in years; yet in his years were seen<br> + A youthful vigour and autumnal green.<br> + An airy crowd came rushing where he stood,<br> + Which fill’d the margin of the fatal flood:<br> + Husbands and wives, boys and unmarried maids,<br> + And mighty heroes’ more majestic shades,<br> + And youths, intomb’d before their fathers’ eyes,<br> + With hollow groans, and shrieks, and feeble cries.<br> + Thick as the leaves in autumn strow the woods,<br> + Or fowls, by winter forc’d, forsake the floods,<br> + And wing their hasty flight to happier lands;<br> + Such, and so thick, the shiv’ring army stands,<br> + And press for passage with extended hands.<br> + Now these, now those, the surly boatman bore:<br> + The rest he drove to distance from the shore.<br> + The hero, who beheld with wond’ring eyes<br> + The tumult mix’d with shrieks, laments, and cries,<br> + Ask’d of his guide, what the rude concourse meant;<br> + Why to the shore the thronging people bent;<br> + What forms of law among the ghosts were us’d;<br> + Why some were ferried o’er, and some refus’d.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Son of Anchises, offspring of the gods,”<br> + The Sibyl said, “you see the Stygian floods,<br> + The sacred stream which heav’n’s imperial state<br> + Attests in oaths, and fears to violate.<br> + The ghosts rejected are th’ unhappy crew<br> + Depriv’d of sepulchers and fun’ral due:<br> + The boatman, Charon; those, the buried host,<br> + He ferries over to the farther coast;<br> + Nor dares his transport vessel cross the waves<br> + With such whose bones are not compos’d in graves.<br> + A hundred years they wander on the shore;<br> + At length, their penance done, are wafted o’er.”<br> + The Trojan chief his forward pace repress’d,<br> + Revolving anxious thoughts within his breast,<br> + He saw his friends, who, whelm’d beneath the waves,<br> + Their fun’ral honours claim’d, and ask’d their quiet graves.<br> + The lost Leucaspis in the crowd he knew,<br> + And the brave leader of the Lycian crew,<br> + Whom, on the Tyrrhene seas, the tempests met;<br> + The sailors master’d, and the ship o’erset.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Amidst the spirits, Palinurus press’d,<br> + Yet fresh from life, a new-admitted guest,<br> + Who, while he steering view’d the stars, and bore<br> + His course from Afric to the Latian shore,<br> + Fell headlong down. The Trojan fix’d his view,<br> + And scarcely thro’ the gloom the sullen shadow knew.<br> + Then thus the prince: “What envious pow’r, O friend,<br> + Brought your lov’d life to this disastrous end?<br> + For Phoebus, ever true in all he said,<br> + Has in your fate alone my faith betray’d.<br> + The god foretold you should not die, before<br> + You reach’d, secure from seas, th’ Italian shore.<br> + Is this th’ unerring pow’r?” The ghost replied;<br> + “Nor Phoebus flatter’d, nor his answers lied;<br> + Nor envious gods have sent me to the deep:<br> + But, while the stars and course of heav’n I keep,<br> + My wearied eyes were seiz’d with fatal sleep.<br> + I fell; and, with my weight, the helm constrain’d<br> + Was drawn along, which yet my gripe retain’d.<br> + Now by the winds and raging waves I swear,<br> + Your safety, more than mine, was then my care;<br> + Lest, of the guide bereft, the rudder lost,<br> + Your ship should run against the rocky coast.<br> + Three blust’ring nights, borne by the southern blast,<br> + I floated, and discover’d land at last:<br> + High on a mounting wave my head I bore,<br> + Forcing my strength, and gath’ring to the shore.<br> + Panting, but past the danger, now I seiz’d<br> + The craggy cliffs, and my tir’d members eas’d.<br> + While, cumber’d with my dropping clothes, I lay,<br> + The cruel nation, covetous of prey,<br> + Stain’d with my blood th’ unhospitable coast;<br> + And now, by winds and waves, my lifeless limbs are toss’d:<br> + Which O avert, by yon ethereal light,<br> + Which I have lost for this eternal night!<br> + Or, if by dearer ties you may be won,<br> + By your dead sire, and by your living son,<br> + Redeem from this reproach my wand’ring ghost;<br> + Or with your navy seek the Velin coast,<br> + And in a peaceful grave my corpse compose;<br> + Or, if a nearer way your mother shows,<br> + Without whose aid you durst not undertake<br> + This frightful passage o’er the Stygian lake,<br> + Lend to this wretch your hand, and waft him o’er<br> + To the sweet banks of yon forbidden shore.”<br> + Scarce had he said, the prophetess began:<br> + “What hopes delude thee, miserable man?<br> + Think’st thou, thus unintomb’d, to cross the floods,<br> + To view the Furies and infernal gods,<br> + And visit, without leave, the dark abodes?<br> + Attend the term of long revolving years;<br> + Fate, and the dooming gods, are deaf to tears.<br> + This comfort of thy dire misfortune take:<br> + The wrath of Heav’n, inflicted for thy sake,<br> + With vengeance shall pursue th’ inhuman coast,<br> + Till they propitiate thy offended ghost,<br> + And raise a tomb, with vows and solemn pray’r;<br> + And Palinurus’ name the place shall bear.”<br> + This calm’d his cares; sooth’d with his future fame,<br> + And pleas’d to hear his propagated name.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now nearer to the Stygian lake they draw:<br> + Whom, from the shore, the surly boatman saw;<br> + Observ’d their passage thro’ the shady wood,<br> + And mark’d their near approaches to the flood.<br> + Then thus he call’d aloud, inflam’d with wrath:<br> + “Mortal, whate’er, who this forbidden path<br> + In arms presum’st to tread, I charge thee, stand,<br> + And tell thy name, and bus’ness in the land.<br> + Know this, the realm of night; the Stygian shore:<br> + My boat conveys no living bodies o’er;<br> + Nor was I pleas’d great Theseus once to bear,<br> + Who forc’d a passage with his pointed spear,<br> + Nor strong Alcides, men of mighty fame,<br> + And from th’ immortal gods their lineage came.<br> + In fetters one the barking porter tied,<br> + And took him trembling from his sov’reign’s side:<br> + Two sought by force to seize his beauteous bride.”<br> + To whom the Sibyl thus: “Compose thy mind;<br> + Nor frauds are here contriv’d, nor force design’d.<br> + Still may the dog the wand’ring troops constrain<br> + Of airy ghosts, and vex the guilty train,<br> + And with her grisly lord his lovely queen remain.<br> + The Trojan chief, whose lineage is from Jove,<br> + Much fam’d for arms, and more for filial love,<br> + Is sent to seek his sire in your Elysian grove.<br> + If neither piety, nor Heav’n’s command,<br> + Can gain his passage to the Stygian strand,<br> + This fatal present shall prevail at least.”<br> + Then shew’d the shining bough, conceal’d within her vest.<br> + No more was needful: for the gloomy god<br> + Stood mute with awe, to see the golden rod;<br> + Admir’d the destin’d off’ring to his queen;<br> + A venerable gift, so rarely seen.<br> + His fury thus appeas’d, he puts to land;<br> + The ghosts forsake their seats at his command:<br> + He clears the deck, receives the mighty freight;<br> + The leaky vessel groans beneath the weight.<br> + Slowly she sails, and scarcely stems the tides;<br> + The pressing water pours within her sides.<br> + His passengers at length are wafted o’er,<br> + Expos’d, in muddy weeds, upon the miry shore.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + No sooner landed, in his den they found<br> + The triple porter of the Stygian sound,<br> + Grim Cerberus, who soon began to rear<br> + His crested snakes, and arm’d his bristling hair.<br> + The prudent Sibyl had before prepar’d<br> + A sop, in honey steep’d, to charm the guard;<br> + Which, mix’d with pow’rful drugs, she cast before<br> + His greedy grinning jaws, just op’d to roar.<br> + With three enormous mouths he gapes; and straight,<br> + With hunger press’d, devours the pleasing bait.<br> + Long draughts of sleep his monstrous limbs enslave;<br> + He reels, and, falling, fills the spacious cave.<br> + The keeper charm’d, the chief without delay<br> + Pass’d on, and took th’ irremeable way.<br> + Before the gates, the cries of babes new born,<br> + Whom fate had from their tender mothers torn,<br> + Assault his ears: then those, whom form of laws<br> + Condemn’d to die, when traitors judg’d their cause.<br> + Nor want they lots, nor judges to review<br> + The wrongful sentence, and award a new.<br> + Minos, the strict inquisitor, appears;<br> + And lives and crimes, with his assessors, hears.<br> + Round in his urn the blended balls he rolls,<br> + Absolves the just, and dooms the guilty souls.<br> + The next, in place and punishment, are they<br> + Who prodigally throw their souls away;<br> + Fools, who, repining at their wretched state,<br> + And loathing anxious life, suborn’d their fate.<br> + With late repentance now they would retrieve<br> + The bodies they forsook, and wish to live;<br> + Their pains and poverty desire to bear,<br> + To view the light of heav’n, and breathe the vital air:<br> + But fate forbids; the Stygian floods oppose,<br> + And with circling streams the captive souls inclose.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Not far from thence, the Mournful Fields appear<br> + So call’d from lovers that inhabit there.<br> + The souls whom that unhappy flame invades,<br> + In secret solitude and myrtle shades<br> + Make endless moans, and, pining with desire,<br> + Lament too late their unextinguish’d fire.<br> + Here Procris, Eriphyle here he found,<br> + Baring her breast, yet bleeding with the wound<br> + Made by her son. He saw Pasiphae there,<br> + With Phaedra’s ghost, a foul incestuous pair.<br> + There Laodamia, with Evadne, moves,<br> + Unhappy both, but loyal in their loves:<br> + Caeneus, a woman once, and once a man,<br> + But ending in the sex she first began.<br> + Not far from these Phoenician Dido stood,<br> + Fresh from her wound, her bosom bath’d in blood;<br> + Whom when the Trojan hero hardly knew,<br> + Obscure in shades, and with a doubtful view,<br> + (Doubtful as he who sees, thro’ dusky night,<br> + Or thinks he sees, the moon’s uncertain light,)<br> + With tears he first approach’d the sullen shade;<br> + And, as his love inspir’d him, thus he said:<br> + “Unhappy queen! then is the common breath<br> + Of rumour true, in your reported death,<br> + And I, alas! the cause? By Heav’n, I vow,<br> + And all the pow’rs that rule the realms below,<br> + Unwilling I forsook your friendly state,<br> + Commanded by the gods, and forc’d by fate.<br> + Those gods, that fate, whose unresisted might<br> + Have sent me to these regions void of light,<br> + Thro’ the vast empire of eternal night.<br> + Nor dar’d I to presume, that, press’d with grief,<br> + My flight should urge you to this dire relief.<br> + Stay, stay your steps, and listen to my vows:<br> + ’Tis the last interview that fate allows!”<br> + In vain he thus attempts her mind to move<br> + With tears, and pray’rs, and late-repenting love.<br> + Disdainfully she look’d; then turning round,<br> + But fix’d her eyes unmov’d upon the ground,<br> + And what he says and swears, regards no more<br> + Than the deaf rocks, when the loud billows roar;<br> + But whirl’d away, to shun his hateful sight,<br> + Hid in the forest and the shades of night;<br> + Then sought Sichaeus thro’ the shady grove,<br> + Who answer’d all her cares, and equal’d all her love.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Some pious tears the pitying hero paid,<br> + And follow’d with his eyes the flitting shade,<br> + Then took the forward way, by fate ordain’d,<br> + And, with his guide, the farther fields attain’d,<br> + Where, sever’d from the rest, the warrior souls remain’d.<br> + Tydeus he met, with Meleager’s race,<br> + The pride of armies, and the soldiers’ grace;<br> + And pale Adrastus with his ghastly face.<br> + Of Trojan chiefs he view’d a num’rous train,<br> + All much lamented, all in battle slain;<br> + Glaucus and Medon, high above the rest,<br> + Antenor’s sons, and Ceres’ sacred priest.<br> + And proud Idaeus, Priam’s charioteer,<br> + Who shakes his empty reins, and aims his airy spear.<br> + The gladsome ghosts, in circling troops, attend<br> + And with unwearied eyes behold their friend;<br> + Delight to hover near, and long to know<br> + What bus’ness brought him to the realms below.<br> + But Argive chiefs, and Agamemnon’s train,<br> + When his refulgent arms flash’d thro’ the shady plain,<br> + Fled from his well-known face, with wonted fear,<br> + As when his thund’ring sword and pointed spear<br> + Drove headlong to their ships, and glean’d the routed rear.<br> + They rais’d a feeble cry, with trembling notes;<br> + But the weak voice deceiv’d their gasping throats.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Here Priam’s son, Deiphobus, he found,<br> + Whose face and limbs were one continued wound:<br> + Dishonest, with lopp’d arms, the youth appears,<br> + Spoil’d of his nose, and shorten’d of his ears.<br> + He scarcely knew him, striving to disown<br> + His blotted form, and blushing to be known;<br> + And therefore first began: “O Teucer’s race,<br> + Who durst thy faultless figure thus deface?<br> + What heart could wish, what hand inflict, this dire disgrace?<br> + ’Twas fam’d, that in our last and fatal night<br> + Your single prowess long sustain’d the fight,<br> + Till tir’d, not forc’d, a glorious fate you chose,<br> + And fell upon a heap of slaughter’d foes.<br> + But, in remembrance of so brave a deed,<br> + A tomb and fun’ral honours I decreed;<br> + Thrice call’d your manes on the Trojan plains:<br> + The place your armour and your name retains.<br> + Your body too I sought, and, had I found,<br> + Design’d for burial in your native ground.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The ghost replied: “Your piety has paid<br> + All needful rites, to rest my wand’ring shade;<br> + But cruel fate, and my more cruel wife,<br> + To Grecian swords betray’d my sleeping life.<br> + These are the monuments of Helen’s love:<br> + The shame I bear below, the marks I bore above.<br> + You know in what deluding joys we pass’d<br> + The night that was by Heav’n decreed our last:<br> + For, when the fatal horse, descending down,<br> + Pregnant with arms, o’erwhelm’d th’ unhappy town<br> + She feign’d nocturnal orgies; left my bed,<br> + And, mix’d with Trojan dames, the dances led<br> + Then, waving high her torch, the signal made,<br> + Which rous’d the Grecians from their ambuscade.<br> + With watching overworn, with cares oppress’d,<br> + Unhappy I had laid me down to rest,<br> + And heavy sleep my weary limbs possess’d.<br> + Meantime my worthy wife our arms mislaid,<br> + And from beneath my head my sword convey’d;<br> + The door unlatch’d, and, with repeated calls,<br> + Invites her former lord within my walls.<br> + Thus in her crime her confidence she plac’d,<br> + And with new treasons would redeem the past.<br> + What need I more? Into the room they ran,<br> + And meanly murder’d a defenceless man.<br> + Ulysses, basely born, first led the way.<br> + Avenging pow’rs! with justice if I pray,<br> + That fortune be their own another day!<br> + But answer you; and in your turn relate,<br> + What brought you, living, to the Stygian state:<br> + Driv’n by the winds and errors of the sea,<br> + Or did you Heav’n’s superior doom obey?<br> + Or tell what other chance conducts your way,<br> + To view with mortal eyes our dark retreats,<br> + Tumults and torments of th’ infernal seats.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + While thus in talk the flying hours they pass,<br> + The sun had finish’d more than half his race:<br> + And they, perhaps, in words and tears had spent<br> + The little time of stay which Heav’n had lent;<br> + But thus the Sibyl chides their long delay:<br> + “Night rushes down, and headlong drives the day:<br> + ’Tis here, in different paths, the way divides;<br> + The right to Pluto’s golden palace guides;<br> + The left to that unhappy region tends,<br> + Which to the depth of Tartarus descends;<br> + The seat of night profound, and punish’d fiends.”<br> + Then thus Deiphobus: “O sacred maid,<br> + Forbear to chide, and be your will obey’d!<br> + Lo! to the secret shadows I retire,<br> + To pay my penance till my years expire.<br> + Proceed, auspicious prince, with glory crown’d,<br> + And born to better fates than I have found.”<br> + He said; and, while he said, his steps he turn’d<br> + To secret shadows, and in silence mourn’d.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The hero, looking on the left, espied<br> + A lofty tow’r, and strong on ev’ry side<br> + With treble walls, which Phlegethon surrounds,<br> + Whose fiery flood the burning empire bounds;<br> + And, press’d betwixt the rocks, the bellowing noise resounds<br> + Wide is the fronting gate, and, rais’d on high<br> + With adamantine columns, threats the sky.<br> + Vain is the force of man, and Heav’n’s as vain,<br> + To crush the pillars which the pile sustain.<br> + Sublime on these a tow’r of steel is rear’d;<br> + And dire Tisiphone there keeps the ward,<br> + Girt in her sanguine gown, by night and day,<br> + Observant of the souls that pass the downward way.<br> + From hence are heard the groans of ghosts, the pains<br> + Of sounding lashes and of dragging chains.<br> + The Trojan stood astonish’d at their cries,<br> + And ask’d his guide from whence those yells arise;<br> + And what the crimes, and what the tortures were,<br> + And loud laments that rent the liquid air.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + She thus replied: “The chaste and holy race<br> + Are all forbidden this polluted place.<br> + But Hecate, when she gave to rule the woods,<br> + Then led me trembling thro’ these dire abodes,<br> + And taught the tortures of th’ avenging gods.<br> + These are the realms of unrelenting fate;<br> + And awful Rhadamanthus rules the state.<br> + He hears and judges each committed crime;<br> + Enquires into the manner, place, and time.<br> + The conscious wretch must all his acts reveal,<br> + Loth to confess, unable to conceal,<br> + From the first moment of his vital breath,<br> + To his last hour of unrepenting death.<br> + Straight, o’er the guilty ghost, the Fury shakes<br> + The sounding whip and brandishes her snakes,<br> + And the pale sinner, with her sisters, takes.<br> + Then, of itself, unfolds th’ eternal door;<br> + With dreadful sounds the brazen hinges roar.<br> + You see, before the gate, what stalking ghost<br> + Commands the guard, what sentries keep the post.<br> + More formidable Hydra stands within,<br> + Whose jaws with iron teeth severely grin.<br> + The gaping gulf low to the centre lies,<br> + And twice as deep as earth is distant from the skies.<br> + The rivals of the gods, the Titan race,<br> + Here, sing’d with lightning, roll within th’ unfathom’d space.<br> + Here lie th’ Alaean twins, (I saw them both,)<br> + Enormous bodies, of gigantic growth,<br> + Who dar’d in fight the Thund’rer to defy,<br> + Affect his heav’n, and force him from the sky.<br> + Salmoneus, suff’ring cruel pains, I found,<br> + For emulating Jove; the rattling sound<br> + Of mimic thunder, and the glitt’ring blaze<br> + Of pointed lightnings, and their forky rays.<br> + Thro’ Elis and the Grecian towns he flew;<br> + Th’ audacious wretch four fiery coursers drew:<br> + He wav’d a torch aloft, and, madly vain,<br> + Sought godlike worship from a servile train.<br> + Ambitious fool! with horny hoofs to pass<br> + O’er hollow arches of resounding brass,<br> + To rival thunder in its rapid course,<br> + And imitate inimitable force!<br> + But he, the King of Heav’n, obscure on high,<br> + Bar’d his red arm, and, launching from the sky<br> + His writhen bolt, not shaking empty smoke,<br> + Down to the deep abyss the flaming felon strook.<br> + There Tityus was to see, who took his birth<br> + From heav’n, his nursing from the foodful earth.<br> + Here his gigantic limbs, with large embrace,<br> + Infold nine acres of infernal space.<br> + A rav’nous vulture, in his open’d side,<br> + Her crooked beak and cruel talons tried;<br> + Still for the growing liver digg’d his breast;<br> + The growing liver still supplied the feast;<br> + Still are his entrails fruitful to their pains:<br> + Th’ immortal hunger lasts, th’ immortal food remains.<br> + Ixion and Perithous I could name,<br> + And more Thessalian chiefs of mighty fame.<br> + High o’er their heads a mould’ring rock is plac’d,<br> + That promises a fall, and shakes at ev’ry blast.<br> + They lie below, on golden beds display’d;<br> + And genial feasts with regal pomp are made.<br> + The Queen of Furies by their sides is set,<br> + And snatches from their mouths th’ untasted meat,<br> + Which if they touch, her hissing snakes she rears,<br> + Tossing her torch, and thund’ring in their ears.<br> + Then they, who brothers’ better claim disown,<br> + Expel their parents, and usurp the throne;<br> + Defraud their clients, and, to lucre sold,<br> + Sit brooding on unprofitable gold;<br> + Who dare not give, and ev’n refuse to lend<br> + To their poor kindred, or a wanting friend.<br> + Vast is the throng of these; nor less the train<br> + Of lustful youths, for foul adult’ry slain:<br> + Hosts of deserters, who their honour sold,<br> + And basely broke their faith for bribes of gold.<br> + All these within the dungeon’s depth remain,<br> + Despairing pardon, and expecting pain.<br> + Ask not what pains; nor farther seek to know<br> + Their process, or the forms of law below.<br> + Some roll a weighty stone; some, laid along,<br> + And bound with burning wires, on spokes of wheels are hung<br> + Unhappy Theseus, doom’d for ever there,<br> + Is fix’d by fate on his eternal chair;<br> + And wretched Phlegyas warns the world with cries<br> + (Could warning make the world more just or wise):<br> + ‘Learn righteousness, and dread th’ avenging deities.’<br> + To tyrants others have their country sold,<br> + Imposing foreign lords, for foreign gold;<br> + Some have old laws repeal’d, new statutes made,<br> + Not as the people pleas’d, but as they paid;<br> + With incest some their daughters’ bed profan’d:<br> + All dar’d the worst of ills, and, what they dar’d, attain’d.<br> + Had I a hundred mouths, a hundred tongues,<br> + And throats of brass, inspir’d with iron lungs,<br> + I could not half those horrid crimes repeat,<br> + Nor half the punishments those crimes have met.<br> + But let us haste our voyage to pursue:<br> + The walls of Pluto’s palace are in view;<br> + The gate, and iron arch above it, stands<br> + On anvils labour’d by the Cyclops’ hands.<br> + Before our farther way the Fates allow,<br> + Here must we fix on high the golden bough.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + She said, and thro’ the gloomy shades they pass’d,<br> + And chose the middle path. Arriv’d at last,<br> + The prince with living water sprinkled o’er<br> + His limbs and body; then approach’d the door,<br> + Possess’d the porch, and on the front above<br> + He fix’d the fatal bough requir’d by Pluto’s love.<br> + These holy rites perform’d, they took their way<br> + Where long extended plains of pleasure lay:<br> + The verdant fields with those of heav’n may vie,<br> + With ether vested, and a purple sky;<br> + The blissful seats of happy souls below.<br> + Stars of their own, and their own suns, they know;<br> + Their airy limbs in sports they exercise,<br> + And on the green contend the wrestler’s prize.<br> + Some in heroic verse divinely sing;<br> + Others in artful measures led the ring.<br> + The Thracian bard, surrounded by the rest,<br> + There stands conspicuous in his flowing vest;<br> + His flying fingers, and harmonious quill,<br> + Strikes sev’n distinguish’d notes, and sev’n at once they fill.<br> + Here found they Teucer’s old heroic race,<br> + Born better times and happier years to grace.<br> + Assaracus and Ilus here enjoy<br> + Perpetual fame, with him who founded Troy.<br> + The chief beheld their chariots from afar,<br> + Their shining arms, and coursers train’d to war:<br> + Their lances fix’d in earth, their steeds around,<br> + Free from their harness, graze the flow’ry ground.<br> + The love of horses which they had, alive,<br> + And care of chariots, after death survive.<br> + Some cheerful souls were feasting on the plain;<br> + Some did the song, and some the choir maintain,<br> + Beneath a laurel shade, where mighty Po<br> + Mounts up to woods above, and hides his head below.<br> + Here patriots live, who, for their country’s good,<br> + In fighting fields, were prodigal of blood:<br> + Priests of unblemish’d lives here make abode,<br> + And poets worthy their inspiring god;<br> + And searching wits, of more mechanic parts,<br> + Who grac’d their age with new-invented arts:<br> + Those who to worth their bounty did extend,<br> + And those who knew that bounty to commend.<br> + The heads of these with holy fillets bound,<br> + And all their temples were with garlands crown’d.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + To these the Sibyl thus her speech address’d,<br> + And first to him surrounded by the rest<br> + Tow’ring his height, and ample was his breast;<br> + “Say, happy souls, divine Musaeus, say,<br> + Where lives Anchises, and where lies our way<br> + To find the hero, for whose only sake<br> + We sought the dark abodes, and cross’d the bitter lake?”<br> + To this the sacred poet thus replied:<br> + “In no fix’d place the happy souls reside.<br> + In groves we live, and lie on mossy beds,<br> + By crystal streams, that murmur thro’ the meads:<br> + But pass yon easy hill, and thence descend;<br> + The path conducts you to your journey’s end.”<br> + This said, he led them up the mountain’s brow,<br> + And shews them all the shining fields below.<br> + They wind the hill, and thro’ the blissful meadows go.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + But old Anchises, in a flow’ry vale,<br> + Review’d his muster’d race, and took the tale:<br> + Those happy spirits, which, ordain’d by fate,<br> + For future beings and new bodies wait.<br> + With studious thought observ’d th’ illustrious throng,<br> + In nature’s order as they pass’d along:<br> + Their names, their fates, their conduct, and their care,<br> + In peaceful senates and successful war.<br> + He, when Aeneas on the plain appears,<br> + Meets him with open arms, and falling tears.<br> + “Welcome,” he said, “the gods’ undoubted race!<br> + O long expected to my dear embrace!<br> + Once more ’tis giv’n me to behold your face!<br> + The love and pious duty which you pay<br> + Have pass’d the perils of so hard a way.<br> + ’Tis true, computing times, I now believ’d<br> + The happy day approach’d; nor are my hopes deceiv’d.<br> + What length of lands, what oceans have you pass’d;<br> + What storms sustain’d, and on what shores been cast?<br> + How have I fear’d your fate! but fear’d it most,<br> + When love assail’d you, on the Libyan coast.”<br> + To this, the filial duty thus replies:<br> + “Your sacred ghost before my sleeping eyes<br> + Appear’d, and often urg’d this painful enterprise.<br> + After long tossing on the Tyrrhene sea,<br> + My navy rides at anchor in the bay.<br> + But reach your hand, O parent shade, nor shun<br> + The dear embraces of your longing son!”<br> + He said; and falling tears his face bedew:<br> + Then thrice around his neck his arms he threw;<br> + And thrice the flitting shadow slipp’d away,<br> + Like winds, or empty dreams that fly the day.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now, in a secret vale, the Trojan sees<br> + A sep’rate grove, thro’ which a gentle breeze<br> + Plays with a passing breath, and whispers thro’ the trees;<br> + And, just before the confines of the wood,<br> + The gliding Lethe leads her silent flood.<br> + About the boughs an airy nation flew,<br> + Thick as the humming bees, that hunt the golden dew;<br> + In summer’s heat on tops of lilies feed,<br> + And creep within their bells, to suck the balmy seed:<br> + The winged army roams the fields around;<br> + The rivers and the rocks remurmur to the sound.<br> + Aeneas wond’ring stood, then ask’d the cause<br> + Which to the stream the crowding people draws.<br> + Then thus the sire: “The souls that throng the flood<br> + Are those to whom, by fate, are other bodies ow’d:<br> + In Lethe’s lake they long oblivion taste,<br> + Of future life secure, forgetful of the past.<br> + Long has my soul desir’d this time and place,<br> + To set before your sight your glorious race,<br> + That this presaging joy may fire your mind<br> + To seek the shores by destiny design’d.”<br> + “O father, can it be, that souls sublime<br> + Return to visit our terrestrial clime,<br> + And that the gen’rous mind, releas’d by death,<br> + Can covet lazy limbs and mortal breath?”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Anchises then, in order, thus begun<br> + To clear those wonders to his godlike son:<br> + “Know, first, that heav’n, and earth’s compacted frame,<br> + And flowing waters, and the starry flame,<br> + And both the radiant lights, one common soul<br> + Inspires and feeds, and animates the whole.<br> + This active mind, infus’d thro’ all the space,<br> + Unites and mingles with the mighty mass.<br> + Hence men and beasts the breath of life obtain,<br> + And birds of air, and monsters of the main.<br> + Th’ ethereal vigour is in all the same,<br> + And every soul is fill’d with equal flame;<br> + As much as earthy limbs, and gross allay<br> + Of mortal members, subject to decay,<br> + Blunt not the beams of heav’n and edge of day.<br> + From this coarse mixture of terrestrial parts,<br> + Desire and fear by turns possess their hearts,<br> + And grief, and joy; nor can the groveling mind,<br> + In the dark dungeon of the limbs confin’d,<br> + Assert the native skies, or own its heav’nly kind:<br> + Nor death itself can wholly wash their stains;<br> + But long-contracted filth ev’n in the soul remains.<br> + The relics of inveterate vice they wear,<br> + And spots of sin obscene in ev’ry face appear.<br> + For this are various penances enjoin’d;<br> + And some are hung to bleach upon the wind,<br> + Some plung’d in waters, others purg’d in fires,<br> + Till all the dregs are drain’d, and all the rust expires.<br> + All have their manes, and those manes bear:<br> + The few, so cleans’d, to these abodes repair,<br> + And breathe, in ample fields, the soft Elysian air.<br> + Then are they happy, when by length of time<br> + The scurf is worn away of each committed crime;<br> + No speck is left of their habitual stains,<br> + But the pure ether of the soul remains.<br> + But, when a thousand rolling years are past,<br> + (So long their punishments and penance last,)<br> + Whole droves of minds are, by the driving god,<br> + Compell’d to drink the deep Lethaean flood,<br> + In large forgetful draughts to steep the cares<br> + Of their past labours, and their irksome years,<br> + That, unrememb’ring of its former pain,<br> + The soul may suffer mortal flesh again.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus having said, the father spirit leads<br> + The priestess and his son thro’ swarms of shades,<br> + And takes a rising ground, from thence to see<br> + The long procession of his progeny.<br> + “Survey,” pursued the sire, “this airy throng,<br> + As, offer’d to thy view, they pass along.<br> + These are th’ Italian names, which fate will join<br> + With ours, and graff upon the Trojan line.<br> + Observe the youth who first appears in sight,<br> + And holds the nearest station to the light,<br> + Already seems to snuff the vital air,<br> + And leans just forward, on a shining spear:<br> + Silvius is he, thy last-begotten race,<br> + But first in order sent, to fill thy place;<br> + An Alban name, but mix’d with Dardan blood,<br> + Born in the covert of a shady wood:<br> + Him fair Lavinia, thy surviving wife,<br> + Shall breed in groves, to lead a solitary life.<br> + In Alba he shall fix his royal seat,<br> + And, born a king, a race of kings beget.<br> + Then Procas, honour of the Trojan name,<br> + Capys, and Numitor, of endless fame.<br> + A second Silvius after these appears;<br> + Silvius Aeneas, for thy name he bears;<br> + For arms and justice equally renown’d,<br> + Who, late restor’d, in Alba shall be crown’d.<br> + How great they look! how vig’rously they wield<br> + Their weighty lances, and sustain the shield!<br> + But they, who crown’d with oaken wreaths appear,<br> + Shall Gabian walls and strong Fidena rear;<br> + Nomentum, Bola, with Pometia, found;<br> + And raise Collatian tow’rs on rocky ground.<br> + All these shall then be towns of mighty fame,<br> + Tho’ now they lie obscure, and lands without a name.<br> + See Romulus the great, born to restore<br> + The crown that once his injur’d grandsire wore.<br> + This prince a priestess of your blood shall bear,<br> + And like his sire in arms he shall appear.<br> + Two rising crests, his royal head adorn;<br> + Born from a god, himself to godhead born:<br> + His sire already signs him for the skies,<br> + And marks the seat amidst the deities.<br> + Auspicious chief! thy race, in times to come,<br> + Shall spread the conquests of imperial Rome.<br> + Rome, whose ascending tow’rs shall heav’n invade,<br> + Involving earth and ocean in her shade;<br> + High as the Mother of the Gods in place,<br> + And proud, like her, of an immortal race.<br> + Then, when in pomp she makes the Phrygian round,<br> + With golden turrets on her temples crown’d;<br> + A hundred gods her sweeping train supply;<br> + Her offspring all, and all command the sky.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Now fix your sight, and stand intent, to see<br> + Your Roman race, and Julian progeny.<br> + The mighty Caesar waits his vital hour,<br> + Impatient for the world, and grasps his promis’d pow’r.<br> + But next behold the youth of form divine,<br> + Caesar himself, exalted in his line;<br> + Augustus, promis’d oft, and long foretold,<br> + Sent to the realm that Saturn rul’d of old;<br> + Born to restore a better age of gold.<br> + Afric and India shall his pow’r obey;<br> + He shall extend his propagated sway<br> + Beyond the solar year, without the starry way,<br> + Where Atlas turns the rolling heav’ns around,<br> + And his broad shoulders with their lights are crown’d.<br> + At his foreseen approach, already quake<br> + The Caspian kingdoms and Maeotian lake:<br> + Their seers behold the tempest from afar,<br> + And threat’ning oracles denounce the war.<br> + Nile hears him knocking at his sev’nfold gates,<br> + And seeks his hidden spring, and fears his nephew’s fates.<br> + Nor Hercules more lands or labours knew,<br> + Not tho’ the brazen-footed hind he slew,<br> + Freed Erymanthus from the foaming boar,<br> + And dipp’d his arrows in Lernaean gore;<br> + Nor Bacchus, turning from his Indian war,<br> + By tigers drawn triumphant in his car,<br> + From Nisus’ top descending on the plains,<br> + With curling vines around his purple reins.<br> + And doubt we yet thro’ dangers to pursue<br> + The paths of honour, and a crown in view?<br> + But what’s the man, who from afar appears?<br> + His head with olive crown’d, his hand a censer bears,<br> + His hoary beard and holy vestments bring<br> + His lost idea back: I know the Roman king.<br> + He shall to peaceful Rome new laws ordain,<br> + Call’d from his mean abode a scepter to sustain.<br> + Him Tullus next in dignity succeeds,<br> + An active prince, and prone to martial deeds.<br> + He shall his troops for fighting fields prepare,<br> + Disus’d to toils, and triumphs of the war.<br> + By dint of sword his crown he shall increase,<br> + And scour his armour from the rust of peace.<br> + Whom Ancus follows, with a fawning air,<br> + But vain within, and proudly popular.<br> + Next view the Tarquin kings, th’ avenging sword<br> + Of Brutus, justly drawn, and Rome restor’d.<br> + He first renews the rods and ax severe,<br> + And gives the consuls royal robes to wear.<br> + His sons, who seek the tyrant to sustain,<br> + And long for arbitrary lords again,<br> + With ignominy scourg’d, in open sight,<br> + He dooms to death deserv’d, asserting public right.<br> + Unhappy man, to break the pious laws<br> + Of nature, pleading in his children’s cause!<br> + Howe’er the doubtful fact is understood,<br> + ’Tis love of honour, and his country’s good:<br> + The consul, not the father, sheds the blood.<br> + Behold Torquatus the same track pursue;<br> + And, next, the two devoted Decii view:<br> + The Drusian line, Camillus loaded home<br> + With standards well redeem’d, and foreign foes o’ercome<br> + The pair you see in equal armour shine,<br> + Now, friends below, in close embraces join;<br> + But, when they leave the shady realms of night,<br> + And, cloth’d in bodies, breathe your upper light,<br> + With mortal hate each other shall pursue:<br> + What wars, what wounds, what slaughter shall ensue!<br> + From Alpine heights the father first descends;<br> + His daughter’s husband in the plain attends:<br> + His daughter’s husband arms his eastern friends.<br> + Embrace again, my sons, be foes no more;<br> + Nor stain your country with her children’s gore!<br> + And thou, the first, lay down thy lawless claim,<br> + Thou, of my blood, who bear’st the Julian name!<br> + Another comes, who shall in triumph ride,<br> + And to the Capitol his chariot guide,<br> + From conquer’d Corinth, rich with Grecian spoils.<br> + And yet another, fam’d for warlike toils,<br> + On Argos shall impose the Roman laws,<br> + And on the Greeks revenge the Trojan cause;<br> + Shall drag in chains their Achillean race;<br> + Shall vindicate his ancestors’ disgrace,<br> + And Pallas, for her violated place.<br> + Great Cato there, for gravity renown’d,<br> + And conqu’ring Cossus goes with laurels crown’d.<br> + Who can omit the Gracchi? who declare<br> + The Scipios’ worth, those thunderbolts of war,<br> + The double bane of Carthage? Who can see<br> + Without esteem for virtuous poverty,<br> + Severe Fabricius, or can cease t’ admire<br> + The plowman consul in his coarse attire?<br> + Tir’d as I am, my praise the Fabii claim;<br> + And thou, great hero, greatest of thy name,<br> + Ordain’d in war to save the sinking state,<br> + And, by delays, to put a stop to fate!<br> + Let others better mould the running mass<br> + Of metals, and inform the breathing brass,<br> + And soften into flesh a marble face;<br> + Plead better at the bar; describe the skies,<br> + And when the stars descend, and when they rise.<br> + But, Rome, ’tis thine alone, with awful sway,<br> + To rule mankind, and make the world obey,<br> + Disposing peace and war by thy own majestic way;<br> + To tame the proud, the fetter’d slave to free:<br> + These are imperial arts, and worthy thee.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + He paus’d; and, while with wond’ring eyes they view’d<br> + The passing spirits, thus his speech renew’d:<br> + “See great Marcellus! how, untir’d in toils,<br> + He moves with manly grace, how rich with regal spoils!<br> + He, when his country, threaten’d with alarms,<br> + Requires his courage and his conqu’ring arms,<br> + Shall more than once the Punic bands affright;<br> + Shall kill the Gaulish king in single fight;<br> + Then to the Capitol in triumph move,<br> + And the third spoils shall grace Feretrian Jove.”<br> + Aeneas here beheld, of form divine,<br> + A godlike youth in glitt’ring armour shine,<br> + With great Marcellus keeping equal pace;<br> + But gloomy were his eyes, dejected was his face.<br> + He saw, and, wond’ring, ask’d his airy guide,<br> + What and of whence was he, who press’d the hero’s side:<br> + “His son, or one of his illustrious name?<br> + How like the former, and almost the same!<br> + Observe the crowds that compass him around;<br> + All gaze, and all admire, and raise a shouting sound:<br> + But hov’ring mists around his brows are spread,<br> + And night, with sable shades, involves his head.”<br> + “Seek not to know,” the ghost replied with tears,<br> + “The sorrows of thy sons in future years.<br> + This youth (the blissful vision of a day)<br> + Shall just be shown on earth, and snatch’d away.<br> + The gods too high had rais’d the Roman state,<br> + Were but their gifts as permanent as great.<br> + What groans of men shall fill the Martian field!<br> + How fierce a blaze his flaming pile shall yield!<br> + What fun’ral pomp shall floating Tiber see,<br> + When, rising from his bed, he views the sad solemnity!<br> + No youth shall equal hopes of glory give,<br> + No youth afford so great a cause to grieve;<br> + The Trojan honour, and the Roman boast,<br> + Admir’d when living, and ador’d when lost!<br> + Mirror of ancient faith in early youth!<br> + Undaunted worth, inviolable truth!<br> + No foe, unpunish’d, in the fighting field<br> + Shall dare thee, foot to foot, with sword and shield;<br> + Much less in arms oppose thy matchless force,<br> + When thy sharp spurs shall urge thy foaming horse.<br> + Ah! couldst thou break thro’ fate’s severe decree,<br> + A new Marcellus shall arise in thee!<br> + Full canisters of fragrant lilies bring,<br> + Mix’d with the purple roses of the spring;<br> + Let me with fun’ral flow’rs his body strow;<br> + This gift which parents to their children owe,<br> + This unavailing gift, at least, I may bestow!”<br> + Thus having said, he led the hero round<br> + The confines of the blest Elysian ground;<br> + Which when Anchises to his son had shown,<br> + And fir’d his mind to mount the promis’d throne,<br> + He tells the future wars, ordain’d by fate;<br> + The strength and customs of the Latian state;<br> + The prince, and people; and forearms his care<br> + With rules, to push his fortune, or to bear.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Two gates the silent house of Sleep adorn;<br> + Of polish’d ivory this, that of transparent horn:<br> + True visions thro’ transparent horn arise;<br> + Thro’ polish’d ivory pass deluding lies.<br> + Of various things discoursing as he pass’d,<br> + Anchises hither bends his steps at last.<br> + Then, thro’ the gate of iv’ry, he dismiss’d<br> + His valiant offspring and divining guest.<br> + Straight to the ships Aeneas took his way,<br> + Embark’d his men, and skimm’d along the sea,<br> + Still coasting, till he gain’d Cajeta’s bay.<br> + At length on oozy ground his galleys moor;<br> + Their heads are turn’d to sea, their sterns to shore. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="chap07"></a>BOOK VII</h2> + + <h5> THE ARGUMENT. </h5> + + <p> + 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. + <br><br> + </p> + + <p class="pfirst"> + <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>nd thou, O matron of immortal fame,<br> + Here dying, to the shore hast left thy name;<br> + Cajeta still the place is call’d from thee,<br> + The nurse of great Aeneas’ infancy.<br> + Here rest thy bones in rich Hesperia’s plains;<br> + Thy name (’tis all a ghost can have) remains.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now, when the prince her fun’ral rites had paid,<br> + He plow’d the Tyrrhene seas with sails display’d.<br> + From land a gentle breeze arose by night,<br> + Serenely shone the stars, the moon was bright,<br> + And the sea trembled with her silver light.<br> + Now near the shelves of Circe’s shores they run,<br> + (Circe the rich, the daughter of the Sun,)<br> + A dang’rous coast: the goddess wastes her days<br> + In joyous songs; the rocks resound her lays:<br> + In spinning, or the loom, she spends the night,<br> + And cedar brands supply her father’s light.<br> + From hence were heard, rebellowing to the main,<br> + The roars of lions that refuse the chain,<br> + The grunts of bristled boars, and groans of bears,<br> + And herds of howling wolves that stun the sailors’ ears.<br> + These from their caverns, at the close of night,<br> + Fill the sad isle with horror and affright.<br> + Darkling they mourn their fate, whom Circe’s pow’r,<br> + (That watch’d the moon and planetary hour,)<br> + With words and wicked herbs from humankind<br> + Had alter’d, and in brutal shapes confin’d.<br> + Which monsters lest the Trojans’ pious host<br> + Should bear, or touch upon th’ inchanted coast,<br> + Propitious Neptune steer’d their course by night<br> + With rising gales that sped their happy flight.<br> + Supplied with these, they skim the sounding shore,<br> + And hear the swelling surges vainly roar.<br> + Now, when the rosy morn began to rise,<br> + And wav’d her saffron streamer thro’ the skies;<br> + When Thetis blush’d in purple not her own,<br> + And from her face the breathing winds were blown,<br> + A sudden silence sate upon the sea,<br> + And sweeping oars, with struggling, urge their way.<br> + The Trojan, from the main, beheld a wood,<br> + Which thick with shades and a brown horror stood:<br> + Betwixt the trees the Tiber took his course,<br> + With whirlpools dimpled; and with downward force,<br> + That drove the sand along, he took his way,<br> + And roll’d his yellow billows to the sea.<br> + About him, and above, and round the wood,<br> + The birds that haunt the borders of his flood,<br> + That bath’d within, or basked upon his side,<br> + To tuneful songs their narrow throats applied.<br> + The captain gives command; the joyful train<br> + Glide thro’ the gloomy shade, and leave the main.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now, Erato, thy poet’s mind inspire,<br> + And fill his soul with thy celestial fire!<br> + Relate what Latium was; her ancient kings;<br> + Declare the past and present state of things,<br> + When first the Trojan fleet Ausonia sought,<br> + And how the rivals lov’d, and how they fought.<br> + These are my theme, and how the war began,<br> + And how concluded by the godlike man:<br> + For I shall sing of battles, blood, and rage,<br> + Which princes and their people did engage;<br> + And haughty souls, that, mov’d with mutual hate,<br> + In fighting fields pursued and found their fate;<br> + That rous’d the Tyrrhene realm with loud alarms,<br> + And peaceful Italy involv’d in arms.<br> + A larger scene of action is display’d;<br> + And, rising hence, a greater work is weigh’d.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Latinus, old and mild, had long possess’d<br> + The Latin scepter, and his people blest:<br> + His father Faunus; a Laurentian dame<br> + His mother; fair Marica was her name.<br> + But Faunus came from Picus: Picus drew<br> + His birth from Saturn, if records be true.<br> + Thus King Latinus, in the third degree,<br> + Had Saturn author of his family.<br> + But this old peaceful prince, as Heav’n decreed,<br> + Was blest with no male issue to succeed:<br> + His sons in blooming youth were snatch’d by fate;<br> + One only daughter heir’d the royal state.<br> + Fir’d with her love, and with ambition led,<br> + The neighb’ring princes court her nuptial bed.<br> + Among the crowd, but far above the rest,<br> + Young Turnus to the beauteous maid address’d.<br> + Turnus, for high descent and graceful mien,<br> + Was first, and favour’d by the Latian queen;<br> + With him she strove to join Lavinia’s hand,<br> + But dire portents the purpos’d match withstand.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Deep in the palace, of long growth, there stood<br> + A laurel’s trunk, a venerable wood;<br> + Where rites divine were paid; whose holy hair<br> + Was kept and cut with superstitious care.<br> + This plant Latinus, when his town he wall’d,<br> + Then found, and from the tree Laurentum call’d;<br> + And last, in honour of his new abode,<br> + He vow’d the laurel to the laurel’s god.<br> + It happen’d once (a boding prodigy!)<br> + A swarm of bees, that cut the liquid sky,<br> + Unknown from whence they took their airy flight,<br> + Upon the topmost branch in clouds alight;<br> + There with their clasping feet together clung,<br> + And a long cluster from the laurel hung.<br> + An ancient augur prophesied from hence:<br> + “Behold on Latian shores a foreign prince!<br> + From the same parts of heav’n his navy stands,<br> + To the same parts on earth; his army lands;<br> + The town he conquers, and the tow’r commands.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Yet more, when fair Lavinia fed the fire<br> + Before the gods, and stood beside her sire,<br> + Strange to relate, the flames, involv’d in smoke<br> + Of incense, from the sacred altar broke,<br> + Caught her dishevel’d hair and rich attire;<br> + Her crown and jewels crackled in the fire:<br> + From thence the fuming trail began to spread<br> + And lambent glories danc’d about her head.<br> + This new portent the seer with wonder views,<br> + Then pausing, thus his prophecy renews:<br> + “The nymph, who scatters flaming fires around,<br> + Shall shine with honour, shall herself be crown’d;<br> + But, caus’d by her irrevocable fate,<br> + War shall the country waste, and change the state.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Latinus, frighted with this dire ostent,<br> + For counsel to his father Faunus went,<br> + And sought the shades renown’d for prophecy<br> + Which near Albunea’s sulph’rous fountain lie.<br> + To these the Latian and the Sabine land<br> + Fly, when distress’d, and thence relief demand.<br> + The priest on skins of off’rings takes his ease,<br> + And nightly visions in his slumber sees;<br> + A swarm of thin aerial shapes appears,<br> + And, flutt’ring round his temples, deafs his ears:<br> + These he consults, the future fates to know,<br> + From pow’rs above, and from the fiends below.<br> + Here, for the gods’ advice, Latinus flies,<br> + Off’ring a hundred sheep for sacrifice:<br> + Their woolly fleeces, as the rites requir’d,<br> + He laid beneath him, and to rest retir’d.<br> + No sooner were his eyes in slumber bound,<br> + When, from above, a more than mortal sound<br> + Invades his ears; and thus the vision spoke:<br> + “Seek not, my seed, in Latian bands to yoke<br> + Our fair Lavinia, nor the gods provoke.<br> + A foreign son upon thy shore descends,<br> + Whose martial fame from pole to pole extends.<br> + His race, in arms and arts of peace renown’d,<br> + Not Latium shall contain, nor Europe bound:<br> + ’Tis theirs whate’er the sun surveys around.”<br> + These answers, in the silent night receiv’d,<br> + The king himself divulg’d, the land believ’d:<br> + The fame thro’ all the neighb’ring nations flew,<br> + When now the Trojan navy was in view.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Beneath a shady tree, the hero spread<br> + His table on the turf, with cakes of bread;<br> + And, with his chiefs, on forest fruits he fed.<br> + They sate; and, (not without the god’s command,)<br> + Their homely fare dispatch’d, the hungry band<br> + Invade their trenchers next, and soon devour,<br> + To mend the scanty meal, their cakes of flour.<br> + Ascanius this observ’d, and smiling said:<br> + “See, we devour the plates on which we fed.”<br> + The speech had omen, that the Trojan race<br> + Should find repose, and this the time and place.<br> + Aeneas took the word, and thus replies,<br> + Confessing fate with wonder in his eyes:<br> + “All hail, O earth! all hail, my household gods!<br> + Behold the destin’d place of your abodes!<br> + For thus Anchises prophesied of old,<br> + And this our fatal place of rest foretold:<br> + ‘When, on a foreign shore, instead of meat,<br> + By famine forc’d, your trenchers you shall eat,<br> + Then ease your weary Trojans will attend,<br> + And the long labours of your voyage end.<br> + Remember on that happy coast to build,<br> + And with a trench inclose the fruitful field.’<br> + This was that famine, this the fatal place<br> + Which ends the wand’ring of our exil’d race.<br> + Then, on tomorrow’s dawn, your care employ,<br> + To search the land, and where the cities lie,<br> + And what the men; but give this day to joy.<br> + Now pour to Jove; and, after Jove is blest,<br> + Call great Anchises to the genial feast:<br> + Crown high the goblets with a cheerful draught;<br> + Enjoy the present hour; adjourn the future thought.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus having said, the hero bound his brows<br> + With leafy branches, then perform’d his vows;<br> + Adoring first the genius of the place,<br> + Then Earth, the mother of the heav’nly race,<br> + The nymphs, and native godheads yet unknown,<br> + And Night, and all the stars that gild her sable throne,<br> + And ancient Cybel, and Idaean Jove,<br> + And last his sire below, and mother queen above.<br> + Then heav’n’s high monarch thunder’d thrice aloud,<br> + And thrice he shook aloft a golden cloud.<br> + Soon thro’ the joyful camp a rumour flew,<br> + The time was come their city to renew.<br> + Then ev’ry brow with cheerful green is crown’d,<br> + The feasts are doubled, and the bowls go round.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + When next the rosy morn disclos’d the day,<br> + The scouts to sev’ral parts divide their way,<br> + To learn the natives’ names, their towns explore,<br> + The coasts and trendings of the crooked shore:<br> + Here Tiber flows, and here Numicus stands;<br> + Here warlike Latins hold the happy lands.<br> + The pious chief, who sought by peaceful ways<br> + To found his empire, and his town to raise,<br> + A hundred youths from all his train selects,<br> + And to the Latian court their course directs,<br> + (The spacious palace where their prince resides,)<br> + And all their heads with wreaths of olive hides.<br> + They go commission’d to require a peace,<br> + And carry presents to procure access.<br> + Thus while they speed their pace, the prince designs<br> + His new-elected seat, and draws the lines.<br> + The Trojans round the place a rampire cast,<br> + And palisades about the trenches plac’d.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Meantime the train, proceeding on their way,<br> + From far the town and lofty tow’rs survey;<br> + At length approach the walls. Without the gate,<br> + They see the boys and Latian youth debate<br> + The martial prizes on the dusty plain:<br> + Some drive the cars, and some the coursers rein;<br> + Some bend the stubborn bow for victory,<br> + And some with darts their active sinews try.<br> + A posting messenger, dispatch’d from hence,<br> + Of this fair troop advis’d their aged prince,<br> + That foreign men of mighty stature came;<br> + Uncouth their habit, and unknown their name.<br> + The king ordains their entrance, and ascends<br> + His regal seat, surrounded by his friends.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The palace built by Picus, vast and proud,<br> + Supported by a hundred pillars stood,<br> + And round incompass’d with a rising wood.<br> + The pile o’erlook’d the town, and drew the sight;<br> + Surpris’d at once with reverence and delight.<br> + There kings receiv’d the marks of sov’reign pow’r;<br> + In state the monarchs march’d; the lictors bore<br> + Their awful axes and the rods before.<br> + Here the tribunal stood, the house of pray’r,<br> + And here the sacred senators repair;<br> + All at large tables, in long order set,<br> + A ram their off’ring, and a ram their meat.<br> + Above the portal, carv’d in cedar wood,<br> + Plac’d in their ranks, their godlike grandsires stood;<br> + Old Saturn, with his crooked scythe, on high;<br> + And Italus, that led the colony;<br> + And ancient Janus, with his double face,<br> + And bunch of keys, the porter of the place.<br> + There good Sabinus, planter of the vines,<br> + On a short pruning hook his head reclines,<br> + And studiously surveys his gen’rous wines;<br> + Then warlike kings, who for their country fought,<br> + And honourable wounds from battle brought.<br> + Around the posts hung helmets, darts, and spears,<br> + And captive chariots, axes, shields, and bars,<br> + And broken beaks of ships, the trophies of their wars.<br> + Above the rest, as chief of all the band,<br> + Was Picus plac’d, a buckler in his hand;<br> + His other wav’d a long divining wand.<br> + Girt in his Gabin gown the hero sate,<br> + Yet could not with his art avoid his fate:<br> + For Circe long had lov’d the youth in vain,<br> + Till love, refus’d, converted to disdain:<br> + Then, mixing pow’rful herbs, with magic art,<br> + She chang’d his form, who could not change his heart;<br> + Constrain’d him in a bird, and made him fly,<br> + With party-colour’d plumes, a chatt’ring pie.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + In this high temple, on a chair of state,<br> + The seat of audience, old Latinus sate;<br> + Then gave admission to the Trojan train;<br> + And thus with pleasing accents he began:<br> + “Tell me, ye Trojans, for that name you own,<br> + Nor is your course upon our coasts unknown;<br> + Say what you seek, and whither were you bound:<br> + Were you by stress of weather cast aground?<br> + Such dangers as on seas are often seen,<br> + And oft befall to miserable men,<br> + Or come, your shipping in our ports to lay,<br> + Spent and disabled in so long a way?<br> + Say what you want: the Latians you shall find<br> + Not forc’d to goodness, but by will inclin’d;<br> + For, since the time of Saturn’s holy reign,<br> + His hospitable customs we retain.<br> + I call to mind (but time the tale has worn)<br> + Th’ Arunci told, that Dardanus, tho’ born<br> + On Latian plains, yet sought the Phrygian shore,<br> + And Samothracia, Samos call’d before.<br> + From Tuscan Coritum he claim’d his birth;<br> + But after, when exempt from mortal earth,<br> + From thence ascended to his kindred skies,<br> + A god, and, as a god, augments their sacrifice.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + He said. Ilioneus made this reply:<br> + “O king, of Faunus’ royal family!<br> + Nor wintry winds to Latium forc’d our way,<br> + Nor did the stars our wand’ring course betray.<br> + Willing we sought your shores; and, hither bound,<br> + The port, so long desir’d, at length we found;<br> + From our sweet homes and ancient realms expell’d;<br> + Great as the greatest that the sun beheld.<br> + The god began our line, who rules above;<br> + And, as our race, our king descends from Jove:<br> + And hither are we come, by his command,<br> + To crave admission in your happy land.<br> + How dire a tempest, from Mycenae pour’d,<br> + Our plains, our temples, and our town devour’d;<br> + What was the waste of war, what fierce alarms<br> + Shook Asia’s crown with European arms;<br> + Ev’n such have heard, if any such there be,<br> + Whose earth is bounded by the frozen sea;<br> + And such as, born beneath the burning sky<br> + And sultry sun, betwixt the tropics lie.<br> + From that dire deluge, thro’ the wat’ry waste,<br> + Such length of years, such various perils past,<br> + At last escap’d, to Latium we repair,<br> + To beg what you without your want may spare:<br> + The common water, and the common air;<br> + Sheds which ourselves will build, and mean abodes,<br> + Fit to receive and serve our banish’d gods.<br> + Nor our admission shall your realm disgrace,<br> + Nor length of time our gratitude efface.<br> + Besides, what endless honour you shall gain,<br> + To save and shelter Troy’s unhappy train!<br> + Now, by my sov’reign, and his fate, I swear,<br> + Renown’d for faith in peace, for force in war;<br> + Oft our alliance other lands desir’d,<br> + And, what we seek of you, of us requir’d.<br> + Despite not then, that in our hands we bear<br> + These holy boughs, and sue with words of pray’r.<br> + Fate and the gods, by their supreme command,<br> + Have doom’d our ships to seek the Latian land.<br> + To these abodes our fleet Apollo sends;<br> + Here Dardanus was born, and hither tends;<br> + Where Tuscan Tiber rolls with rapid force,<br> + And where Numicus opes his holy source.<br> + Besides, our prince presents, with his request,<br> + Some small remains of what his sire possess’d.<br> + This golden charger, snatch’d from burning Troy,<br> + Anchises did in sacrifice employ;<br> + This royal robe and this tiara wore<br> + Old Priam, and this golden scepter bore<br> + In full assemblies, and in solemn games;<br> + These purple vests were weav’d by Dardan dames.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus while he spoke, Latinus roll’d around<br> + His eyes, and fix’d a while upon the ground.<br> + Intent he seem’d, and anxious in his breast;<br> + Not by the scepter mov’d, or kingly vest,<br> + But pond’ring future things of wondrous weight;<br> + Succession, empire, and his daughter’s fate.<br> + On these he mus’d within his thoughtful mind,<br> + And then revolv’d what Faunus had divin’d.<br> + This was the foreign prince, by fate decreed<br> + To share his scepter, and Lavinia’s bed;<br> + This was the race that sure portents foreshew<br> + To sway the world, and land and sea subdue.<br> + At length he rais’d his cheerful head, and spoke:<br> + “The pow’rs,” said he, “the pow’rs we both invoke,<br> + To you, and yours, and mine, propitious be,<br> + And firm our purpose with their augury!<br> + Have what you ask; your presents I receive;<br> + Land, where and when you please, with ample leave;<br> + Partake and use my kingdom as your own;<br> + All shall be yours, while I command the crown:<br> + And, if my wish’d alliance please your king,<br> + Tell him he should not send the peace, but bring.<br> + Then let him not a friend’s embraces fear;<br> + The peace is made when I behold him here.<br> + Besides this answer, tell my royal guest,<br> + I add to his commands my own request:<br> + One only daughter heirs my crown and state,<br> + Whom not our oracles, nor Heav’n, nor fate,<br> + Nor frequent prodigies, permit to join<br> + With any native of th’ Ausonian line.<br> + A foreign son-in-law shall come from far<br> + (Such is our doom), a chief renown’d in war,<br> + Whose race shall bear aloft the Latian name,<br> + And thro’ the conquer’d world diffuse our fame.<br> + Himself to be the man the fates require,<br> + I firmly judge, and, what I judge, desire.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + He said, and then on each bestow’d a steed.<br> + Three hundred horses, in high stables fed,<br> + Stood ready, shining all, and smoothly dress’d:<br> + Of these he chose the fairest and the best,<br> + To mount the Trojan troop. At his command<br> + The steeds caparison’d with purple stand,<br> + With golden trappings, glorious to behold,<br> + And champ betwixt their teeth the foaming gold.<br> + Then to his absent guest the king decreed<br> + A pair of coursers born of heav’nly breed,<br> + Who from their nostrils breath’d ethereal fire;<br> + Whom Circe stole from her celestial sire,<br> + By substituting mares produc’d on earth,<br> + Whose wombs conceiv’d a more than mortal birth.<br> + These draw the chariot which Latinus sends,<br> + And the rich present to the prince commends.<br> + Sublime on stately steeds the Trojans borne,<br> + To their expecting lord with peace return.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + But jealous Juno, from Pachynus’ height,<br> + As she from Argos took her airy flight,<br> + Beheld with envious eyes this hateful sight.<br> + She saw the Trojan and his joyful train<br> + Descend upon the shore, desert the main,<br> + Design a town, and, with unhop’d success,<br> + Th’ embassadors return with promis’d peace.<br> + Then, pierc’d with pain, she shook her haughty head,<br> + Sigh’d from her inward soul, and thus she said:<br> + “O hated offspring of my Phrygian foes!<br> + O fates of Troy, which Juno’s fates oppose!<br> + Could they not fall unpitied on the plain,<br> + But slain revive, and, taken, scape again?<br> + When execrable Troy in ashes lay,<br> + Thro’ fires and swords and seas they forc’d their way.<br> + Then vanquish’d Juno must in vain contend,<br> + Her rage disarm’d, her empire at an end.<br> + Breathless and tir’d, is all my fury spent?<br> + Or does my glutted spleen at length relent?<br> + As if ’twere little from their town to chase,<br> + I thro’ the seas pursued their exil’d race;<br> + Ingag’d the heav’ns, oppos’d the stormy main;<br> + But billows roar’d, and tempests rag’d in vain.<br> + What have my Scyllas and my Syrtes done,<br> + When these they overpass, and those they shun?<br> + On Tiber’s shores they land, secure of fate,<br> + Triumphant o’er the storms and Juno’s hate.<br> + Mars could in mutual blood the Centaurs bathe,<br> + And Jove himself gave way to Cynthia’s wrath,<br> + Who sent the tusky boar to Calydon;<br> + What great offence had either people done?<br> + But I, the consort of the Thunderer,<br> + Have wag’d a long and unsuccessful war,<br> + With various arts and arms in vain have toil’d,<br> + And by a mortal man at length am foil’d.<br> + If native pow’r prevail not, shall I doubt<br> + To seek for needful succour from without?<br> + If Jove and Heav’n my just desires deny,<br> + Hell shall the pow’r of Heav’n and Jove supply.<br> + Grant that the Fates have firm’d, by their decree,<br> + The Trojan race to reign in Italy;<br> + At least I can defer the nuptial day,<br> + And with protracted wars the peace delay:<br> + With blood the dear alliance shall be bought,<br> + And both the people near destruction brought;<br> + So shall the son-in-law and father join,<br> + With ruin, war, and waste of either line.<br> + O fatal maid, thy marriage is endow’d<br> + With Phrygian, Latian, and Rutulian blood!<br> + Bellona leads thee to thy lover’s hand;<br> + Another queen brings forth another brand,<br> + To burn with foreign fires another land!<br> + A second Paris, diff’ring but in name,<br> + Shall fire his country with a second flame.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus having said, she sinks beneath the ground,<br> + With furious haste, and shoots the Stygian sound,<br> + To rouse Alecto from th’ infernal seat<br> + Of her dire sisters, and their dark retreat.<br> + This Fury, fit for her intent, she chose;<br> + One who delights in wars and human woes.<br> + Ev’n Pluto hates his own misshapen race;<br> + Her sister Furies fly her hideous face;<br> + So frightful are the forms the monster takes,<br> + So fierce the hissings of her speckled snakes.<br> + Her Juno finds, and thus inflames her spite:<br> + “O virgin daughter of eternal Night,<br> + Give me this once thy labour, to sustain<br> + My right, and execute my just disdain.<br> + Let not the Trojans, with a feign’d pretence<br> + Of proffer’d peace, delude the Latian prince.<br> + Expel from Italy that odious name,<br> + And let not Juno suffer in her fame.<br> + ’Tis thine to ruin realms, o’erturn a state,<br> + Betwixt the dearest friends to raise debate,<br> + And kindle kindred blood to mutual hate.<br> + Thy hand o’er towns the fun’ral torch displays,<br> + And forms a thousand ills ten thousand ways.<br> + Now shake, out thy fruitful breast, the seeds<br> + Of envy, discord, and of cruel deeds:<br> + Confound the peace establish’d, and prepare<br> + Their souls to hatred, and their hands to war.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Smear’d as she was with black Gorgonian blood,<br> + The Fury sprang above the Stygian flood;<br> + And on her wicker wings, sublime thro’ night,<br> + She to the Latian palace took her flight:<br> + There sought the queen’s apartment, stood before<br> + The peaceful threshold, and besieg’d the door.<br> + Restless Amata lay, her swelling breast<br> + Fir’d with disdain for Turnus dispossess’d,<br> + And the new nuptials of the Trojan guest.<br> + From her black bloody locks the Fury shakes<br> + Her darling plague, the fav’rite of her snakes;<br> + With her full force she threw the poisonous dart,<br> + And fix’d it deep within Amata’s heart,<br> + That, thus envenom’d, she might kindle rage,<br> + And sacrifice to strife her house and husband’s age.<br> + Unseen, unfelt, the fiery serpent skims<br> + Betwixt her linen and her naked limbs;<br> + His baleful breath inspiring, as he glides,<br> + Now like a chain around her neck he rides,<br> + Now like a fillet to her head repairs,<br> + And with his circling volumes folds her hairs.<br> + At first the silent venom slid with ease,<br> + And seiz’d her cooler senses by degrees;<br> + Then, ere th’ infected mass was fir’d too far,<br> + In plaintive accents she began the war,<br> + And thus bespoke her husband: “Shall,” she said,<br> + “A wand’ring prince enjoy Lavinia’s bed?<br> + If nature plead not in a parent’s heart,<br> + Pity my tears, and pity her desert.<br> + I know, my dearest lord, the time will come,<br> + You’d in vain, reverse your cruel doom;<br> + The faithless pirate soon will set to sea,<br> + And bear the royal virgin far away!<br> + A guest like him, a Trojan guest before,<br> + In shew of friendship sought the Spartan shore,<br> + And ravish’d Helen from her husband bore.<br> + Think on a king’s inviolable word;<br> + And think on Turnus, her once plighted lord:<br> + To this false foreigner you give your throne,<br> + And wrong a friend, a kinsman, and a son.<br> + Resume your ancient care; and, if the god<br> + Your sire, and you, resolve on foreign blood,<br> + Know all are foreign, in a larger sense,<br> + Not born your subjects, or deriv’d from hence.<br> + Then, if the line of Turnus you retrace,<br> + He springs from Inachus of Argive race.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + But when she saw her reasons idly spent,<br> + And could not move him from his fix’d intent,<br> + She flew to rage; for now the snake possess’d<br> + Her vital parts, and poison’d all her breast;<br> + She raves, she runs with a distracted pace,<br> + And fills with horrid howls the public place.<br> + And, as young striplings whip the top for sport,<br> + On the smooth pavement of an empty court;<br> + The wooden engine flies and whirls about,<br> + Admir’d, with clamours, of the beardless rout;<br> + They lash aloud; each other they provoke,<br> + And lend their little souls at ev’ry stroke:<br> + Thus fares the queen; and thus her fury blows<br> + Amidst the crowd, and kindles as she goes.<br> + Nor yet content, she strains her malice more,<br> + And adds new ills to those contriv’d before:<br> + She flies the town, and, mixing with a throng<br> + Of madding matrons, bears the bride along,<br> + Wand’ring thro’ woods and wilds, and devious ways,<br> + And with these arts the Trojan match delays.<br> + She feign’d the rites of Bacchus; cried aloud,<br> + And to the buxom god the virgin vow’d.<br> + “Evoe! O Bacchus!” thus began the song;<br> + And “Evoe!” answer’d all the female throng.<br> + “O virgin! worthy thee alone!” she cried;<br> + “O worthy thee alone!” the crew replied.<br> + “For thee she feeds her hair, she leads thy dance,<br> + And with thy winding ivy wreathes her lance.”<br> + Like fury seiz’d the rest; the progress known,<br> + All seek the mountains, and forsake the town:<br> + All, clad in skins of beasts, the jav’lin bear,<br> + Give to the wanton winds their flowing hair,<br> + And shrieks and shoutings rend the suff’ring air.<br> + The queen herself, inspir’d with rage divine,<br> + Shook high above her head a flaming pine;<br> + Then roll’d her haggard eyes around the throng,<br> + And sung, in Turnus’ name, the nuptial song:<br> + “Io, ye Latian dames! if any here<br> + Hold your unhappy queen, Amata, dear;<br> + If there be here,” she said, “who dare maintain<br> + My right, nor think the name of mother vain;<br> + Unbind your fillets, loose your flowing hair,<br> + And orgies and nocturnal rites prepare.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Amata’s breast the Fury thus invades,<br> + And fires with rage, amid the sylvan shades;<br> + Then, when she found her venom spread so far,<br> + The royal house embroil’d in civil war,<br> + Rais’d on her dusky wings, she cleaves the skies,<br> + And seeks the palace where young Turnus lies.<br> + His town, as fame reports, was built of old<br> + By Danae, pregnant with almighty gold,<br> + Who fled her father’s rage, and, with a train<br> + Of following Argives, thro’ the stormy main,<br> + Driv’n by the southern blasts, was fated here to reign.<br> + ’Twas Ardua once; now Ardea’s name it bears;<br> + Once a fair city, now consum’d with years.<br> + Here, in his lofty palace, Turnus lay,<br> + Betwixt the confines of the night and day,<br> + Secure in sleep. The Fury laid aside<br> + Her looks and limbs, and with new methods tried<br> + The foulness of th’ infernal form to hide.<br> + Propp’d on a staff, she takes a trembling mien:<br> + Her face is furrow’d, and her front obscene;<br> + Deep-dinted wrinkles on her cheek she draws;<br> + Sunk are her eyes, and toothless are her jaws;<br> + Her hoary hair with holy fillets bound,<br> + Her temples with an olive wreath are crown’d.<br> + Old Chalybe, who kept the sacred fane<br> + Of Juno, now she seem’d, and thus began,<br> + Appearing in a dream, to rouse the careless man:<br> + “Shall Turnus then such endless toil sustain<br> + In fighting fields, and conquer towns in vain?<br> + Win, for a Trojan head to wear the prize,<br> + Usurp thy crown, enjoy thy victories?<br> + The bride and scepter which thy blood has bought,<br> + The king transfers; and foreign heirs are sought.<br> + Go now, deluded man, and seek again<br> + New toils, new dangers, on the dusty plain.<br> + Repel the Tuscan foes; their city seize;<br> + Protect the Latians in luxurious ease.<br> + This dream all-pow’rful Juno sends; I bear<br> + Her mighty mandates, and her words you hear.<br> + Haste; arm your Ardeans; issue to the plain;<br> + With fate to friend, assault the Trojan train:<br> + Their thoughtless chiefs, their painted ships, that lie<br> + In Tiber’s mouth, with fire and sword destroy.<br> + The Latian king, unless he shall submit,<br> + Own his old promise, and his new forget;<br> + Let him, in arms, the pow’r of Turnus prove,<br> + And learn to fear whom he disdains to love.<br> + For such is Heav’n’s command.” The youthful prince<br> + With scorn replied, and made this bold defence:<br> + “You tell me, mother, what I knew before:<br> + The Phrygian fleet is landed on the shore.<br> + I neither fear nor will provoke the war;<br> + My fate is Juno’s most peculiar care.<br> + But time has made you dote, and vainly tell<br> + Of arms imagin’d in your lonely cell.<br> + Go; be the temple and the gods your care;<br> + Permit to men the thought of peace and war.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + These haughty words Alecto’s rage provoke,<br> + And frighted Turnus trembled as she spoke.<br> + Her eyes grow stiffen’d, and with sulphur burn;<br> + Her hideous looks and hellish form return;<br> + Her curling snakes with hissings fill the place,<br> + And open all the furies of her face:<br> + Then, darting fire from her malignant eyes,<br> + She cast him backward as he strove to rise,<br> + And, ling’ring, sought to frame some new replies.<br> + High on her head she rears two twisted snakes,<br> + Her chains she rattles, and her whip she shakes;<br> + And, churning bloody foam, thus loudly speaks:<br> + “Behold whom time has made to dote, and tell<br> + Of arms imagin’d in her lonely cell!<br> + Behold the Fates’ infernal minister!<br> + War, death, destruction, in my hand I bear.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus having said, her smould’ring torch, impress’d<br> + With her full force, she plung’d into his breast.<br> + Aghast he wak’d; and, starting from his bed,<br> + Cold sweat, in clammy drops, his limbs o’erspread.<br> + “Arms! arms!” he cries: “my sword and shield prepare!”<br> + He breathes defiance, blood, and mortal war.<br> + So, when with crackling flames a caldron fries,<br> + The bubbling waters from the bottom rise:<br> + Above the brims they force their fiery way;<br> + Black vapours climb aloft, and cloud the day.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The peace polluted thus, a chosen band<br> + He first commissions to the Latian land,<br> + In threat’ning embassy; then rais’d the rest,<br> + To meet in arms th’ intruding Trojan guest,<br> + To force the foes from the Lavinian shore,<br> + And Italy’s indanger’d peace restore.<br> + Himself alone an equal match he boasts,<br> + To fight the Phrygian and Ausonian hosts.<br> + The gods invok’d, the Rutuli prepare<br> + Their arms, and warn each other to the war.<br> + His beauty these, and those his blooming age,<br> + The rest his house and his own fame engage.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + While Turnus urges thus his enterprise,<br> + The Stygian Fury to the Trojans flies;<br> + New frauds invents, and takes a steepy stand,<br> + Which overlooks the vale with wide command;<br> + Where fair Ascanius and his youthful train,<br> + With horns and hounds, a hunting match ordain,<br> + And pitch their toils around the shady plain.<br> + The Fury fires the pack; they snuff, they vent,<br> + And feed their hungry nostrils with the scent.<br> + ’Twas of a well-grown stag, whose antlers rise<br> + High o’er his front; his beams invade the skies.<br> + From this light cause th’ infernal maid prepares<br> + The country churls to mischief, hate, and wars.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The stately beast the two Tyrrhidae bred,<br> + Snatch’d from his dams, and the tame youngling fed.<br> + Their father Tyrrheus did his fodder bring,<br> + Tyrrheus, chief ranger to the Latian king:<br> + Their sister Silvia cherish’d with her care<br> + The little wanton, and did wreaths prepare<br> + To hang his budding horns, with ribbons tied<br> + His tender neck, and comb’d his silken hide,<br> + And bathed his body. Patient of command<br> + In time he grew, and, growing us’d to hand,<br> + He waited at his master’s board for food;<br> + Then sought his salvage kindred in the wood,<br> + Where grazing all the day, at night he came<br> + To his known lodgings, and his country dame.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + This household beast, that us’d the woodland grounds,<br> + Was view’d at first by the young hero’s hounds,<br> + As down the stream he swam, to seek retreat<br> + In the cool waters, and to quench his heat.<br> + Ascanius young, and eager of his game,<br> + Soon bent his bow, uncertain in his aim;<br> + But the dire fiend the fatal arrow guides,<br> + Which pierc’d his bowels thro’ his panting sides.<br> + The bleeding creature issues from the floods,<br> + Possess’d with fear, and seeks his known abodes,<br> + His old familiar hearth and household gods.<br> + He falls; he fills the house with heavy groans,<br> + Implores their pity, and his pain bemoans.<br> + Young Silvia beats her breast, and cries aloud<br> + For succour from the clownish neighbourhood:<br> + The churls assemble; for the fiend, who lay<br> + In the close woody covert, urg’d their way.<br> + One with a brand yet burning from the flame,<br> + Arm’d with a knotty club another came:<br> + Whate’er they catch or find, without their care,<br> + Their fury makes an instrument of war.<br> + Tyrrheus, the foster father of the beast,<br> + Then clench’d a hatchet in his horny fist,<br> + But held his hand from the descending stroke,<br> + And left his wedge within the cloven oak,<br> + To whet their courage and their rage provoke.<br> + And now the goddess, exercis’d in ill,<br> + Who watch’d an hour to work her impious will,<br> + Ascends the roof, and to her crooked horn,<br> + Such as was then by Latian shepherds borne,<br> + Adds all her breath: the rocks and woods around,<br> + And mountains, tremble at th’ infernal sound.<br> + The sacred lake of Trivia from afar,<br> + The Veline fountains, and sulphureous Nar,<br> + Shake at the baleful blast, the signal of the war.<br> + Young mothers wildly stare, with fear possess’d,<br> + And strain their helpless infants to their breast.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The clowns, a boist’rous, rude, ungovern’d crew,<br> + With furious haste to the loud summons flew.<br> + The pow’rs of Troy, then issuing on the plain,<br> + With fresh recruits their youthful chief sustain:<br> + Not theirs a raw and unexperienc’d train,<br> + But a firm body of embattled men.<br> + At first, while fortune favour’d neither side,<br> + The fight with clubs and burning brands was tried;<br> + But now, both parties reinforc’d, the fields<br> + Are bright with flaming swords and brazen shields.<br> + A shining harvest either host displays,<br> + And shoots against the sun with equal rays.<br> + Thus, when a black-brow’d gust begins to rise,<br> + White foam at first on the curl’d ocean fries;<br> + Then roars the main, the billows mount the skies;<br> + Till, by the fury of the storm full blown,<br> + The muddy bottom o’er the clouds is thrown.<br> + First Almon falls, old Tyrrheus’ eldest care,<br> + Pierc’d with an arrow from the distant war:<br> + Fix’d in his throat the flying weapon stood,<br> + And stopp’d his breath, and drank his vital blood<br> + Huge heaps of slain around the body rise:<br> + Among the rest, the rich Galesus lies;<br> + A good old man, while peace he preach’d in vain,<br> + Amidst the madness of th’ unruly train:<br> + Five herds, five bleating flocks, his pastures fill’d;<br> + His lands a hundred yoke of oxen till’d.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus, while in equal scales their fortune stood<br> + The Fury bath’d them in each other’s blood;<br> + Then, having fix’d the fight, exulting flies,<br> + And bears fulfill’d her promise to the skies.<br> + To Juno thus she speaks: “Behold! It is done,<br> + The blood already drawn, the war begun;<br> + The discord is complete; nor can they cease<br> + The dire debate, nor you command the peace.<br> + Now, since the Latian and the Trojan brood<br> + Have tasted vengeance and the sweets of blood;<br> + Speak, and my pow’r shall add this office more:<br> + The neighbr’ing nations of th’ Ausonian shore<br> + Shall hear the dreadful rumour, from afar,<br> + Of arm’d invasion, and embrace the war.”<br> + Then Juno thus: “The grateful work is done,<br> + The seeds of discord sow’d, the war begun;<br> + Frauds, fears, and fury have possess’d the state,<br> + And fix’d the causes of a lasting hate.<br> + A bloody Hymen shall th’ alliance join<br> + Betwixt the Trojan and Ausonian line:<br> + But thou with speed to night and hell repair;<br> + For not the gods, nor angry Jove, will bear<br> + Thy lawless wand’ring walks in upper air.<br> + Leave what remains to me.” Saturnia said:<br> + The sullen fiend her sounding wings display’d,<br> + Unwilling left the light, and sought the nether shade.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + In midst of Italy, well known to fame,<br> + There lies a lake, Amsanctus is the name,<br> + Below the lofty mounts: on either side<br> + Thick forests the forbidden entrance hide.<br> + Full in the centre of the sacred wood<br> + An arm arises of the Stygian flood,<br> + Which, breaking from beneath with bellowing sound,<br> + Whirls the black waves and rattling stones around.<br> + Here Pluto pants for breath from out his cell,<br> + And opens wide the grinning jaws of hell.<br> + To this infernal lake the Fury flies;<br> + Here hides her hated head, and frees the lab’ring skies.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Saturnian Juno now, with double care,<br> + Attends the fatal process of the war.<br> + The clowns, return’d, from battle bear the slain,<br> + Implore the gods, and to their king complain.<br> + The corps of Almon and the rest are shown;<br> + Shrieks, clamours, murmurs, fill the frighted town.<br> + Ambitious Turnus in the press appears,<br> + And, aggravating crimes, augments their fears;<br> + Proclaims his private injuries aloud,<br> + A solemn promise made, and disavow’d;<br> + A foreign son is sought, and a mix’d mungril brood.<br> + Then they, whose mothers, frantic with their fear,<br> + In woods and wilds the flags of Bacchus bear,<br> + And lead his dances with dishevel’d hair,<br> + Increase the clamour, and the war demand,<br> + (Such was Amata’s int’rest in the land,)<br> + Against the public sanctions of the peace,<br> + Against all omens of their ill success.<br> + With fates averse, the rout in arms resort,<br> + To force their monarch, and insult the court.<br> + But, like a rock unmov’d, a rock that braves<br> + The raging tempest and the rising waves,<br> + Propp’d on himself he stands; his solid sides<br> + Wash off the seaweeds, and the sounding tides:<br> + So stood the pious prince, unmov’d, and long<br> + Sustain’d the madness of the noisy throng.<br> + But, when he found that Juno’s pow’r prevail’d,<br> + And all the methods of cool counsel fail’d,<br> + He calls the gods to witness their offence,<br> + Disclaims the war, asserts his innocence.<br> + “Hurried by fate,” he cries, “and borne before<br> + A furious wind, we have the faithful shore.<br> + O more than madmen! you yourselves shall bear<br> + The guilt of blood and sacrilegious war:<br> + Thou, Turnus, shalt atone it by thy fate,<br> + And pray to Heav’n for peace, but pray too late.<br> + For me, my stormy voyage at an end,<br> + I to the port of death securely tend.<br> + The fun’ral pomp which to your kings you pay,<br> + Is all I want, and all you take away.”<br> + He said no more, but, in his walls confin’d,<br> + Shut out the woes which he too well divin’d<br> + Nor with the rising storm would vainly strive,<br> + But left the helm, and let the vessel drive.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + A solemn custom was observ’d of old,<br> + Which Latium held, and now the Romans hold,<br> + Their standard when in fighting fields they rear<br> + Against the fierce Hyrcanians, or declare<br> + The Scythian, Indian, or Arabian war;<br> + Or from the boasting Parthians would regain<br> + Their eagles, lost in Carrhae’s bloody plain.<br> + Two gates of steel (the name of Mars they bear,<br> + And still are worship’d with religious fear)<br> + Before his temple stand: the dire abode,<br> + And the fear’d issues of the furious god,<br> + Are fenc’d with brazen bolts; without the gates,<br> + The wary guardian Janus doubly waits.<br> + Then, when the sacred senate votes the wars,<br> + The Roman consul their decree declares,<br> + And in his robes the sounding gates unbars.<br> + The youth in military shouts arise,<br> + And the loud trumpets break the yielding skies.<br> + These rites, of old by sov’reign princes us’d,<br> + Were the king’s office; but the king refus’d,<br> + Deaf to their cries, nor would the gates unbar<br> + Of sacred peace, or loose th’ imprison’d war;<br> + But hid his head, and, safe from loud alarms,<br> + Abhorr’d the wicked ministry of arms.<br> + Then heav’n’s imperious queen shot down from high:<br> + At her approach the brazen hinges fly;<br> + The gates are forc’d, and ev’ry falling bar;<br> + And, like a tempest, issues out the war.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The peaceful cities of th’ Ausonian shore,<br> + Lull’d in their ease, and undisturb’d before,<br> + Are all on fire; and some, with studious care,<br> + Their restiff steeds in sandy plains prepare;<br> + Some their soft limbs in painful marches try,<br> + And war is all their wish, and arms the gen’ral cry.<br> + Part scour the rusty shields with seam; and part<br> + New grind the blunted ax, and point the dart:<br> + With joy they view the waving ensigns fly,<br> + And hear the trumpet’s clangour pierce the sky.<br> + Five cities forge their arms: th’ Atinian pow’rs,<br> + Antemnae, Tibur with her lofty tow’rs,<br> + Ardea the proud, the Crustumerian town:<br> + All these of old were places of renown.<br> + Some hammer helmets for the fighting field;<br> + Some twine young sallows to support the shield;<br> + The croslet some, and some the cuishes mould,<br> + With silver plated, and with ductile gold.<br> + The rustic honours of the scythe and share<br> + Give place to swords and plumes, the pride of war.<br> + Old falchions are new temper’d in the fires;<br> + The sounding trumpet ev’ry soul inspires.<br> + The word is giv’n; with eager speed they lace<br> + The shining headpiece, and the shield embrace.<br> + The neighing steeds are to the chariot tied;<br> + The trusty weapon sits on ev’ry side.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + And now the mighty labour is begun<br> + Ye Muses, open all your Helicon.<br> + Sing you the chiefs that sway’d th’ Ausonian land,<br> + Their arms, and armies under their command;<br> + What warriors in our ancient clime were bred;<br> + What soldiers follow’d, and what heroes led.<br> + For well you know, and can record alone,<br> + What fame to future times conveys but darkly down.<br> + Mezentius first appear’d upon the plain:<br> + Scorn sate upon his brows, and sour disdain,<br> + Defying earth and heav’n. Etruria lost,<br> + He brings to Turnus’ aid his baffled host.<br> + The charming Lausus, full of youthful fire,<br> + Rode in the rank, and next his sullen sire;<br> + To Turnus only second in the grace<br> + Of manly mien, and features of the face.<br> + A skilful horseman, and a huntsman bred,<br> + With fates averse a thousand men he led:<br> + His sire unworthy of so brave a son;<br> + Himself well worthy of a happier throne.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Next Aventinus drives his chariot round<br> + The Latian plains, with palms and laurels crown’d.<br> + Proud of his steeds, he smokes along the field;<br> + His father’s hydra fills his ample shield:<br> + A hundred serpents hiss about the brims;<br> + The son of Hercules he justly seems<br> + By his broad shoulders and gigantic limbs;<br> + Of heav’nly part, and part of earthly blood,<br> + A mortal woman mixing with a god.<br> + For strong Alcides, after he had slain<br> + The triple Geryon, drove from conquer’d Spain<br> + His captive herds; and, thence in triumph led,<br> + On Tuscan Tiber’s flow’ry banks they fed.<br> + Then on Mount Aventine the son of Jove<br> + The priestess Rhea found, and forc’d to love.<br> + For arms, his men long piles and jav’lins bore;<br> + And poles with pointed steel their foes in battle gore.<br> + Like Hercules himself his son appears,<br> + In salvage pomp; a lion’s hide he wears;<br> + About his shoulders hangs the shaggy skin;<br> + The teeth and gaping jaws severely grin.<br> + Thus, like the god his father, homely dress’d,<br> + He strides into the hall, a horrid guest.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then two twin brothers from fair Tibur came,<br> + (Which from their brother Tiburs took the name,)<br> + Fierce Coras and Catillus, void of fear:<br> + Arm’d Argive horse they led, and in the front appear.<br> + Like cloud-born Centaurs, from the mountain’s height<br> + With rapid course descending to the fight;<br> + They rush along; the rattling woods give way;<br> + The branches bend before their sweepy sway.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Nor was Praeneste’s founder wanting there,<br> + Whom fame reports the son of Mulciber:<br> + Found in the fire, and foster’d in the plains,<br> + A shepherd and a king at once he reigns,<br> + And leads to Turnus’ aid his country swains.<br> + His own Praeneste sends a chosen band,<br> + With those who plow Saturnia’s Gabine land;<br> + Besides the succour which cold Anien yields,<br> + The rocks of Hernicus, and dewy fields,<br> + Anagnia fat, and Father Amasene—<br> + A num’rous rout, but all of naked men:<br> + Nor arms they wear, nor swords and bucklers wield,<br> + Nor drive the chariot thro’ the dusty field,<br> + But whirl from leathern slings huge balls of lead,<br> + And spoils of yellow wolves adorn their head;<br> + The left foot naked, when they march to fight,<br> + But in a bull’s raw hide they sheathe the right.<br> + Messapus next, (great Neptune was his sire,)<br> + Secure of steel, and fated from the fire,<br> + In pomp appears, and with his ardour warms<br> + A heartless train, unexercis’d in arms:<br> + The just Faliscans he to battle brings,<br> + And those who live where Lake Ciminius springs;<br> + And where Feronia’s grove and temple stands,<br> + Who till Fescennian or Flavinian lands.<br> + All these in order march, and marching sing<br> + The warlike actions of their sea-born king;<br> + Like a long team of snowy swans on high,<br> + Which clap their wings, and cleave the liquid sky,<br> + When, homeward from their wat’ry pastures borne,<br> + They sing, and Asia’s lakes their notes return.<br> + Not one who heard their music from afar,<br> + Would think these troops an army train’d to war,<br> + But flocks of fowl, that, when the tempests roar,<br> + With their hoarse gabbling seek the silent shore.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then Clausus came, who led a num’rous band<br> + Of troops embodied from the Sabine land,<br> + And, in himself alone, an army brought.<br> + ’Twas he, the noble Claudian race begot,<br> + The Claudian race, ordain’d, in times to come,<br> + To share the greatness of imperial Rome.<br> + He led the Cures forth, of old renown,<br> + Mutuscans from their olive-bearing town,<br> + And all th’ Eretian pow’rs; besides a band<br> + That follow’d from Velinum’s dewy land,<br> + And Amiternian troops, of mighty fame,<br> + And mountaineers, that from Severus came,<br> + And from the craggy cliffs of Tetrica,<br> + And those where yellow Tiber takes his way,<br> + And where Himella’s wanton waters play.<br> + Casperia sends her arms, with those that lie<br> + By Fabaris, and fruitful Foruli:<br> + The warlike aids of Horta next appear,<br> + And the cold Nursians come to close the rear,<br> + Mix’d with the natives born of Latine blood,<br> + Whom Allia washes with her fatal flood.<br> + Not thicker billows beat the Libyan main,<br> + When pale Orion sets in wintry rain;<br> + Nor thicker harvests on rich Hermus rise,<br> + Or Lycian fields, when Phoebus burns the skies,<br> + Than stand these troops: their bucklers ring around;<br> + Their trampling turns the turf, and shakes the solid ground.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + High in his chariot then Halesus came,<br> + A foe by birth to Troy’s unhappy name:<br> + From Agamemnon born—to Turnus’ aid<br> + A thousand men the youthful hero led,<br> + Who till the Massic soil, for wine renown’d,<br> + And fierce Auruncans from their hilly ground,<br> + And those who live by Sidicinian shores,<br> + And where with shoaly fords Vulturnus roars,<br> + Cales’ and Osca’s old inhabitants,<br> + And rough Saticulans, inur’d to wants:<br> + Light demi-lances from afar they throw,<br> + Fasten’d with leathern thongs, to gall the foe.<br> + Short crooked swords in closer fight they wear;<br> + And on their warding arm light bucklers bear.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Nor Oebalus, shalt thou be left unsung,<br> + From nymph Semethis and old Telon sprung,<br> + Who then in Teleboan Capri reign’d;<br> + But that short isle th’ ambitious youth disdain’d,<br> + And o’er Campania stretch’d his ample sway,<br> + Where swelling Sarnus seeks the Tyrrhene sea;<br> + O’er Batulum, and where Abella sees,<br> + From her high tow’rs, the harvest of her trees.<br> + And these (as was the Teuton use of old)<br> + Wield brazen swords, and brazen bucklers hold;<br> + Sling weighty stones, when from afar they fight;<br> + Their casques are cork, a covering thick and light.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Next these in rank, the warlike Ufens went,<br> + And led the mountain troops that Nursia sent.<br> + The rude Equicolae his rule obey’d;<br> + Hunting their sport, and plund’ring was their trade.<br> + In arms they plow’d, to battle still prepar’d:<br> + Their soil was barren, and their hearts were hard.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Umbro the priest the proud Marrubians led,<br> + By King Archippus sent to Turnus’ aid,<br> + And peaceful olives crown’d his hoary head.<br> + His wand and holy words, the viper’s rage,<br> + And venom’d wounds of serpents could assuage.<br> + He, when he pleas’d with powerful juice to steep<br> + Their temples, shut their eyes in pleasing sleep.<br> + But vain were Marsian herbs, and magic art,<br> + To cure the wound giv’n by the Dardan dart:<br> + Yet his untimely fate th’ Angitian woods<br> + In sighs remurmur’d to the Fucine floods.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The son of fam’d Hippolytus was there,<br> + Fam’d as his sire, and, as his mother, fair;<br> + Whom in Egerian groves Aricia bore,<br> + And nurs’d his youth along the marshy shore,<br> + Where great Diana’s peaceful altars flame,<br> + In fruitful fields; and Virbius was his name.<br> + Hippolytus, as old records have said,<br> + Was by his stepdam sought to share her bed;<br> + But, when no female arts his mind could move,<br> + She turn’d to furious hate her impious love.<br> + Torn by wild horses on the sandy shore,<br> + Another’s crimes th’ unhappy hunter bore,<br> + Glutting his father’s eyes with guiltless gore.<br> + But chaste Diana, who his death deplor’d,<br> + With Aesculapian herbs his life restor’d.<br> + Then Jove, who saw from high, with just disdain,<br> + The dead inspir’d with vital breath again,<br> + Struck to the centre, with his flaming dart,<br> + Th’ unhappy founder of the godlike art.<br> + But Trivia kept in secret shades alone<br> + Her care, Hippolytus, to fate unknown;<br> + And call’d him Virbius in th’ Egerian grove,<br> + Where then he liv’d obscure, but safe from Jove.<br> + For this, from Trivia’s temple and her wood<br> + Are coursers driv’n, who shed their master’s blood,<br> + Affrighted by the monsters of the flood.<br> + His son, the second Virbius, yet retain’d<br> + His father’s art, and warrior steeds he rein’d.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Amid the troops, and like the leading god,<br> + High o’er the rest in arms the graceful Turnus rode:<br> + A triple of plumes his crest adorn’d,<br> + On which with belching flames Chimaera burn’d:<br> + The more the kindled combat rises high’r,<br> + The more with fury burns the blazing fire.<br> + Fair Io grac’d his shield; but Io now<br> + With horns exalted stands, and seems to low—<br> + A noble charge! Her keeper by her side,<br> + To watch her walks, his hundred eyes applied;<br> + And on the brims her sire, the wat’ry god,<br> + Roll’d from a silver urn his crystal flood.<br> + A cloud of foot succeeds, and fills the fields<br> + With swords, and pointed spears, and clatt’ring shields;<br> + Of Argives, and of old Sicanian bands,<br> + And those who plow the rich Rutulian lands;<br> + Auruncan youth, and those Sacrana yields,<br> + And the proud Labicans, with painted shields,<br> + And those who near Numician streams reside,<br> + And those whom Tiber’s holy forests hide,<br> + Or Circe’s hills from the main land divide;<br> + Where Ufens glides along the lowly lands,<br> + Or the black water of Pomptina stands.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Last, from the Volscians fair Camilla came,<br> + And led her warlike troops, a warrior dame;<br> + Unbred to spinning, in the loom unskill’d,<br> + She chose the nobler Pallas of the field.<br> + Mix’d with the first, the fierce Virago fought,<br> + Sustain’d the toils of arms, the danger sought,<br> + Outstripp’d the winds in speed upon the plain,<br> + Flew o’er the fields, nor hurt the bearded grain:<br> + She swept the seas, and, as she skimm’d along,<br> + Her flying feet unbath’d on billows hung.<br> + Men, boys, and women, stupid with surprise,<br> + Where’er she passes, fix their wond’ring eyes:<br> + Longing they look, and, gaping at the sight,<br> + Devour her o’er and o’er with vast delight;<br> + Her purple habit sits with such a grace<br> + On her smooth shoulders, and so suits her face;<br> + Her head with ringlets of her hair is crown’d,<br> + And in a golden caul the curls are bound.<br> + She shakes her myrtle jav’lin; and, behind,<br> + Her Lycian quiver dances in the wind. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="chap08"></a>BOOK VIII</h2> + + <h5> THE ARGUMENT. </h5> + + <p> + 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. + <br><br> + </p> + + <p class="pfirst"> + <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen Turnus had assembled all his pow’rs,<br> + His standard planted on Laurentum’s tow’rs;<br> + When now the sprightly trumpet, from afar,<br> + Had giv’n the signal of approaching war,<br> + Had rous’d the neighing steeds to scour the fields,<br> + While the fierce riders clatter’d on their shields;<br> + Trembling with rage, the Latian youth prepare<br> + To join th’ allies, and headlong rush to war.<br> + Fierce Ufens, and Messapus, led the crowd,<br> + With bold Mezentius, who blasphem’d aloud.<br> + These thro’ the country took their wasteful course,<br> + The fields to forage, and to gather force.<br> + Then Venulus to Diomede they send,<br> + To beg his aid Ausonia to defend,<br> + Declare the common danger, and inform<br> + The Grecian leader of the growing storm:<br> + “Aeneas, landed on the Latian coast,<br> + With banish’d gods, and with a baffled host,<br> + Yet now aspir’d to conquest of the state,<br> + And claim’d a title from the gods and fate;<br> + What num’rous nations in his quarrel came,<br> + And how they spread his formidable name.<br> + What he design’d, what mischief might arise,<br> + If fortune favour’d his first enterprise,<br> + Was left for him to weigh, whose equal fears,<br> + And common interest, was involv’d in theirs.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + While Turnus and th’ allies thus urge the war,<br> + The Trojan, floating in a flood of care,<br> + Beholds the tempest which his foes prepare.<br> + This way and that he turns his anxious mind;<br> + Thinks, and rejects the counsels he design’d;<br> + Explores himself in vain, in ev’ry part,<br> + And gives no rest to his distracted heart.<br> + So, when the sun by day, or moon by night,<br> + Strike on the polish’d brass their trembling light,<br> + The glitt’ring species here and there divide,<br> + And cast their dubious beams from side to side;<br> + Now on the walls, now on the pavement play,<br> + And to the ceiling flash the glaring day.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + ’Twas night; and weary nature lull’d asleep<br> + The birds of air, and fishes of the deep,<br> + And beasts, and mortal men. The Trojan chief<br> + Was laid on Tiber’s banks, oppress’d with grief,<br> + And found in silent slumber late relief.<br> + Then, thro’ the shadows of the poplar wood,<br> + Arose the father of the Roman flood;<br> + An azure robe was o’er his body spread,<br> + A wreath of shady reeds adorn’d his head:<br> + Thus, manifest to sight, the god appear’d,<br> + And with these pleasing words his sorrow cheer’d:<br> + “Undoubted offspring of ethereal race,<br> + O long expected in this promis’d place!<br> + Who thro’ the foes hast borne thy banish’d gods,<br> + Restor’d them to their hearths, and old abodes;<br> + This is thy happy home, the clime where fate<br> + Ordains thee to restore the Trojan state.<br> + Fear not! The war shall end in lasting peace,<br> + And all the rage of haughty Juno cease.<br> + And that this nightly vision may not seem<br> + Th’ effect of fancy, or an idle dream,<br> + A sow beneath an oak shall lie along,<br> + All white herself, and white her thirty young.<br> + When thirty rolling years have run their race,<br> + Thy son Ascanius, on this empty space,<br> + Shall build a royal town, of lasting fame,<br> + Which from this omen shall receive the name.<br> + Time shall approve the truth. For what remains,<br> + And how with sure success to crown thy pains,<br> + With patience next attend. A banish’d band,<br> + Driv’n with Evander from th’ Arcadian land,<br> + Have planted here, and plac’d on high their walls;<br> + Their town the founder Pallanteum calls,<br> + Deriv’d from Pallas, his great-grandsire’s name:<br> + But the fierce Latians old possession claim,<br> + With war infesting the new colony.<br> + These make thy friends, and on their aid rely.<br> + To thy free passage I submit my streams.<br> + Wake, son of Venus, from thy pleasing dreams;<br> + And, when the setting stars are lost in day,<br> + To Juno’s pow’r thy just devotion pay;<br> + With sacrifice the wrathful queen appease:<br> + Her pride at length shall fall, her fury cease.<br> + When thou return’st victorious from the war,<br> + Perform thy vows to me with grateful care.<br> + The god am I, whose yellow water flows<br> + Around these fields, and fattens as it goes:<br> + Tiber my name; among the rolling floods<br> + Renown’d on earth, esteem’d among the gods.<br> + This is my certain seat. In times to come,<br> + My waves shall wash the walls of mighty Rome.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + He said, and plung’d below. While yet he spoke,<br> + His dream Aeneas and his sleep forsook.<br> + He rose, and looking up, beheld the skies<br> + With purple blushing, and the day arise.<br> + Then water in his hollow palm he took<br> + From Tiber’s flood, and thus the pow’rs bespoke:<br> + “Laurentian nymphs, by whom the streams are fed,<br> + And Father Tiber, in thy sacred bed<br> + Receive Aeneas, and from danger keep.<br> + Whatever fount, whatever holy deep,<br> + Conceals thy wat’ry stores; where’er they rise,<br> + And, bubbling from below, salute the skies;<br> + Thou, king of horned floods, whose plenteous urn<br> + Suffices fatness to the fruitful corn,<br> + For this thy kind compassion of our woes,<br> + Shalt share my morning song and ev’ning vows.<br> + But, O be present to thy people’s aid,<br> + And firm the gracious promise thou hast made!”<br> + Thus having said, two galleys from his stores,<br> + With care he chooses, mans, and fits with oars.<br> + Now on the shore the fatal swine is found.<br> + Wond’rous to tell!—She lay along the ground:<br> + Her well-fed offspring at her udders hung;<br> + She white herself, and white her thirty young.<br> + Aeneas takes the mother and her brood,<br> + And all on Juno’s altar are bestow’d.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The foll’wing night, and the succeeding day,<br> + Propitious Tiber smooth’d his wat’ry way:<br> + He roll’d his river back, and pois’d he stood,<br> + A gentle swelling, and a peaceful flood.<br> + The Trojans mount their ships; they put from shore,<br> + Borne on the waves, and scarcely dip an oar.<br> + Shouts from the land give omen to their course,<br> + And the pitch’d vessels glide with easy force.<br> + The woods and waters wonder at the gleam<br> + Of shields, and painted ships that stem the stream.<br> + One summer’s night and one whole day they pass<br> + Betwixt the greenwood shades, and cut the liquid glass.<br> + The fiery sun had finish’d half his race,<br> + Look’d back, and doubted in the middle space,<br> + When they from far beheld the rising tow’rs,<br> + The tops of sheds, and shepherds’ lowly bow’rs,<br> + Thin as they stood, which, then of homely clay,<br> + Now rise in marble, from the Roman sway.<br> + These cots (Evander’s kingdom, mean and poor)<br> + The Trojan saw, and turn’d his ships to shore.<br> + ’Twas on a solemn day: th’ Arcadian states,<br> + The king and prince, without the city gates,<br> + Then paid their off’rings in a sacred grove<br> + To Hercules, the warrior son of Jove.<br> + Thick clouds of rolling smoke involve the skies,<br> + And fat of entrails on his altar fries.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + But, when they saw the ships that stemm’d the flood,<br> + And glitter’d thro’ the covert of the wood,<br> + They rose with fear, and left th’ unfinish’d feast,<br> + Till dauntless Pallas reassur’d the rest<br> + To pay the rites. Himself without delay<br> + A jav’lin seiz’d, and singly took his way;<br> + Then gain’d a rising ground, and call’d from far:<br> + “Resolve me, strangers, whence, and what you are;<br> + Your bus’ness here; and bring you peace or war?”<br> + High on the stern Aeneas took his stand,<br> + And held a branch of olive in his hand,<br> + While thus he spoke: “The Phrygians’ arms you see,<br> + Expell’d from Troy, provok’d in Italy<br> + By Latian foes, with war unjustly made;<br> + At first affianc’d, and at last betray’d.<br> + This message bear: ‘The Trojans and their chief<br> + Bring holy peace, and beg the king’s relief.’<br> + Struck with so great a name, and all on fire,<br> + The youth replies: “Whatever you require,<br> + Your fame exacts. Upon our shores descend.<br> + A welcome guest, and, what you wish, a friend.”<br> + He said, and, downward hasting to the strand,<br> + Embrac’d the stranger prince, and join’d his hand.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Conducted to the grove, Aeneas broke<br> + The silence first, and thus the king bespoke:<br> + “Best of the Greeks, to whom, by fate’s command,<br> + I bear these peaceful branches in my hand,<br> + Undaunted I approach you, tho’ I know<br> + Your birth is Grecian, and your land my foe;<br> + From Atreus tho’ your ancient lineage came,<br> + And both the brother kings your kindred claim;<br> + Yet, my self-conscious worth, your high renown,<br> + Your virtue, thro’ the neighb’ring nations blown,<br> + Our fathers’ mingled blood, Apollo’s voice,<br> + Have led me hither, less by need than choice.<br> + Our founder Dardanus, as fame has sung,<br> + And Greeks acknowledge, from Electra sprung:<br> + Electra from the loins of Atlas came;<br> + Atlas, whose head sustains the starry frame.<br> + Your sire is Mercury, whom long before<br> + On cold Cyllene’s top fair Maia bore.<br> + Maia the fair, on fame if we rely,<br> + Was Atlas’ daughter, who sustains the sky.<br> + Thus from one common source our streams divide;<br> + Ours is the Trojan, yours th’ Arcadian side.<br> + Rais’d by these hopes, I sent no news before,<br> + Nor ask’d your leave, nor did your faith implore;<br> + But come, without a pledge, my own ambassador.<br> + The same Rutulians, who with arms pursue<br> + The Trojan race, are equal foes to you.<br> + Our host expell’d, what farther force can stay<br> + The victor troops from universal sway?<br> + Then will they stretch their pow’r athwart the land,<br> + And either sea from side to side command.<br> + Receive our offer’d faith, and give us thine;<br> + Ours is a gen’rous and experienc’d line:<br> + We want not hearts nor bodies for the war;<br> + In council cautious, and in fields we dare.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + He said; and while spoke, with piercing eyes<br> + Evander view’d the man with vast surprise,<br> + Pleas’d with his action, ravish’d with his face:<br> + Then answer’d briefly, with a royal grace:<br> + “O valiant leader of the Trojan line,<br> + In whom the features of thy father shine,<br> + How I recall Anchises! how I see<br> + His motions, mien, and all my friend, in thee!<br> + Long tho’ it be, ’tis fresh within my mind,<br> + When Priam to his sister’s court design’d<br> + A welcome visit, with a friendly stay,<br> + And thro’ th’ Arcadian kingdom took his way.<br> + Then, past a boy, the callow down began<br> + To shade my chin, and call me first a man.<br> + I saw the shining train with vast delight,<br> + And Priam’s goodly person pleas’d my sight:<br> + But great Anchises, far above the rest,<br> + With awful wonder fir’d my youthful breast.<br> + I long’d to join in friendship’s holy bands<br> + Our mutual hearts, and plight our mutual hands.<br> + I first accosted him: I sued, I sought,<br> + And, with a loving force, to Pheneus brought.<br> + He gave me, when at length constrain’d to go,<br> + A Lycian quiver and a Gnossian bow,<br> + A vest embroider’d, glorious to behold,<br> + And two rich bridles, with their bits of gold,<br> + Which my son’s coursers in obedience hold.<br> + The league you ask, I offer, as your right;<br> + And, when tomorrow’s sun reveals the light,<br> + With swift supplies you shall be sent away.<br> + Now celebrate with us this solemn day,<br> + Whose holy rites admit no long delay.<br> + Honour our annual feast; and take your seat,<br> + With friendly welcome, at a homely treat.”<br> + Thus having said, the bowls remov’d (for fear)<br> + The youths replac’d, and soon restor’d the cheer.<br> + On sods of turf he set the soldiers round:<br> + A maple throne, rais’d higher from the ground,<br> + Receiv’d the Trojan chief; and, o’er the bed,<br> + A lion’s shaggy hide for ornament they spread.<br> + The loaves were serv’d in canisters; the wine<br> + In bowls; the priest renew’d the rites divine:<br> + Broil’d entrails are their food, and beef’s continued chine.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + But when the rage of hunger was repress’d,<br> + Thus spoke Evander to his royal guest:<br> + “These rites, these altars, and this feast, O king,<br> + From no vain fears or superstition spring,<br> + Or blind devotion, or from blinder chance,<br> + Or heady zeal, or brutal ignorance;<br> + But, sav’d from danger, with a grateful sense,<br> + The labours of a god we recompense.<br> + See, from afar, yon rock that mates the sky,<br> + About whose feet such heaps of rubbish lie;<br> + Such indigested ruin; bleak and bare,<br> + How desert now it stands, expos’d in air!<br> + ’Twas once a robber’s den, inclos’d around<br> + With living stone, and deep beneath the ground.<br> + The monster Cacus, more than half a beast,<br> + This hold, impervious to the sun, possess’d.<br> + The pavement ever foul with human gore;<br> + Heads, and their mangled members, hung the door.<br> + Vulcan this plague begot; and, like his sire,<br> + Black clouds he belch’d, and flakes of livid fire.<br> + Time, long expected, eas’d us of our load,<br> + And brought the needful presence of a god.<br> + Th’ avenging force of Hercules, from Spain,<br> + Arriv’d in triumph, from Geryon slain:<br> + Thrice liv’d the giant, and thrice liv’d in vain.<br> + His prize, the lowing herds, Alcides drove<br> + Near Tiber’s bank, to graze the shady grove.<br> + Allur’d with hope of plunder, and intent<br> + By force to rob, by fraud to circumvent,<br> + The brutal Cacus, as by chance they stray’d,<br> + Four oxen thence, and four fair kine convey’d;<br> + And, lest the printed footsteps might be seen,<br> + He dragg’d ’em backwards to his rocky den.<br> + The tracks averse a lying notice gave,<br> + And led the searcher backward from the cave.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Meantime the herdsman hero shifts his place,<br> + To find fresh pasture and untrodden grass.<br> + The beasts, who miss’d their mates, fill’d all around<br> + With bellowings, and the rocks restor’d the sound.<br> + One heifer, who had heard her love complain,<br> + Roar’d from the cave, and made the project vain.<br> + Alcides found the fraud; with rage he shook,<br> + And toss’d about his head his knotted oak.<br> + Swift as the winds, or Scythian arrows’ flight,<br> + He clomb, with eager haste, th’ aerial height.<br> + Then first we saw the monster mend his pace;<br> + Fear in his eyes, and paleness in his face,<br> + Confess’d the god’s approach. Trembling he springs,<br> + As terror had increas’d his feet with wings;<br> + Nor stay’d for stairs; but down the depth he threw<br> + His body, on his back the door he drew<br> + (The door, a rib of living rock; with pains<br> + His father hew’d it out, and bound with iron chains):<br> + He broke the heavy links, the mountain clos’d,<br> + And bars and levers to his foe oppos’d.<br> + The wretch had hardly made his dungeon fast;<br> + The fierce avenger came with bounding haste;<br> + Survey’d the mouth of the forbidden hold,<br> + And here and there his raging eyes he roll’d.<br> + He gnash’d his teeth; and thrice he compass’d round<br> + With winged speed the circuit of the ground.<br> + Thrice at the cavern’s mouth he pull’d in vain,<br> + And, panting, thrice desisted from his pain.<br> + A pointed flinty rock, all bare and black,<br> + Grew gibbous from behind the mountain’s back;<br> + Owls, ravens, all ill omens of the night,<br> + Here built their nests, and hither wing’d their flight.<br> + The leaning head hung threat’ning o’er the flood,<br> + And nodded to the left. The hero stood<br> + Adverse, with planted feet, and, from the right,<br> + Tugg’d at the solid stone with all his might.<br> + Thus heav’d, the fix’d foundations of the rock<br> + Gave way; heav’n echo’d at the rattling shock.<br> + Tumbling, it chok’d the flood: on either side<br> + The banks leap backward, and the streams divide;<br> + The sky shrunk upward with unusual dread,<br> + And trembling Tiber div’d beneath his bed.<br> + The court of Cacus stands reveal’d to sight;<br> + The cavern glares with new-admitted light.<br> + So the pent vapours, with a rumbling sound,<br> + Heave from below, and rend the hollow ground;<br> + A sounding flaw succeeds; and, from on high,<br> + The gods with hate beheld the nether sky:<br> + The ghosts repine at violated night,<br> + And curse th’ invading sun, and sicken at the sight.<br> + The graceless monster, caught in open day,<br> + Inclos’d, and in despair to fly away,<br> + Howls horrible from underneath, and fills<br> + His hollow palace with unmanly yells.<br> + The hero stands above, and from afar<br> + Plies him with darts, and stones, and distant war.<br> + He, from his nostrils huge mouth, expires<br> + Black clouds of smoke, amidst his father’s fires,<br> + Gath’ring, with each repeated blast, the night,<br> + To make uncertain aim, and erring sight.<br> + The wrathful god then plunges from above,<br> + And, where in thickest waves the sparkles drove,<br> + There lights; and wades thro’ fumes, and gropes his way,<br> + Half sing’d, half stifled, till he grasps his prey.<br> + The monster, spewing fruitless flames, he found;<br> + He squeez’d his throat; he writh’d his neck around,<br> + And in a knot his crippled members bound;<br> + Then from their sockets tore his burning eyes:<br> + Roll’d on a heap, the breathless robber lies.<br> + The doors, unbarr’d, receive the rushing day,<br> + And thoro’ lights disclose the ravish’d prey.<br> + The bulls, redeem’d, breathe open air again.<br> + Next, by the feet, they drag him from his den.<br> + The wond’ring neighbourhood, with glad surprise,<br> + Behold his shagged breast, his giant size,<br> + His mouth that flames no more, and his extinguish’d eyes.<br> + From that auspicious day, with rites divine,<br> + We worship at the hero’s holy shrine.<br> + Potitius first ordain’d these annual vows:<br> + As priests, were added the Pinarian house,<br> + Who rais’d this altar in the sacred shade,<br> + Where honours, ever due, for ever shall be paid.<br> + For these deserts, and this high virtue shown,<br> + Ye warlike youths, your heads with garlands crown:<br> + Fill high the goblets with a sparkling flood,<br> + And with deep draughts invoke our common god.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + This said, a double wreath Evander twin’d,<br> + And poplars black and white his temples bind.<br> + Then brims his ample bowl. With like design<br> + The rest invoke the gods, with sprinkled wine.<br> + Meantime the sun descended from the skies,<br> + And the bright evening star began to rise.<br> + And now the priests, Potitius at their head,<br> + In skins of beasts involv’d, the long procession led;<br> + Held high the flaming tapers in their hands,<br> + As custom had prescrib’d their holy bands;<br> + Then with a second course the tables load,<br> + And with full chargers offer to the god.<br> + The Salii sing, and cense his altars round<br> + With Saban smoke, their heads with poplar bound<br> + One choir of old, another of the young,<br> + To dance, and bear the burthen of the song.<br> + The lay records the labours, and the praise,<br> + And all th’ immortal acts of Hercules:<br> + First, how the mighty babe, when swath’d in bands,<br> + The serpents strangled with his infant hands;<br> + Then, as in years and matchless force he grew,<br> + Th’ Oechalian walls, and Trojan, overthrew.<br> + Besides, a thousand hazards they relate,<br> + Procur’d by Juno’s and Eurystheus’ hate:<br> + “Thy hands, unconquer’d hero, could subdue<br> + The cloud-born Centaurs, and the monster crew:<br> + Nor thy resistless arm the bull withstood,<br> + Nor he, the roaring terror of the wood.<br> + The triple porter of the Stygian seat,<br> + With lolling tongue, lay fawning at thy feet,<br> + And, seiz’d with fear, forgot his mangled meat.<br> + Th’ infernal waters trembled at thy sight;<br> + Thee, god, no face of danger could affright;<br> + Not huge Typhoeus, nor th’ unnumber’d snake,<br> + Increas’d with hissing heads, in Lerna’s lake.<br> + Hail, Jove’s undoubted son! an added grace<br> + To heav’n and the great author of thy race!<br> + Receive the grateful off’rings which we pay,<br> + And smile propitious on thy solemn day!”<br> + In numbers thus they sung; above the rest,<br> + The den and death of Cacus crown the feast.<br> + The woods to hollow vales convey the sound,<br> + The vales to hills, and hills the notes rebound.<br> + The rites perform’d, the cheerful train retire.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Betwixt young Pallas and his aged sire,<br> + The Trojan pass’d, the city to survey,<br> + And pleasing talk beguil’d the tedious way.<br> + The stranger cast around his curious eyes,<br> + New objects viewing still, with new surprise;<br> + With greedy joy enquires of various things,<br> + And acts and monuments of ancient kings.<br> + Then thus the founder of the Roman tow’rs:<br> + “These woods were first the seat of sylvan pow’rs,<br> + Of Nymphs and Fauns, and salvage men, who took<br> + Their birth from trunks of trees and stubborn oak.<br> + Nor laws they knew, nor manners, nor the care<br> + Of lab’ring oxen, or the shining share,<br> + Nor arts of gain, nor what they gain’d to spare.<br> + Their exercise the chase; the running flood<br> + Supplied their thirst, the trees supplied their food.<br> + Then Saturn came, who fled the pow’r of Jove,<br> + Robb’d of his realms, and banish’d from above.<br> + The men, dispers’d on hills, to towns he brought,<br> + And laws ordain’d, and civil customs taught,<br> + And Latium call’d the land where safe he lay<br> + From his unduteous son, and his usurping sway.<br> + With his mild empire, peace and plenty came;<br> + And hence the golden times deriv’d their name.<br> + A more degenerate and discolour’d age<br> + Succeeded this, with avarice and rage.<br> + Th’ Ausonians then, and bold Sicanians came;<br> + And Saturn’s empire often chang’d the name.<br> + Then kings, gigantic Tybris, and the rest,<br> + With arbitrary sway the land oppress’d:<br> + For Tiber’s flood was Albula before,<br> + Till, from the tyrant’s fate, his name it bore.<br> + I last arriv’d, driv’n from my native home<br> + By fortune’s pow’r, and fate’s resistless doom.<br> + Long toss’d on seas, I sought this happy land,<br> + Warn’d by my mother nymph, and call’d by Heav’n’s command.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus, walking on, he spoke, and shew’d the gate,<br> + Since call’d Carmental by the Roman state;<br> + Where stood an altar, sacred to the name<br> + Of old Carmenta, the prophetic dame,<br> + Who to her son foretold th’ Aenean race,<br> + Sublime in fame, and Rome’s imperial place:<br> + Then shews the forest, which, in after times,<br> + Fierce Romulus for perpetrated crimes<br> + A sacred refuge made; with this, the shrine<br> + Where Pan below the rock had rites divine:<br> + Then tells of Argus’ death, his murder’d guest,<br> + Whose grave and tomb his innocence attest.<br> + Thence, to the steep Tarpeian rock he leads;<br> + Now roof’d with gold, then thatch’d with homely reeds.<br> + A reverent fear (such superstition reigns<br> + Among the rude) ev’n then possess’d the swains.<br> + Some god, they knew—what god, they could not tell—<br> + Did there amidst the sacred horror dwell.<br> + Th’ Arcadians thought him Jove; and said they saw<br> + The mighty Thund’rer with majestic awe,<br> + Who took his shield, and dealt his bolts around,<br> + And scatter’d tempests on the teeming ground.<br> + Then saw two heaps of ruins, (once they stood<br> + Two stately towns, on either side the flood,)<br> + Saturnia’s and Janiculum’s remains;<br> + And either place the founder’s name retains.<br> + Discoursing thus together, they resort<br> + Where poor Evander kept his country court.<br> + They view’d the ground of Rome’s litigious hall;<br> + (Once oxen low’d, where now the lawyers bawl;)<br> + Then, stooping, thro’ the narrow gate they press’d,<br> + When thus the king bespoke his Trojan guest:<br> + “Mean as it is, this palace, and this door,<br> + Receiv’d Alcides, then a conqueror.<br> + Dare to be poor; accept our homely food,<br> + Which feasted him, and emulate a god.”<br> + Then underneath a lowly roof he led<br> + The weary prince, and laid him on a bed;<br> + The stuffing leaves, with hides of bears o’erspread.<br> + Now night had shed her silver dews around,<br> + And with her sable wings embrac’d the ground,<br> + When love’s fair goddess, anxious for her son,<br> + (New tumults rising, and new wars begun,)<br> + Couch’d with her husband in his golden bed,<br> + With these alluring words invokes his aid;<br> + And, that her pleasing speech his mind may move,<br> + Inspires each accent with the charms of love:<br> + “While cruel fate conspir’d with Grecian pow’rs,<br> + To level with the ground the Trojan tow’rs,<br> + I ask’d not aid th’ unhappy to restore,<br> + Nor did the succour of thy skill implore;<br> + Nor urg’d the labours of my lord in vain,<br> + A sinking empire longer to sustain,<br> + Tho’ much I ow’d to Priam’s house, and more<br> + The dangers of Aeneas did deplore.<br> + But now, by Jove’s command, and fate’s decree,<br> + His race is doom’d to reign in Italy:<br> + With humble suit I beg thy needful art,<br> + O still propitious pow’r, that rules my heart!<br> + A mother kneels a suppliant for her son.<br> + By Thetis and Aurora thou wert won<br> + To forge impenetrable shields, and grace<br> + With fated arms a less illustrious race.<br> + Behold, what haughty nations are combin’d<br> + Against the relics of the Phrygian kind,<br> + With fire and sword my people to destroy,<br> + And conquer Venus twice, in conqu’ring Troy.”<br> + She said; and straight her arms, of snowy hue,<br> + About her unresolving husband threw.<br> + Her soft embraces soon infuse desire;<br> + His bones and marrow sudden warmth inspire;<br> + And all the godhead feels the wonted fire.<br> + Not half so swift the rattling thunder flies,<br> + Or forky lightnings flash along the skies.<br> + The goddess, proud of her successful wiles,<br> + And conscious of her form, in secret smiles.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then thus the pow’r, obnoxious to her charms,<br> + Panting, and half dissolving in her arms:<br> + “Why seek you reasons for a cause so just,<br> + Or your own beauties or my love distrust?<br> + Long since, had you requir’d my helpful hand,<br> + Th’ artificer and art you might command,<br> + To labour arms for Troy: nor Jove, nor fate,<br> + Confin’d their empire to so short a date.<br> + And, if you now desire new wars to wage,<br> + My skill I promise, and my pains engage.<br> + Whatever melting metals can conspire,<br> + Or breathing bellows, or the forming fire,<br> + Is freely yours: your anxious fears remove,<br> + And think no task is difficult to love.”<br> + Trembling he spoke; and, eager of her charms,<br> + He snatch’d the willing goddess to his arms;<br> + Till in her lap infus’d, he lay possess’d<br> + Of full desire, and sunk to pleasing rest.<br> + Now when the night her middle race had rode,<br> + And his first slumber had refresh’d the god—<br> + The time when early housewives leave the bed;<br> + When living embers on the hearth they spread,<br> + Supply the lamp, and call the maids to rise;—<br> + With yawning mouths, and with half-open’d eyes,<br> + They ply the distaff by the winking light,<br> + And to their daily labour add the night:<br> + Thus frugally they earn their children’s bread,<br> + And uncorrupted keep the nuptial bed—<br> + Not less concern’d, nor at a later hour,<br> + Rose from his downy couch the forging pow’r.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Sacred to Vulcan’s name, an isle there lay,<br> + Betwixt Sicilia’s coasts and Lipare,<br> + Rais’d high on smoking rocks; and, deep below,<br> + In hollow caves the fires of Aetna glow.<br> + The Cyclops here their heavy hammers deal;<br> + Loud strokes, and hissings of tormented steel,<br> + Are heard around; the boiling waters roar,<br> + And smoky flames thro’ fuming tunnels soar.<br> + Hither the Father of the Fire, by night,<br> + Thro’ the brown air precipitates his flight.<br> + On their eternal anvils here he found<br> + The brethren beating, and the blows go round.<br> + A load of pointless thunder now there lies<br> + Before their hands, to ripen for the skies:<br> + These darts, for angry Jove, they daily cast;<br> + Consum’d on mortals with prodigious waste.<br> + Three rays of writhen rain, of fire three more,<br> + Of winged southern winds and cloudy store<br> + As many parts, the dreadful mixture frame;<br> + And fears are added, and avenging flame.<br> + Inferior ministers, for Mars, repair<br> + His broken axletrees and blunted war,<br> + And send him forth again with furbish’d arms,<br> + To wake the lazy war with trumpets’ loud alarms.<br> + The rest refresh the scaly snakes that fold<br> + The shield of Pallas, and renew their gold.<br> + Full on the crest the Gorgon’s head they place,<br> + With eyes that roll in death, and with distorted face.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “My sons,” said Vulcan, “set your tasks aside;<br> + Your strength and master-skill must now be tried.<br> + Arms for a hero forge; arms that require<br> + Your force, your speed, and all your forming fire.”<br> + He said. They set their former work aside,<br> + And their new toils with eager haste divide.<br> + A flood of molten silver, brass, and gold,<br> + And deadly steel, in the large furnace roll’d;<br> + Of this, their artful hands a shield prepare,<br> + Alone sufficient to sustain the war.<br> + Sev’n orbs within a spacious round they close:<br> + One stirs the fire, and one the bellows blows.<br> + The hissing steel is in the smithy drown’d;<br> + The grot with beaten anvils groans around.<br> + By turns their arms advance, in equal time;<br> + By turns their hands descend, and hammers chime.<br> + They turn the glowing mass with crooked tongs;<br> + The fiery work proceeds, with rustic songs.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + While, at the Lemnian god’s command, they urge<br> + Their labours thus, and ply th’ Aeolian forge,<br> + The cheerful morn salutes Evander’s eyes,<br> + And songs of chirping birds invite to rise.<br> + He leaves his lowly bed: his buskins meet<br> + Above his ankles; sandals sheathe his feet:<br> + He sets his trusty sword upon his side,<br> + And o’er his shoulder throws a panther’s hide.<br> + Two menial dogs before their master press’d.<br> + Thus clad, and guarded thus, he seeks his kingly guest.<br> + Mindful of promis’d aid, he mends his pace,<br> + But meets Aeneas in the middle space.<br> + Young Pallas did his father’s steps attend,<br> + And true Achates waited on his friend.<br> + They join their hands; a secret seat they choose;<br> + Th’ Arcadian first their former talk renews:<br> + “Undaunted prince, I never can believe<br> + The Trojan empire lost, while you survive.<br> + Command th’ assistance of a faithful friend;<br> + But feeble are the succours I can send.<br> + Our narrow kingdom here the Tiber bounds;<br> + That other side the Latian state surrounds,<br> + Insults our walls, and wastes our fruitful grounds.<br> + But mighty nations I prepare, to join<br> + Their arms with yours, and aid your just design.<br> + You come, as by your better genius sent,<br> + And fortune seems to favour your intent.<br> + Not far from hence there stands a hilly town,<br> + Of ancient building, and of high renown,<br> + Torn from the Tuscans by the Lydian race,<br> + Who gave the name of Caere to the place,<br> + Once Agyllina call’d. It flourish’d long,<br> + In pride of wealth and warlike people strong,<br> + Till curs’d Mezentius, in a fatal hour,<br> + Assum’d the crown, with arbitrary pow’r.<br> + What words can paint those execrable times,<br> + The subjects’ suff’rings, and the tyrant’s crimes!<br> + That blood, those murders, O ye gods, replace<br> + On his own head, and on his impious race!<br> + The living and the dead at his command<br> + Were coupled, face to face, and hand to hand,<br> + Till, chok’d with stench, in loath’d embraces tied,<br> + The ling’ring wretches pin’d away and died.<br> + Thus plung’d in ills, and meditating more—<br> + The people’s patience, tir’d, no longer bore<br> + The raging monster; but with arms beset<br> + His house, and vengeance and destruction threat.<br> + They fire his palace: while the flame ascends,<br> + They force his guards, and execute his friends.<br> + He cleaves the crowd, and, favour’d by the night,<br> + To Turnus’ friendly court directs his flight.<br> + By just revenge the Tuscans set on fire,<br> + With arms, their king to punishment require:<br> + Their num’rous troops, now muster’d on the strand,<br> + My counsel shall submit to your command.<br> + Their navy swarms upon the coasts; they cry<br> + To hoist their anchors, but the gods deny.<br> + An ancient augur, skill’d in future fate,<br> + With these foreboding words restrains their hate:<br> + ‘Ye brave in arms, ye Lydian blood, the flow’r<br> + Of Tuscan youth, and choice of all their pow’r,<br> + Whom just revenge against Mezentius arms,<br> + To seek your tyrant’s death by lawful arms;<br> + Know this: no native of our land may lead<br> + This pow’rful people; seek a foreign head.’<br> + Aw’d with these words, in camps they still abide,<br> + And wait with longing looks their promis’d guide.<br> + Tarchon, the Tuscan chief, to me has sent<br> + Their crown, and ev’ry regal ornament:<br> + The people join their own with his desire;<br> + And all my conduct, as their king, require.<br> + But the chill blood that creeps within my veins,<br> + And age, and listless limbs unfit for pains,<br> + And a soul conscious of its own decay,<br> + Have forc’d me to refuse imperial sway.<br> + My Pallas were more fit to mount the throne,<br> + And should, but he’s a Sabine mother’s son,<br> + And half a native; but, in you, combine<br> + A manly vigour, and a foreign line.<br> + Where Fate and smiling Fortune shew the way,<br> + Pursue the ready path to sov’reign sway.<br> + The staff of my declining days, my son,<br> + Shall make your good or ill success his own;<br> + In fighting fields from you shall learn to dare,<br> + And serve the hard apprenticeship of war;<br> + Your matchless courage and your conduct view,<br> + And early shall begin t’ admire and copy you.<br> + Besides, two hundred horse he shall command;<br> + Tho’ few, a warlike and well-chosen band.<br> + These in my name are listed; and my son<br> + As many more has added in his own.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Scarce had he said; Achates and his guest,<br> + With downcast eyes, their silent grief express’d;<br> + Who, short of succours, and in deep despair,<br> + Shook at the dismal prospect of the war.<br> + But his bright mother, from a breaking cloud,<br> + To cheer her issue, thunder’d thrice aloud;<br> + Thrice forky lightning flash’d along the sky,<br> + And Tyrrhene trumpets thrice were heard on high.<br> + Then, gazing up, repeated peals they hear;<br> + And, in a heav’n serene, refulgent arms appear:<br> + Redd’ning the skies, and glitt’ring all around,<br> + The temper’d metals clash, and yield a silver sound.<br> + The rest stood trembling, struck with awe divine;<br> + Aeneas only, conscious to the sign,<br> + Presag’d th’ event, and joyful view’d, above,<br> + Th’ accomplish’d promise of the Queen of Love.<br> + Then, to th’ Arcadian king: “This prodigy<br> + (Dismiss your fear) belongs alone to me.<br> + Heav’n calls me to the war: th’ expected sign<br> + Is giv’n of promis’d aid, and arms divine.<br> + My goddess mother, whose indulgent care<br> + Foresaw the dangers of the growing war,<br> + This omen gave, when bright Vulcanian arms,<br> + Fated from force of steel by Stygian charms,<br> + Suspended, shone on high: she then foreshow’d<br> + Approaching fights, and fields to float in blood.<br> + Turnus shall dearly pay for faith forsworn;<br> + And corps, and swords, and shields, on Tiber borne,<br> + Shall choke his flood: now sound the loud alarms;<br> + And, Latian troops, prepare your perjur’d arms.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + He said, and, rising from his homely throne,<br> + The solemn rites of Hercules begun,<br> + And on his altars wak’d the sleeping fires;<br> + Then cheerful to his household gods retires;<br> + There offers chosen sheep. Th’ Arcadian king<br> + And Trojan youth the same oblations bring.<br> + Next, of his men and ships he makes review;<br> + Draws out the best and ablest of the crew.<br> + Down with the falling stream the refuse run,<br> + To raise with joyful news his drooping son.<br> + Steeds are prepar’d to mount the Trojan band,<br> + Who wait their leader to the Tyrrhene land.<br> + A sprightly courser, fairer than the rest,<br> + The king himself presents his royal guest:<br> + A lion’s hide his back and limbs infold,<br> + Precious with studded work, and paws of gold.<br> + Fame thro’ the little city spreads aloud<br> + Th’ intended march, amid the fearful crowd:<br> + The matrons beat their breasts, dissolve in tears,<br> + And double their devotion in their fears.<br> + The war at hand appears with more affright,<br> + And rises ev’ry moment to the sight.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then old Evander, with a close embrace,<br> + Strain’d his departing friend; and tears o’erflow his face.<br> + “Would Heav’n,” said he, “my strength and youth recall,<br> + Such as I was beneath Praeneste’s wall;<br> + Then when I made the foremost foes retire,<br> + And set whole heaps of conquer’d shields on fire;<br> + When Herilus in single fight I slew,<br> + Whom with three lives Feronia did endue;<br> + And thrice I sent him to the Stygian shore,<br> + Till the last ebbing soul return’d no more—<br> + Such if I stood renew’d, not these alarms,<br> + Nor death, should rend me from my Pallas’ arms;<br> + Nor proud Mezentius, thus unpunish’d, boast<br> + His rapes and murders on the Tuscan coast.<br> + Ye gods, and mighty Jove, in pity bring<br> + Relief, and hear a father and a king!<br> + If fate and you reserve these eyes, to see<br> + My son return with peace and victory;<br> + If the lov’d boy shall bless his father’s sight;<br> + If we shall meet again with more delight;<br> + Then draw my life in length; let me sustain,<br> + In hopes of his embrace, the worst of pain.<br> + But if your hard decrees—which, O! I dread—<br> + Have doom’d to death his undeserving head;<br> + This, O this very moment, let me die!<br> + While hopes and fears in equal balance lie;<br> + While, yet possess’d of all his youthful charms,<br> + I strain him close within these aged arms;<br> + Before that fatal news my soul shall wound!”<br> + He said, and, swooning, sunk upon the ground.<br> + His servants bore him off, and softly laid<br> + His languish’d limbs upon his homely bed.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The horsemen march; the gates are open’d wide;<br> + Aeneas at their head, Achates by his side.<br> + Next these, the Trojan leaders rode along;<br> + Last follows in the rear th’ Arcadian throng.<br> + Young Pallas shone conspicuous o’er the rest;<br> + Gilded his arms, embroider’d was his vest.<br> + So, from the seas, exerts his radiant head<br> + The star by whom the lights of heav’n are led;<br> + Shakes from his rosy locks the pearly dews,<br> + Dispels the darkness, and the day renews.<br> + The trembling wives the walls and turrets crowd,<br> + And follow, with their eyes, the dusty cloud,<br> + Which winds disperse by fits, and shew from far<br> + The blaze of arms, and shields, and shining war.<br> + The troops, drawn up in beautiful array,<br> + O’er heathy plains pursue the ready way.<br> + Repeated peals of shouts are heard around;<br> + The neighing coursers answer to the sound,<br> + And shake with horny hoofs the solid ground.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + A greenwood shade, for long religion known,<br> + Stands by the streams that wash the Tuscan town,<br> + Incompass’d round with gloomy hills above,<br> + Which add a holy horror to the grove.<br> + The first inhabitants of Grecian blood,<br> + That sacred forest to Silvanus vow’d,<br> + The guardian of their flocks and fields; and pay<br> + Their due devotions on his annual day.<br> + Not far from hence, along the river’s side,<br> + In tents secure, the Tuscan troops abide,<br> + By Tarchon led. Now, from a rising ground,<br> + Aeneas cast his wond’ring eyes around,<br> + And all the Tyrrhene army had in sight,<br> + Stretch’d on the spacious plain from left to right.<br> + Thither his warlike train the Trojan led,<br> + Refresh’d his men, and wearied horses fed.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Meantime the mother goddess, crown’d with charms,<br> + Breaks thro’ the clouds, and brings the fated arms.<br> + Within a winding vale she finds her son,<br> + On the cool river’s banks, retir’d alone.<br> + She shews her heav’nly form without disguise,<br> + And gives herself to his desiring eyes.<br> + “Behold,” she said, “perform’d in ev’ry part,<br> + My promise made, and Vulcan’s labour’d art.<br> + Now seek, secure, the Latian enemy,<br> + And haughty Turnus to the field defy.”<br> + She said; and, having first her son embrac’d,<br> + The radiant arms beneath an oak she plac’d,<br> + Proud of the gift, he roll’d his greedy sight<br> + Around the work, and gaz’d with vast delight.<br> + He lifts, he turns, he poises, and admires<br> + The crested helm, that vomits radiant fires:<br> + His hands the fatal sword and corslet hold,<br> + One keen with temper’d steel, one stiff with gold:<br> + Both ample, flaming both, and beamy bright;<br> + So shines a cloud, when edg’d with adverse light.<br> + He shakes the pointed spear, and longs to try<br> + The plated cuishes on his manly thigh;<br> + But most admires the shield’s mysterious mould,<br> + And Roman triumphs rising on the gold:<br> + For these, emboss’d, the heav’nly smith had wrought<br> + (Not in the rolls of future fate untaught)<br> + The wars in order, and the race divine<br> + Of warriors issuing from the Julian line.<br> + The cave of Mars was dress’d with mossy greens:<br> + There, by the wolf, were laid the martial twins.<br> + Intrepid on her swelling dugs they hung;<br> + The foster dam loll’d out her fawning tongue:<br> + They suck’d secure, while, bending back her head,<br> + She lick’d their tender limbs, and form’d them as they fed.<br> + Not far from thence new Rome appears, with games<br> + Projected for the rape of Sabine dames.<br> + The pit resounds with shrieks; a war succeeds,<br> + For breach of public faith, and unexampled deeds.<br> + Here for revenge the Sabine troops contend;<br> + The Romans there with arms the prey defend.<br> + Wearied with tedious war, at length they cease;<br> + And both the kings and kingdoms plight the peace.<br> + The friendly chiefs before Jove’s altar stand,<br> + Both arm’d, with each a charger in his hand:<br> + A fatted sow for sacrifice is led,<br> + With imprecations on the perjur’d head.<br> + Near this, the traitor Metius, stretch’d between<br> + Four fiery steeds, is dragg’d along the green,<br> + By Tullus’ doom: the brambles drink his blood,<br> + And his torn limbs are left the vulture’s food.<br> + There, Porsena to Rome proud Tarquin brings,<br> + And would by force restore the banish’d kings.<br> + One tyrant for his fellow-tyrant fights;<br> + The Roman youth assert their native rights.<br> + Before the town the Tuscan army lies,<br> + To win by famine, or by fraud surprise.<br> + Their king, half-threat’ning, half-disdaining stood,<br> + While Cocles broke the bridge, and stemm’d the flood.<br> + The captive maids there tempt the raging tide,<br> + Scap’d from their chains, with Cloelia for their guide.<br> + High on a rock heroic Manlius stood,<br> + To guard the temple, and the temple’s god.<br> + Then Rome was poor; and there you might behold<br> + The palace thatch’d with straw, now roof’d with gold.<br> + The silver goose before the shining gate<br> + There flew, and, by her cackle, sav’d the state.<br> + She told the Gauls’ approach; th’ approaching Gauls,<br> + Obscure in night, ascend, and seize the walls.<br> + The gold dissembled well their yellow hair,<br> + And golden chains on their white necks they wear.<br> + Gold are their vests; long Alpine spears they wield,<br> + And their left arm sustains a length of shield.<br> + Hard by, the leaping Salian priests advance;<br> + And naked thro’ the streets the mad Luperci dance,<br> + In caps of wool; the targets dropp’d from heav’n.<br> + Here modest matrons, in soft litters driv’n,<br> + To pay their vows in solemn pomp appear,<br> + And odorous gums in their chaste hands they bear.<br> + Far hence remov’d, the Stygian seats are seen;<br> + Pains of the damn’d, and punish’d Catiline<br> + Hung on a rock—the traitor; and, around,<br> + The Furies hissing from the nether ground.<br> + Apart from these, the happy souls he draws,<br> + And Cato’s holy ghost dispensing laws.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Betwixt the quarters flows a golden sea;<br> + But foaming surges there in silver play.<br> + The dancing dolphins with their tails divide<br> + The glitt’ring waves, and cut the precious tide.<br> + Amid the main, two mighty fleets engage<br> + Their brazen beaks, oppos’d with equal rage.<br> + Actium surveys the well-disputed prize;<br> + Leucate’s wat’ry plain with foamy billows fries.<br> + Young Caesar, on the stern, in armour bright,<br> + Here leads the Romans and their gods to fight:<br> + His beamy temples shoot their flames afar,<br> + And o’er his head is hung the Julian star.<br> + Agrippa seconds him, with prosp’rous gales,<br> + And, with propitious gods, his foes assails:<br> + A naval crown, that binds his manly brows,<br> + The happy fortune of the fight foreshows.<br> + Rang’d on the line oppos’d, Antonius brings<br> + Barbarian aids, and troops of Eastern kings;<br> + Th’ Arabians near, and Bactrians from afar,<br> + Of tongues discordant, and a mingled war:<br> + And, rich in gaudy robes, amidst the strife,<br> + His ill fate follows him—th’ Egyptian wife.<br> + Moving they fight; with oars and forky prows<br> + The froth is gather’d, and the water glows.<br> + It seems, as if the Cyclades again<br> + Were rooted up, and justled in the main;<br> + Or floating mountains floating mountains meet;<br> + Such is the fierce encounter of the fleet.<br> + Fireballs are thrown, and pointed jav’lins fly;<br> + The fields of Neptune take a purple dye.<br> + The queen herself, amidst the loud alarms,<br> + With cymbals toss’d her fainting soldiers warms—<br> + Fool as she was! who had not yet divin’d<br> + Her cruel fate, nor saw the snakes behind.<br> + Her country gods, the monsters of the sky,<br> + Great Neptune, Pallas, and Love’s Queen defy:<br> + The dog Anubis barks, but barks in vain,<br> + Nor longer dares oppose th’ ethereal train.<br> + Mars in the middle of the shining shield<br> + Is grav’d, and strides along the liquid field.<br> + The Dirae souse from heav’n with swift descent;<br> + And Discord, dyed in blood, with garments rent,<br> + Divides the prease: her steps Bellona treads,<br> + And shakes her iron rod above their heads.<br> + This seen, Apollo, from his Actian height,<br> + Pours down his arrows; at whose winged flight<br> + The trembling Indians and Egyptians yield,<br> + And soft Sabaeans quit the wat’ry field.<br> + The fatal mistress hoists her silken sails,<br> + And, shrinking from the fight, invokes the gales.<br> + Aghast she looks, and heaves her breast for breath,<br> + Panting, and pale with fear of future death.<br> + The god had figur’d her as driv’n along<br> + By winds and waves, and scudding thro’ the throng.<br> + Just opposite, sad Nilus opens wide<br> + His arms and ample bosom to the tide,<br> + And spreads his mantle o’er the winding coast,<br> + In which he wraps his queen, and hides the flying host.<br> + The victor to the gods his thanks express’d,<br> + And Rome, triumphant, with his presence bless’d.<br> + Three hundred temples in the town he plac’d;<br> + With spoils and altars ev’ry temple grac’d.<br> + Three shining nights, and three succeeding days,<br> + The fields resound with shouts, the streets with praise,<br> + The domes with songs, the theatres with plays.<br> + All altars flame: before each altar lies,<br> + Drench’d in his gore, the destin’d sacrifice.<br> + Great Caesar sits sublime upon his throne,<br> + Before Apollo’s porch of Parian stone;<br> + Accepts the presents vow’d for victory,<br> + And hangs the monumental crowns on high.<br> + Vast crowds of vanquish’d nations march along,<br> + Various in arms, in habit, and in tongue.<br> + Here, Mulciber assigns the proper place<br> + For Carians, and th’ ungirt Numidian race;<br> + Then ranks the Thracians in the second row,<br> + With Scythians, expert in the dart and bow.<br> + And here the tam’d Euphrates humbly glides,<br> + And there the Rhine submits her swelling tides,<br> + And proud Araxes, whom no bridge could bind;<br> + The Danes’ unconquer’d offspring march behind,<br> + And Morini, the last of humankind.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + These figures, on the shield divinely wrought,<br> + By Vulcan labour’d, and by Venus brought,<br> + With joy and wonder fill the hero’s thought.<br> + Unknown the names, he yet admires the grace,<br> + And bears aloft the fame and fortune of his race. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="chap09"></a>BOOK IX</h2> + + <h5> THE ARGUMENT. </h5> + + <p> + 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. + <br><br> + </p> + + <p class="pfirst"> + <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hile these affairs in distant places pass’d,<br> + The various Iris Juno sends with haste,<br> + To find bold Turnus, who, with anxious thought,<br> + The secret shade of his great grandsire sought.<br> + Retir’d alone she found the daring man,<br> + And op’d her rosy lips, and thus began:<br> + “What none of all the gods could grant thy vows,<br> + That, Turnus, this auspicious day bestows.<br> + Aeneas, gone to seek th’ Arcadian prince,<br> + Has left the Trojan camp without defence;<br> + And, short of succours there, employs his pains<br> + In parts remote to raise the Tuscan swains.<br> + Now snatch an hour that favours thy designs;<br> + Unite thy forces, and attack their lines.”<br> + This said, on equal wings she pois’d her weight,<br> + And form’d a radiant rainbow in her flight.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The Daunian hero lifts his hands and eyes,<br> + And thus invokes the goddess as she flies:<br> + “Iris, the grace of heav’n, what pow’r divine<br> + Has sent thee down, thro’ dusky clouds to shine?<br> + See, they divide; immortal day appears,<br> + And glitt’ring planets dancing in their spheres!<br> + With joy, these happy omens I obey,<br> + And follow to the war the god that leads the way.”<br> + Thus having said, as by the brook he stood,<br> + He scoop’d the water from the crystal flood;<br> + Then with his hands the drops to heav’n he throws,<br> + And loads the pow’rs above with offer’d vows.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now march the bold confed’rates thro’ the plain,<br> + Well hors’d, well clad; a rich and shining train.<br> + Messapus leads the van; and, in the rear,<br> + The sons of Tyrrheus in bright arms appear.<br> + In the main battle, with his flaming crest,<br> + The mighty Turnus tow’rs above the rest.<br> + Silent they move, majestically slow,<br> + Like ebbing Nile, or Ganges in his flow.<br> + The Trojans view the dusty cloud from far,<br> + And the dark menace of the distant war.<br> + Caicus from the rampire saw it rise,<br> + Black’ning the fields, and thick’ning thro’ the skies.<br> + Then to his fellows thus aloud he calls:<br> + “What rolling clouds, my friends, approach the walls?<br> + Arm! arm! and man the works! prepare your spears<br> + And pointed darts! the Latian host appears.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus warn’d, they shut their gates; with shouts ascend<br> + The bulwarks, and, secure, their foes attend:<br> + For their wise gen’ral, with foreseeing care,<br> + Had charg’d them not to tempt the doubtful war,<br> + Nor, tho’ provok’d, in open fields advance,<br> + But close within their lines attend their chance.<br> + Unwilling, yet they keep the strict command,<br> + And sourly wait in arms the hostile band.<br> + The fiery Turnus flew before the rest:<br> + A piebald steed of Thracian strain he press’d;<br> + His helm of massy gold, and crimson was his crest.<br> + With twenty horse to second his designs,<br> + An unexpected foe, he fac’d the lines.<br> + “Is there,” he said, “in arms, who bravely dare<br> + His leader’s honour and his danger share?”<br> + Then spurring on, his brandish’d dart he threw,<br> + In sign of war: applauding shouts ensue.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Amaz’d to find a dastard race, that run<br> + Behind the rampires and the battle shun,<br> + He rides around the camp, with rolling eyes,<br> + And stops at ev’ry post, and ev’ry passage tries.<br> + So roams the nightly wolf about the fold:<br> + Wet with descending show’rs, and stiff with cold,<br> + He howls for hunger, and he grins for pain,<br> + (His gnashing teeth are exercis’d in vain,)<br> + And, impotent of anger, finds no way<br> + In his distended paws to grasp the prey.<br> + The mothers listen; but the bleating lambs<br> + Securely swig the dug, beneath the dams.<br> + Thus ranges eager Turnus o’er the plain.<br> + Sharp with desire, and furious with disdain;<br> + Surveys each passage with a piercing sight,<br> + To force his foes in equal field to fight.<br> + Thus while he gazes round, at length he spies,<br> + Where, fenc’d with strong redoubts, their navy lies,<br> + Close underneath the walls; the washing tide<br> + Secures from all approach this weaker side.<br> + He takes the wish’d occasion, fills his hand<br> + With ready fires, and shakes a flaming brand.<br> + Urg’d by his presence, ev’ry soul is warm’d,<br> + And ev’ry hand with kindled fires is arm’d.<br> + From the fir’d pines the scatt’ring sparkles fly;<br> + Fat vapours, mix’d with flames, involve the sky.<br> + What pow’r, O Muses, could avert the flame<br> + Which threaten’d, in the fleet, the Trojan name?<br> + Tell: for the fact, thro’ length of time obscure,<br> + Is hard to faith; yet shall the fame endure.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + ’Tis said that, when the chief prepar’d his flight,<br> + And fell’d his timber from Mount Ida’s height,<br> + The grandam goddess then approach’d her son,<br> + And with a mother’s majesty begun:<br> + “Grant me,” she said, “the sole request I bring,<br> + Since conquer’d heav’n has own’d you for its king.<br> + On Ida’s brows, for ages past, there stood,<br> + With firs and maples fill’d, a shady wood;<br> + And on the summit rose a sacred grove,<br> + Where I was worship’d with religious love.<br> + Those woods, that holy grove, my long delight,<br> + I gave the Trojan prince, to speed his flight.<br> + Now, fill’d with fear, on their behalf I come;<br> + Let neither winds o’erset, nor waves intomb<br> + The floating forests of the sacred pine;<br> + But let it be their safety to be mine.”<br> + Then thus replied her awful son, who rolls<br> + The radiant stars, and heav’n and earth controls:<br> + “How dare you, mother, endless date demand<br> + For vessels moulded by a mortal hand?<br> + What then is fate? Shall bold Aeneas ride,<br> + Of safety certain, on th’ uncertain tide?<br> + Yet, what I can, I grant; when, wafted o’er,<br> + The chief is landed on the Latian shore,<br> + Whatever ships escape the raging storms,<br> + At my command shall change their fading forms<br> + To nymphs divine, and plow the wat’ry way,<br> + Like Dotis and the daughters of the sea.”<br> + To seal his sacred vow, by Styx he swore,<br> + The lake of liquid pitch, the dreary shore,<br> + And Phlegethon’s innavigable flood,<br> + And the black regions of his brother god.<br> + He said; and shook the skies with his imperial nod.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + And now at length the number’d hours were come,<br> + Prefix’d by fate’s irrevocable doom,<br> + When the great Mother of the Gods was free<br> + To save her ships, and finish Jove’s decree.<br> + First, from the quarter of the morn, there sprung<br> + A light that sign’d the heav’ns, and shot along;<br> + Then from a cloud, fring’d round with golden fires,<br> + Were timbrels heard, and Berecynthian choirs;<br> + And, last, a voice, with more than mortal sounds,<br> + Both hosts, in arms oppos’d, with equal horror wounds:<br> + “O Trojan race, your needless aid forbear,<br> + And know, my ships are my peculiar care.<br> + With greater ease the bold Rutulian may,<br> + With hissing brands, attempt to burn the sea,<br> + Than singe my sacred pines. But you, my charge,<br> + Loos’d from your crooked anchors, launch at large,<br> + Exalted each a nymph: forsake the sand,<br> + And swim the seas, at Cybele’s command.”<br> + No sooner had the goddess ceas’d to speak,<br> + When, lo! th’ obedient ships their haulsers break;<br> + And, strange to tell, like dolphins, in the main<br> + They plunge their prows, and dive, and spring again:<br> + As many beauteous maids the billows sweep,<br> + As rode before tall vessels on the deep.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The foes, surpris’d with wonder, stood aghast;<br> + Messapus curb’d his fiery courser’s haste;<br> + Old Tiber roar’d, and, raising up his head,<br> + Call’d back his waters to their oozy bed.<br> + Turnus alone, undaunted, bore the shock,<br> + And with these words his trembling troops bespoke:<br> + “These monsters for the Trojans’ fate are meant,<br> + And are by Jove for black presages sent.<br> + He takes the cowards’ last relief away;<br> + For fly they cannot, and, constrain’d to stay,<br> + Must yield unfought, a base inglorious prey.<br> + The liquid half of all the globe is lost;<br> + Heav’n shuts the seas, and we secure the coast.<br> + Theirs is no more than that small spot of ground<br> + Which myriads of our martial men surround.<br> + Their fates I fear not, or vain oracles.<br> + ’Twas giv’n to Venus they should cross the seas,<br> + And land secure upon the Latian plains:<br> + Their promis’d hour is pass’d, and mine remains.<br> + ’Tis in the fate of Turnus to destroy,<br> + With sword and fire, the faithless race of Troy.<br> + Shall such affronts as these alone inflame<br> + The Grecian brothers, and the Grecian name?<br> + My cause and theirs is one; a fatal strife,<br> + And final ruin, for a ravish’d wife.<br> + Was ’t not enough, that, punish’d for the crime,<br> + They fell; but will they fall a second time?<br> + One would have thought they paid enough before,<br> + To curse the costly sex, and durst offend no more.<br> + Can they securely trust their feeble wall,<br> + A slight partition, a thin interval,<br> + Betwixt their fate and them; when Troy, tho’ built<br> + By hands divine, yet perish’d by their guilt?<br> + Lend me, for once, my friends, your valiant hands,<br> + To force from out their lines these dastard bands.<br> + Less than a thousand ships will end this war,<br> + Nor Vulcan needs his fated arms prepare.<br> + Let all the Tuscans, all th’ Arcadians, join!<br> + Nor these, nor those, shall frustrate my design.<br> + Let them not fear the treasons of the night,<br> + The robb’d Palladium, the pretended flight:<br> + Our onset shall be made in open light.<br> + No wooden engine shall their town betray;<br> + Fires they shall have around, but fires by day.<br> + No Grecian babes before their camp appear,<br> + Whom Hector’s arms detain’d to the tenth tardy year.<br> + Now, since the sun is rolling to the west,<br> + Give we the silent night to needful rest:<br> + Refresh your bodies, and your arms prepare;<br> + The morn shall end the small remains of war.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The post of honour to Messapus falls,<br> + To keep the nightly guard, to watch the walls,<br> + To pitch the fires at distances around,<br> + And close the Trojans in their scanty ground.<br> + Twice seven Rutulian captains ready stand,<br> + And twice seven hundred horse these chiefs command;<br> + All clad in shining arms the works invest,<br> + Each with a radiant helm and waving crest.<br> + Stretch’d at their length, they press the grassy ground;<br> + They laugh, they sing, (the jolly bowls go round,)<br> + With lights and cheerful fires renew the day,<br> + And pass the wakeful night in feasts and play.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The Trojans, from above, their foes beheld,<br> + And with arm’d legions all the rampires fill’d.<br> + Seiz’d with affright, their gates they first explore;<br> + Join works to works with bridges, tow’r to tow’r:<br> + Thus all things needful for defence abound.<br> + Mnestheus and brave Seresthus walk the round,<br> + Commission’d by their absent prince to share<br> + The common danger, and divide the care.<br> + The soldiers draw their lots, and, as they fall,<br> + By turns relieve each other on the wall.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Nigh where the foes their utmost guards advance,<br> + To watch the gate was warlike Nisus’ chance.<br> + His father Hyrtacus of noble blood;<br> + His mother was a huntress of the wood,<br> + And sent him to the wars. Well could he bear<br> + His lance in fight, and dart the flying spear,<br> + But better skill’d unerring shafts to send.<br> + Beside him stood Euryalus, his friend:<br> + Euryalus, than whom the Trojan host<br> + No fairer face, or sweeter air, could boast.<br> + Scarce had the down to shade his cheeks begun.<br> + One was their care, and their delight was one:<br> + One common hazard in the war they shar’d,<br> + And now were both by choice upon the guard.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then Nisus thus: “Or do the gods inspire<br> + This warmth, or make we gods of our desire?<br> + A gen’rous ardour boils within my breast,<br> + Eager of action, enemy to rest:<br> + This urges me to fight, and fires my mind<br> + To leave a memorable name behind.<br> + Thou see’st the foe secure; how faintly shine<br> + Their scatter’d fires! the most, in sleep supine<br> + Along the ground, an easy conquest lie:<br> + The wakeful few the fuming flagon ply;<br> + All hush’d around. Now hear what I revolve—<br> + A thought unripe—and scarcely yet resolve.<br> + Our absent prince both camp and council mourn;<br> + By message both would hasten his return:<br> + If they confer what I demand on thee,<br> + (For fame is recompense enough for me,)<br> + Methinks, beneath yon hill, I have espied<br> + A way that safely will my passage guide.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Euryalus stood list’ning while he spoke,<br> + With love of praise and noble envy struck;<br> + Then to his ardent friend expos’d his mind:<br> + “All this, alone, and leaving me behind!<br> + Am I unworthy, Nisus, to be join’d?<br> + Think’st thou I can my share of glory yield,<br> + Or send thee unassisted to the field?<br> + Not so my father taught my childhood arms;<br> + Born in a siege, and bred among alarms!<br> + Nor is my youth unworthy of my friend,<br> + Nor of the heav’n-born hero I attend.<br> + The thing call’d life, with ease I can disclaim,<br> + And think it over-sold to purchase fame.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then Nisus thus: “Alas! thy tender years<br> + Would minister new matter to my fears.<br> + So may the gods, who view this friendly strife,<br> + Restore me to thy lov’d embrace with life,<br> + Condemn’d to pay my vows, (as sure I trust,)<br> + This thy request is cruel and unjust.<br> + But if some chance—as many chances are,<br> + And doubtful hazards, in the deeds of war—<br> + If one should reach my head, there let it fall,<br> + And spare thy life; I would not perish all.<br> + Thy bloomy youth deserves a longer date:<br> + Live thou to mourn thy love’s unhappy fate;<br> + To bear my mangled body from the foe,<br> + Or buy it back, and fun’ral rites bestow.<br> + Or, if hard fortune shall those dues deny,<br> + Thou canst at least an empty tomb supply.<br> + O let not me the widow’s tears renew!<br> + Nor let a mother’s curse my name pursue:<br> + Thy pious parent, who, for love of thee,<br> + Forsook the coasts of friendly Sicily,<br> + Her age committing to the seas and wind,<br> + When ev’ry weary matron stay’d behind.”<br> + To this, Euryalus: “You plead in vain,<br> + And but protract the cause you cannot gain.<br> + No more delays, but haste!” With that, he wakes<br> + The nodding watch; each to his office takes.<br> + The guard reliev’d, the gen’rous couple went<br> + To find the council at the royal tent.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + All creatures else forgot their daily care,<br> + And sleep, the common gift of nature, share;<br> + Except the Trojan peers, who wakeful sate<br> + In nightly council for th’ indanger’d state.<br> + They vote a message to their absent chief,<br> + Shew their distress, and beg a swift relief.<br> + Amid the camp a silent seat they chose,<br> + Remote from clamour, and secure from foes.<br> + On their left arms their ample shields they bear,<br> + The right reclin’d upon the bending spear.<br> + Now Nisus and his friend approach the guard,<br> + And beg admission, eager to be heard:<br> + Th’ affair important, not to be deferr’d.<br> + Ascanius bids ’em be conducted in,<br> + Ord’ring the more experienc’d to begin.<br> + Then Nisus thus: “Ye fathers, lend your ears;<br> + Nor judge our bold attempt beyond our years.<br> + The foe, securely drench’d in sleep and wine,<br> + Neglect their watch; the fires but thinly shine;<br> + And where the smoke in cloudy vapours flies,<br> + Cov’ring the plain, and curling to the skies,<br> + Betwixt two paths, which at the gate divide,<br> + Close by the sea, a passage we have spied,<br> + Which will our way to great Aeneas guide.<br> + Expect each hour to see him safe again,<br> + Loaded with spoils of foes in battle slain.<br> + Snatch we the lucky minute while we may;<br> + Nor can we be mistaken in the way;<br> + For, hunting in the vale, we both have seen<br> + The rising turrets, and the stream between,<br> + And know the winding course, with ev’ry ford.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + He ceas’d; and old Alethes took the word:<br> + “Our country gods, in whom our trust we place,<br> + Will yet from ruin save the Trojan race,<br> + While we behold such dauntless worth appear<br> + In dawning youth, and souls so void of fear.”<br> + Then into tears of joy the father broke;<br> + Each in his longing arms by turns he took;<br> + Panted and paus’d; and thus again he spoke:<br> + “Ye brave young men, what equal gifts can we,<br> + In recompense of such desert, decree?<br> + The greatest, sure, and best you can receive,<br> + The gods and your own conscious worth will give.<br> + The rest our grateful gen’ral will bestow,<br> + And young Ascanius till his manhood owe.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “And I, whose welfare in my father lies,”<br> + Ascanius adds, “by the great deities,<br> + By my dear country, by my household gods,<br> + By hoary Vesta’s rites and dark abodes,<br> + Adjure you both, (on you my fortune stands;<br> + That and my faith I plight into your hands,)<br> + Make me but happy in his safe return,<br> + Whose wanted presence I can only mourn;<br> + Your common gift shall two large goblets be<br> + Of silver, wrought with curious imagery,<br> + And high emboss’d, which, when old Priam reign’d,<br> + My conqu’ring sire at sack’d Arisba gain’d;<br> + And more, two tripods cast in antique mould,<br> + With two great talents of the finest gold;<br> + Beside a costly bowl, ingrav’d with art,<br> + Which Dido gave, when first she gave her heart.<br> + But, if in conquer’d Italy we reign,<br> + When spoils by lot the victor shall obtain—<br> + Thou saw’st the courser by proud Turnus press’d:<br> + That, Nisus, and his arms, and nodding crest,<br> + And shield, from chance exempt, shall be thy share:<br> + Twelve lab’ring slaves, twelve handmaids young and fair<br> + All clad in rich attire, and train’d with care;<br> + And, last, a Latian field with fruitful plains,<br> + And a large portion of the king’s domains.<br> + But thou, whose years are more to mine allied,<br> + No fate my vow’d affection shall divide<br> + From thee, heroic youth! Be wholly mine;<br> + Take full possession; all my soul is thine.<br> + One faith, one fame, one fate, shall both attend;<br> + My life’s companion, and my bosom friend:<br> + My peace shall be committed to thy care,<br> + And to thy conduct my concerns in war.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then thus the young Euryalus replied:<br> + “Whatever fortune, good or bad, betide,<br> + The same shall be my age, as now my youth;<br> + No time shall find me wanting to my truth.<br> + This only from your goodness let me gain<br> + (And, this ungranted, all rewards are vain)<br> + Of Priam’s royal race my mother came—<br> + And sure the best that ever bore the name—<br> + Whom neither Troy nor Sicily could hold<br> + From me departing, but, o’erspent and old,<br> + My fate she follow’d. Ignorant of this<br> + (Whatever) danger, neither parting kiss,<br> + Nor pious blessing taken, her I leave,<br> + And in this only act of all my life deceive.<br> + By this right hand and conscious night I swear,<br> + My soul so sad a farewell could not bear.<br> + Be you her comfort; fill my vacant place<br> + (Permit me to presume so great a grace)<br> + Support her age, forsaken and distress’d.<br> + That hope alone will fortify my breast<br> + Against the worst of fortunes, and of fears.”<br> + He said. The mov’d assistants melt in tears.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then thus Ascanius, wonderstruck to see<br> + That image of his filial piety:<br> + “So great beginnings, in so green an age,<br> + Exact the faith which I again engage.<br> + Thy mother all the dues shall justly claim,<br> + Creusa had, and only want the name.<br> + Whate’er event thy bold attempt shall have,<br> + ’Tis merit to have borne a son so brave.<br> + Now by my head, a sacred oath, I swear,<br> + (My father us’d it,) what, returning here<br> + Crown’d with success, I for thyself prepare,<br> + That, if thou fail, shall thy lov’d mother share.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + He said, and weeping, while he spoke the word,<br> + From his broad belt he drew a shining sword,<br> + Magnificent with gold. Lycaon made,<br> + And in an ivory scabbard sheath’d the blade.<br> + This was his gift. Great Mnestheus gave his friend<br> + A lion’s hide, his body to defend;<br> + And good Alethes furnish’d him, beside,<br> + With his own trusty helm, of temper tried.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus arm’d they went. The noble Trojans wait<br> + Their issuing forth, and follow to the gate<br> + With prayers and vows. Above the rest appears<br> + Ascanius, manly far beyond his years,<br> + And messages committed to their care,<br> + Which all in winds were lost, and flitting air.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The trenches first they pass’d; then took their way<br> + Where their proud foes in pitch’d pavilions lay;<br> + To many fatal, ere themselves were slain.<br> + They found the careless host dispers’d upon the plain,<br> + Who, gorg’d, and drunk with wine, supinely snore.<br> + Unharness’d chariots stand along the shore:<br> + Amidst the wheels and reins, the goblet by,<br> + A medley of debauch and war, they lie.<br> + Observing Nisus shew’d his friend the sight:<br> + “Behold a conquest gain’d without a fight.<br> + Occasion offers, and I stand prepar’d;<br> + There lies our way; be thou upon the guard,<br> + And look around, while I securely go,<br> + And hew a passage thro’ the sleeping foe.”<br> + Softly he spoke; then striding took his way,<br> + With his drawn sword, where haughty Rhamnes lay;<br> + His head rais’d high on tapestry beneath,<br> + And heaving from his breast, he drew his breath;<br> + A king and prophet, by King Turnus lov’d:<br> + But fate by prescience cannot be remov’d.<br> + Him and his sleeping slaves he slew; then spies<br> + Where Remus, with his rich retinue, lies.<br> + His armour-bearer first, and next he kills<br> + His charioteer, intrench’d betwixt the wheels<br> + And his lov’d horses; last invades their lord;<br> + Full on his neck he drives the fatal sword:<br> + The gasping head flies off; a purple flood<br> + Flows from the trunk, that welters in the blood,<br> + Which, by the spurning heels dispers’d around,<br> + The bed besprinkles and bedews the ground.<br> + Lamus the bold, and Lamyrus the strong,<br> + He slew, and then Serranus fair and young.<br> + From dice and wine the youth retir’d to rest,<br> + And puff’d the fumy god from out his breast:<br> + Ev’n then he dreamt of drink and lucky play—<br> + More lucky, had it lasted till the day.<br> + The famish’d lion thus, with hunger bold,<br> + O’erleaps the fences of the nightly fold,<br> + And tears the peaceful flocks: with silent awe<br> + Trembling they lie, and pant beneath his paw.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Nor with less rage Euryalus employs<br> + The wrathful sword, or fewer foes destroys;<br> + But on th’ ignoble crowd his fury flew;<br> + He Fadus, Hebesus, and Rhoetus slew.<br> + Oppress’d with heavy sleep the former fell,<br> + But Rhoetus wakeful, and observing all:<br> + Behind a spacious jar he slink’d for fear;<br> + The fatal iron found and reach’d him there;<br> + For, as he rose, it pierc’d his naked side,<br> + And, reeking, thence return’d in crimson dyed.<br> + The wound pours out a stream of wine and blood;<br> + The purple soul comes floating in the flood.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now, where Messapus quarter’d, they arrive.<br> + The fires were fainting there, and just alive;<br> + The warrior-horses, tied in order, fed.<br> + Nisus observ’d the discipline, and said:<br> + “Our eager thirst of blood may both betray;<br> + And see the scatter’d streaks of dawning day,<br> + Foe to nocturnal thefts. No more, my friend;<br> + Here let our glutted execution end.<br> + A lane thro’ slaughter’d bodies we have made.”<br> + The bold Euryalus, tho’ loth, obey’d.<br> + Of arms, and arras, and of plate, they find<br> + A precious load; but these they leave behind.<br> + Yet, fond of gaudy spoils, the boy would stay<br> + To make the rich caparison his prey,<br> + Which on the steed of conquer’d Rhamnes lay.<br> + Nor did his eyes less longingly behold<br> + The girdle-belt, with nails of burnish’d gold.<br> + This present Caedicus the rich bestow’d<br> + On Remulus, when friendship first they vow’d,<br> + And, absent, join’d in hospitable ties:<br> + He, dying, to his heir bequeath’d the prize;<br> + Till, by the conqu’ring Ardean troops oppress’d,<br> + He fell; and they the glorious gift possess’d.<br> + These glitt’ring spoils (now made the victor’s gain)<br> + He to his body suits, but suits in vain:<br> + Messapus’ helm he finds among the rest,<br> + And laces on, and wears the waving crest.<br> + Proud of their conquest, prouder of their prey,<br> + They leave the camp, and take the ready way.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + But far they had not pass’d, before they spied<br> + Three hundred horse, with Volscens for their guide.<br> + The queen a legion to King Turnus sent;<br> + But the swift horse the slower foot prevent,<br> + And now, advancing, sought the leader’s tent.<br> + They saw the pair; for, thro’ the doubtful shade,<br> + His shining helm Euryalus betray’d,<br> + On which the moon with full reflection play’d.<br> + “’Tis not for naught,” cried Volscens from the crowd,<br> + “These men go there;” then rais’d his voice aloud:<br> + “Stand! stand! why thus in arms? And whither bent?<br> + From whence, to whom, and on what errand sent?”<br> + Silent they scud away, and haste their flight<br> + To neighb’ring woods, and trust themselves to night.<br> + The speedy horse all passages belay,<br> + And spur their smoking steeds to cross their way,<br> + And watch each entrance of the winding wood.<br> + Black was the forest: thick with beech it stood,<br> + Horrid with fern, and intricate with thorn;<br> + Few paths of human feet, or tracks of beasts, were worn.<br> + The darkness of the shades, his heavy prey,<br> + And fear, misled the younger from his way.<br> + But Nisus hit the turns with happier haste,<br> + And, thoughtless of his friend, the forest pass’d,<br> + And Alban plains, from Alba’s name so call’d,<br> + Where King Latinus then his oxen stall’d;<br> + Till, turning at the length, he stood his ground,<br> + And miss’d his friend, and cast his eyes around:<br> + “Ah wretch!” he cried, “where have I left behind<br> + Th’ unhappy youth? where shall I hope to find?<br> + Or what way take?” Again he ventures back,<br> + And treads the mazes of his former track.<br> + He winds the wood, and, list’ning, hears the noise<br> + Of tramping coursers, and the riders’ voice.<br> + The sound approach’d; and suddenly he view’d<br> + The foes inclosing, and his friend pursued,<br> + Forelaid and taken, while he strove in vain<br> + The shelter of the friendly shades to gain.<br> + What should he next attempt? what arms employ,<br> + What fruitless force, to free the captive boy?<br> + Or desperate should he rush and lose his life,<br> + With odds oppress’d, in such unequal strife?<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Resolv’d at length, his pointed spear he shook;<br> + And, casting on the moon a mournful look:<br> + “Guardian of groves, and goddess of the night,<br> + Fair queen,” he said, “direct my dart aright.<br> + If e’er my pious father, for my sake,<br> + Did grateful off’rings on thy altars make,<br> + Or I increas’d them with my sylvan toils,<br> + And hung thy holy roofs with savage spoils,<br> + Give me to scatter these.” Then from his ear<br> + He pois’d, and aim’d, and launch’d the trembling spear.<br> + The deadly weapon, hissing from the grove,<br> + Impetuous on the back of Sulmo drove;<br> + Pierc’d his thin armour, drank his vital blood,<br> + And in his body left the broken wood.<br> + He staggers round; his eyeballs roll in death,<br> + And with short sobs he gasps away his breath.<br> + All stand amaz’d—a second jav’lin flies<br> + With equal strength, and quivers thro’ the skies.<br> + This thro’ thy temples, Tagus, forc’d the way,<br> + And in the brainpan warmly buried lay.<br> + Fierce Volscens foams with rage, and, gazing round,<br> + Descried not him who gave the fatal wound,<br> + Nor knew to fix revenge: “But thou,” he cries,<br> + “Shalt pay for both,” and at the pris’ner flies<br> + With his drawn sword. Then, struck with deep despair,<br> + That cruel sight the lover could not bear;<br> + But from his covert rush’d in open view,<br> + And sent his voice before him as he flew:<br> + “Me! me!” he cried—“turn all your swords alone<br> + On me—the fact confess’d, the fault my own.<br> + He neither could nor durst, the guiltless youth:<br> + Ye moon and stars, bear witness to the truth!<br> + His only crime (if friendship can offend)<br> + Is too much love to his unhappy friend.”<br> + Too late he speaks: the sword, which fury guides,<br> + Driv’n with full force, had pierc’d his tender sides.<br> + Down fell the beauteous youth: the yawning wound<br> + Gush’d out a purple stream, and stain’d the ground.<br> + His snowy neck reclines upon his breast,<br> + Like a fair flow’r by the keen share oppress’d;<br> + Like a white poppy sinking on the plain,<br> + Whose heavy head is overcharg’d with rain.<br> + Despair, and rage, and vengeance justly vow’d,<br> + Drove Nisus headlong on the hostile crowd.<br> + Volscens he seeks; on him alone he bends:<br> + Borne back and bor’d by his surrounding friends,<br> + Onward he press’d, and kept him still in sight;<br> + Then whirl’d aloft his sword with all his might:<br> + Th’ unerring steel descended while he spoke,<br> + Pierc’d his wide mouth, and thro’ his weazon broke.<br> + Dying, he slew; and, stagg’ring on the plain,<br> + With swimming eyes he sought his lover slain;<br> + Then quiet on his bleeding bosom fell,<br> + Content, in death, to be reveng’d so well.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + O happy friends! for, if my verse can give<br> + Immortal life, your fame shall ever live,<br> + Fix’d as the Capitol’s foundation lies,<br> + And spread, where’er the Roman eagle flies!<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The conqu’ring party first divide the prey,<br> + Then their slain leader to the camp convey.<br> + With wonder, as they went, the troops were fill’d,<br> + To see such numbers whom so few had kill’d.<br> + Serranus, Rhamnes, and the rest, they found:<br> + Vast crowds the dying and the dead surround;<br> + And the yet reeking blood o’erflows the ground.<br> + All knew the helmet which Messapus lost,<br> + But mourn’d a purchase that so dear had cost.<br> + Now rose the ruddy morn from Tithon’s bed,<br> + And with the dawn of day the skies o’erspread;<br> + Nor long the sun his daily course withheld,<br> + But added colours to the world reveal’d:<br> + When early Turnus, wak’ning with the light,<br> + All clad in armour, calls his troops to fight.<br> + His martial men with fierce harangue he fir’d,<br> + And his own ardour in their souls inspir’d.<br> + This done—to give new terror to his foes,<br> + The heads of Nisus and his friend he shows,<br> + Rais’d high on pointed spears—a ghastly sight:<br> + Loud peals of shouts ensue, and barbarous delight.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Meantime the Trojans run, where danger calls;<br> + They line their trenches, and they man their walls.<br> + In front extended to the left they stood;<br> + Safe was the right, surrounded by the flood.<br> + But, casting from their tow’rs a frightful view,<br> + They saw the faces, which too well they knew,<br> + Tho’ then disguis’d in death, and smear’d all o’er<br> + With filth obscene, and dropping putrid gore.<br> + Soon hasty fame thro’ the sad city bears<br> + The mournful message to the mother’s ears.<br> + An icy cold benumbs her limbs; she shakes;<br> + Her cheeks the blood, her hand the web forsakes.<br> + She runs the rampires round amidst the war,<br> + Nor fears the flying darts; she rends her hair,<br> + And fills with loud laments the liquid air.<br> + “Thus, then, my lov’d Euryalus appears!<br> + Thus looks the prop of my declining years!<br> + Was’t on this face my famish’d eyes I fed?<br> + Ah! how unlike the living is the dead!<br> + And could’st thou leave me, cruel, thus alone?<br> + Not one kind kiss from a departing son!<br> + No look, no last adieu before he went,<br> + In an ill-boding hour to slaughter sent!<br> + Cold on the ground, and pressing foreign clay,<br> + To Latian dogs and fowls he lies a prey!<br> + Nor was I near to close his dying eyes,<br> + To wash his wounds, to weep his obsequies,<br> + To call about his corpse his crying friends,<br> + Or spread the mantle (made for other ends)<br> + On his dear body, which I wove with care,<br> + Nor did my daily pains or nightly labour spare.<br> + Where shall I find his corpse? what earth sustains<br> + His trunk dismember’d, and his cold remains?<br> + For this, alas! I left my needful ease,<br> + Expos’d my life to winds and winter seas!<br> + If any pity touch Rutulian hearts,<br> + Here empty all your quivers, all your darts;<br> + Or, if they fail, thou, Jove, conclude my woe,<br> + And send me thunderstruck to shades below!”<br> + Her shrieks and clamours pierce the Trojans’ ears,<br> + Unman their courage, and augment their fears;<br> + Nor young Ascanius could the sight sustain,<br> + Nor old Ilioneus his tears restrain,<br> + But Actor and Idaeus jointly sent,<br> + To bear the madding mother to her tent.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + And now the trumpets terribly, from far,<br> + With rattling clangour, rouse the sleepy war.<br> + The soldiers’ shouts succeed the brazen sounds;<br> + And heav’n, from pole to pole, the noise rebounds.<br> + The Volscians bear their shields upon their head,<br> + And, rushing forward, form a moving shed.<br> + These fill the ditch; those pull the bulwarks down:<br> + Some raise the ladders; others scale the town.<br> + But, where void spaces on the walls appear,<br> + Or thin defence, they pour their forces there.<br> + With poles and missive weapons, from afar,<br> + The Trojans keep aloof the rising war.<br> + Taught, by their ten years’ siege, defensive fight,<br> + They roll down ribs of rocks, an unresisted weight,<br> + To break the penthouse with the pond’rous blow,<br> + Which yet the patient Volscians undergo:<br> + But could not bear th’ unequal combat long;<br> + For, where the Trojans find the thickest throng,<br> + The ruin falls: their shatter’d shields give way,<br> + And their crush’d heads become an easy prey.<br> + They shrink for fear, abated of their rage,<br> + Nor longer dare in a blind fight engage;<br> + Contented now to gall them from below<br> + With darts and slings, and with the distant bow.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Elsewhere Mezentius, terrible to view,<br> + A blazing pine within the trenches threw.<br> + But brave Messapus, Neptune’s warlike son,<br> + Broke down the palisades, the trenches won,<br> + And loud for ladders calls, to scale the town.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Calliope, begin! Ye sacred Nine,<br> + Inspire your poet in his high design,<br> + To sing what slaughter manly Turnus made,<br> + What souls he sent below the Stygian shade,<br> + What fame the soldiers with their captain share,<br> + And the vast circuit of the fatal war;<br> + For you in singing martial facts excel;<br> + You best remember, and alone can tell.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + There stood a tow’r, amazing to the sight,<br> + Built up of beams, and of stupendous height:<br> + Art, and the nature of the place, conspir’d<br> + To furnish all the strength that war requir’d.<br> + To level this, the bold Italians join;<br> + The wary Trojans obviate their design;<br> + With weighty stones o’erwhelm their troops below,<br> + Shoot thro’ the loopholes, and sharp jav’lins throw.<br> + Turnus, the chief, toss’d from his thund’ring hand<br> + Against the wooden walls, a flaming brand:<br> + It stuck, the fiery plague; the winds were high;<br> + The planks were season’d, and the timber dry.<br> + Contagion caught the posts; it spread along,<br> + Scorch’d, and to distance drove the scatter’d throng.<br> + The Trojans fled; the fire pursued amain,<br> + Still gath’ring fast upon the trembling train;<br> + Till, crowding to the corners of the wall,<br> + Down the defence and the defenders fall.<br> + The mighty flaw makes heav’n itself resound:<br> + The dead and dying Trojans strew the ground.<br> + The tow’r, that follow’d on the fallen crew,<br> + Whelm’d o’er their heads, and buried whom it slew:<br> + Some stuck upon the darts themselves had sent;<br> + All the same equal ruin underwent.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Young Lycus and Helenor only scape;<br> + Sav’d—how, they know not—from the steepy leap.<br> + Helenor, elder of the two: by birth,<br> + On one side royal, one a son of earth,<br> + Whom to the Lydian king Licymnia bare,<br> + And sent her boasted bastard to the war<br> + (A privilege which none but freemen share).<br> + Slight were his arms, a sword and silver shield:<br> + No marks of honour charg’d its empty field.<br> + Light as he fell, so light the youth arose,<br> + And rising, found himself amidst his foes;<br> + Nor flight was left, nor hopes to force his way.<br> + Embolden’d by despair, he stood at bay;<br> + And, like a stag, whom all the troop surrounds<br> + Of eager huntsmen and invading hounds<br> + Resolv’d on death, he dissipates his fears,<br> + And bounds aloft against the pointed spears:<br> + So dares the youth, secure of death; and throws<br> + His dying body on his thickest foes.<br> + But Lycus, swifter of his feet by far,<br> + Runs, doubles, winds and turns, amidst the war;<br> + Springs to the walls, and leaves his foes behind,<br> + And snatches at the beam he first can find;<br> + Looks up, and leaps aloft at all the stretch,<br> + In hopes the helping hand of some kind friend to reach.<br> + But Turnus follow’d hard his hunted prey<br> + (His spear had almost reach’d him in the way,<br> + Short of his reins, and scarce a span behind)<br> + “Fool!” said the chief, “tho’ fleeter than the wind,<br> + Couldst thou presume to scape, when I pursue?”<br> + He said, and downward by the feet he drew<br> + The trembling dastard; at the tug he falls;<br> + Vast ruins come along, rent from the smoking walls.<br> + Thus on some silver swan, or tim’rous hare,<br> + Jove’s bird comes sousing down from upper air;<br> + Her crooked talons truss the fearful prey:<br> + Then out of sight she soars, and wings her way.<br> + So seizes the grim wolf the tender lamb,<br> + In vain lamented by the bleating dam.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then rushing onward with a barb’rous cry,<br> + The troops of Turnus to the combat fly.<br> + The ditch with fagots fill’d, the daring foe<br> + Toss’d firebrands to the steepy turrets throw.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Ilioneus, as bold Lucetius came<br> + To force the gate, and feed the kindling flame,<br> + Roll’d down the fragment of a rock so right,<br> + It crush’d him double underneath the weight.<br> + Two more young Liger and Asylas slew:<br> + To bend the bow young Liger better knew;<br> + Asylas best the pointed jav’lin threw.<br> + Brave Caeneus laid Ortygius on the plain;<br> + The victor Caeneus was by Turnus slain.<br> + By the same hand, Clonius and Itys fall,<br> + Sagar, and Ida, standing on the wall.<br> + From Capys’ arms his fate Privernus found:<br> + Hurt by Themilla first—but slight the wound—<br> + His shield thrown by, to mitigate the smart,<br> + He clapp’d his hand upon the wounded part:<br> + The second shaft came swift and unespied,<br> + And pierc’d his hand, and nail’d it to his side,<br> + Transfix’d his breathing lungs and beating heart:<br> + The soul came issuing out, and hiss’d against the dart.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The son of Arcens shone amid the rest,<br> + In glitt’ring armour and a purple vest,<br> + (Fair was his face, his eyes inspiring love,)<br> + Bred by his father in the Martian grove,<br> + Where the fat altars of Palicus flame,<br> + And send in arms to purchase early fame.<br> + Him when he spied from far, the Tuscan king<br> + Laid by the lance, and took him to the sling,<br> + Thrice whirl’d the thong around his head, and threw:<br> + The heated lead half melted as it flew;<br> + It pierc’d his hollow temples and his brain;<br> + The youth came tumbling down, and spurn’d the plain.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then young Ascanius, who, before this day,<br> + Was wont in woods to shoot the savage prey,<br> + First bent in martial strife the twanging bow,<br> + And exercis’d against a human foe—<br> + With this bereft Numanus of his life,<br> + Who Turnus’ younger sister took to wife.<br> + Proud of his realm, and of his royal bride,<br> + Vaunting before his troops, and lengthen’d with a stride,<br> + In these insulting terms the Trojans he defied:<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Twice-conquer’d cowards, now your shame is shown—<br> + Coop’d up a second time within your town!<br> + Who dare not issue forth in open field,<br> + But hold your walls before you for a shield.<br> + Thus treat you war? thus our alliance force?<br> + What gods, what madness, hither steer’d your course?<br> + You shall not find the sons of Atreus here,<br> + Nor need the frauds of sly Ulysses fear.<br> + Strong from the cradle, of a sturdy brood,<br> + We bear our newborn infants to the flood;<br> + There bath’d amid the stream, our boys we hold,<br> + With winter harden’d, and inur’d to cold.<br> + They wake before the day to range the wood,<br> + Kill ere they eat, nor taste unconquer’d food.<br> + No sports, but what belong to war, they know:<br> + To break the stubborn colt, to bend the bow.<br> + Our youth, of labour patient, earn their bread;<br> + Hardly they work, with frugal diet fed.<br> + From plows and harrows sent to seek renown,<br> + They fight in fields, and storm the shaken town.<br> + No part of life from toils of war is free,<br> + No change in age, or diff’rence in degree.<br> + We plow and till in arms; our oxen feel,<br> + Instead of goads, the spur and pointed steel;<br> + Th’ inverted lance makes furrows in the plain.<br> + Ev’n time, that changes all, yet changes us in vain:<br> + The body, not the mind; nor can control<br> + Th’ immortal vigour, or abate the soul.<br> + Our helms defend the young, disguise the gray:<br> + We live by plunder, and delight in prey.<br> + Your vests embroider’d with rich purple shine;<br> + In sloth you glory, and in dances join.<br> + Your vests have sweeping sleeves; with female pride<br> + Your turbans underneath your chins are tied.<br> + Go, Phrygians, to your Dindymus again!<br> + Go, less than women, in the shapes of men!<br> + Go, mix’d with eunuchs, in the Mother’s rites,<br> + Where with unequal sound the flute invites;<br> + Sing, dance, and howl, by turns, in Ida’s shade:<br> + Resign the war to men, who know the martial trade!”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + This foul reproach Ascanius could not hear<br> + With patience, or a vow’d revenge forbear.<br> + At the full stretch of both his hands he drew,<br> + And almost join’d the horns of the tough yew.<br> + But, first, before the throne of Jove he stood,<br> + And thus with lifted hands invok’d the god:<br> + “My first attempt, great Jupiter, succeed!<br> + An annual off’ring in thy grove shall bleed;<br> + A snow-white steer, before thy altar led,<br> + Who, like his mother, bears aloft his head,<br> + Butts with his threat’ning brows, and bellowing stands,<br> + And dares the fight, and spurns the yellow sands.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Jove bow’d the heav’ns, and lent a gracious ear,<br> + And thunder’d on the left, amidst the clear.<br> + Sounded at once the bow; and swiftly flies<br> + The feather’d death, and hisses thro’ the skies.<br> + The steel thro’ both his temples forc’d the way:<br> + Extended on the ground, Numanus lay.<br> + “Go now, vain boaster, and true valour scorn!<br> + The Phrygians, twice subdued, yet make this third return.”<br> + Ascanius said no more. The Trojans shake<br> + The heav’ns with shouting, and new vigour take.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Apollo then bestrode a golden cloud,<br> + To view the feats of arms, and fighting crowd;<br> + And thus the beardless victor he bespoke aloud:<br> + “Advance, illustrious youth, increase in fame,<br> + And wide from east to west extend thy name;<br> + Offspring of gods thyself; and Rome shall owe<br> + To thee a race of demigods below.<br> + This is the way to heav’n: the pow’rs divine<br> + From this beginning date the Julian line.<br> + To thee, to them, and their victorious heirs,<br> + The conquer’d war is due, and the vast world is theirs.<br> + Troy is too narrow for thy name.” He said,<br> + And plunging downward shot his radiant head;<br> + Dispell’d the breathing air, that broke his flight:<br> + Shorn of his beams, a man to mortal sight.<br> + Old Butes’ form he took, Anchises’ squire,<br> + Now left, to rule Ascanius, by his sire:<br> + His wrinkled visage, and his hoary hairs,<br> + His mien, his habit, and his arms, he wears,<br> + And thus salutes the boy, too forward for his years:<br> + “Suffice it thee, thy father’s worthy son,<br> + The warlike prize thou hast already won.<br> + The god of archers gives thy youth a part<br> + Of his own praise, nor envies equal art.<br> + Now tempt the war no more.” He said, and flew<br> + Obscure in air, and vanish’d from their view.<br> + The Trojans, by his arms, their patron know,<br> + And hear the twanging of his heav’nly bow.<br> + Then duteous force they use, and Phoebus’ name,<br> + To keep from fight the youth too fond of fame.<br> + Undaunted, they themselves no danger shun;<br> + From wall to wall the shouts and clamours run.<br> + They bend their bows; they whirl their slings around;<br> + Heaps of spent arrows fall, and strew the ground;<br> + And helms, and shields, and rattling arms resound.<br> + The combat thickens, like the storm that flies<br> + From westward, when the show’ry Kids arise;<br> + Or patt’ring hail comes pouring on the main,<br> + When Jupiter descends in harden’d rain,<br> + Or bellowing clouds burst with a stormy sound,<br> + And with an armed winter strew the ground.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Pand’rus and Bitias, thunderbolts of war,<br> + Whom Hiera to bold Alcanor bare<br> + On Ida’s top, two youths of height and size<br> + Like firs that on their mother mountain rise,<br> + Presuming on their force, the gates unbar,<br> + And of their own accord invite the war.<br> + With fates averse, against their king’s command,<br> + Arm’d, on the right and on the left they stand,<br> + And flank the passage: shining steel they wear,<br> + And waving crests above their heads appear.<br> + Thus two tall oaks, that Padus’ banks adorn,<br> + Lift up to heav’n their leafy heads unshorn,<br> + And, overpress’d with nature’s heavy load,<br> + Dance to the whistling winds, and at each other nod.<br> + In flows a tide of Latians, when they see<br> + The gate set open, and the passage free;<br> + Bold Quercens, with rash Tmarus, rushing on,<br> + Equicolus, that in bright armour shone,<br> + And Haemon first; but soon repuls’d they fly,<br> + Or in the well-defended pass they die.<br> + These with success are fir’d, and those with rage,<br> + And each on equal terms at length engage.<br> + Drawn from their lines, and issuing on the plain,<br> + The Trojans hand to hand the fight maintain.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Fierce Turnus in another quarter fought,<br> + When suddenly th’ unhop’d-for news was brought,<br> + The foes had left the fastness of their place,<br> + Prevail’d in fight, and had his men in chase.<br> + He quits th’ attack, and, to prevent their fate,<br> + Runs where the giant brothers guard the gate.<br> + The first he met, Antiphates the brave,<br> + But base-begotten on a Theban slave,<br> + Sarpedon’s son, he slew: the deadly dart<br> + Found passage thro’ his breast, and pierc’d his heart.<br> + Fix’d in the wound th’ Italian cornel stood,<br> + Warm’d in his lungs, and in his vital blood.<br> + Aphidnus next, and Erymanthus dies,<br> + And Meropes, and the gigantic size<br> + Of Bitias, threat’ning with his ardent eyes.<br> + Not by the feeble dart he fell oppress’d<br> + (A dart were lost within that roomy breast),<br> + But from a knotted lance, large, heavy, strong,<br> + Which roar’d like thunder as it whirl’d along:<br> + Not two bull hides th’ impetuous force withhold,<br> + Nor coat of double mail, with scales of gold.<br> + Down sunk the monster bulk and press’d the ground;<br> + His arms and clatt’ring shield on the vast body sound,<br> + Not with less ruin than the Bajan mole,<br> + Rais’d on the seas, the surges to control—<br> + At once comes tumbling down the rocky wall;<br> + Prone to the deep, the stones disjointed fall<br> + Of the vast pile; the scatter’d ocean flies;<br> + Black sands, discolour’d froth, and mingled mud arise:<br> + The frighted billows roll, and seek the shores;<br> + Then trembles Prochyta, then Ischia roars:<br> + Typhoeus, thrown beneath, by Jove’s command,<br> + Astonish’d at the flaw that shakes the land,<br> + Soon shifts his weary side, and, scarce awake,<br> + With wonder feels the weight press lighter on his back.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The warrior god the Latian troops inspir’d,<br> + New strung their sinews, and their courage fir’d,<br> + But chills the Trojan hearts with cold affright:<br> + Then black despair precipitates their flight.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + When Pandarus beheld his brother kill’d,<br> + The town with fear and wild confusion fill’d,<br> + He turns the hinges of the heavy gate<br> + With both his hands, and adds his shoulders to the weight<br> + Some happier friends within the walls inclos’d;<br> + The rest shut out, to certain death expos’d:<br> + Fool as he was, and frantic in his care,<br> + T’ admit young Turnus, and include the war!<br> + He thrust amid the crowd, securely bold,<br> + Like a fierce tiger pent amid the fold.<br> + Too late his blazing buckler they descry,<br> + And sparkling fires that shot from either eye,<br> + His mighty members, and his ample breast,<br> + His rattling armour, and his crimson crest.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Far from that hated face the Trojans fly,<br> + All but the fool who sought his destiny.<br> + Mad Pandarus steps forth, with vengeance vow’d<br> + For Bitias’ death, and threatens thus aloud:<br> + “These are not Ardea’s walls, nor this the town<br> + Amata proffers with Lavinia’s crown:<br> + ’Tis hostile earth you tread. Of hope bereft,<br> + No means of safe return by flight are left.”<br> + To whom, with count’nance calm, and soul sedate,<br> + Thus Turnus: “Then begin, and try thy fate:<br> + My message to the ghost of Priam bear;<br> + Tell him a new Achilles sent thee there.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + A lance of tough ground ash the Trojan threw,<br> + Rough in the rind, and knotted as it grew:<br> + With his full force he whirl’d it first around;<br> + But the soft yielding air receiv’d the wound:<br> + Imperial Juno turn’d the course before,<br> + And fix’d the wand’ring weapon in the door.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “But hope not thou,” said Turnus, “when I strike,<br> + To shun thy fate: our force is not alike,<br> + Nor thy steel temper’d by the Lemnian god.”<br> + Then rising, on his utmost stretch he stood,<br> + And aim’d from high: the full descending blow<br> + Cleaves the broad front and beardless cheeks in two.<br> + Down sinks the giant with a thund’ring sound:<br> + His pond’rous limbs oppress the trembling ground;<br> + Blood, brains, and foam gush from the gaping wound:<br> + Scalp, face, and shoulders the keen steel divides,<br> + And the shar’d visage hangs on equal sides.<br> + The Trojans fly from their approaching fate;<br> + And, had the victor then secur’d the gate,<br> + And to his troops without unclos’d the bars,<br> + One lucky day had ended all his wars.<br> + But boiling youth, and blind desire of blood,<br> + Push’d on his fury, to pursue the crowd.<br> + Hamstring’d behind, unhappy Gyges died;<br> + Then Phalaris is added to his side.<br> + The pointed jav’lins from the dead he drew,<br> + And their friends’ arms against their fellows threw.<br> + Strong Halys stands in vain; weak Phlegys flies;<br> + Saturnia, still at hand, new force and fire supplies.<br> + Then Halius, Prytanis, Alcander fall—<br> + Engag’d against the foes who scal’d the wall:<br> + But, whom they fear’d without, they found within.<br> + At last, tho’ late, by Lynceus he was seen.<br> + He calls new succours, and assaults the prince:<br> + But weak his force, and vain is their defence.<br> + Turn’d to the right, his sword the hero drew,<br> + And at one blow the bold aggressor slew.<br> + He joints the neck; and, with a stroke so strong,<br> + The helm flies off, and bears the head along.<br> + Next him, the huntsman Amycus he kill’d,<br> + In darts envenom’d and in poison skill’d.<br> + Then Clytius fell beneath his fatal spear,<br> + And Creteus, whom the Muses held so dear:<br> + He fought with courage, and he sung the fight;<br> + Arms were his bus’ness, verses his delight.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The Trojan chiefs behold, with rage and grief,<br> + Their slaughter’d friends, and hasten their relief.<br> + Bold Mnestheus rallies first the broken train,<br> + Whom brave Seresthus and his troop sustain.<br> + To save the living, and revenge the dead,<br> + Against one warrior’s arms all Troy they led.<br> + “O, void of sense and courage!” Mnestheus cried,<br> + “Where can you hope your coward heads to hide?<br> + Ah! where beyond these rampires can you run?<br> + One man, and in your camp inclos’d, you shun!<br> + Shall then a single sword such slaughter boast,<br> + And pass unpunish’d from a num’rous host?<br> + Forsaking honour, and renouncing fame,<br> + Your gods, your country, and your king you shame!”<br> + This just reproach their virtue does excite:<br> + They stand, they join, they thicken to the fight.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now Turnus doubts, and yet disdains to yield,<br> + But with slow paces measures back the field,<br> + And inches to the walls, where Tiber’s tide,<br> + Washing the camp, defends the weaker side.<br> + The more he loses, they advance the more,<br> + And tread in ev’ry step he trod before.<br> + They shout: they bear him back; and, whom by might<br> + They cannot conquer, they oppress with weight.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + As, compass’d with a wood of spears around,<br> + The lordly lion still maintains his ground;<br> + Grins horrible, retires, and turns again;<br> + Threats his distended paws, and shakes his mane;<br> + He loses while in vain he presses on,<br> + Nor will his courage let him dare to run:<br> + So Turnus fares, and, unresolved of flight,<br> + Moves tardy back, and just recedes from fight.<br> + Yet twice, enrag’d, the combat he renews,<br> + Twice breaks, and twice his broken foes pursues.<br> + But now they swarm, and, with fresh troops supplied,<br> + Come rolling on, and rush from ev’ry side:<br> + Nor Juno, who sustain’d his arms before,<br> + Dares with new strength suffice th’ exhausted store;<br> + For Jove, with sour commands, sent Iris down,<br> + To force th’ invader from the frighted town.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + With labour spent, no longer can he wield<br> + The heavy falchion, or sustain the shield,<br> + O’erwhelm’d with darts, which from afar they fling:<br> + The weapons round his hollow temples ring;<br> + His golden helm gives way, with stony blows<br> + Batter’d, and flat, and beaten to his brows.<br> + His crest is rash’d away; his ample shield<br> + Is falsified, and round with jav’lins fill’d.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The foe, now faint, the Trojans overwhelm;<br> + And Mnestheus lays hard load upon his helm.<br> + Sick sweat succeeds; he drops at ev’ry pore;<br> + With driving dust his cheeks are pasted o’er;<br> + Shorter and shorter ev’ry gasp he takes;<br> + And vain efforts and hurtless blows he makes.<br> + Plung’d in the flood, and made the waters fly.<br> + The yellow god the welcome burthen bore,<br> + And wip’d the sweat, and wash’d away the gore;<br> + Then gently wafts him to the farther coast,<br> + And sends him safe to cheer his anxious host. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="chap10"></a>BOOK X</h2> + + <h5> THE ARGUMENT. </h5> + + <p> + 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. + <br><br> + </p> + + <p class="pfirst"> + <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he gates of heav’n unfold: Jove summons all<br> + The gods to council in the common hall.<br> + Sublimely seated, he surveys from far<br> + The fields, the camp, the fortune of the war,<br> + And all th’ inferior world. From first to last,<br> + The sov’reign senate in degrees are plac’d.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then thus th’ almighty sire began: “Ye gods,<br> + Natives or denizens of blest abodes,<br> + From whence these murmurs, and this change of mind,<br> + This backward fate from what was first design’d?<br> + Why this protracted war, when my commands<br> + Pronounc’d a peace, and gave the Latian lands?<br> + What fear or hope on either part divides<br> + Our heav’ns, and arms our powers on diff’rent sides?<br> + A lawful time of war at length will come,<br> + (Nor need your haste anticipate the doom),<br> + When Carthage shall contend the world with Rome,<br> + Shall force the rigid rocks and Alpine chains,<br> + And, like a flood, come pouring on the plains.<br> + Then is your time for faction and debate,<br> + For partial favour, and permitted hate.<br> + Let now your immature dissension cease;<br> + Sit quiet, and compose your souls to peace.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus Jupiter in few unfolds the charge;<br> + But lovely Venus thus replies at large:<br> + “O pow’r immense, eternal energy,<br> + (For to what else protection can we fly?)<br> + Seest thou the proud Rutulians, how they dare<br> + In fields, unpunish’d, and insult my care?<br> + How lofty Turnus vaunts amidst his train,<br> + In shining arms, triumphant on the plain?<br> + Ev’n in their lines and trenches they contend,<br> + And scarce their walls the Trojan troops defend:<br> + The town is fill’d with slaughter, and o’erfloats,<br> + With a red deluge, their increasing moats.<br> + Aeneas, ignorant, and far from thence,<br> + Has left a camp expos’d, without defence.<br> + This endless outrage shall they still sustain?<br> + Shall Troy renew’d be forc’d and fir’d again?<br> + A second siege my banish’d issue fears,<br> + And a new Diomede in arms appears.<br> + One more audacious mortal will be found;<br> + And I, thy daughter, wait another wound.<br> + Yet, if with fates averse, without thy leave,<br> + The Latian lands my progeny receive,<br> + Bear they the pains of violated law,<br> + And thy protection from their aid withdraw.<br> + But, if the gods their sure success foretell;<br> + If those of heav’n consent with those of hell,<br> + To promise Italy; who dare debate<br> + The pow’r of Jove, or fix another fate?<br> + What should I tell of tempests on the main,<br> + Of Aeolus usurping Neptune’s reign?<br> + Of Iris sent, with Bacchanalian heat<br> + T’ inspire the matrons, and destroy the fleet?<br> + Now Juno to the Stygian sky descends,<br> + Solicits hell for aid, and arms the fiends.<br> + That new example wanted yet above:<br> + An act that well became the wife of Jove!<br> + Alecto, rais’d by her, with rage inflames<br> + The peaceful bosoms of the Latian dames.<br> + Imperial sway no more exalts my mind;<br> + (Such hopes I had indeed, while Heav’n was kind;)<br> + Now let my happier foes possess my place,<br> + Whom Jove prefers before the Trojan race;<br> + And conquer they, whom you with conquest grace.<br> + Since you can spare, from all your wide command,<br> + No spot of earth, no hospitable land,<br> + Which may my wand’ring fugitives receive;<br> + (Since haughty Juno will not give you leave;)<br> + Then, father, (if I still may use that name,)<br> + By ruin’d Troy, yet smoking from the flame,<br> + I beg you, let Ascanius, by my care,<br> + Be freed from danger, and dismiss’d the war:<br> + Inglorious let him live, without a crown.<br> + The father may be cast on coasts unknown,<br> + Struggling with fate; but let me save the son.<br> + Mine is Cythera, mine the Cyprian tow’rs:<br> + In those recesses, and those sacred bow’rs,<br> + Obscurely let him rest; his right resign<br> + To promis’d empire, and his Julian line.<br> + Then Carthage may th’ Ausonian towns destroy,<br> + Nor fear the race of a rejected boy.<br> + What profits it my son to scape the fire,<br> + Arm’d with his gods, and loaded with his sire;<br> + To pass the perils of the seas and wind;<br> + Evade the Greeks, and leave the war behind;<br> + To reach th’ Italian shores; if, after all,<br> + Our second Pergamus is doom’d to fall?<br> + Much better had he curb’d his high desires,<br> + And hover’d o’er his ill-extinguish’d fires.<br> + To Simois’ banks the fugitives restore,<br> + And give them back to war, and all the woes before.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Deep indignation swell’d Saturnia’s heart:<br> + “And must I own,” she said, “my secret smart—<br> + What with more decence were in silence kept,<br> + And, but for this unjust reproach, had slept?<br> + Did god or man your fav’rite son advise,<br> + With war unhop’d the Latians to surprise?<br> + By fate, you boast, and by the gods’ decree,<br> + He left his native land for Italy!<br> + Confess the truth; by mad Cassandra, more<br> + Than Heav’n inspir’d, he sought a foreign shore!<br> + Did I persuade to trust his second Troy<br> + To the raw conduct of a beardless boy,<br> + With walls unfinish’d, which himself forsakes,<br> + And thro’ the waves a wand’ring voyage takes?<br> + When have I urg’d him meanly to demand<br> + The Tuscan aid, and arm a quiet land?<br> + Did I or Iris give this mad advice,<br> + Or made the fool himself the fatal choice?<br> + You think it hard, the Latians should destroy<br> + With swords your Trojans, and with fires your Troy!<br> + Hard and unjust indeed, for men to draw<br> + Their native air, nor take a foreign law!<br> + That Turnus is permitted still to live,<br> + To whom his birth a god and goddess give!<br> + But yet is just and lawful for your line<br> + To drive their fields, and force with fraud to join;<br> + Realms, not your own, among your clans divide,<br> + And from the bridegroom tear the promis’d bride;<br> + Petition, while you public arms prepare;<br> + Pretend a peace, and yet provoke a war!<br> + ’Twas giv’n to you, your darling son to shroud,<br> + To draw the dastard from the fighting crowd,<br> + And, for a man, obtend an empty cloud.<br> + From flaming fleets you turn’d the fire away,<br> + And chang’d the ships to daughters of the sea.<br> + But is my crime—the Queen of Heav’n offends,<br> + If she presume to save her suff’ring friends!<br> + Your son, not knowing what his foes decree,<br> + You say, is absent: absent let him be.<br> + Yours is Cythera, yours the Cyprian tow’rs,<br> + The soft recesses, and the sacred bow’rs.<br> + Why do you then these needless arms prepare,<br> + And thus provoke a people prone to war?<br> + Did I with fire the Trojan town deface,<br> + Or hinder from return your exil’d race?<br> + Was I the cause of mischief, or the man<br> + Whose lawless lust the fatal war began?<br> + Think on whose faith th’ adult’rous youth relied;<br> + Who promis’d, who procur’d, the Spartan bride?<br> + When all th’ united states of Greece combin’d,<br> + To purge the world of the perfidious kind,<br> + Then was your time to fear the Trojan fate:<br> + Your quarrels and complaints are now too late.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus Juno. Murmurs rise, with mix’d applause,<br> + Just as they favour or dislike the cause.<br> + So winds, when yet unfledg’d in woods they lie,<br> + In whispers first their tender voices try,<br> + Then issue on the main with bellowing rage,<br> + And storms to trembling mariners presage.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then thus to both replied th’ imperial god,<br> + Who shakes heav’n’s axles with his awful nod.<br> + (When he begins, the silent senate stand<br> + With rev’rence, list’ning to the dread command:<br> + The clouds dispel; the winds their breath restrain;<br> + And the hush’d waves lie flatted on the main.)<br> + “Celestials, your attentive ears incline!<br> + Since,” said the god, “the Trojans must not join<br> + In wish’d alliance with the Latian line;<br> + Since endless jarrings and immortal hate<br> + Tend but to discompose our happy state;<br> + The war henceforward be resign’d to fate:<br> + Each to his proper fortune stand or fall;<br> + Equal and unconcern’d I look on all.<br> + Rutulians, Trojans, are the same to me;<br> + And both shall draw the lots their fates decree.<br> + Let these assault, if Fortune be their friend;<br> + And, if she favours those, let those defend:<br> + The Fates will find their way.” The Thund’rer said,<br> + And shook the sacred honours of his head,<br> + Attesting Styx, th’ inviolable flood,<br> + And the black regions of his brother god.<br> + Trembled the poles of heav’n, and earth confess’d the nod.<br> + This end the sessions had: the senate rise,<br> + And to his palace wait their sov’reign thro’ the skies.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Meantime, intent upon their siege, the foes<br> + Within their walls the Trojan host inclose:<br> + They wound, they kill, they watch at ev’ry gate;<br> + Renew the fires, and urge their happy fate.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Th’ Aeneans wish in vain their wanted chief,<br> + Hopeless of flight, more hopeless of relief.<br> + Thin on the tow’rs they stand; and ev’n those few<br> + A feeble, fainting, and dejected crew.<br> + Yet in the face of danger some there stood:<br> + The two bold brothers of Sarpedon’s blood,<br> + Asius and Acmon; both th’ Assaraci;<br> + Young Haemon, and tho’ young, resolv’d to die.<br> + With these were Clarus and Thymoetes join’d;<br> + Tibris and Castor, both of Lycian kind.<br> + From Acmon’s hands a rolling stone there came,<br> + So large, it half deserv’d a mountain’s name:<br> + Strong-sinew’d was the youth, and big of bone;<br> + His brother Mnestheus could not more have done,<br> + Or the great father of th’ intrepid son.<br> + Some firebrands throw, some flights of arrows send;<br> + And some with darts, and some with stones defend.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Amid the press appears the beauteous boy,<br> + The care of Venus, and the hope of Troy.<br> + His lovely face unarm’d, his head was bare;<br> + In ringlets o’er his shoulders hung his hair.<br> + His forehead circled with a diadem;<br> + Distinguish’d from the crowd, he shines a gem,<br> + Enchas’d in gold, or polish’d iv’ry set,<br> + Amidst the meaner foil of sable jet.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Nor Ismarus was wanting to the war,<br> + Directing pointed arrows from afar,<br> + And death with poison arm’d—in Lydia born,<br> + Where plenteous harvests the fat fields adorn;<br> + Where proud Pactolus floats the fruitful lands,<br> + And leaves a rich manure of golden sands.<br> + There Capys, author of the Capuan name,<br> + And there was Mnestheus too, increas’d in fame,<br> + Since Turnus from the camp he cast with shame.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus mortal war was wag’d on either side.<br> + Meantime the hero cuts the nightly tide:<br> + For, anxious, from Evander when he went,<br> + He sought the Tyrrhene camp, and Tarchon’s tent;<br> + Expos’d the cause of coming to the chief;<br> + His name and country told, and ask’d relief;<br> + Propos’d the terms; his own small strength declar’d;<br> + What vengeance proud Mezentius had prepar’d:<br> + What Turnus, bold and violent, design’d;<br> + Then shew’d the slipp’ry state of humankind,<br> + And fickle fortune; warn’d him to beware,<br> + And to his wholesome counsel added pray’r.<br> + Tarchon, without delay, the treaty signs,<br> + And to the Trojan troops the Tuscan joins.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + They soon set sail; nor now the fates withstand;<br> + Their forces trusted with a foreign hand.<br> + Aeneas leads; upon his stern appear<br> + Two lions carv’d, which rising Ida bear—<br> + Ida, to wand’ring Trojans ever dear.<br> + Under their grateful shade Aeneas sate,<br> + Revolving war’s events, and various fate.<br> + His left young Pallas kept, fix’d to his side,<br> + And oft of winds enquir’d, and of the tide;<br> + Oft of the stars, and of their wat’ry way;<br> + And what he suffer’d both by land and sea.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now, sacred sisters, open all your spring!<br> + The Tuscan leaders, and their army sing,<br> + Which follow’d great Aeneas to the war:<br> + Their arms, their numbers, and their names declare.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + A thousand youths brave Massicus obey,<br> + Borne in the Tiger thro’ the foaming sea;<br> + From Asium brought, and Cosa, by his care:<br> + For arms, light quivers, bows and shafts, they bear.<br> + Fierce Abas next: his men bright armour wore;<br> + His stern Apollo’s golden statue bore.<br> + Six hundred Populonia sent along,<br> + All skill’d in martial exercise, and strong.<br> + Three hundred more for battle Ilva joins,<br> + An isle renown’d for steel, and unexhausted mines.<br> + Asylas on his prow the third appears,<br> + Who heav’n interprets, and the wand’ring stars;<br> + From offer’d entrails prodigies expounds,<br> + And peals of thunder, with presaging sounds.<br> + A thousand spears in warlike order stand,<br> + Sent by the Pisans under his command.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Fair Astur follows in the wat’ry field,<br> + Proud of his manag’d horse and painted shield.<br> + Gravisca, noisome from the neighb’ring fen,<br> + And his own Caere, sent three hundred men;<br> + With those which Minio’s fields and Pyrgi gave,<br> + All bred in arms, unanimous, and brave.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thou, Muse, the name of Cinyras renew,<br> + And brave Cupavo follow’d but by few;<br> + Whose helm confess’d the lineage of the man,<br> + And bore, with wings display’d, a silver swan.<br> + Love was the fault of his fam’d ancestry,<br> + Whose forms and fortunes in his ensigns fly.<br> + For Cycnus lov’d unhappy Phaeton,<br> + And sung his loss in poplar groves, alone,<br> + Beneath the sister shades, to soothe his grief.<br> + Heav’n heard his song, and hasten’d his relief,<br> + And chang’d to snowy plumes his hoary hair,<br> + And wing’d his flight, to chant aloft in air.<br> + His son Cupavo brush’d the briny flood:<br> + Upon his stern a brawny Centaur stood,<br> + Who heav’d a rock, and, threat’ning still to throw,<br> + With lifted hands alarm’d the seas below:<br> + They seem’d to fear the formidable sight,<br> + And roll’d their billows on, to speed his flight.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Ocnus was next, who led his native train<br> + Of hardy warriors thro’ the wat’ry plain:<br> + The son of Manto by the Tuscan stream,<br> + From whence the Mantuan town derives the name—<br> + An ancient city, but of mix’d descent:<br> + Three sev’ral tribes compose the government;<br> + Four towns are under each; but all obey<br> + The Mantuan laws, and own the Tuscan sway.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Hate to Mezentius arm’d five hundred more,<br> + Whom Mincius from his sire Benacus bore:<br> + Mincius, with wreaths of reeds his forehead cover’d o’er.<br> + These grave Auletes leads: a hundred sweep<br> + With stretching oars at once the glassy deep.<br> + Him and his martial train the Triton bears;<br> + High on his poop the sea-green god appears:<br> + Frowning he seems his crooked shell to sound,<br> + And at the blast the billows dance around.<br> + A hairy man above the waist he shows;<br> + A porpoise tail beneath his belly grows;<br> + And ends a fish: his breast the waves divides,<br> + And froth and foam augment the murm’ring tides.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Full thirty ships transport the chosen train<br> + For Troy’s relief, and scour the briny main.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now was the world forsaken by the sun,<br> + And Phoebe half her nightly race had run.<br> + The careful chief, who never clos’d his eyes,<br> + Himself the rudder holds, the sails supplies.<br> + A choir of Nereids meet him on the flood,<br> + Once his own galleys, hewn from Ida’s wood;<br> + But now, as many nymphs, the sea they sweep,<br> + As rode, before, tall vessels on the deep.<br> + They know him from afar; and in a ring<br> + Enclose the ship that bore the Trojan king.<br> + Cymodoce, whose voice excell’d the rest,<br> + Above the waves advanc’d her snowy breast;<br> + Her right hand stops the stern; her left divides<br> + The curling ocean, and corrects the tides.<br> + She spoke for all the choir, and thus began<br> + With pleasing words to warn th’ unknowing man:<br> + “Sleeps our lov’d lord? O goddess-born, awake!<br> + Spread ev’ry sail, pursue your wat’ry track,<br> + And haste your course. Your navy once were we,<br> + From Ida’s height descending to the sea;<br> + Till Turnus, as at anchor fix’d we stood,<br> + Presum’d to violate our holy wood.<br> + Then, loos’d from shore, we fled his fires profane<br> + (Unwillingly we broke our master’s chain),<br> + And since have sought you thro’ the Tuscan main.<br> + The mighty Mother chang’d our forms to these,<br> + And gave us life immortal in the seas.<br> + But young Ascanius, in his camp distress’d,<br> + By your insulting foes is hardly press’d.<br> + Th’ Arcadian horsemen, and Etrurian host,<br> + Advance in order on the Latian coast:<br> + To cut their way the Daunian chief designs,<br> + Before their troops can reach the Trojan lines.<br> + Thou, when the rosy morn restores the light,<br> + First arm thy soldiers for th’ ensuing fight:<br> + Thyself the fated sword of Vulcan wield,<br> + And bear aloft th’ impenetrable shield.<br> + Tomorrow’s sun, unless my skill be vain,<br> + Shall see huge heaps of foes in battle slain.”<br> + Parting, she spoke; and with immortal force<br> + Push’d on the vessel in her wat’ry course;<br> + For well she knew the way. Impell’d behind,<br> + The ship flew forward, and outstripp’d the wind.<br> + The rest make up. Unknowing of the cause,<br> + The chief admires their speed, and happy omens draws.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then thus he pray’d, and fix’d on heav’n his eyes:<br> + “Hear thou, great Mother of the deities.<br> + With turrets crown’d! (on Ida’s holy hill<br> + Fierce tigers, rein’d and curb’d, obey thy will.)<br> + Firm thy own omens; lead us on to fight;<br> + And let thy Phrygians conquer in thy right.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + He said no more. And now renewing day<br> + Had chas’d the shadows of the night away.<br> + He charg’d the soldiers, with preventing care,<br> + Their flags to follow, and their arms prepare;<br> + Warn’d of th’ ensuing fight, and bade ’em hope the war.<br> + Now, his lofty poop, he view’d below<br> + His camp incompass’d, and th’ inclosing foe.<br> + His blazing shield, imbrac’d, he held on high;<br> + The camp receive the sign, and with loud shouts reply.<br> + Hope arms their courage: from their tow’rs they throw<br> + Their darts with double force, and drive the foe.<br> + Thus, at the signal giv’n, the cranes arise<br> + Before the stormy south, and blacken all the skies.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + King Turnus wonder’d at the fight renew’d,<br> + Till, looking back, the Trojan fleet he view’d,<br> + The seas with swelling canvas cover’d o’er,<br> + And the swift ships descending on the shore.<br> + The Latians saw from far, with dazzled eyes,<br> + The radiant crest that seem’d in flames to rise,<br> + And dart diffusive fires around the field,<br> + And the keen glitt’ring of the golden shield.<br> + Thus threat’ning comets, when by night they rise,<br> + Shoot sanguine streams, and sadden all the skies:<br> + So Sirius, flashing forth sinister lights,<br> + Pale humankind with plagues and with dry famine fright:<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Yet Turnus with undaunted mind is bent<br> + To man the shores, and hinder their descent,<br> + And thus awakes the courage of his friends:<br> + “What you so long have wish’d, kind Fortune sends;<br> + In ardent arms to meet th’ invading foe:<br> + You find, and find him at advantage now.<br> + Yours is the day: you need but only dare;<br> + Your swords will make you masters of the war.<br> + Your sires, your sons, your houses, and your lands,<br> + And dearest wifes, are all within your hands.<br> + Be mindful of the race from whence you came,<br> + And emulate in arms your fathers’ fame.<br> + Now take the time, while stagg’ring yet they stand<br> + With feet unfirm, and prepossess the strand:<br> + Fortune befriends the bold.” Nor more he said,<br> + But balanc’d whom to leave, and whom to lead;<br> + Then these elects, the landing to prevent;<br> + And those he leaves, to keep the city pent.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Meantime the Trojan sends his troops ashore:<br> + Some are by boats expos’d, by bridges more.<br> + With lab’ring oars they bear along the strand,<br> + Where the tide languishes, and leap a-land.<br> + Tarchon observes the coast with careful eyes,<br> + And, where no ford he finds, no water fries,<br> + Nor billows with unequal murmurs roar,<br> + But smoothly slide along, and swell the shore,<br> + That course he steer’d, and thus he gave command:<br> + “Here ply your oars, and at all hazard land:<br> + Force on the vessel, that her keel may wound<br> + This hated soil, and furrow hostile ground.<br> + Let me securely land—I ask no more;<br> + Then sink my ships, or shatter on the shore.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + This fiery speech inflames his fearful friends:<br> + They tug at ev’ry oar, and ev’ry stretcher bends;<br> + They run their ships aground; the vessels knock,<br> + (Thus forc’d ashore,) and tremble with the shock.<br> + Tarchon’s alone was lost, that stranded stood,<br> + Stuck on a bank, and beaten by the flood:<br> + She breaks her back; the loosen’d sides give way,<br> + And plunge the Tuscan soldiers in the sea.<br> + Their broken oars and floating planks withstand<br> + Their passage, while they labour to the land,<br> + And ebbing tides bear back upon th’ uncertain sand.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now Turnus leads his troops without delay,<br> + Advancing to the margin of the sea.<br> + The trumpets sound: Aeneas first assail’d<br> + The clowns new-rais’d and raw, and soon prevail’d.<br> + Great Theron fell, an omen of the fight;<br> + Great Theron, large of limbs, of giant height.<br> + He first in open field defied the prince:<br> + But armour scal’d with gold was no defence<br> + Against the fated sword, which open’d wide<br> + His plated shield, and pierc’d his naked side.<br> + Next, Lichas fell, who, not like others born,<br> + Was from his wretched mother ripp’d and torn;<br> + Sacred, O Phoebus, from his birth to thee;<br> + For his beginning life from biting steel was free.<br> + Not far from him was Gyas laid along,<br> + Of monstrous bulk; with Cisseus fierce and strong:<br> + Vain bulk and strength! for, when the chief assail’d,<br> + Nor valour nor Herculean arms avail’d,<br> + Nor their fam’d father, wont in war to go<br> + With great Alcides, while he toil’d below.<br> + The noisy Pharos next receiv’d his death:<br> + Aeneas writh’d his dart, and stopp’d his bawling breath.<br> + Then wretched Cydon had receiv’d his doom,<br> + Who courted Clytius in his beardless bloom,<br> + And sought with lust obscene polluted joys:<br> + The Trojan sword had curd his love of boys,<br> + Had not his sev’n bold brethren stopp’d the course<br> + Of the fierce champions, with united force.<br> + Sev’n darts were thrown at once; and some rebound<br> + From his bright shield, some on his helmet sound:<br> + The rest had reach’d him; but his mother’s care<br> + Prevented those, and turn’d aside in air.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The prince then call’d Achates, to supply<br> + The spears that knew the way to victory—<br> + “Those fatal weapons, which, inur’d to blood,<br> + In Grecian bodies under Ilium stood:<br> + Not one of those my hand shall toss in vain<br> + Against our foes, on this contended plain.”<br> + He said; then seiz’d a mighty spear, and threw;<br> + Which, wing’d with fate, thro’ Maeon’s buckler flew,<br> + Pierc’d all the brazen plates, and reach’d his heart:<br> + He stagger’d with intolerable smart.<br> + Alcanor saw; and reach’d, but reach’d in vain,<br> + His helping hand, his brother to sustain.<br> + A second spear, which kept the former course,<br> + From the same hand, and sent with equal force,<br> + His right arm pierc’d, and holding on, bereft<br> + His use of both, and pinion’d down his left.<br> + Then Numitor from his dead brother drew<br> + Th’ ill-omen’d spear, and at the Trojan threw:<br> + Preventing fate directs the lance awry,<br> + Which, glancing, only mark’d Achates’ thigh.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + In pride of youth the Sabine Clausus came,<br> + And, from afar, at Dryops took his aim.<br> + The spear flew hissing thro’ the middle space,<br> + And pierc’d his throat, directed at his face;<br> + It stopp’d at once the passage of his wind,<br> + And the free soul to flitting air resign’d:<br> + His forehead was the first that struck the ground;<br> + Lifeblood and life rush’d mingled thro’ the wound.<br> + He slew three brothers of the Borean race,<br> + And three, whom Ismarus, their native place,<br> + Had sent to war, but all the sons of Thrace.<br> + Halesus, next, the bold Aurunci leads:<br> + The son of Neptune to his aid succeeds,<br> + Conspicuous on his horse. On either hand,<br> + These fight to keep, and those to win, the land.<br> + With mutual blood th’ Ausonian soil is dyed,<br> + While on its borders each their claim decide.<br> + As wintry winds, contending in the sky,<br> + With equal force of lungs their titles try:<br> + They rage, they roar; the doubtful rack of heav’n<br> + Stands without motion, and the tide undriv’n:<br> + Each bent to conquer, neither side to yield,<br> + They long suspend the fortune of the field.<br> + Both armies thus perform what courage can;<br> + Foot set to foot, and mingled man to man.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + But, in another part, th’ Arcadian horse<br> + With ill success engage the Latin force:<br> + For, where th’ impetuous torrent, rushing down,<br> + Huge craggy stones and rooted trees had thrown,<br> + They left their coursers, and, unus’d to fight<br> + On foot, were scatter’d in a shameful flight.<br> + Pallas, who with disdain and grief had view’d<br> + His foes pursuing, and his friends pursued,<br> + Us’d threat’nings mix’d with pray’rs, his last resource,<br> + With these to move their minds, with those to fire their force<br> + “Which way, companions? whether would you run?<br> + By you yourselves, and mighty battles won,<br> + By my great sire, by his establish’d name,<br> + And early promise of my future fame;<br> + By my youth, emulous of equal right<br> + To share his honours—shun ignoble flight!<br> + Trust not your feet: your hands must hew way<br> + Thro’ yon black body, and that thick array:<br> + ’Tis thro’ that forward path that we must come;<br> + There lies our way, and that our passage home.<br> + Nor pow’rs above, nor destinies below<br> + Oppress our arms: with equal strength we go,<br> + With mortal hands to meet a mortal foe.<br> + See on what foot we stand: a scanty shore,<br> + The sea behind, our enemies before;<br> + No passage left, unless we swim the main;<br> + Or, forcing these, the Trojan trenches gain.”<br> + This said, he strode with eager haste along,<br> + And bore amidst the thickest of the throng.<br> + Lagus, the first he met, with fate to foe,<br> + Had heav’d a stone of mighty weight, to throw:<br> + Stooping, the spear descended on his chine,<br> + Just where the bone distinguished either loin:<br> + It stuck so fast, so deeply buried lay,<br> + That scarce the victor forc’d the steel away.<br> + Hisbon came on: but, while he mov’d too slow<br> + To wish’d revenge, the prince prevents his blow;<br> + For, warding his at once, at once he press’d,<br> + And plung’d the fatal weapon in his breast.<br> + Then lewd Anchemolus he laid in dust,<br> + Who stain’d his stepdam’s bed with impious lust.<br> + And, after him, the Daucian twins were slain,<br> + Laris and Thymbrus, on the Latian plain;<br> + So wondrous like in feature, shape, and size,<br> + As caus’d an error in their parents’ eyes—<br> + Grateful mistake! but soon the sword decides<br> + The nice distinction, and their fate divides:<br> + For Thymbrus’ head was lopp’d; and Laris’ hand,<br> + Dismember’d, sought its owner on the strand:<br> + The trembling fingers yet the falchion strain,<br> + And threaten still th’ intended stroke in vain.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now, to renew the charge, th’ Arcadians came:<br> + Sight of such acts, and sense of honest shame,<br> + And grief, with anger mix’d, their minds inflame.<br> + Then, with a casual blow was Rhoeteus slain,<br> + Who chanc’d, as Pallas threw, to cross the plain:<br> + The flying spear was after Ilus sent;<br> + But Rhoeteus happen’d on a death unmeant:<br> + From Teuthras and from Tyres while he fled,<br> + The lance, athwart his body, laid him dead:<br> + Roll’d from his chariot with a mortal wound,<br> + And intercepted fate, he spurn’d the ground.<br> + As when, in summer, welcome winds arise,<br> + The watchful shepherd to the forest flies,<br> + And fires the midmost plants; contagion spreads,<br> + And catching flames infect the neighb’ring heads;<br> + Around the forest flies the furious blast,<br> + And all the leafy nation sinks at last,<br> + And Vulcan rides in triumph o’er the waste;<br> + The pastor, pleas’d with his dire victory,<br> + Beholds the satiate flames in sheets ascend the sky:<br> + So Pallas’ troops their scatter’d strength unite,<br> + And, pouring on their foes, their prince delight.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Halesus came, fierce with desire of blood;<br> + But first collected in his arms he stood:<br> + Advancing then, he plied the spear so well,<br> + Ladon, Demodocus, and Pheres fell.<br> + Around his head he toss’d his glitt’ring brand,<br> + And from Strymonius hew’d his better hand,<br> + Held up to guard his throat; then hurl’d a stone<br> + At Thoas’ ample front, and pierc’d the bone:<br> + It struck beneath the space of either eye;<br> + And blood, and mingled brains, together fly.<br> + Deep skill’d in future fates, Halesus’ sire<br> + Did with the youth to lonely groves retire:<br> + But, when the father’s mortal race was run,<br> + Dire destiny laid hold upon the son,<br> + And haul’d him to the war, to find, beneath<br> + Th’ Evandrian spear, a memorable death.<br> + Pallas th’ encounter seeks, but, ere he throws,<br> + To Tuscan Tiber thus address’d his vows:<br> + “O sacred stream, direct my flying dart,<br> + And give to pass the proud Halesus’ heart!<br> + His arms and spoils thy holy oak shall bear.”<br> + Pleas’d with the bribe, the god receiv’d his pray’r:<br> + For, while his shield protects a friend distress’d,<br> + The dart came driving on, and pierc’d his breast.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + But Lausus, no small portion of the war,<br> + Permits not panic fear to reign too far,<br> + Caus’d by the death of so renown’d a knight;<br> + But by his own example cheers the fight.<br> + Fierce Abas first he slew; Abas, the stay<br> + Of Trojan hopes, and hindrance of the day.<br> + The Phrygian troops escap’d the Greeks in vain:<br> + They, and their mix’d allies, now load the plain.<br> + To the rude shock of war both armies came;<br> + Their leaders equal, and their strength the same.<br> + The rear so press’d the front, they could not wield<br> + Their angry weapons, to dispute the field.<br> + Here Pallas urges on, and Lausus there:<br> + Of equal youth and beauty both appear,<br> + But both by fate forbid to breathe their native air.<br> + Their congress in the field great Jove withstands:<br> + Both doom’d to fall, but fall by greater hands.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Meantime Juturna warns the Daunian chief<br> + Of Lausus’ danger, urging swift relief.<br> + With his driv’n chariot he divides the crowd,<br> + And, making to his friends, thus calls aloud:<br> + “Let none presume his needless aid to join;<br> + Retire, and clear the field; the fight is mine:<br> + To this right hand is Pallas only due;<br> + O were his father here, my just revenge to view!”<br> + From the forbidden space his men retir’d.<br> + Pallas their awe, and his stern words, admir’d;<br> + Survey’d him o’er and o’er with wond’ring sight,<br> + Struck with his haughty mien, and tow’ring height.<br> + Then to the king: “Your empty vaunts forbear;<br> + Success I hope, and fate I cannot fear;<br> + Alive or dead, I shall deserve a name;<br> + Jove is impartial, and to both the same.”<br> + He said, and to the void advanc’d his pace:<br> + Pale horror sate on each Arcadian face.<br> + Then Turnus, from his chariot leaping light,<br> + Address’d himself on foot to single fight.<br> + And, as a lion—when he spies from far<br> + A bull that seems to meditate the war,<br> + Bending his neck, and spurning back the sand—<br> + Runs roaring downward from his hilly stand:<br> + Imagine eager Turnus not more slow,<br> + To rush from high on his unequal foe.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Young Pallas, when he saw the chief advance<br> + Within due distance of his flying lance,<br> + Prepares to charge him first, resolv’d to try<br> + If fortune would his want of force supply;<br> + And thus to Heav’n and Hercules address’d:<br> + “Alcides, once on earth Evander’s guest,<br> + His son adjures you by those holy rites,<br> + That hospitable board, those genial nights;<br> + Assist my great attempt to gain this prize,<br> + And let proud Turnus view, with dying eyes,<br> + His ravish’d spoils.” ’Twas heard, the vain request;<br> + Alcides mourn’d, and stifled sighs within his breast.<br> + Then Jove, to soothe his sorrow, thus began:<br> + “Short bounds of life are set to mortal man.<br> + ’Tis virtue’s work alone to stretch the narrow span.<br> + So many sons of gods, in bloody fight,<br> + Around the walls of Troy, have lost the light:<br> + My own Sarpedon fell beneath his foe;<br> + Nor I, his mighty sire, could ward the blow.<br> + Ev’n Turnus shortly shall resign his breath,<br> + And stands already on the verge of death.”<br> + This said, the god permits the fatal fight,<br> + But from the Latian fields averts his sight.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now with full force his spear young Pallas threw,<br> + And, having thrown, his shining falchion drew<br> + The steel just graz’d along the shoulder joint,<br> + And mark’d it slightly with the glancing point,<br> + Fierce Turnus first to nearer distance drew,<br> + And pois’d his pointed spear, before he threw:<br> + Then, as the winged weapon whizz’d along,<br> + “See now,” said he, “whose arm is better strung.”<br> + The spear kept on the fatal course, unstay’d<br> + By plates of ir’n, which o’er the shield were laid:<br> + Thro’ folded brass and tough bull hides it pass’d,<br> + His corslet pierc’d, and reach’d his heart at last.<br> + In vain the youth tugs at the broken wood;<br> + The soul comes issuing with the vital blood:<br> + He falls; his arms upon his body sound;<br> + And with his bloody teeth he bites the ground.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Turnus bestrode the corpse: “Arcadians, hear,”<br> + Said he; “my message to your master bear:<br> + Such as the sire deserv’d, the son I send;<br> + It costs him dear to be the Phrygians’ friend.<br> + The lifeless body, tell him, I bestow,<br> + Unask’d, to rest his wand’ring ghost below.”<br> + He said, and trampled down with all the force<br> + Of his left foot, and spurn’d the wretched corse;<br> + Then snatch’d the shining belt, with gold inlaid;<br> + The belt Eurytion’s artful hands had made,<br> + Where fifty fatal brides, express’d to sight,<br> + All in the compass of one mournful night,<br> + Depriv’d their bridegrooms of returning light.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + In an ill hour insulting Turnus tore<br> + Those golden spoils, and in a worse he wore.<br> + O mortals, blind in fate, who never know<br> + To bear high fortune, or endure the low!<br> + The time shall come, when Turnus, but in vain,<br> + Shall wish untouch’d the trophies of the slain;<br> + Shall wish the fatal belt were far away,<br> + And curse the dire remembrance of the day.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The sad Arcadians, from th’ unhappy field,<br> + Bear back the breathless body on a shield.<br> + O grace and grief of war! at once restor’d,<br> + With praises, to thy sire, at once deplor’d!<br> + One day first sent thee to the fighting field,<br> + Beheld whole heaps of foes in battle kill’d;<br> + One day beheld thee dead, and borne upon thy shield.<br> + This dismal news, not from uncertain fame,<br> + But sad spectators, to the hero came:<br> + His friends upon the brink of ruin stand,<br> + Unless reliev’d by his victorious hand.<br> + He whirls his sword around, without delay,<br> + And hews thro’ adverse foes an ample way,<br> + To find fierce Turnus, of his conquest proud:<br> + Evander, Pallas, all that friendship ow’d<br> + To large deserts, are present to his eyes;<br> + His plighted hand, and hospitable ties.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Four sons of Sulmo, four whom Ufens bred,<br> + He took in fight, and living victims led,<br> + To please the ghost of Pallas, and expire,<br> + In sacrifice, before his fun’ral fire.<br> + At Magus next he threw: he stoop’d below<br> + The flying spear, and shunn’d the promis’d blow;<br> + Then, creeping, clasp’d the hero’s knees, and pray’d:<br> + “By young Iulus, by thy father’s shade,<br> + O spare my life, and send me back to see<br> + My longing sire, and tender progeny!<br> + A lofty house I have, and wealth untold,<br> + In silver ingots, and in bars of gold:<br> + All these, and sums besides, which see no day,<br> + The ransom of this one poor life shall pay.<br> + If I survive, will Troy the less prevail?<br> + A single soul’s too light to turn the scale.”<br> + He said. The hero sternly thus replied:<br> + “Thy bars and ingots, and the sums beside,<br> + Leave for thy children’s lot. Thy Turnus broke<br> + All rules of war by one relentless stroke,<br> + When Pallas fell: so deems, nor deems alone<br> + My father’s shadow, but my living son.”<br> + Thus having said, of kind remorse bereft,<br> + He seiz’d his helm, and dragg’d him with his left;<br> + Then with his right hand, while his neck he wreath’d,<br> + Up to the hilts his shining falchion sheath’d.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Apollo’s priest, Emonides, was near;<br> + His holy fillets on his front appear;<br> + Glitt’ring in arms, he shone amidst the crowd;<br> + Much of his god, more of his purple, proud.<br> + Him the fierce Trojan follow’d thro’ the field:<br> + The holy coward fell; and, forc’d to yield,<br> + The prince stood o’er the priest, and, at one blow,<br> + Sent him an off’ring to the shades below.<br> + His arms Seresthus on his shoulders bears,<br> + Design’d a trophy to the God of Wars.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Vulcanian Caeculus renews the fight,<br> + And Umbro, born upon the mountains’ height.<br> + The champion cheers his troops t’ encounter those,<br> + And seeks revenge himself on other foes.<br> + At Anxur’s shield he drove; and, at the blow,<br> + Both shield and arm to ground together go.<br> + Anxur had boasted much of magic charms,<br> + And thought he wore impenetrable arms,<br> + So made by mutter’d spells; and, from the spheres,<br> + Had life secur’d, in vain, for length of years.<br> + Then Tarquitus the field in triumph trod;<br> + A nymph his mother, his sire a god.<br> + Exulting in bright arms, he braves the prince:<br> + With his protended lance he makes defence;<br> + Bears back his feeble foe; then, pressing on,<br> + Arrests his better hand, and drags him down;<br> + Stands o’er the prostrate wretch, and, as he lay,<br> + Vain tales inventing, and prepar’d to pray,<br> + Mows off his head: the trunk a moment stood,<br> + Then sunk, and roll’d along the sand in blood.<br> + The vengeful victor thus upbraids the slain:<br> + “Lie there, proud man, unpitied, on the plain;<br> + Lie there, inglorious, and without a tomb,<br> + Far from thy mother and thy native home,<br> + Exposed to savage beasts, and birds of prey,<br> + Or thrown for food to monsters of the sea.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + On Lycas and Antaeus next he ran,<br> + Two chiefs of Turnus, and who led his van.<br> + They fled for fear; with these, he chas’d along<br> + Camers the yellow-lock’d, and Numa strong;<br> + Both great in arms, and both were fair and young.<br> + Camers was son to Volscens lately slain,<br> + In wealth surpassing all the Latian train,<br> + And in Amycla fix’d his silent easy reign.<br> + And, as Aegaeon, when with heav’n he strove,<br> + Stood opposite in arms to mighty Jove;<br> + Mov’d all his hundred hands, provok’d the war,<br> + Defied the forky lightning from afar;<br> + At fifty mouths his flaming breath expires,<br> + And flash for flash returns, and fires for fires;<br> + In his right hand as many swords he wields,<br> + And takes the thunder on as many shields:<br> + With strength like his, the Trojan hero stood;<br> + And soon the fields with falling corps were strow’d,<br> + When once his falchion found the taste of blood.<br> + With fury scarce to be conceiv’d, he flew<br> + Against Niphaeus, whom four coursers drew.<br> + They, when they see the fiery chief advance,<br> + And pushing at their chests his pointed lance,<br> + Wheel’d with so swift a motion, mad with fear,<br> + They threw their master headlong from the chair.<br> + They stare, they start, nor stop their course, before<br> + They bear the bounding chariot to the shore.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now Lucagus and Liger scour the plains,<br> + With two white steeds; but Liger holds the reins,<br> + And Lucagus the lofty seat maintains:<br> + Bold brethren both. The former wav’d in air<br> + His flaming sword: Aeneas couch’d his spear,<br> + Unus’d to threats, and more unus’d to fear.<br> + Then Liger thus: “Thy confidence is vain<br> + To scape from hence, as from the Trojan plain:<br> + Nor these the steeds which Diomede bestrode,<br> + Nor this the chariot where Achilles rode;<br> + Nor Venus’ veil is here, near Neptune’s shield;<br> + Thy fatal hour is come, and this the field.”<br> + Thus Liger vainly vaunts: the Trojan peer<br> + Return’d his answer with his flying spear.<br> + As Lucagus, to lash his horses, bends,<br> + Prone to the wheels, and his left foot protends,<br> + Prepar’d for fight; the fatal dart arrives,<br> + And thro’ the borders of his buckler drives;<br> + Pass’d thro’ and pierc’d his groin: the deadly wound,<br> + Cast from his chariot, roll’d him on the ground.<br> + Whom thus the chief upbraids with scornful spite:<br> + “Blame not the slowness of your steeds in flight;<br> + Vain shadows did not force their swift retreat;<br> + But you yourself forsake your empty seat.”<br> + He said, and seiz’d at once the loosen’d rein;<br> + For Liger lay already on the plain,<br> + By the same shock: then, stretching out his hands,<br> + The recreant thus his wretched life demands:<br> + “Now, by thyself, O more than mortal man!<br> + By her and him from whom thy breath began,<br> + Who form’d thee thus divine, I beg thee, spare<br> + This forfeit life, and hear thy suppliant’s pray’r.”<br> + Thus much he spoke, and more he would have said;<br> + But the stern hero turn’d aside his head,<br> + And cut him short: “I hear another man;<br> + You talk’d not thus before the fight began.<br> + Now take your turn; and, as a brother should,<br> + Attend your brother to the Stygian flood.”<br> + Then thro’ his breast his fatal sword he sent,<br> + And the soul issued at the gaping vent.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + As storms the skies, and torrents tear the ground,<br> + Thus rag’d the prince, and scatter’d deaths around.<br> + At length Ascanius and the Trojan train<br> + Broke from the camp, so long besieg’d in vain.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Meantime the King of Gods and Mortal Man<br> + Held conference with his queen, and thus began:<br> + “My sister goddess, and well-pleasing wife,<br> + Still think you Venus’ aid supports the strife—<br> + Sustains her Trojans—or themselves, alone,<br> + With inborn valour force their fortune on?<br> + How fierce in fight, with courage undecay’d!<br> + Judge if such warriors want immortal aid.”<br> + To whom the goddess with the charming eyes,<br> + Soft in her tone, submissively replies:<br> + “Why, O my sov’reign lord, whose frown I fear,<br> + And cannot, unconcern’d, your anger bear;<br> + Why urge you thus my grief? when, if I still<br> + (As once I was) were mistress of your will,<br> + From your almighty pow’r your pleasing wife<br> + Might gain the grace of length’ning Turnus’ life,<br> + Securely snatch him from the fatal fight,<br> + And give him to his aged father’s sight.<br> + Now let him perish, since you hold it good,<br> + And glut the Trojans with his pious blood.<br> + Yet from our lineage he derives his name,<br> + And, in the fourth degree, from god Pilumnus came;<br> + Yet he devoutly pays you rites divine,<br> + And offers daily incense at your shrine.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then shortly thus the sov’reign god replied:<br> + “Since in my pow’r and goodness you confide,<br> + If for a little space, a lengthen’d span,<br> + You beg reprieve for this expiring man,<br> + I grant you leave to take your Turnus hence<br> + From instant fate, and can so far dispense.<br> + But, if some secret meaning lies beneath,<br> + To save the short-liv’d youth from destin’d death,<br> + Or if a farther thought you entertain,<br> + To change the fates; you feed your hopes in vain.”<br> + To whom the goddess thus, with weeping eyes:<br> + “And what if that request, your tongue denies,<br> + Your heart should grant; and not a short reprieve,<br> + But length of certain life, to Turnus give?<br> + Now speedy death attends the guiltless youth,<br> + If my presaging soul divines with truth;<br> + Which, O! I wish, might err thro’ causeless fears,<br> + And you (for you have pow’r) prolong his years!”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus having said, involv’d in clouds, she flies,<br> + And drives a storm before her thro’ the skies.<br> + Swift she descends, alighting on the plain,<br> + Where the fierce foes a dubious fight maintain.<br> + Of air condens’d a spectre soon she made;<br> + And, what Aeneas was, such seem’d the shade.<br> + Adorn’d with Dardan arms, the phantom bore<br> + His head aloft; a plumy crest he wore;<br> + This hand appear’d a shining sword to wield,<br> + And that sustain’d an imitated shield.<br> + With manly mien he stalk’d along the ground,<br> + Nor wanted voice belied, nor vaunting sound.<br> + (Thus haunting ghosts appear to waking sight,<br> + Or dreadful visions in our dreams by night.)<br> + The spectre seems the Daunian chief to dare,<br> + And flourishes his empty sword in air.<br> + At this, advancing, Turnus hurl’d his spear:<br> + The phantom wheel’d, and seem’d to fly for fear.<br> + Deluded Turnus thought the Trojan fled,<br> + And with vain hopes his haughty fancy fed.<br> + “Whether, O coward?” (thus he calls aloud,<br> + Nor found he spoke to wind, and chas’d a cloud,)<br> + “Why thus forsake your bride! Receive from me<br> + The fated land you sought so long by sea.”<br> + He said, and, brandishing at once his blade,<br> + With eager pace pursued the flying shade.<br> + By chance a ship was fasten’d to the shore,<br> + Which from old Clusium King Osinius bore:<br> + The plank was ready laid for safe ascent;<br> + For shelter there the trembling shadow bent,<br> + And skipp’t and skulk’d, and under hatches went.<br> + Exulting Turnus, with regardless haste,<br> + Ascends the plank, and to the galley pass’d.<br> + Scarce had he reach’d the prow: Saturnia’s hand<br> + The haulsers cuts, and shoots the ship from land.<br> + With wind in poop, the vessel plows the sea,<br> + And measures back with speed her former way.<br> + Meantime Aeneas seeks his absent foe,<br> + And sends his slaughter’d troops to shades below.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The guileful phantom now forsook the shroud,<br> + And flew sublime, and vanish’d in a cloud.<br> + Too late young Turnus the delusion found,<br> + Far on the sea, still making from the ground.<br> + Then, thankless for a life redeem’d by shame,<br> + With sense of honour stung, and forfeit fame,<br> + Fearful besides of what in fight had pass’d,<br> + His hands and haggard eyes to heav’n he cast;<br> + “O Jove!” he cried, “for what offence have I<br> + Deserv’d to bear this endless infamy?<br> + Whence am I forc’d, and whether am I borne?<br> + How, and with what reproach, shall I return?<br> + Shall ever I behold the Latian plain,<br> + Or see Laurentum’s lofty tow’rs again?<br> + What will they say of their deserting chief<br> + The war was mine: I fly from their relief;<br> + I led to slaughter, and in slaughter leave;<br> + And ev’n from hence their dying groans receive.<br> + Here, overmatch’d in fight, in heaps they lie;<br> + There, scatter’d o’er the fields, ignobly fly.<br> + Gape wide, O earth, and draw me down alive!<br> + Or, O ye pitying winds, a wretch relieve!<br> + On sands or shelves the splitting vessel drive;<br> + Or set me shipwreck’d on some desert shore,<br> + Where no Rutulian eyes may see me more,<br> + Unknown to friends, or foes, or conscious Fame,<br> + Lest she should follow, and my flight proclaim.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus Turnus rav’d, and various fates revolv’d:<br> + The choice was doubtful, but the death resolv’d.<br> + And now the sword, and now the sea took place,<br> + That to revenge, and this to purge disgrace.<br> + Sometimes he thought to swim the stormy main,<br> + By stretch of arms the distant shore to gain.<br> + Thrice he the sword assay’d, and thrice the flood;<br> + But Juno, mov’d with pity, both withstood.<br> + And thrice repress’d his rage; strong gales supplied,<br> + And push’d the vessel o’er the swelling tide.<br> + At length she lands him on his native shores,<br> + And to his father’s longing arms restores.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Meantime, by Jove’s impulse, Mezentius arm’d,<br> + Succeeding Turnus, with his ardour warm’d<br> + His fainting friends, reproach’d their shameful flight,<br> + Repell’d the victors, and renew’d the fight.<br> + Against their king the Tuscan troops conspire;<br> + Such is their hate, and such their fierce desire<br> + Of wish’d revenge: on him, and him alone,<br> + All hands employ’d, and all their darts are thrown.<br> + He, like a solid rock by seas inclos’d,<br> + To raging winds and roaring waves oppos’d,<br> + From his proud summit looking down, disdains<br> + Their empty menace, and unmov’d remains.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Beneath his feet fell haughty Hebrus dead,<br> + Then Latagus, and Palmus as he fled.<br> + At Latagus a weighty stone he flung:<br> + His face was flatted, and his helmet rung.<br> + But Palmus from behind receives his wound;<br> + Hamstring’d he falls, and grovels on the ground:<br> + His crest and armour, from his body torn,<br> + Thy shoulders, Lausus, and thy head adorn.<br> + Evas and Mimas, both of Troy, he slew.<br> + Mimas his birth from fair Theano drew,<br> + Born on that fatal night, when, big with fire,<br> + The queen produc’d young Paris to his sire:<br> + But Paris in the Phrygian fields was slain,<br> + Unthinking Mimas on the Latian plain.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + And, as a savage boar, on mountains bred,<br> + With forest mast and fatt’ning marshes fed,<br> + When once he sees himself in toils inclos’d,<br> + By huntsmen and their eager hounds oppos’d,<br> + He whets his tusks, and turns, and dares the war;<br> + Th’ invaders dart their jav’lins from afar:<br> + All keep aloof, and safely shout around;<br> + But none presumes to give a nearer wound:<br> + He frets and froths, erects his bristled hide,<br> + And shakes a grove of lances from his side:<br> + Not otherwise the troops, with hate inspir’d,<br> + And just revenge against the tyrant fir’d,<br> + Their darts with clamour at a distance drive,<br> + And only keep the languish’d war alive.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + From Coritus came Acron to the fight,<br> + Who left his spouse betroth’d, and unconsummate night.<br> + Mezentius sees him thro’ the squadrons ride,<br> + Proud of the purple favours of his bride.<br> + Then, as a hungry lion, who beholds<br> + A gamesome goat, who frisks about the folds,<br> + Or beamy stag, that grazes on the plain—<br> + He runs, he roars, he shakes his rising mane,<br> + He grins, and opens wide his greedy jaws;<br> + The prey lies panting underneath his paws:<br> + He fills his famish’d maw; his mouth runs o’er<br> + With unchew’d morsels, while he churns the gore:<br> + So proud Mezentius rushes on his foes,<br> + And first unhappy Acron overthrows:<br> + Stretch’d at his length, he spurns the swarthy ground;<br> + The lance, besmear’d with blood, lies broken in the wound.<br> + Then with disdain the haughty victor view’d<br> + Orodes flying, nor the wretch pursued,<br> + Nor thought the dastard’s back deserv’d a wound,<br> + But, running, gain’d th’ advantage of the ground:<br> + Then turning short, he met him face to face,<br> + To give his victory the better grace.<br> + Orodes falls, in equal fight oppress’d:<br> + Mezentius fix’d his foot upon his breast,<br> + And rested lance; and thus aloud he cries:<br> + “Lo! here the champion of my rebels lies!”<br> + The fields around with Io Paean! ring;<br> + And peals of shouts applaud the conqu’ring king.<br> + At this the vanquish’d, with his dying breath,<br> + Thus faintly spoke, and prophesied in death:<br> + “Nor thou, proud man, unpunish’d shalt remain:<br> + Like death attends thee on this fatal plain.”<br> + Then, sourly smiling, thus the king replied:<br> + “For what belongs to me, let Jove provide;<br> + But die thou first, whatever chance ensue.”<br> + He said, and from the wound the weapon drew.<br> + A hov’ring mist came swimming o’er his sight,<br> + And seal’d his eyes in everlasting night.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + By Caedicus, Alcathous was slain;<br> + Sacrator laid Hydaspes on the plain;<br> + Orses the strong to greater strength must yield;<br> + He, with Parthenius, were by Rapo kill’d.<br> + Then brave Messapus Ericetes slew,<br> + Who from Lycaon’s blood his lineage drew.<br> + But from his headstrong horse his fate he found,<br> + Who threw his master, as he made a bound:<br> + The chief, alighting, stuck him to the ground;<br> + Then Clonius, hand to hand, on foot assails:<br> + The Trojan sinks, and Neptune’s son prevails.<br> + Agis the Lycian, stepping forth with pride,<br> + To single fight the boldest foe defied;<br> + Whom Tuscan Valerus by force o’ercame,<br> + And not belied his mighty father’s fame.<br> + Salius to death the great Antronius sent:<br> + But the same fate the victor underwent,<br> + Slain by Nealces’ hand, well-skill’d to throw<br> + The flying dart, and draw the far-deceiving bow.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus equal deaths are dealt with equal chance;<br> + By turns they quit their ground, by turns advance:<br> + Victors and vanquish’d, in the various field,<br> + Nor wholly overcome, nor wholly yield.<br> + The gods from heav’n survey the fatal strife,<br> + And mourn the miseries of human life.<br> + Above the rest, two goddesses appear<br> + Concern’d for each: here Venus, Juno there.<br> + Amidst the crowd, infernal Ate shakes<br> + Her scourge aloft, and crest of hissing snakes.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Once more the proud Mezentius, with disdain,<br> + Brandish’d his spear, and rush’d into the plain,<br> + Where tow’ring in the midmost rank he stood,<br> + Like tall Orion stalking o’er the flood.<br> + (When with his brawny breast he cuts the waves,<br> + His shoulders scarce the topmost billow laves),<br> + Or like a mountain ash, whose roots are spread,<br> + Deep fix’d in earth; in clouds he hides his head.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The Trojan prince beheld him from afar,<br> + And dauntless undertook the doubtful war.<br> + Collected in his strength, and like a rock,<br> + Pois’d on his base, Mezentius stood the shock.<br> + He stood, and, measuring first with careful eyes<br> + The space his spear could reach, aloud he cries:<br> + “My strong right hand, and sword, assist my stroke!<br> + (Those only gods Mezentius will invoke.)<br> + His armour, from the Trojan pirate torn,<br> + By my triumphant Lausus shall be worn.”<br> + He said; and with his utmost force he threw<br> + The massy spear, which, hissing as it flew,<br> + Reach’d the celestial shield, that stopp’d the course;<br> + But, glancing thence, the yet unbroken force<br> + Took a new bent obliquely, and betwixt<br> + The side and bowels fam’d Anthores fix’d.<br> + Anthores had from Argos travel’d far,<br> + Alcides’ friend, and brother of the war;<br> + Till, tir’d with toils, fair Italy he chose,<br> + And in Evander’s palace sought repose.<br> + Now, falling by another’s wound, his eyes<br> + He cast to heav’n, on Argos thinks, and dies.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The pious Trojan then his jav’lin sent;<br> + The shield gave way; thro’ treble plates it went<br> + Of solid brass, of linen trebly roll’d,<br> + And three bull hides which round the buckler fold.<br> + All these it pass’d, resistless in the course,<br> + Transpierc’d his thigh, and spent its dying force.<br> + The gaping wound gush’d out a crimson flood.<br> + The Trojan, glad with sight of hostile blood,<br> + His falchion drew, to closer fight address’d,<br> + And with new force his fainting foe oppress’d.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + His father’s peril Lausus view’d with grief;<br> + He sigh’d, he wept, he ran to his relief.<br> + And here, heroic youth, ’tis here I must<br> + To thy immortal memory be just,<br> + And sing an act so noble and so new,<br> + Posterity will scarce believe ’tis true.<br> + Pain’d with his wound, and useless for the fight,<br> + The father sought to save himself by flight:<br> + Encumber’d, slow he dragg’d the spear along,<br> + Which pierc’d his thigh, and in his buckler hung.<br> + The pious youth, resolv’d on death, below<br> + The lifted sword springs forth to face the foe;<br> + Protects his parent, and prevents the blow.<br> + Shouts of applause ran ringing thro’ the field,<br> + To see the son the vanquish’d father shield.<br> + All, fir’d with gen’rous indignation, strive,<br> + And with a storm of darts to distance drive<br> + The Trojan chief, who, held at bay from far,<br> + On his Vulcanian orb sustain’d the war.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + As, when thick hail comes rattling in the wind,<br> + The plowman, passenger, and lab’ring hind<br> + For shelter to the neighb’ring covert fly,<br> + Or hous’d, or safe in hollow caverns lie;<br> + But, that o’erblown, when heav’n above ’em smiles,<br> + Return to travel, and renew their toils:<br> + Aeneas thus, o’erwhelmed on ev’ry side,<br> + The storm of darts, undaunted, did abide;<br> + And thus to Lausus loud with friendly threat’ning cried:<br> + “Why wilt thou rush to certain death, and rage<br> + In rash attempts, beyond thy tender age,<br> + Betray’d by pious love?” Nor, thus forborne,<br> + The youth desists, but with insulting scorn<br> + Provokes the ling’ring prince, whose patience, tir’d,<br> + Gave place; and all his breast with fury fir’d.<br> + For now the Fates prepar’d their sharpen’d shears;<br> + And lifted high the flaming sword appears,<br> + Which, full descending with a frightful sway,<br> + Thro’ shield and corslet forc’d th’ impetuous way,<br> + And buried deep in his fair bosom lay.<br> + The purple streams thro’ the thin armour strove,<br> + And drench’d th’ imbroider’d coat his mother wove;<br> + And life at length forsook his heaving heart,<br> + Loth from so sweet a mansion to depart.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + But when, with blood and paleness all o’erspread,<br> + The pious prince beheld young Lausus dead,<br> + He griev’d; he wept; the sight an image brought<br> + Of his own filial love, a sadly pleasing thought:<br> + Then stretch’d his hand to hold him up, and said:<br> + “Poor hapless youth! what praises can be paid<br> + To love so great, to such transcendent store<br> + Of early worth, and sure presage of more?<br> + Accept whate’er Aeneas can afford;<br> + Untouch’d thy arms, untaken be thy sword;<br> + And all that pleas’d thee living, still remain<br> + Inviolate, and sacred to the slain.<br> + Thy body on thy parents I bestow,<br> + To rest thy soul, at least, if shadows know,<br> + Or have a sense of human things below.<br> + There to thy fellow ghosts with glory tell:<br> + ‘’Twas by the great Aeneas hand I fell.’”<br> + With this, his distant friends he beckons near,<br> + Provokes their duty, and prevents their fear:<br> + Himself assists to lift him from the ground,<br> + With clotted locks, and blood that well’d from out the wound.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Meantime, his father, now no father, stood,<br> + And wash’d his wounds by Tiber’s yellow flood:<br> + Oppress’d with anguish, panting, and o’erspent,<br> + His fainting limbs against an oak he leant.<br> + A bough his brazen helmet did sustain;<br> + His heavier arms lay scatter’d on the plain:<br> + A chosen train of youth around him stand;<br> + His drooping head was rested on his hand:<br> + His grisly beard his pensive bosom sought;<br> + And all on Lausus ran his restless thought.<br> + Careful, concern’d his danger to prevent,<br> + He much enquir’d, and many a message sent<br> + To warn him from the field—alas! in vain!<br> + Behold, his mournful followers bear him slain!<br> + O’er his broad shield still gush’d the yawning wound,<br> + And drew a bloody trail along the ground.<br> + Far off he heard their cries, far off divin’d<br> + The dire event, with a foreboding mind.<br> + With dust he sprinkled first his hoary head;<br> + Then both his lifted hands to heav’n he spread;<br> + Last, the dear corpse embracing, thus he said:<br> + “What joys, alas! could this frail being give,<br> + That I have been so covetous to live?<br> + To see my son, and such a son, resign<br> + His life, a ransom for preserving mine!<br> + And am I then preserv’d, and art thou lost?<br> + How much too dear has that redemption cost!<br> + ’Tis now my bitter banishment I feel:<br> + This is a wound too deep for time to heal.<br> + My guilt thy growing virtues did defame;<br> + My blackness blotted thy unblemish’d name.<br> + Chas’d from a throne, abandon’d, and exil’d<br> + For foul misdeeds, were punishments too mild:<br> + I ow’d my people these, and, from their hate,<br> + With less resentment could have borne my fate.<br> + And yet I live, and yet sustain the sight<br> + Of hated men, and of more hated light:<br> + But will not long.” With that he rais’d from ground<br> + His fainting limbs, that stagger’d with his wound;<br> + Yet, with a mind resolv’d, and unappall’d<br> + With pains or perils, for his courser call’d<br> + Well-mouth’d, well-manag’d, whom himself did dress<br> + With daily care, and mounted with success;<br> + His aid in arms, his ornament in peace.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Soothing his courage with a gentle stroke,<br> + The steed seem’d sensible, while thus he spoke:<br> + “O Rhoebus, we have liv’d too long for me—<br> + If life and long were terms that could agree!<br> + This day thou either shalt bring back the head<br> + And bloody trophies of the Trojan dead;<br> + This day thou either shalt revenge my woe,<br> + For murder’d Lausus, on his cruel foe;<br> + Or, if inexorable fate deny<br> + Our conquest, with thy conquer’d master die:<br> + For, after such a lord, I rest secure,<br> + Thou wilt no foreign reins, or Trojan load endure.”<br> + He said; and straight th’ officious courser kneels,<br> + To take his wonted weight. His hands he fills<br> + With pointed jav’lins; on his head he lac’d<br> + His glitt’ring helm, which terribly was grac’d<br> + With waving horsehair, nodding from afar;<br> + Then spurr’d his thund’ring steed amidst the war.<br> + Love, anguish, wrath, and grief, to madness wrought,<br> + Despair, and secret shame, and conscious thought<br> + Of inborn worth, his lab’ring soul oppress’d,<br> + Roll’d in his eyes, and rag’d within his breast.<br> + Then loud he call’d Aeneas thrice by name:<br> + The loud repeated voice to glad Aeneas came.<br> + “Great Jove,” he said, “and the far-shooting god,<br> + Inspire thy mind to make thy challenge good!”<br> + He spoke no more; but hasten’d, void of fear,<br> + And threaten’d with his long protended spear.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + To whom Mezentius thus: “Thy vaunts are vain.<br> + My Lausus lies extended on the plain:<br> + He’s lost! thy conquest is already won;<br> + The wretched sire is murder’d in the son.<br> + Nor fate I fear, but all the gods defy.<br> + Forbear thy threats: my bus’ness is to die;<br> + But first receive this parting legacy.”<br> + He said; and straight a whirling dart he sent;<br> + Another after, and another went.<br> + Round in a spacious ring he rides the field,<br> + And vainly plies th’ impenetrable shield.<br> + Thrice rode he round; and thrice Aeneas wheel’d,<br> + Turn’d as he turn’d: the golden orb withstood<br> + The strokes, and bore about an iron wood.<br> + Impatient of delay, and weary grown,<br> + Still to defend, and to defend alone,<br> + To wrench the darts which in his buckler light,<br> + Urg’d and o’er-labour’d in unequal fight;<br> + At length resolv’d, he throws with all his force<br> + Full at the temples of the warrior horse.<br> + Just where the stroke was aim’d, th’ unerring spear<br> + Made way, and stood transfix’d thro’ either ear.<br> + Seiz’d with unwonted pain, surpris’d with fright,<br> + The wounded steed curvets, and, rais’d upright,<br> + Lights on his feet before; his hoofs behind<br> + Spring up in air aloft, and lash the wind.<br> + Down comes the rider headlong from his height:<br> + His horse came after with unwieldy weight,<br> + And, flound’ring forward, pitching on his head,<br> + His lord’s encumber’d shoulder overlaid.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + From either host, the mingled shouts and cries<br> + Of Trojans and Rutulians rend the skies.<br> + Aeneas, hast’ning, wav’d his fatal sword<br> + High o’er his head, with this reproachful word:<br> + “Now; where are now thy vaunts, the fierce disdain<br> + Of proud Mezentius, and the lofty strain?”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Struggling, and wildly staring on the skies,<br> + With scarce recover’d sight he thus replies:<br> + “Why these insulting words, this waste of breath,<br> + To souls undaunted, and secure of death?<br> + ’Tis no dishonour for the brave to die,<br> + Nor came I here with hope of victory;<br> + Nor ask I life, nor fought with that design:<br> + As I had us’d my fortune, use thou thine.<br> + My dying son contracted no such band;<br> + The gift is hateful from his murd’rer’s hand.<br> + For this, this only favour let me sue,<br> + If pity can to conquer’d foes be due:<br> + Refuse it not; but let my body have<br> + The last retreat of humankind, a grave.<br> + Too well I know th’ insulting people’s hate;<br> + Protect me from their vengeance after fate:<br> + This refuge for my poor remains provide,<br> + And lay my much-lov’d Lausus by my side.”<br> + He said, and to the sword his throat applied.<br> + The crimson stream distain’d his arms around,<br> + And the disdainful soul came rushing thro’ the wound. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="chap11"></a>BOOK XI</h2> + + <h5> THE ARGUMENT. </h5> + + <p> + 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. + <br><br> + </p> + + <p class="pfirst"> + <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>carce had the rosy Morning rais’d her head<br> + Above the waves, and left her wat’ry bed;<br> + The pious chief, whom double cares attend<br> + For his unburied soldiers and his friend,<br> + Yet first to Heav’n perform’d a victor’s vows:<br> + He bar’d an ancient oak of all her boughs;<br> + Then on a rising ground the trunk he plac’d,<br> + Which with the spoils of his dead foe he grac’d.<br> + The coat of arms by proud Mezentius worn,<br> + Now on a naked snag in triumph borne,<br> + Was hung on high, and glitter’d from afar,<br> + A trophy sacred to the God of War.<br> + Above his arms, fix’d on the leafless wood,<br> + Appear’d his plumy crest, besmear’d with blood:<br> + His brazen buckler on the left was seen;<br> + Truncheons of shiver’d lances hung between;<br> + And on the right was placed his corslet, bor’d;<br> + And to the neck was tied his unavailing sword.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + A crowd of chiefs inclose the godlike man,<br> + Who thus, conspicuous in the midst, began:<br> + “Our toils, my friends, are crown’d with sure success;<br> + The greater part perform’d, achieve the less.<br> + Now follow cheerful to the trembling town;<br> + Press but an entrance, and presume it won.<br> + Fear is no more, for fierce Mezentius lies,<br> + As the first fruits of war, a sacrifice.<br> + Turnus shall fall extended on the plain,<br> + And, in this omen, is already slain.<br> + Prepar’d in arms, pursue your happy chance;<br> + That none unwarn’d may plead his ignorance,<br> + And I, at Heav’n’s appointed hour, may find<br> + Your warlike ensigns waving in the wind.<br> + Meantime the rites and fun’ral pomps prepare,<br> + Due to your dead companions of the war:<br> + The last respect the living can bestow,<br> + To shield their shadows from contempt below.<br> + That conquer’d earth be theirs, for which they fought,<br> + And which for us with their own blood they bought;<br> + But first the corpse of our unhappy friend<br> + To the sad city of Evander send,<br> + Who, not inglorious, in his age’s bloom,<br> + Was hurried hence by too severe a doom.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus, weeping while he spoke, he took his way,<br> + Where, new in death, lamented Pallas lay.<br> + Acoetes watch’d the corpse; whose youth deserv’d<br> + The father’s trust; and now the son he serv’d<br> + With equal faith, but less auspicious care.<br> + Th’ attendants of the slain his sorrow share.<br> + A troop of Trojans mix’d with these appear,<br> + And mourning matrons with dishevel’d hair.<br> + Soon as the prince appears, they raise a cry;<br> + All beat their breasts, and echoes rend the sky.<br> + They rear his drooping forehead from the ground;<br> + But, when Aeneas view’d the grisly wound<br> + Which Pallas in his manly bosom bore,<br> + And the fair flesh distain’d with purple gore;<br> + First, melting into tears, the pious man<br> + Deplor’d so sad a sight, then thus began:<br> + “Unhappy youth! when Fortune gave the rest<br> + Of my full wishes, she refus’d the best!<br> + She came; but brought not thee along, to bless<br> + My longing eyes, and share in my success:<br> + She grudg’d thy safe return, the triumphs due<br> + To prosp’rous valour, in the public view.<br> + Not thus I promis’d, when thy father lent<br> + Thy needless succour with a sad consent;<br> + Embrac’d me, parting for th’ Etrurian land,<br> + And sent me to possess a large command.<br> + He warn’d, and from his own experience told,<br> + Our foes were warlike, disciplin’d, and bold.<br> + And now perhaps, in hopes of thy return,<br> + Rich odors on his loaded altars burn,<br> + While we, with vain officious pomp, prepare<br> + To send him back his portion of the war,<br> + A bloody breathless body, which can owe<br> + No farther debt, but to the pow’rs below.<br> + The wretched father, ere his race is run,<br> + Shall view the fun’ral honours of his son.<br> + These are my triumphs of the Latian war,<br> + Fruits of my plighted faith and boasted care!<br> + And yet, unhappy sire, thou shalt not see<br> + A son whose death disgrac’d his ancestry;<br> + Thou shalt not blush, old man, however griev’d:<br> + Thy Pallas no dishonest wound receiv’d.<br> + He died no death to make thee wish, too late,<br> + Thou hadst not liv’d to see his shameful fate:<br> + But what a champion has th’ Ausonian coast,<br> + And what a friend hast thou, Ascanius, lost!”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus having mourn’d, he gave the word around,<br> + To raise the breathless body from the ground;<br> + And chose a thousand horse, the flow’r of all<br> + His warlike troops, to wait the funeral,<br> + To bear him back and share Evander’s grief:<br> + A well-becoming, but a weak relief.<br> + Of oaken twigs they twist an easy bier,<br> + Then on their shoulders the sad burden rear.<br> + The body on this rural hearse is borne:<br> + Strew’d leaves and funeral greens the bier adorn.<br> + All pale he lies, and looks a lovely flow’r,<br> + New cropp’d by virgin hands, to dress the bow’r:<br> + Unfaded yet, but yet unfed below,<br> + No more to mother earth or the green stern shall owe.<br> + Then two fair vests, of wondrous work and cost,<br> + Of purple woven, and with gold emboss’d,<br> + For ornament the Trojan hero brought,<br> + Which with her hands Sidonian Dido wrought.<br> + One vest array’d the corpse; and one they spread<br> + O’er his clos’d eyes, and wrapp’d around his head,<br> + That, when the yellow hair in flame should fall,<br> + The catching fire might burn the golden caul.<br> + Besides, the spoils of foes in battle slain,<br> + When he descended on the Latian plain;<br> + Arms, trappings, horses, by the hearse are led<br> + In long array—th’ achievements of the dead.<br> + Then, pinion’d with their hands behind, appear<br> + Th’ unhappy captives, marching in the rear,<br> + Appointed off’rings in the victor’s name,<br> + To sprinkle with their blood the fun’ral flame.<br> + Inferior trophies by the chiefs are borne;<br> + Gauntlets and helms their loaded hands adorn;<br> + And fair inscriptions fix’d, and titles read<br> + Of Latian leaders conquer’d by the dead.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Acoetes on his pupil’s corpse attends,<br> + With feeble steps, supported by his friends.<br> + Pausing at ev’ry pace, in sorrow drown’d,<br> + Betwixt their arms he sinks upon the ground;<br> + Where grov’ling while he lies in deep despair,<br> + He beats his breast, and rends his hoary hair.<br> + The champion’s chariot next is seen to roll,<br> + Besmear’d with hostile blood, and honourably foul.<br> + To close the pomp, Aethon, the steed of state,<br> + Is led, the fun’rals of his lord to wait.<br> + Stripp’d of his trappings, with a sullen pace<br> + He walks; and the big tears run rolling down his face.<br> + The lance of Pallas, and the crimson crest,<br> + Are borne behind: the victor seiz’d the rest.<br> + The march begins: the trumpets hoarsely sound;<br> + The pikes and lances trail along the ground.<br> + Thus while the Trojan and Arcadian horse<br> + To Pallantean tow’rs direct their course,<br> + In long procession rank’d, the pious chief<br> + Stopp’d in the rear, and gave a vent to grief:<br> + “The public care,” he said, “which war attends,<br> + Diverts our present woes, at least suspends.<br> + Peace with the manes of great Pallas dwell!<br> + Hail, holy relics! and a last farewell!”<br> + He said no more, but, inly thro’ he mourn’d,<br> + Restrained his tears, and to the camp return’d.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now suppliants, from Laurentum sent, demand<br> + A truce, with olive branches in their hand;<br> + Obtest his clemency, and from the plain<br> + Beg leave to draw the bodies of their slain.<br> + They plead, that none those common rites deny<br> + To conquer’d foes that in fair battle die.<br> + All cause of hate was ended in their death;<br> + Nor could he war with bodies void of breath.<br> + A king, they hop’d, would hear a king’s request,<br> + Whose son he once was call’d, and once his guest.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Their suit, which was too just to be denied,<br> + The hero grants, and farther thus replied:<br> + “O Latian princes, how severe a fate<br> + In causeless quarrels has involv’d your state,<br> + And arm’d against an unoffending man,<br> + Who sought your friendship ere the war began!<br> + You beg a truce, which I would gladly give,<br> + Not only for the slain, but those who live.<br> + I came not hither but by Heav’n’s command,<br> + And sent by fate to share the Latian land.<br> + Nor wage I wars unjust: your king denied<br> + My proffer’d friendship, and my promis’d bride;<br> + Left me for Turnus. Turnus then should try<br> + His cause in arms, to conquer or to die.<br> + My right and his are in dispute: the slain<br> + Fell without fault, our quarrel to maintain.<br> + In equal arms let us alone contend;<br> + And let him vanquish, whom his fates befriend.<br> + This is the way (so tell him) to possess<br> + The royal virgin, and restore the peace.<br> + Bear this message back, with ample leave,<br> + That your slain friends may fun’ral rites receive.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus having said—th’ embassadors, amaz’d,<br> + Stood mute a while, and on each other gaz’d.<br> + Drances, their chief, who harbour’d in his breast<br> + Long hate to Turnus, as his foe profess’d,<br> + Broke silence first, and to the godlike man,<br> + With graceful action bowing, thus began:<br> + “Auspicious prince, in arms a mighty name,<br> + But yet whose actions far transcend your fame;<br> + Would I your justice or your force express,<br> + Thought can but equal; and all words are less.<br> + Your answer we shall thankfully relate,<br> + And favours granted to the Latian state.<br> + If wish’d success our labour shall attend,<br> + Think peace concluded, and the king your friend:<br> + Let Turnus leave the realm to your command,<br> + And seek alliance in some other land:<br> + Build you the city which your fates assign;<br> + We shall be proud in the great work to join.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus Drances; and his words so well persuade<br> + The rest impower’d, that soon a truce is made.<br> + Twelve days the term allow’d: and, during those,<br> + Latians and Trojans, now no longer foes,<br> + Mix’d in the woods, for fun’ral piles prepare<br> + To fell the timber, and forget the war.<br> + Loud axes thro’ the groaning groves resound;<br> + Oak, mountain ash, and poplar spread the ground;<br> + First fall from high; and some the trunks receive<br> + In loaden wains; with wedges some they cleave.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + And now the fatal news by Fame is blown<br> + Thro’ the short circuit of th’ Arcadian town,<br> + Of Pallas slain—by Fame, which just before<br> + His triumphs on distended pinions bore.<br> + Rushing from out the gate, the people stand,<br> + Each with a fun’ral flambeau in his hand.<br> + Wildly they stare, distracted with amaze:<br> + The fields are lighten’d with a fiery blaze,<br> + That cast a sullen splendour on their friends,<br> + The marching troop which their dead prince attends.<br> + Both parties meet: they raise a doleful cry;<br> + The matrons from the walls with shrieks reply,<br> + And their mix’d mourning rends the vaulted sky.<br> + The town is fill’d with tumult and with tears,<br> + Till the loud clamours reach Evander’s ears:<br> + Forgetful of his state, he runs along,<br> + With a disorder’d pace, and cleaves the throng;<br> + Falls on the corpse; and groaning there he lies,<br> + With silent grief, that speaks but at his eyes.<br> + Short sighs and sobs succeed; till sorrow breaks<br> + A passage, and at once he weeps and speaks:<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “O Pallas! thou hast fail’d thy plighted word,<br> + To fight with caution, not to tempt the sword!<br> + I warn’d thee, but in vain; for well I knew<br> + What perils youthful ardour would pursue,<br> + That boiling blood would carry thee too far,<br> + Young as thou wert in dangers, raw to war!<br> + O curst essay of arms, disastrous doom,<br> + Prelude of bloody fields, and fights to come!<br> + Hard elements of unauspicious war,<br> + Vain vows to Heav’n, and unavailing care!<br> + Thrice happy thou, dear partner of my bed,<br> + Whose holy soul the stroke of Fortune fled,<br> + Prescious of ills, and leaving me behind,<br> + To drink the dregs of life by fate assign’d!<br> + Beyond the goal of nature I have gone:<br> + My Pallas late set out, but reach’d too soon.<br> + If, for my league against th’ Ausonian state,<br> + Amidst their weapons I had found my fate,<br> + (Deserv’d from them,) then I had been return’d<br> + A breathless victor, and my son had mourn’d.<br> + Yet will I not my Trojan friend upbraid,<br> + Nor grudge th’ alliance I so gladly made.<br> + ’Twas not his fault, my Pallas fell so young,<br> + But my own crime, for having liv’d too long.<br> + Yet, since the gods had destin’d him to die,<br> + At least he led the way to victory:<br> + First for his friends he won the fatal shore,<br> + And sent whole herds of slaughter’d foes before;<br> + A death too great, too glorious to deplore.<br> + Nor will I add new honours to thy grave,<br> + Content with those the Trojan hero gave:<br> + That funeral pomp thy Phrygian friends design’d,<br> + In which the Tuscan chiefs and army join’d.<br> + Great spoils and trophies, gain’d by thee, they bear:<br> + Then let thy own achievements be thy share.<br> + Even thou, O Turnus, hadst a trophy stood,<br> + Whose mighty trunk had better grac’d the wood,<br> + If Pallas had arriv’d, with equal length<br> + Of years, to match thy bulk with equal strength.<br> + But why, unhappy man, dost thou detain<br> + These troops, to view the tears thou shedd’st in vain?<br> + Go, friends, this message to your lord relate:<br> + Tell him, that, if I bear my bitter fate,<br> + And, after Pallas’ death, live ling’ring on,<br> + ’Tis to behold his vengeance for my son.<br> + I stay for Turnus, whose devoted head<br> + Is owing to the living and the dead.<br> + My son and I expect it from his hand;<br> + ’Tis all that he can give, or we demand.<br> + Joy is no more; but I would gladly go,<br> + To greet my Pallas with such news below.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The morn had now dispell’d the shades of night,<br> + Restoring toils, when she restor’d the light.<br> + The Trojan king and Tuscan chief command<br> + To raise the piles along the winding strand.<br> + Their friends convey the dead fun’ral fires;<br> + Black smould’ring smoke from the green wood expires;<br> + The light of heav’n is chok’d, and the new day retires.<br> + Then thrice around the kindled piles they go<br> + (For ancient custom had ordain’d it so)<br> + Thrice horse and foot about the fires are led;<br> + And thrice, with loud laments, they hail the dead.<br> + Tears, trickling down their breasts, bedew the ground,<br> + And drums and trumpets mix their mournful sound.<br> + Amid the blaze, their pious brethren throw<br> + The spoils, in battle taken from the foe:<br> + Helms, bits emboss’d, and swords of shining steel;<br> + One casts a target, one a chariot wheel;<br> + Some to their fellows their own arms restore:<br> + The falchions which in luckless fight they bore,<br> + Their bucklers pierc’d, their darts bestow’d in vain,<br> + And shiver’d lances gather’d from the plain.<br> + Whole herds of offer’d bulls, about the fire,<br> + And bristled boars, and woolly sheep expire.<br> + Around the piles a careful troop attends,<br> + To watch the wasting flames, and weep their burning friends;<br> + Ling’ring along the shore, till dewy night<br> + New decks the face of heav’n with starry light.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The conquer’d Latians, with like pious care,<br> + Piles without number for their dead prepare.<br> + Part in the places where they fell are laid;<br> + And part are to the neighb’ring fields convey’d.<br> + The corps of kings, and captains of renown,<br> + Borne off in state, are buried in the town;<br> + The rest, unhonour’d, and without a name,<br> + Are cast a common heap to feed the flame.<br> + Trojans and Latians vie with like desires<br> + To make the field of battle shine with fires,<br> + And the promiscuous blaze to heav’n aspires.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now had the morning thrice renew’d the light,<br> + And thrice dispell’d the shadows of the night,<br> + When those who round the wasted fires remain,<br> + Perform the last sad office to the slain.<br> + They rake the yet warm ashes from below;<br> + These, and the bones unburn’d, in earth bestow;<br> + These relics with their country rites they grace,<br> + And raise a mount of turf to mark the place.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + But, in the palace of the king, appears<br> + A scene more solemn, and a pomp of tears.<br> + Maids, matrons, widows, mix their common moans;<br> + Orphans their sires, and sires lament their sons.<br> + All in that universal sorrow share,<br> + And curse the cause of this unhappy war:<br> + A broken league, a bride unjustly sought,<br> + A crown usurp’d, which with their blood is bought!<br> + These are the crimes with which they load the name<br> + Of Turnus, and on him alone exclaim:<br> + “Let him who lords it o’er th’ Ausonian land<br> + Engage the Trojan hero hand to hand:<br> + His is the gain; our lot is but to serve;<br> + ’Tis just, the sway he seeks, he should deserve.”<br> + This Drances aggravates; and adds, with spite:<br> + “His foe expects, and dares him to the fight.”<br> + Nor Turnus wants a party, to support<br> + His cause and credit in the Latian court.<br> + His former acts secure his present fame,<br> + And the queen shades him with her mighty name.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + While thus their factious minds with fury burn,<br> + The legates from th’ Aetolian prince return:<br> + Sad news they bring, that, after all the cost<br> + And care employ’d, their embassy is lost;<br> + That Diomedes refus’d his aid in war,<br> + Unmov’d with presents, and as deaf to pray’r.<br> + Some new alliance must elsewhere be sought,<br> + Or peace with Troy on hard conditions bought.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Latinus, sunk in sorrow, finds too late,<br> + A foreign son is pointed out by fate;<br> + And, till Aeneas shall Lavinia wed,<br> + The wrath of Heav’n is hov’ring o’er his head.<br> + The gods, he saw, espous’d the juster side,<br> + When late their titles in the field were tried:<br> + Witness the fresh laments, and fun’ral tears undried.<br> + Thus, full of anxious thought, he summons all<br> + The Latian senate to the council hall.<br> + The princes come, commanded by their head,<br> + And crowd the paths that to the palace lead.<br> + Supreme in pow’r, and reverenc’d for his years,<br> + He takes the throne, and in the midst appears.<br> + Majestically sad, he sits in state,<br> + And bids his envoys their success relate.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + When Venulus began, the murmuring sound<br> + Was hush’d, and sacred silence reign’d around.<br> + “We have,” said he, “perform’d your high command,<br> + And pass’d with peril a long tract of land:<br> + We reach’d the place desir’d; with wonder fill’d,<br> + The Grecian tents and rising tow’rs beheld.<br> + Great Diomede has compass’d round with walls<br> + The city, which Argyripa he calls,<br> + From his own Argos nam’d. We touch’d, with joy,<br> + The royal hand that raz’d unhappy Troy.<br> + When introduc’d, our presents first we bring,<br> + Then crave an instant audience from the king.<br> + His leave obtain’d, our native soil we name,<br> + And tell th’ important cause for which we came.<br> + Attentively he heard us, while we spoke;<br> + Then, with soft accents, and a pleasing look,<br> + Made this return: ‘Ausonian race, of old<br> + Renown’d for peace, and for an age of gold,<br> + What madness has your alter’d minds possess’d,<br> + To change for war hereditary rest,<br> + Solicit arms unknown, and tempt the sword,<br> + A needless ill your ancestors abhorr’d?<br> + We—for myself I speak, and all the name<br> + Of Grecians, who to Troy’s destruction came,<br> + (Omitting those who were in battle slain,<br> + Or borne by rolling Simois to the main)<br> + Not one but suffer’d, and too dearly bought<br> + The prize of honour which in arms he sought;<br> + Some doom’d to death, and some in exile driv’n.<br> + Outcasts, abandon’d by the care of Heav’n;<br> + So worn, so wretched, so despis’d a crew,<br> + As ev’n old Priam might with pity view.<br> + Witness the vessels by Minerva toss’d<br> + In storms; the vengeful Capharean coast;<br> + Th’ Euboean rocks! the prince, whose brother led<br> + Our armies to revenge his injur’d bed,<br> + In Egypt lost! Ulysses with his men<br> + Have seen Charybdis and the Cyclops’ den.<br> + Why should I name Idomeneus, in vain<br> + Restor’d to scepters, and expell’d again?<br> + Or young Achilles, by his rival slain?<br> + Ev’n he, the King of Men, the foremost name<br> + Of all the Greeks, and most renown’d by fame,<br> + The proud revenger of another’s wife,<br> + Yet by his own adult’ress lost his life;<br> + Fell at his threshold; and the spoils of Troy<br> + The foul polluters of his bed enjoy.<br> + The gods have envied me the sweets of life,<br> + My much lov’d country, and my more lov’d wife:<br> + Banish’d from both, I mourn; while in the sky,<br> + Transform’d to birds, my lost companions fly:<br> + Hov’ring about the coasts, they make their moan,<br> + And cuff the cliffs with pinions not their own.<br> + What squalid spectres, in the dead of night,<br> + Break my short sleep, and skim before my sight!<br> + I might have promis’d to myself those harms,<br> + Mad as I was, when I, with mortal arms,<br> + Presum’d against immortal pow’rs to move,<br> + And violate with wounds the Queen of Love.<br> + Such arms this hand shall never more employ;<br> + No hate remains with me to ruin’d Troy.<br> + I war not with its dust; nor am I glad<br> + To think of past events, or good or bad.<br> + Your presents I return: whate’er you bring<br> + To buy my friendship, send the Trojan king.<br> + We met in fight; I know him, to my cost:<br> + With what a whirling force his lance he toss’d!<br> + Heav’ns! what a spring was in his arm, to throw!<br> + How high he held his shield, and rose at ev’ry blow!<br> + Had Troy produc’d two more his match in might,<br> + They would have chang’d the fortune of the fight:<br> + Th’ invasion of the Greeks had been return’d,<br> + Our empire wasted, and our cities burn’d.<br> + The long defence the Trojan people made,<br> + The war protracted, and the siege delay’d,<br> + Were due to Hector’s and this hero’s hand:<br> + Both brave alike, and equal in command;<br> + Aeneas, not inferior in the field,<br> + In pious reverence to the gods excell’d.<br> + Make peace, ye Latians, and avoid with care<br> + Th’ impending dangers of a fatal war.’<br> + He said no more; but, with this cold excuse,<br> + Refus’d th’ alliance, and advis’d a truce.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus Venulus concluded his report.<br> + A jarring murmur fill’d the factious court:<br> + As, when a torrent rolls with rapid force,<br> + And dashes o’er the stones that stop the course,<br> + The flood, constrain’d within a scanty space,<br> + Roars horrible along th’ uneasy race;<br> + White foam in gath’ring eddies floats around;<br> + The rocky shores rebellow to the sound.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The murmur ceas’d: then from his lofty throne<br> + The king invok’d the gods, and thus begun:<br> + “I wish, ye Latins, what we now debate<br> + Had been resolv’d before it was too late.<br> + Much better had it been for you and me,<br> + Unforc’d by this our last necessity,<br> + To have been earlier wise, than now to call<br> + A council, when the foe surrounds the wall.<br> + O citizens, we wage unequal war,<br> + With men not only Heav’n’s peculiar care,<br> + But Heav’n’s own race; unconquer’d in the field,<br> + Or, conquer’d, yet unknowing how to yield.<br> + What hopes you had in Diomedes, lay down:<br> + Our hopes must centre on ourselves alone.<br> + Yet those how feeble, and, indeed, how vain,<br> + You see too well; nor need my words explain.<br> + Vanquish’d without resource; laid flat by fate;<br> + Factions within, a foe without the gate!<br> + Not but I grant that all perform’d their parts<br> + With manly force, and with undaunted hearts:<br> + With our united strength the war we wag’d;<br> + With equal numbers, equal arms, engag’d.<br> + You see th’ event.—Now hear what I propose,<br> + To save our friends, and satisfy our foes.<br> + A tract of land the Latins have possess’d<br> + Along the Tiber, stretching to the west,<br> + Which now Rutulians and Auruncans till,<br> + And their mix’d cattle graze the fruitful hill.<br> + Those mountains fill’d with firs, that lower land,<br> + If you consent, the Trojan shall command,<br> + Call’d into part of what is ours; and there,<br> + On terms agreed, the common country share.<br> + There let them build and settle, if they please;<br> + Unless they choose once more to cross the seas,<br> + In search of seats remote from Italy,<br> + And from unwelcome inmates set us free.<br> + Then twice ten galleys let us build with speed,<br> + Or twice as many more, if more they need.<br> + Materials are at hand; a well-grown wood<br> + Runs equal with the margin of the flood:<br> + Let them the number and the form assign;<br> + The care and cost of all the stores be mine.<br> + To treat the peace, a hundred senators<br> + Shall be commission’d hence with ample pow’rs,<br> + With olive the presents they shall bear,<br> + A purple robe, a royal iv’ry chair,<br> + And all the marks of sway that Latian monarchs wear,<br> + And sums of gold. Among yourselves debate<br> + This great affair, and save the sinking state.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then Drances took the word, who grudg’d, long since,<br> + The rising glories of the Daunian prince.<br> + Factious and rich, bold at the council board,<br> + But cautious in the field, he shunn’d the sword;<br> + A close caballer, and tongue-valiant lord.<br> + Noble his mother was, and near the throne;<br> + But, what his father’s parentage, unknown.<br> + He rose, and took th’ advantage of the times,<br> + To load young Turnus with invidious crimes.<br> + “Such truths, O king,” said he, “your words contain,<br> + As strike the sense, and all replies are vain;<br> + Nor are your loyal subjects now to seek<br> + What common needs require, but fear to speak.<br> + Let him give leave of speech, that haughty man,<br> + Whose pride this unauspicious war began;<br> + For whose ambition (let me dare to say,<br> + Fear set apart, tho’ death is in my way)<br> + The plains of Latium run with blood around.<br> + So many valiant heroes bite the ground;<br> + Dejected grief in ev’ry face appears;<br> + A town in mourning, and a land in tears;<br> + While he, th’ undoubted author of our harms,<br> + The man who menaces the gods with arms,<br> + Yet, after all his boasts, forsook the fight,<br> + And sought his safety in ignoble flight.<br> + Now, best of kings, since you propose to send<br> + Such bounteous presents to your Trojan friend;<br> + Add yet a greater at our joint request,<br> + One which he values more than all the rest:<br> + Give him the fair Lavinia for his bride;<br> + With that alliance let the league be tied,<br> + And for the bleeding land a lasting peace provide.<br> + Let insolence no longer awe the throne;<br> + But, with a father’s right, bestow your own.<br> + For this maligner of the general good,<br> + If still we fear his force, he must be woo’d;<br> + His haughty godhead we with pray’rs implore,<br> + Your scepter to release, and our just rights restore.<br> + O cursed cause of all our ills, must we<br> + Wage wars unjust, and fall in fight, for thee!<br> + What right hast thou to rule the Latian state,<br> + And send us out to meet our certain fate?<br> + ’Tis a destructive war: from Turnus’ hand<br> + Our peace and public safety we demand.<br> + Let the fair bride to the brave chief remain;<br> + If not, the peace, without the pledge, is vain.<br> + Turnus, I know you think me not your friend,<br> + Nor will I much with your belief contend:<br> + I beg your greatness not to give the law<br> + In others’ realms, but, beaten, to withdraw.<br> + Pity your own, or pity our estate;<br> + Nor twist our fortunes with your sinking fate.<br> + Your interest is, the war should never cease;<br> + But we have felt enough to wish the peace:<br> + A land exhausted to the last remains,<br> + Depopulated towns, and driven plains.<br> + Yet, if desire of fame, and thirst of pow’r,<br> + A beauteous princess, with a crown in dow’r,<br> + So fire your mind, in arms assert your right,<br> + And meet your foe, who dares you to the fight.<br> + Mankind, it seems, is made for you alone;<br> + We, but the slaves who mount you to the throne:<br> + A base ignoble crowd, without a name,<br> + Unwept, unworthy, of the fun’ral flame,<br> + By duty bound to forfeit each his life,<br> + That Turnus may possess a royal wife.<br> + Permit not, mighty man, so mean a crew<br> + Should share such triumphs, and detain from you<br> + The post of honour, your undoubted due.<br> + Rather alone your matchless force employ,<br> + To merit what alone you must enjoy.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + These words, so full of malice mix’d with art,<br> + Inflam’d with rage the youthful hero’s heart.<br> + Then, groaning from the bottom of his breast,<br> + He heav’d for wind, and thus his wrath express’d:<br> + “You, Drances, never want a stream of words,<br> + Then, when the public need requires our swords.<br> + First in the council hall to steer the state,<br> + And ever foremost in a tongue-debate,<br> + While our strong walls secure us from the foe,<br> + Ere yet with blood our ditches overflow:<br> + But let the potent orator declaim,<br> + And with the brand of coward blot my name;<br> + Free leave is giv’n him, when his fatal hand<br> + Has cover’d with more corps the sanguine strand,<br> + And high as mine his tow’ring trophies stand.<br> + If any doubt remains, who dares the most,<br> + Let us decide it at the Trojan’s cost,<br> + And issue both abreast, where honour calls—<br> + (Foes are not far to seek without the walls)<br> + Unless his noisy tongue can only fight,<br> + And feet were giv’n him but to speed his flight.<br> + I beaten from the field? I forc’d away?<br> + Who, but so known a dastard, dares to say?<br> + Had he but ev’n beheld the fight, his eyes<br> + Had witness’d for me what his tongue denies:<br> + What heaps of Trojans by this hand were slain,<br> + And how the bloody Tiber swell’d the main.<br> + All saw, but he, th’ Arcadian troops retire<br> + In scatter’d squadrons, and their prince expire.<br> + The giant brothers, in their camp, have found,<br> + I was not forc’d with ease to quit my ground.<br> + Not such the Trojans tried me, when, inclos’d,<br> + I singly their united arms oppos’d:<br> + First forc’d an entrance thro’ their thick array;<br> + Then, glutted with their slaughter, freed my way.<br> + ’Tis a destructive war? So let it be,<br> + But to the Phrygian pirate, and to thee!<br> + Meantime proceed to fill the people’s ears<br> + With false reports, their minds with panic fears:<br> + Extol the strength of a twice-conquer’d race;<br> + Our foes encourage, and our friends debase.<br> + Believe thy fables, and the Trojan town<br> + Triumphant stands; the Grecians are o’erthrown;<br> + Suppliant at Hector’s feet Achilles lies,<br> + And Diomede from fierce Aeneas flies.<br> + Say rapid Aufidus with awful dread<br> + Runs backward from the sea, and hides his head,<br> + When the great Trojan on his bank appears;<br> + For that’s as true as thy dissembled fears<br> + Of my revenge. Dismiss that vanity:<br> + Thou, Drances, art below a death from me.<br> + Let that vile soul in that vile body rest;<br> + The lodging is well worthy of the guest.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Now, royal father, to the present state<br> + Of our affairs, and of this high debate:<br> + If in your arms thus early you diffide,<br> + And think your fortune is already tried;<br> + If one defeat has brought us down so low,<br> + As never more in fields to meet the foe;<br> + Then I conclude for peace: ’tis time to treat,<br> + And lie like vassals at the victor’s feet.<br> + But, O! if any ancient blood remains,<br> + One drop of all our fathers’, in our veins,<br> + That man would I prefer before the rest,<br> + Who dar’d his death with an undaunted breast;<br> + Who comely fell, by no dishonest wound,<br> + To shun that sight, and, dying, gnaw’d the ground.<br> + But, if we still have fresh recruits in store,<br> + If our confederates can afford us more;<br> + If the contended field we bravely fought,<br> + And not a bloodless victory was bought;<br> + Their losses equal’d ours; and, for their slain,<br> + With equal fires they fill’d the shining plain;<br> + Why thus, unforc’d, should we so tamely yield,<br> + And, ere the trumpet sounds, resign the field?<br> + Good unexpected, evils unforeseen,<br> + Appear by turns, as fortune shifts the scene:<br> + Some, rais’d aloft, come tumbling down amain;<br> + Then fall so hard, they bound and rise again.<br> + If Diomede refuse his aid to lend,<br> + The great Messapus yet remains our friend:<br> + Tolumnius, who foretells events, is ours;<br> + Th’ Italian chiefs and princes join their pow’rs:<br> + Nor least in number, nor in name the last,<br> + Your own brave subjects have your cause embrac’d<br> + Above the rest, the Volscian Amazon<br> + Contains an army in herself alone,<br> + And heads a squadron, terrible to sight,<br> + With glitt’ring shields, in brazen armour bright.<br> + Yet, if the foe a single fight demand,<br> + And I alone the public peace withstand;<br> + If you consent, he shall not be refus’d,<br> + Nor find a hand to victory unus’d.<br> + This new Achilles, let him take the field,<br> + With fated armour, and Vulcanian shield!<br> + For you, my royal father, and my fame,<br> + I, Turnus, not the least of all my name,<br> + Devote my soul. He calls me hand to hand,<br> + And I alone will answer his demand.<br> + Drances shall rest secure, and neither share<br> + The danger, nor divide the prize of war.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + While they debate, nor these nor those will yield,<br> + Aeneas draws his forces to the field,<br> + And moves his camp. The scouts with flying speed<br> + Return, and thro’ the frighted city spread<br> + Th’ unpleasing news, the Trojans are descried,<br> + In battle marching by the river side,<br> + And bending to the town. They take th’ alarm:<br> + Some tremble, some are bold; all in confusion arm.<br> + Th’ impetuous youth press forward to the field;<br> + They clash the sword, and clatter on the shield:<br> + The fearful matrons raise a screaming cry;<br> + Old feeble men with fainter groans reply;<br> + A jarring sound results, and mingles in the sky,<br> + Like that of swans remurm’ring to the floods,<br> + Or birds of diff’ring kinds in hollow woods.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Turnus th’ occasion takes, and cries aloud:<br> + “Talk on, ye quaint haranguers of the crowd:<br> + Declaim in praise of peace, when danger calls,<br> + And the fierce foes in arms approach the walls.”<br> + He said, and, turning short, with speedy pace,<br> + Casts back a scornful glance, and quits the place:<br> + “Thou, Volusus, the Volscian troops command<br> + To mount; and lead thyself our Ardean band.<br> + Messapus and Catillus, post your force<br> + Along the fields, to charge the Trojan horse.<br> + Some guard the passes, others man the wall;<br> + Drawn up in arms, the rest attend my call.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + They swarm from ev’ry quarter of the town,<br> + And with disorder’d haste the rampires crown.<br> + Good old Latinus, when he saw, too late,<br> + The gath’ring storm just breaking on the state,<br> + Dismiss’d the council till a fitter time,<br> + And own’d his easy temper as his crime,<br> + Who, forc’d against his reason, had complied<br> + To break the treaty for the promis’d bride.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Some help to sink new trenches; others aid<br> + To ram the stones, or raise the palisade.<br> + Hoarse trumpets sound th’ alarm; around the walls<br> + Runs a distracted crew, whom their last labour calls.<br> + A sad procession in the streets is seen,<br> + Of matrons, that attend the mother queen:<br> + High in her chair she sits, and, at her side,<br> + With downcast eyes, appears the fatal bride.<br> + They mount the cliff, where Pallas’ temple stands;<br> + Pray’rs in their mouths, and presents in their hands,<br> + With censers first they fume the sacred shrine,<br> + Then in this common supplication join:<br> + “O patroness of arms, unspotted maid,<br> + Propitious hear, and lend thy Latins aid!<br> + Break short the pirate’s lance; pronounce his fate,<br> + And lay the Phrygian low before the gate.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now Turnus arms for fight. His back and breast<br> + Well-temper’d steel and scaly brass invest:<br> + The cuishes which his brawny thighs infold<br> + Are mingled metal damask’d o’er with gold.<br> + His faithful falchion sits upon his side;<br> + Nor casque, nor crest, his manly features hide:<br> + But, bare to view, amid surrounding friends,<br> + With godlike grace, he from the tow’r descends.<br> + Exulting in his strength, he seems to dare<br> + His absent rival, and to promise war.<br> + Freed from his keepers, thus, with broken reins,<br> + The wanton courser prances o’er the plains,<br> + Or in the pride of youth o’erleaps the mounds,<br> + And snuffs the females in forbidden grounds.<br> + Or seeks his wat’ring in the well-known flood,<br> + To quench his thirst, and cool his fiery blood:<br> + He swims luxuriant in the liquid plain,<br> + And o’er his shoulder flows his waving mane:<br> + He neighs, he snorts, he bears his head on high;<br> + Before his ample chest the frothy waters fly.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Soon as the prince appears without the gate,<br> + The Volscians, with their virgin leader, wait<br> + His last commands. Then, with a graceful mien,<br> + Lights from her lofty steed the warrior queen:<br> + Her squadron imitates, and each descends;<br> + Whose common suit Camilla thus commends:<br> + “If sense of honour, if a soul secure<br> + Of inborn worth, that can all tests endure,<br> + Can promise aught, or on itself rely<br> + Greatly to dare, to conquer or to die;<br> + Then, I alone, sustain’d by these, will meet<br> + The Tyrrhene troops, and promise their defeat.<br> + Ours be the danger, ours the sole renown:<br> + You, gen’ral, stay behind, and guard the town.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Turnus a while stood mute, with glad surprise,<br> + And on the fierce Virago fix’d his eyes;<br> + Then thus return’d: “O grace of Italy,<br> + With what becoming thanks can I reply?<br> + Not only words lie lab’ring in my breast,<br> + But thought itself is by thy praise oppress’d.<br> + Yet rob me not of all; but let me join<br> + My toils, my hazard, and my fame, with thine.<br> + The Trojan, not in stratagem unskill’d,<br> + Sends his light horse before to scour the field:<br> + Himself, thro’ steep ascents and thorny brakes,<br> + A larger compass to the city takes.<br> + This news my scouts confirm, and I prepare<br> + To foil his cunning, and his force to dare;<br> + With chosen foot his passage to forelay,<br> + And place an ambush in the winding way.<br> + Thou, with thy Volscians, face the Tuscan horse;<br> + The brave Messapus shall thy troops enforce<br> + With those of Tibur, and the Latian band,<br> + Subjected all to thy supreme command.”<br> + This said, he warns Messapus to the war,<br> + Then ev’ry chief exhorts with equal care.<br> + All thus encourag’d, his own troops he joins,<br> + And hastes to prosecute his deep designs.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Inclos’d with hills, a winding valley lies,<br> + By nature form’d for fraud, and fitted for surprise.<br> + A narrow track, by human steps untrode,<br> + Leads, thro’ perplexing thorns, to this obscure abode.<br> + High o’er the vale a steepy mountain stands,<br> + Whence the surveying sight the nether ground commands.<br> + The top is level, an offensive seat<br> + Of war; and from the war a safe retreat:<br> + For, on the right and left, is room to press<br> + The foes at hand, or from afar distress;<br> + To drive ’em headlong downward, and to pour<br> + On their descending backs a stony show’r.<br> + Thither young Turnus took the well-known way,<br> + Possess’d the pass, and in blind ambush lay.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Meantime Latonian Phoebe, from the skies,<br> + Beheld th’ approaching war with hateful eyes,<br> + And call’d the light-foot Opis to her aid,<br> + Her most belov’d and ever-trusty maid;<br> + Then with a sigh began: “Camilla goes<br> + To meet her death amidst her fatal foes:<br> + The nymphs I lov’d of all my mortal train,<br> + Invested with Diana’s arms, in vain.<br> + Nor is my kindness for the virgin new:<br> + ’Twas born with her; and with her years it grew.<br> + Her father Metabus, when forc’d away<br> + From old Privernum, for tyrannic sway,<br> + Snatch’d up, and sav’d from his prevailing foes,<br> + This tender babe, companion of his woes.<br> + Casmilla was her mother; but he drown’d<br> + One hissing letter in a softer sound,<br> + And call’d Camilla. Thro’ the woods he flies;<br> + Wrapp’d in his robe the royal infant lies.<br> + His foes in sight, he mends his weary pace;<br> + With shout and clamours they pursue the chase.<br> + The banks of Amasene at length he gains:<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The raging flood his farther flight restrains,<br> + Rais’d o’er the borders with unusual rains.<br> + Prepar’d to plunge into the stream, he fears,<br> + Not for himself, but for the charge he bears.<br> + Anxious, he stops a while, and thinks in haste;<br> + Then, desp’rate in distress, resolves at last.<br> + A knotty lance of well-boil’d oak he bore;<br> + The middle part with cork he cover’d o’er:<br> + He clos’d the child within the hollow space;<br> + With twigs of bending osier bound the case;<br> + Then pois’d the spear, heavy with human weight,<br> + And thus invok’d my favour for the freight:<br> + ‘Accept, great goddess of the woods,’ he said,<br> + ‘Sent by her sire, this dedicated maid!<br> + Thro’ air she flies a suppliant to thy shrine;<br> + And the first weapons that she knows, are thine.’<br> + He said; and with full force the spear he threw:<br> + Above the sounding waves Camilla flew.<br> + Then, press’d by foes, he stemm’d the stormy tide,<br> + And gain’d, by stress of arms, the farther side.<br> + His fasten’d spear he pull’d from out the ground,<br> + And, victor of his vows, his infant nymph unbound;<br> + Nor, after that, in towns which walls inclose,<br> + Would trust his hunted life amidst his foes;<br> + But, rough, in open air he chose to lie;<br> + Earth was his couch, his cov’ring was the sky.<br> + On hills unshorn, or in a desert den,<br> + He shunn’d the dire society of men.<br> + A shepherd’s solitary life he led;<br> + His daughter with the milk of mares he fed.<br> + The dugs of bears, and ev’ry salvage beast,<br> + He drew, and thro’ her lips the liquor press’d.<br> + The little Amazon could scarcely go:<br> + He loads her with a quiver and a bow;<br> + And, that she might her stagg’ring steps command,<br> + He with a slender jav’lin fills her hand.<br> + Her flowing hair no golden fillet bound;<br> + Nor swept her trailing robe the dusty ground.<br> + Instead of these, a tiger’s hide o’erspread<br> + Her back and shoulders, fasten’d to her head.<br> + The flying dart she first attempts to fling,<br> + And round her tender temples toss’d the sling;<br> + Then, as her strength with years increas’d, began<br> + To pierce aloft in air the soaring swan,<br> + And from the clouds to fetch the heron and the crane.<br> + The Tuscan matrons with each other vied,<br> + To bless their rival sons with such a bride;<br> + But she disdains their love, to share with me<br> + The sylvan shades and vow’d virginity.<br> + And, O! I wish, contented with my cares<br> + Of salvage spoils, she had not sought the wars!<br> + Then had she been of my celestial train,<br> + And shunn’d the fate that dooms her to be slain.<br> + But since, opposing Heav’n’s decree, she goes<br> + To find her death among forbidden foes,<br> + Haste with these arms, and take thy steepy flight.<br> + Where, with the gods, averse, the Latins fight.<br> + This bow to thee, this quiver I bequeath,<br> + This chosen arrow, to revenge her death:<br> + By whate’er hand Camilla shall be slain,<br> + Or of the Trojan or Italian train,<br> + Let him not pass unpunish’d from the plain.<br> + Then, in a hollow cloud, myself will aid<br> + To bear the breathless body of my maid:<br> + Unspoil’d shall be her arms, and unprofan’d<br> + Her holy limbs with any human hand,<br> + And in a marble tomb laid in her native land.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + She said. The faithful nymph descends from high<br> + With rapid flight, and cuts the sounding sky:<br> + Black clouds and stormy winds around her body fly.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + By this, the Trojan and the Tuscan horse,<br> + Drawn up in squadrons, with united force,<br> + Approach the walls: the sprightly coursers bound,<br> + Press forward on their bits, and shift their ground.<br> + Shields, arms, and spears flash horribly from far;<br> + And the fields glitter with a waving war.<br> + Oppos’d to these, come on with furious force<br> + Messapus, Coras, and the Latian horse;<br> + These in the body plac’d, on either hand<br> + Sustain’d and clos’d by fair Camilla’s band.<br> + Advancing in a line, they couch their spears;<br> + And less and less the middle space appears.<br> + Thick smoke obscures the field; and scarce are seen<br> + The neighing coursers, and the shouting men.<br> + In distance of their darts they stop their course;<br> + Then man to man they rush, and horse to horse.<br> + The face of heav’n their flying jav’lins hide,<br> + And deaths unseen are dealt on either side.<br> + Tyrrhenus, and Aconteus, void of fear,<br> + By mettled coursers borne in full career,<br> + Meet first oppos’d; and, with a mighty shock,<br> + Their horses’ heads against each other knock.<br> + Far from his steed is fierce Aconteus cast,<br> + As with an engine’s force, or lightning’s blast:<br> + He rolls along in blood, and breathes his last.<br> + The Latin squadrons take a sudden fright,<br> + And sling their shields behind, to save their backs in flight<br> + Spurring at speed to their own walls they drew;<br> + Close in the rear the Tuscan troops pursue,<br> + And urge their flight: Asylas leads the chase;<br> + Till, seiz’d, with shame, they wheel about and face,<br> + Receive their foes, and raise a threat’ning cry.<br> + The Tuscans take their turn to fear and fly.<br> + So swelling surges, with a thund’ring roar,<br> + Driv’n on each other’s backs, insult the shore,<br> + Bound o’er the rocks, incroach upon the land,<br> + And far upon the beach eject the sand;<br> + Then backward, with a swing, they take their way,<br> + Repuls’d from upper ground, and seek their mother sea;<br> + With equal hurry quit th’ invaded shore,<br> + And swallow back the sand and stones they spew’d before.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Twice were the Tuscans masters of the field,<br> + Twice by the Latins, in their turn, repell’d.<br> + Asham’d at length, to the third charge they ran;<br> + Both hosts resolv’d, and mingled man to man.<br> + Now dying groans are heard; the fields are strow’d<br> + With falling bodies, and are drunk with blood.<br> + Arms, horses, men, on heaps together lie:<br> + Confus’d the fight, and more confus’d the cry.<br> + Orsilochus, who durst not press too near<br> + Strong Remulus, at distance drove his spear,<br> + And stuck the steel beneath his horse’s ear.<br> + The fiery steed, impatient of the wound,<br> + Curvets, and, springing upward with a bound,<br> + His helpless lord cast backward on the ground.<br> + Catillus pierc’d Iolas first; then drew<br> + His reeking lance, and at Herminius threw,<br> + The mighty champion of the Tuscan crew.<br> + His neck and throat unarm’d, his head was bare,<br> + But shaded with a length of yellow hair:<br> + Secure, he fought, expos’d on ev’ry part,<br> + A spacious mark for swords, and for the flying dart.<br> + Across the shoulders came the feather’d wound;<br> + Transfix’d he fell, and doubled to the ground.<br> + The sands with streaming blood are sanguine dyed,<br> + And death with honour sought on either side.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Resistless thro’ the war Camilla rode,<br> + In danger unappall’d, and pleas’d with blood.<br> + One side was bare for her exerted breast;<br> + One shoulder with her painted quiver press’d.<br> + Now from afar her fatal jav’lins play;<br> + Now with her ax’s edge she hews her way:<br> + Diana’s arms upon her shoulder sound;<br> + And when, too closely press’d, she quits the ground,<br> + From her bent bow she sends a backward wound.<br> + Her maids, in martial pomp, on either side,<br> + Larina, Tulla, fierce Tarpeia, ride:<br> + Italians all; in peace, their queen’s delight;<br> + In war, the bold companions of the fight.<br> + So march’d the Thracian Amazons of old,<br> + When Thermodon with bloody billows roll’d:<br> + Such troops as these in shining arms were seen,<br> + When Theseus met in fight their maiden queen:<br> + Such to the field Penthesilea led,<br> + From the fierce virgin when the Grecians fled;<br> + With such, return’d triumphant from the war,<br> + Her maids with cries attend the lofty car;<br> + They clash with manly force their moony shields;<br> + With female shouts resound the Phrygian fields.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Who foremost, and who last, heroic maid,<br> + On the cold earth were by thy courage laid?<br> + Thy spear, of mountain ash, Eumenius first,<br> + With fury driv’n, from side to side transpierc’d:<br> + A purple stream came spouting from the wound;<br> + Bath’d in his blood he lies, and bites the ground.<br> + Liris and Pegasus at once she slew:<br> + The former, as the slacken’d reins he drew<br> + Of his faint steed; the latter, as he stretch’d<br> + His arm to prop his friend, the jav’lin reach’d.<br> + By the same weapon, sent from the same hand,<br> + Both fall together, and both spurn the sand.<br> + Amastrus next is added to the slain:<br> + The rest in rout she follows o’er the plain:<br> + Tereus, Harpalycus, Demophoon,<br> + And Chromis, at full speed her fury shun.<br> + Of all her deadly darts, not one she lost;<br> + Each was attended with a Trojan ghost.<br> + Young Ornithus bestrode a hunter steed,<br> + Swift for the chase, and of Apulian breed.<br> + Him from afar she spied, in arms unknown:<br> + O’er his broad back an ox’s hide was thrown;<br> + His helm a wolf, whose gaping jaws were spread<br> + A cov’ring for his cheeks, and grinn’d around his head,<br> + He clench’d within his hand an iron prong,<br> + And tower’d above the rest, conspicuous in the throng.<br> + Him soon she singled from the flying train,<br> + And slew with ease; then thus insults the slain:<br> + “Vain hunter, didst thou think thro’ woods to chase<br> + The savage herd, a vile and trembling race?<br> + Here cease thy vaunts, and own my victory:<br> + A woman warrior was too strong for thee.<br> + Yet, if the ghosts demand the conqu’ror’s name,<br> + Confessing great Camilla, save thy shame.”<br> + Then Butes and Orsilochus she slew,<br> + The bulkiest bodies of the Trojan crew;<br> + But Butes breast to breast: the spear descends<br> + Above the gorget, where his helmet ends,<br> + And o’er the shield which his left side defends.<br> + Orsilochus and she their courses ply:<br> + He seems to follow, and she seems to fly;<br> + But in a narrower ring she makes the race;<br> + And then he flies, and she pursues the chase.<br> + Gath’ring at length on her deluded foe,<br> + She swings her ax, and rises to the blow<br> + Full on the helm behind, with such a sway<br> + The weapon falls, the riven steel gives way:<br> + He groans, he roars, he sues in vain for grace;<br> + Brains, mingled with his blood, besmear his face.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Astonish’d Aunus just arrives by chance,<br> + To see his fall; nor farther dares advance;<br> + But, fixing on the horrid maid his eye,<br> + He stares, and shakes, and finds it vain to fly;<br> + Yet, like a true Ligurian, born to cheat,<br> + (At least while fortune favour’d his deceit,)<br> + Cries out aloud: “What courage have you shown,<br> + Who trust your courser’s strength, and not your own?<br> + Forego the vantage of your horse, alight,<br> + And then on equal terms begin the fight:<br> + It shall be seen, weak woman, what you can,<br> + When, foot to foot, you combat with a man,”<br> + He said. She glows with anger and disdain,<br> + Dismounts with speed to dare him on the plain,<br> + And leaves her horse at large among her train;<br> + With her drawn sword defies him to the field,<br> + And, marching, lifts aloft her maiden shield.<br> + The youth, who thought his cunning did succeed,<br> + Reins round his horse, and urges all his speed;<br> + Adds the remembrance of the spur, and hides<br> + The goring rowels in his bleeding sides.<br> + “Vain fool, and coward!” cries the lofty maid,<br> + “Caught in the train which thou thyself hast laid!<br> + On others practice thy Ligurian arts;<br> + Thin stratagems and tricks of little hearts<br> + Are lost on me: nor shalt thou safe retire,<br> + With vaunting lies, to thy fallacious sire.”<br> + At this, so fast her flying feet she sped,<br> + That soon she strain’d beyond his horse’s head:<br> + Then turning short, at once she seiz’d the rein,<br> + And laid the boaster grov’ling on the plain.<br> + Not with more ease the falcon, from above,<br> + Trusses in middle air the trembling dove,<br> + Then plumes the prey, in her strong pounces bound:<br> + The feathers, foul with blood, come tumbling to the ground.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now mighty Jove, from his superior height,<br> + With his broad eye surveys th’ unequal fight.<br> + He fires the breast of Tarchon with disdain,<br> + And sends him to redeem th’ abandon’d plain.<br> + Betwixt the broken ranks the Tuscan rides,<br> + And these encourages, and those he chides;<br> + Recalls each leader, by his name, from flight;<br> + Renews their ardour, and restores the fight.<br> + “What panic fear has seiz’d your souls? O shame,<br> + O brand perpetual of th’ Etrurian name!<br> + Cowards incurable, a woman’s hand<br> + Drives, breaks, and scatters your ignoble band!<br> + Now cast away the sword, and quit the shield!<br> + What use of weapons which you dare not wield?<br> + Not thus you fly your female foes by night,<br> + Nor shun the feast, when the full bowls invite;<br> + When to fat off’rings the glad augur calls,<br> + And the shrill hornpipe sounds to bacchanals.<br> + These are your studied cares, your lewd delight:<br> + Swift to debauch, but slow to manly fight.”<br> + Thus having said, he spurs amid the foes,<br> + Not managing the life he meant to lose.<br> + The first he found he seiz’d with headlong haste,<br> + In his strong gripe, and clasp’d around the waist;<br> + ’Twas Venulus, whom from his horse he tore,<br> + And, laid athwart his own, in triumph bore.<br> + Loud shouts ensue; the Latins turn their eyes,<br> + And view th’ unusual sight with vast surprise.<br> + The fiery Tarchon, flying o’er the plains,<br> + Press’d in his arms the pond’rous prey sustains;<br> + Then, with his shorten’d spear, explores around<br> + His jointed arms, to fix a deadly wound.<br> + Nor less the captive struggles for his life:<br> + He writhes his body to prolong the strife,<br> + And, fencing for his naked throat, exerts<br> + His utmost vigour, and the point averts.<br> + So stoops the yellow eagle from on high,<br> + And bears a speckled serpent thro’ the sky,<br> + Fast’ning his crooked talons on the prey:<br> + The pris’ner hisses thro’ the liquid way;<br> + Resists the royal hawk; and, tho’ oppress’d,<br> + She fights in volumes, and erects her crest:<br> + Turn’d to her foe, she stiffens ev’ry scale,<br> + And shoots her forky tongue, and whisks her threat’ning tail.<br> + Against the victor, all defence is weak:<br> + Th’ imperial bird still plies her with his beak;<br> + He tears her bowels, and her breast he gores;<br> + Then claps his pinions, and securely soars.<br> + Thus, thro’ the midst of circling enemies,<br> + Strong Tarchon snatch’d and bore away his prize.<br> + The Tyrrhene troops, that shrunk before, now press<br> + The Latins, and presume the like success.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then Aruns, doom’d to death, his arts assay’d,<br> + To murder, unespied, the Volscian maid:<br> + This way and that his winding course he bends,<br> + And, whereso’er she turns, her steps attends.<br> + When she retires victorious from the chase,<br> + He wheels about with care, and shifts his place;<br> + When, rushing on, she seeks her foes in fight,<br> + He keeps aloof, but keeps her still in sight:<br> + He threats, and trembles, trying ev’ry way,<br> + Unseen to kill, and safely to betray.<br> + Chloreus, the priest of Cybele, from far,<br> + Glitt’ring in Phrygian arms amidst the war,<br> + Was by the virgin view’d. The steed he press’d<br> + Was proud with trappings, and his brawny chest<br> + With scales of gilded brass was cover’d o’er;<br> + A robe of Tyrian dye the rider wore.<br> + With deadly wounds he gall’d the distant foe;<br> + Gnossian his shafts, and Lycian was his bow:<br> + A golden helm his front and head surrounds<br> + A gilded quiver from his shoulder sounds.<br> + Gold, weav’d with linen, on his thighs he wore,<br> + With flowers of needlework distinguish’d o’er,<br> + With golden buckles bound, and gather’d up before.<br> + Him the fierce maid beheld with ardent eyes,<br> + Fond and ambitious of so rich a prize,<br> + Or that the temple might his trophies hold,<br> + Or else to shine herself in Trojan gold.<br> + Blind in her haste, she chases him alone.<br> + And seeks his life, regardless of her own.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + This lucky moment the sly traitor chose:<br> + Then, starting from his ambush, up he rose,<br> + And threw, but first to Heav’n address’d his vows:<br> + “O patron of Socrates’ high abodes,<br> + Phoebus, the ruling pow’r among the gods,<br> + Whom first we serve, whole woods of unctuous pine<br> + Are fell’d for thee, and to thy glory shine;<br> + By thee protected with our naked soles,<br> + Thro’ flames unsing’d we march, and tread the kindled coals<br> + Give me, propitious pow’r, to wash away<br> + The stains of this dishonourable day:<br> + Nor spoils, nor triumph, from the fact I claim,<br> + But with my future actions trust my fame.<br> + Let me, by stealth, this female plague o’ercome,<br> + And from the field return inglorious home.”<br> + Apollo heard, and, granting half his pray’r,<br> + Shuffled in winds the rest, and toss’d in empty air.<br> + He gives the death desir’d; his safe return<br> + By southern tempests to the seas is borne.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now, when the jav’lin whizz’d along the skies,<br> + Both armies on Camilla turn’d their eyes,<br> + Directed by the sound. Of either host,<br> + Th’ unhappy virgin, tho’ concern’d the most,<br> + Was only deaf; so greedy was she bent<br> + On golden spoils, and on her prey intent;<br> + Till in her pap the winged weapon stood<br> + Infix’d, and deeply drunk the purple blood.<br> + Her sad attendants hasten to sustain<br> + Their dying lady, drooping on the plain.<br> + Far from their sight the trembling Aruns flies,<br> + With beating heart, and fear confus’d with joys;<br> + Nor dares he farther to pursue his blow,<br> + Or ev’n to bear the sight of his expiring foe.<br> + As, when the wolf has torn a bullock’s hide<br> + At unawares, or ranch’d a shepherd’s side,<br> + Conscious of his audacious deed, he flies,<br> + And claps his quiv’ring tail between his thighs:<br> + So, speeding once, the wretch no more attends,<br> + But, spurring forward, herds among his friends.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + She wrench’d the jav’lin with her dying hands,<br> + But wedg’d within her breast the weapon stands;<br> + The wood she draws, the steely point remains;<br> + She staggers in her seat with agonizing pains:<br> + (A gath’ring mist o’erclouds her cheerful eyes,<br> + And from her cheeks the rosy colour flies:)<br> + Then turns to her, whom of her female train<br> + She trusted most, and thus she speaks with pain:<br> + “Acca, ’tis past! he swims before my sight,<br> + Inexorable Death; and claims his right.<br> + Bear my last words to Turnus; fly with speed,<br> + And bid him timely to my charge succeed,<br> + Repel the Trojans, and the town relieve:<br> + Farewell! and in this kiss my parting breath receive.”<br> + She said, and, sliding, sunk upon the plain:<br> + Dying, her open’d hand forsakes the rein;<br> + Short, and more short, she pants; by slow degrees<br> + Her mind the passage from her body frees.<br> + She drops her sword; she nods her plumy crest,<br> + Her drooping head declining on her breast:<br> + In the last sigh her struggling soul expires,<br> + And, murm’ring with disdain, to Stygian sounds retires.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + A shout, that struck the golden stars, ensued;<br> + Despair and rage the languish’d fight renew’d.<br> + The Trojan troops and Tuscans, in a line,<br> + Advance to charge; the mix’d Arcadians join.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + But Cynthia’s maid, high seated, from afar<br> + Surveys the field, and fortune of the war,<br> + Unmov’d a while, till, prostrate on the plain,<br> + Welt’ring in blood, she sees Camilla slain,<br> + And, round her corpse, of friends and foes a fighting train.<br> + Then, from the bottom of her breast, she drew<br> + A mournful sigh, and these sad words ensue:<br> + “Too dear a fine, ah, much lamented maid,<br> + For warring with the Trojans, thou hast paid!<br> + Nor aught avail’d, in this unhappy strife,<br> + Diana’s sacred arms, to save thy life.<br> + Yet unreveng’d thy goddess will not leave<br> + Her vot’ry’s death, nor; with vain sorrow grieve.<br> + Branded the wretch, and be his name abhorr’d;<br> + But after ages shall thy praise record.<br> + Th’ inglorious coward soon shall press the plain:<br> + Thus vows thy queen, and thus the Fates ordain.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + High o’er the field there stood a hilly mound,<br> + Sacred the place, and spread with oaks around,<br> + Where, in a marble tomb, Dercennus lay,<br> + A king that once in Latium bore the sway.<br> + The beauteous Opis thither bent her flight,<br> + To mark the traitor Aruns from the height.<br> + Him in refulgent arms she soon espied,<br> + Swoln with success; and loudly thus she cried:<br> + “Thy backward steps, vain boaster, are too late;<br> + Turn like a man, at length, and meet thy fate.<br> + Charg’d with my message, to Camilla go,<br> + And say I sent thee to the shades below,<br> + An honour undeserv’d from Cynthia’s bow.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + She said, and from her quiver chose with speed<br> + The winged shaft, predestin’d for the deed;<br> + Then to the stubborn yew her strength applied,<br> + Till the far distant horns approach’d on either side.<br> + The bowstring touch’d her breast, so strong she drew;<br> + Whizzing in air the fatal arrow flew.<br> + At once the twanging bow and sounding dart<br> + The traitor heard, and felt the point within his heart.<br> + Him, beating with his heels in pangs of death,<br> + His flying friends to foreign fields bequeath.<br> + The conqu’ring damsel, with expanded wings,<br> + The welcome message to her mistress brings.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Their leader lost, the Volscians quit the field,<br> + And, unsustain’d, the chiefs of Turnus yield.<br> + The frighted soldiers, when their captains fly,<br> + More on their speed than on their strength rely.<br> + Confus’d in flight, they bear each other down,<br> + And spur their horses headlong to the town.<br> + Driv’n by their foes, and to their fears resign’d,<br> + Not once they turn, but take their wounds behind.<br> + These drop the shield, and those the lance forego,<br> + Or on their shoulders bear the slacken’d bow.<br> + The hoofs of horses, with a rattling sound,<br> + Beat short and thick, and shake the rotten ground.<br> + Black clouds of dust come rolling in the sky,<br> + And o’er the darken’d walls and rampires fly.<br> + The trembling matrons, from their lofty stands,<br> + Rend heav’n with female shrieks, and wring their hands.<br> + All pressing on, pursuers and pursued,<br> + Are crush’d in crowds, a mingled multitude.<br> + Some happy few escape: the throng too late<br> + Rush on for entrance, till they choke the gate.<br> + Ev’n in the sight of home, the wretched sire<br> + Looks on, and sees his helpless son expire.<br> + Then, in a fright, the folding gates they close,<br> + But leave their friends excluded with their foes.<br> + The vanquish’d cry; the victors loudly shout;<br> + ’Tis terror all within, and slaughter all without.<br> + Blind in their fear, they bounce against the wall,<br> + Or, to the moats pursued, precipitate their fall.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The Latian virgins, valiant with despair,<br> + Arm’d on the tow’rs, the common danger share:<br> + So much of zeal their country’s cause inspir’d;<br> + So much Camilla’s great example fir’d.<br> + Poles, sharpen’d in the flames, from high they throw,<br> + With imitated darts, to gall the foe.<br> + Their lives for godlike freedom they bequeath,<br> + And crowd each other to be first in death.<br> + Meantime to Turnus, ambush’d in the shade,<br> + With heavy tidings came th’ unhappy maid:<br> + “The Volscians overthrown, Camilla kill’d;<br> + The foes, entirely masters of the field,<br> + Like a resistless flood, come rolling on:<br> + The cry goes off the plain, and thickens to the town.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Inflam’d with rage, (for so the Furies fire<br> + The Daunian’s breast, and so the Fates require,)<br> + He leaves the hilly pass, the woods in vain<br> + Possess’d, and downward issues on the plain.<br> + Scarce was he gone, when to the straits, now freed<br> + From secret foes, the Trojan troops succeed.<br> + Thro’ the black forest and the ferny brake,<br> + Unknowingly secure, their way they take;<br> + From the rough mountains to the plain descend,<br> + And there, in order drawn, their line extend.<br> + Both armies now in open fields are seen;<br> + Nor far the distance of the space between.<br> + Both to the city bend. Aeneas sees,<br> + Thro’ smoking fields, his hast’ning enemies;<br> + And Turnus views the Trojans in array,<br> + And hears th’ approaching horses proudly neigh.<br> + Soon had their hosts in bloody battle join’d;<br> + But westward to the sea the sun declin’d.<br> + Intrench’d before the town both armies lie,<br> + While night with sable wings involves the sky. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="chap12"></a>BOOK XII</h2> + + <h5> THE ARGUMENT. </h5> + + <p> + 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. + <br><br> + </p> + + <p class="pfirst"> + <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen Turnus saw the Latins leave the field,<br> + Their armies broken, and their courage quell’d,<br> + Himself become the mark of public spite,<br> + His honour question’d for the promis’d fight;<br> + The more he was with vulgar hate oppress’d,<br> + The more his fury boil’d within his breast:<br> + He rous’d his vigour for the last debate,<br> + And rais’d his haughty soul to meet his fate.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + As, when the swains the Libyan lion chase,<br> + He makes a sour retreat, nor mends his pace;<br> + But, if the pointed jav’lin pierce his side,<br> + The lordly beast returns with double pride:<br> + He wrenches out the steel, he roars for pain;<br> + His sides he lashes, and erects his mane:<br> + So Turnus fares; his eyeballs flash with fire,<br> + Thro’ his wide nostrils clouds of smoke expire.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Trembling with rage, around the court he ran,<br> + At length approach’d the king, and thus began:<br> + “No more excuses or delays: I stand<br> + In arms prepar’d to combat, hand to hand,<br> + This base deserter of his native land.<br> + The Trojan, by his word, is bound to take<br> + The same conditions which himself did make.<br> + Renew the truce; the solemn rites prepare,<br> + And to my single virtue trust the war.<br> + The Latians unconcern’d shall see the fight;<br> + This arm unaided shall assert your right:<br> + Then, if my prostrate body press the plain,<br> + To him the crown and beauteous bride remain.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + To whom the king sedately thus replied:<br> + “Brave youth, the more your valour has been tried,<br> + The more becomes it us, with due respect,<br> + To weigh the chance of war, which you neglect.<br> + You want not wealth, or a successive throne,<br> + Or cities which your arms have made your own:<br> + My towns and treasures are at your command,<br> + And stor’d with blooming beauties is my land;<br> + Laurentum more than one Lavinia sees,<br> + Unmarried, fair, of noble families.<br> + Now let me speak, and you with patience hear,<br> + Things which perhaps may grate a lover’s ear,<br> + But sound advice, proceeding from a heart<br> + Sincerely yours, and free from fraudful art.<br> + The gods, by signs, have manifestly shown,<br> + No prince Italian born should heir my throne:<br> + Oft have our augurs, in prediction skill’d,<br> + And oft our priests, a foreign son reveal’d.<br> + Yet, won by worth that cannot be withstood,<br> + Brib’d by my kindness to my kindred blood,<br> + Urg’d by my wife, who would not be denied,<br> + I promis’d my Lavinia for your bride:<br> + Her from her plighted lord by force I took;<br> + All ties of treaties, and of honour, broke:<br> + On your account I wag’d an impious war—<br> + With what success, ’tis needless to declare;<br> + I and my subjects feel, and you have had your share.<br> + Twice vanquish’d while in bloody fields we strive,<br> + Scarce in our walls we keep our hopes alive:<br> + The rolling flood runs warm with human gore;<br> + The bones of Latians blanch the neighb’ring shore.<br> + Why put I not an end to this debate,<br> + Still unresolv’d, and still a slave to fate?<br> + If Turnus’ death a lasting peace can give,<br> + Why should I not procure it whilst you live?<br> + Should I to doubtful arms your youth betray,<br> + What would my kinsmen, the Rutulians, say?<br> + And, should you fall in fight, (which Heav’n defend!)<br> + How curse the cause which hasten’d to his end<br> + The daughter’s lover and the father’s friend?<br> + Weigh in your mind the various chance of war;<br> + Pity your parent’s age, and ease his care.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Such balmy words he pour’d, but all in vain:<br> + The proffer’d med’cine but provok’d the pain.<br> + The wrathful youth, disdaining the relief,<br> + With intermitting sobs thus vents his grief:<br> + “The care, O best of fathers, which you take<br> + For my concerns, at my desire forsake.<br> + Permit me not to languish out my days,<br> + But make the best exchange of life for praise.<br> + This arm, this lance, can well dispute the prize;<br> + And the blood follows, where the weapon flies.<br> + His goddess mother is not near, to shroud<br> + The flying coward with an empty cloud.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + But now the queen, who fear’d for Turnus’ life,<br> + And loath’d the hard conditions of the strife,<br> + Held him by force; and, dying in his death,<br> + In these sad accents gave her sorrow breath:<br> + “O Turnus, I adjure thee by these tears,<br> + And whate’er price Amata’s honour bears<br> + Within thy breast, since thou art all my hope,<br> + My sickly mind’s repose, my sinking age’s prop;<br> + Since on the safety of thy life alone<br> + Depends Latinus, and the Latian throne:<br> + Refuse me not this one, this only pray’r,<br> + To waive the combat, and pursue the war.<br> + Whatever chance attends this fatal strife,<br> + Think it includes, in thine, Amata’s life.<br> + I cannot live a slave, or see my throne<br> + Usurp’d by strangers or a Trojan son.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + At this, a flood of tears Lavinia shed;<br> + A crimson blush her beauteous face o’erspread,<br> + Varying her cheeks by turns with white and red.<br> + The driving colours, never at a stay,<br> + Run here and there, and flush, and fade away.<br> + Delightful change! Thus Indian iv’ry shows,<br> + Which with the bord’ring paint of purple glows;<br> + Or lilies damask’d by the neighb’ring rose.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The lover gaz’d, and, burning with desire,<br> + The more he look’d, the more he fed the fire:<br> + Revenge, and jealous rage, and secret spite,<br> + Roll in his breast, and rouse him to the fight.<br> + Then fixing on the queen his ardent eyes,<br> + Firm to his first intent, he thus replies:<br> + “O mother, do not by your tears prepare<br> + Such boding omens, and prejudge the war.<br> + Resolv’d on fight, I am no longer free<br> + To shun my death, if Heav’n my death decree.”<br> + Then turning to the herald, thus pursues:<br> + “Go, greet the Trojan with ungrateful news;<br> + Denounce from me, that, when tomorrow’s light<br> + Shall gild the heav’ns, he need not urge the fight;<br> + The Trojan and Rutulian troops no more<br> + Shall dye, with mutual blood, the Latian shore:<br> + Our single swords the quarrel shall decide,<br> + And to the victor be the beauteous bride.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + He said, and striding on, with speedy pace,<br> + He sought his coursers of the Thracian race.<br> + At his approach they toss their heads on high,<br> + And, proudly neighing, promise victory.<br> + The sires of these Orythia sent from far,<br> + To grace Pilumnus, when he went to war.<br> + The drifts of Thracian snows were scarce so white,<br> + Nor northern winds in fleetness match’d their flight.<br> + Officious grooms stand ready by his side;<br> + And some with combs their flowing manes divide,<br> + And others stroke their chests and gently soothe their pride.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + He sheath’d his limbs in arms; a temper’d mass<br> + Of golden metal those, and mountain brass.<br> + Then to his head his glitt’ring helm he tied,<br> + And girt his faithful falchion to his side.<br> + In his Aetnaean forge, the God of Fire<br> + That falchion labour’d for the hero’s sire;<br> + Immortal keenness on the blade bestow’d,<br> + And plung’d it hissing in the Stygian flood.<br> + Propp’d on a pillar, which the ceiling bore,<br> + Was plac’d the lance Auruncan Actor wore;<br> + Which with such force he brandish’d in his hand,<br> + The tough ash trembled like an osier wand:<br> + Then cried: “O pond’rous spoil of Actor slain,<br> + And never yet by Turnus toss’d in vain,<br> + Fail not this day thy wonted force; but go,<br> + Sent by this hand, to pierce the Trojan foe!<br> + Give me to tear his corslet from his breast,<br> + And from that eunuch head to rend the crest;<br> + Dragg’d in the dust, his frizzled hair to soil,<br> + Hot from the vexing ir’n, and smear’d with fragrant oil!”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus while he raves, from his wide nostrils flies<br> + A fiery steam, and sparkles from his eyes.<br> + So fares the bull in his lov’d female’s sight:<br> + Proudly he bellows, and preludes the fight;<br> + He tries his goring horns against a tree,<br> + And meditates his absent enemy;<br> + He pushes at the winds; he digs the strand<br> + With his black hoofs, and spurns the yellow sand.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Nor less the Trojan, in his Lemnian arms,<br> + To future fight his manly courage warms:<br> + He whets his fury, and with joy prepares<br> + To terminate at once the ling’ring wars;<br> + To cheer his chiefs and tender son, relates<br> + What Heav’n had promis’d, and expounds the fates.<br> + Then to the Latian king he sends, to cease<br> + The rage of arms, and ratify the peace.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The morn ensuing, from the mountain’s height,<br> + Had scarcely spread the skies with rosy light;<br> + Th’ ethereal coursers, bounding from the sea,<br> + From out their flaming nostrils breath’d the day;<br> + When now the Trojan and Rutulian guard,<br> + In friendly labour join’d, the list prepar’d.<br> + Beneath the walls they measure out the space;<br> + Then sacred altars rear, on sods of grass,<br> + Where, with religious rites their common gods they place.<br> + In purest white the priests their heads attire;<br> + And living waters bear, and holy fire;<br> + And, o’er their linen hoods and shaded hair,<br> + Long twisted wreaths of sacred vervain wear.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + In order issuing from the town appears<br> + The Latin legion, arm’d with pointed spears;<br> + And from the fields, advancing on a line,<br> + The Trojan and the Tuscan forces join:<br> + Their various arms afford a pleasing sight;<br> + A peaceful train they seem, in peace prepar’d for fight.<br> + Betwixt the ranks the proud commanders ride,<br> + Glitt’ring with gold, and vests in purple dyed;<br> + Here Mnestheus, author of the Memmian line,<br> + And there Messapus, born of seed divine.<br> + The sign is giv’n; and, round the listed space,<br> + Each man in order fills his proper place.<br> + Reclining on their ample shields, they stand,<br> + And fix their pointed lances in the sand.<br> + Now, studious of the sight, a num’rous throng<br> + Of either sex promiscuous, old and young,<br> + Swarm the town: by those who rest behind,<br> + The gates and walls and houses’ tops are lin’d.<br> + Meantime the Queen of Heav’n beheld the sight,<br> + With eyes unpleas’d, from Mount Albano’s height<br> + (Since call’d Albano by succeeding fame,<br> + But then an empty hill, without a name).<br> + She thence survey’d the field, the Trojan pow’rs,<br> + The Latian squadrons, and Laurentine tow’rs.<br> + Then thus the goddess of the skies bespoke,<br> + With sighs and tears, the goddess of the lake,<br> + King Turnus’ sister, once a lovely maid,<br> + Ere to the lust of lawless Jove betray’d:<br> + Compress’d by force, but, by the grateful god,<br> + Now made the Nais of the neighb’ring flood.<br> + “O nymph, the pride of living lakes,” said she,<br> + “O most renown’d, and most belov’d by me,<br> + Long hast thou known, nor need I to record,<br> + The wanton sallies of my wand’ring lord.<br> + Of ev’ry Latian fair whom Jove misled<br> + To mount by stealth my violated bed,<br> + To thee alone I grudg’d not his embrace,<br> + But gave a part of heav’n, and an unenvied place.<br> + Now learn from me thy near approaching grief,<br> + Nor think my wishes want to thy relief.<br> + While fortune favour’d, nor Heav’n’s King denied<br> + To lend my succour to the Latian side,<br> + I sav’d thy brother, and the sinking state:<br> + But now he struggles with unequal fate,<br> + And goes, with gods averse, o’ermatch’d in might,<br> + To meet inevitable death in fight;<br> + Nor must I break the truce, nor can sustain the sight.<br> + Thou, if thou dar’st thy present aid supply;<br> + It well becomes a sister’s care to try.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + At this the lovely nymph, with grief oppress’d,<br> + Thrice tore her hair, and beat her comely breast.<br> + To whom Saturnia thus: “Thy tears are late:<br> + Haste, snatch him, if he can be snatch’d from fate:<br> + New tumults kindle; violate the truce:<br> + Who knows what changeful fortune may produce?<br> + ’Tis not a crime t’ attempt what I decree;<br> + Or, if it were, discharge the crime on me.”<br> + She said, and, sailing on the winged wind,<br> + Left the sad nymph suspended in her mind.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + And now in pomp the peaceful kings appear:<br> + Four steeds the chariot of Latinus bear;<br> + Twelve golden beams around his temples play,<br> + To mark his lineage from the God of Day.<br> + Two snowy coursers Turnus’ chariot yoke,<br> + And in his hand two massy spears he shook:<br> + Then issued from the camp, in arms divine,<br> + Aeneas, author of the Roman line;<br> + And by his side Ascanius took his place,<br> + The second hope of Rome’s immortal race.<br> + Adorn’d in white, a rev’rend priest appears,<br> + And off’rings to the flaming altars bears;<br> + A porket, and a lamb that never suffer’d shears.<br> + Then to the rising sun he turns his eyes,<br> + And strews the beasts, design’d for sacrifice,<br> + With salt and meal: with like officious care<br> + He marks their foreheads, and he clips their hair.<br> + Betwixt their horns the purple wine he sheds;<br> + With the same gen’rous juice the flame he feeds.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Aeneas then unsheath’d his shining sword,<br> + And thus with pious pray’rs the gods ador’d:<br> + “All-seeing sun, and thou, Ausonian soil,<br> + For which I have sustain’d so long a toil,<br> + Thou, King of Heav’n, and thou, the Queen of Air,<br> + Propitious now, and reconcil’d by pray’r;<br> + Thou, God of War, whose unresisted sway<br> + The labours and events of arms obey;<br> + Ye living fountains, and ye running floods,<br> + All pow’rs of ocean, all ethereal gods,<br> + Hear, and bear record: if I fall in field,<br> + Or, recreant in the fight, to Turnus yield,<br> + My Trojans shall encrease Evander’s town;<br> + Ascanius shall renounce th’ Ausonian crown:<br> + All claims, all questions of debate, shall cease;<br> + Nor he, nor they, with force infringe the peace.<br> + But, if my juster arms prevail in fight,<br> + (As sure they shall, if I divine aright,)<br> + My Trojans shall not o’er th’ Italians reign:<br> + Both equal, both unconquer’d shall remain,<br> + Join’d in their laws, their lands, and their abodes;<br> + I ask but altars for my weary gods.<br> + The care of those religious rites be mine;<br> + The crown to King Latinus I resign:<br> + His be the sov’reign sway. Nor will I share<br> + His pow’r in peace, or his command in war.<br> + For me, my friends another town shall frame,<br> + And bless the rising tow’rs with fair Lavinia’s name.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus he. Then, with erected eyes and hands,<br> + The Latian king before his altar stands.<br> + “By the same heav’n,” said he, “and earth, and main,<br> + And all the pow’rs that all the three contain;<br> + By hell below, and by that upper god<br> + Whose thunder signs the peace, who seals it with his nod;<br> + So let Latona’s double offspring hear,<br> + And double-fronted Janus, what I swear:<br> + I touch the sacred altars, touch the flames,<br> + And all those pow’rs attest, and all their names;<br> + Whatever chance befall on either side,<br> + No term of time this union shall divide:<br> + No force, no fortune, shall my vows unbind,<br> + Or shake the steadfast tenor of my mind;<br> + Not tho’ the circling seas should break their bound,<br> + O’erflow the shores, or sap the solid ground;<br> + Not tho’ the lamps of heav’n their spheres forsake,<br> + Hurl’d down, and hissing in the nether lake:<br> + Ev’n as this royal scepter” (for he bore<br> + A scepter in his hand) “shall never more<br> + Shoot out in branches, or renew the birth:<br> + An orphan now, cut from the mother earth<br> + By the keen ax, dishonour’d of its hair,<br> + And cas’d in brass, for Latian kings to bear.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + When thus in public view the peace was tied<br> + With solemn vows, and sworn on either side,<br> + All dues perform’d which holy rites require;<br> + The victim beasts are slain before the fire,<br> + The trembling entrails from their bodies torn,<br> + And to the fatten’d flames in chargers borne.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Already the Rutulians deem their man<br> + O’ermatch’d in arms, before the fight began.<br> + First rising fears are whisper’d thro’ the crowd;<br> + Then, gath’ring sound, they murmur more aloud.<br> + Now, side to side, they measure with their eyes<br> + The champions’ bulk, their sinews, and their size:<br> + The nearer they approach, the more is known<br> + Th’ apparent disadvantage of their own.<br> + Turnus himself appears in public sight<br> + Conscious of fate, desponding of the fight.<br> + Slowly he moves, and at his altar stands<br> + With eyes dejected, and with trembling hands;<br> + And, while he mutters undistinguish’d pray’rs,<br> + A livid deadness in his cheeks appears.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + With anxious pleasure when Juturna view’d<br> + Th’ increasing fright of the mad multitude,<br> + When their short sighs and thick’ning sobs she heard,<br> + And found their ready minds for change prepar’d;<br> + Dissembling her immortal form, she took<br> + Camertus’ mien, his habit, and his look;<br> + A chief of ancient blood; in arms well known<br> + Was his great sire, and he his greater son.<br> + His shape assum’d, amid the ranks she ran,<br> + And humoring their first motions, thus began:<br> + “For shame, Rutulians, can you bear the sight<br> + Of one expos’d for all, in single fight?<br> + Can we, before the face of heav’n, confess<br> + Our courage colder, or our numbers less?<br> + View all the Trojan host, th’ Arcadian band,<br> + And Tuscan army; count ’em as they stand:<br> + Undaunted to the battle if we go,<br> + Scarce ev’ry second man will share a foe.<br> + Turnus, ’tis true, in this unequal strife,<br> + Shall lose, with honour, his devoted life,<br> + Or change it rather for immortal fame,<br> + Succeeding to the gods, from whence he came:<br> + But you, a servile and inglorious band,<br> + For foreign lords shall sow your native land,<br> + Those fruitful fields your fighting fathers gain’d,<br> + Which have so long their lazy sons sustain’d.”<br> + With words like these, she carried her design:<br> + A rising murmur runs along the line.<br> + Then ev’n the city troops, and Latians, tir’d<br> + With tedious war, seem with new souls inspir’d:<br> + Their champion’s fate with pity they lament,<br> + And of the league, so lately sworn, repent.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Nor fails the goddess to foment the rage<br> + With lying wonders, and a false presage;<br> + But adds a sign, which, present to their eyes,<br> + Inspires new courage, and a glad surprise.<br> + For, sudden, in the fiery tracts above,<br> + Appears in pomp th’ imperial bird of Jove:<br> + A plump of fowl he spies, that swim the lakes,<br> + And o’er their heads his sounding pinions shakes;<br> + Then, stooping on the fairest of the train,<br> + In his strong talons truss’d a silver swan.<br> + Th’ Italians wonder at th’ unusual sight;<br> + But, while he lags, and labours in his flight,<br> + Behold, the dastard fowl return anew,<br> + And with united force the foe pursue:<br> + Clam’rous around the royal hawk they fly,<br> + And, thick’ning in a cloud, o’ershade the sky.<br> + They cuff, they scratch, they cross his airy course;<br> + Nor can th’ incumber’d bird sustain their force;<br> + But vex’d, not vanquish’d, drops the pond’rous prey,<br> + And, lighten’d of his burthen, wings his way.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Th’ Ausonian bands with shouts salute the sight,<br> + Eager of action, and demand the fight.<br> + Then King Tolumnius, vers’d in augurs’ arts,<br> + Cries out, and thus his boasted skill imparts:<br> + “At length ’tis granted, what I long desir’d!<br> + This, this is what my frequent vows requir’d.<br> + Ye gods, I take your omen, and obey.<br> + Advance, my friends, and charge! I lead the way.<br> + These are the foreign foes, whose impious band,<br> + Like that rapacious bird, infest our land:<br> + But soon, like him, they shall be forc’d to sea<br> + By strength united, and forego the prey.<br> + Your timely succour to your country bring,<br> + Haste to the rescue, and redeem your king.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + He said; and, pressing onward thro’ the crew,<br> + Pois’d in his lifted arm, his lance he threw.<br> + The winged weapon, whistling in the wind,<br> + Came driving on, nor miss’d the mark design’d.<br> + At once the cornel rattled in the skies;<br> + At once tumultuous shouts and clamours rise.<br> + Nine brothers in a goodly band there stood,<br> + Born of Arcadian mix’d with Tuscan blood,<br> + Gylippus’ sons: the fatal jav’lin flew,<br> + Aim’d at the midmost of the friendly crew.<br> + A passage thro’ the jointed arms it found,<br> + Just where the belt was to the body bound,<br> + And struck the gentle youth extended on the ground.<br> + Then, fir’d with pious rage, the gen’rous train<br> + Run madly forward to revenge the slain.<br> + And some with eager haste their jav’lins throw;<br> + And some with sword in hand assault the foe.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The wish’d insult the Latine troops embrace,<br> + And meet their ardour in the middle space.<br> + The Trojans, Tuscans, and Arcadian line,<br> + With equal courage obviate their design.<br> + Peace leaves the violated fields, and hate<br> + Both armies urges to their mutual fate.<br> + With impious haste their altars are o’erturn’d,<br> + The sacrifice half-broil’d, and half-unburn’d.<br> + Thick storms of steel from either army fly,<br> + And clouds of clashing darts obscure the sky;<br> + Brands from the fire are missive weapons made,<br> + With chargers, bowls, and all the priestly trade.<br> + Latinus, frighted, hastens from the fray,<br> + And bears his unregarded gods away.<br> + These on their horses vault; those yoke the car;<br> + The rest, with swords on high, run headlong to the war.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Messapus, eager to confound the peace,<br> + Spurr’d his hot courser thro’ the fighting press,<br> + At King Aulestes, by his purple known<br> + A Tuscan prince, and by his regal crown;<br> + And, with a shock encount’ring, bore him down.<br> + Backward he fell; and, as his fate design’d,<br> + The ruins of an altar were behind:<br> + There, pitching on his shoulders and his head,<br> + Amid the scatt’ring fires he lay supinely spread.<br> + The beamy spear, descending from above,<br> + His cuirass pierc’d, and thro’ his body drove.<br> + Then, with a scornful smile, the victor cries:<br> + “The gods have found a fitter sacrifice.”<br> + Greedy of spoils, th’ Italians strip the dead<br> + Of his rich armour, and uncrown his head.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Priest Corynaeus, arm’d his better hand,<br> + From his own altar, with a blazing brand;<br> + And, as Ebusus with a thund’ring pace<br> + Advanc’d to battle, dash’d it on his face:<br> + His bristly beard shines out with sudden fires;<br> + The crackling crop a noisome scent expires.<br> + Following the blow, he seiz’d his curling crown<br> + With his left hand; his other cast him down.<br> + The prostrate body with his knees he press’d,<br> + And plung’d his holy poniard in his breast.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + While Podalirius, with his sword, pursued<br> + The shepherd Alsus thro’ the flying crowd,<br> + Swiftly he turns, and aims a deadly blow<br> + Full on the front of his unwary foe.<br> + The broad ax enters with a crashing sound,<br> + And cleaves the chin with one continued wound;<br> + Warm blood, and mingled brains, besmear his arms around<br> + An iron sleep his stupid eyes oppress’d,<br> + And seal’d their heavy lids in endless rest.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + But good Aeneas rush’d amid the bands;<br> + Bare was his head, and naked were his hands,<br> + In sign of truce: then thus he cries aloud:<br> + “What sudden rage, what new desire of blood,<br> + Inflames your alter’d minds? O Trojans, cease<br> + From impious arms, nor violate the peace!<br> + By human sanctions, and by laws divine,<br> + The terms are all agreed; the war is mine.<br> + Dismiss your fears, and let the fight ensue;<br> + This hand alone shall right the gods and you:<br> + Our injur’d altars, and their broken vow,<br> + To this avenging sword the faithless Turnus owe.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus while he spoke, unmindful of defence,<br> + A winged arrow struck the pious prince.<br> + But, whether from some human hand it came,<br> + Or hostile god, is left unknown by fame:<br> + No human hand or hostile god was found,<br> + To boast the triumph of so base a wound.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + When Turnus saw the Trojan quit the plain,<br> + His chiefs dismay’d, his troops a fainting train,<br> + Th’ unhop’d event his heighten’d soul inspires:<br> + At once his arms and coursers he requires;<br> + Then, with a leap, his lofty chariot gains,<br> + And with a ready hand assumes the reins.<br> + He drives impetuous, and, where’er he goes,<br> + He leaves behind a lane of slaughter’d foes.<br> + These his lance reaches; over those he rolls<br> + His rapid car, and crushes out their souls:<br> + In vain the vanquish’d fly; the victor sends<br> + The dead men’s weapons at their living friends.<br> + Thus, on the banks of Hebrus’ freezing flood,<br> + The God of Battles, in his angry mood,<br> + Clashing his sword against his brazen shield,<br> + Let loose the reins, and scours along the field:<br> + Before the wind his fiery coursers fly;<br> + Groans the sad earth, resounds the rattling sky.<br> + Wrath, Terror, Treason, Tumult, and Despair<br> + (Dire faces, and deform’d) surround the car;<br> + Friends of the god, and followers of the war.<br> + With fury not unlike, nor less disdain,<br> + Exulting Turnus flies along the plain:<br> + His smoking horses, at their utmost speed,<br> + He lashes on, and urges o’er the dead.<br> + Their fetlocks run with blood; and, when they bound,<br> + The gore and gath’ring dust are dash’d around.<br> + Thamyris and Pholus, masters of the war,<br> + He kill’d at hand, but Sthenelus afar:<br> + From far the sons of Imbracus he slew,<br> + Glaucus and Lades, of the Lycian crew;<br> + Both taught to fight on foot, in battle join’d,<br> + Or mount the courser that outstrips the wind.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Meantime Eumedes, vaunting in the field,<br> + New fir’d the Trojans, and their foes repell’d.<br> + This son of Dolon bore his grandsire’s name,<br> + But emulated more his father’s fame;<br> + His guileful father, sent a nightly spy,<br> + The Grecian camp and order to descry:<br> + Hard enterprise! and well he might require<br> + Achilles’ car and horses, for his hire:<br> + But, met upon the scout, th’ Aetolian prince<br> + In death bestow’d a juster recompense.<br> + Fierce Turnus view’d the Trojan from afar,<br> + And launch’d his jav’lin from his lofty car;<br> + Then lightly leaping down, pursued the blow,<br> + And, pressing with his foot his prostrate foe,<br> + Wrench’d from his feeble hold the shining sword,<br> + And plung’d it in the bosom of its lord.<br> + “Possess,” said he, “the fruit of all thy pains,<br> + And measure, at thy length, our Latian plains.<br> + Thus are my foes rewarded by my hand;<br> + Thus may they build their town, and thus enjoy the land!”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then Dares, Butes, Sybaris he slew,<br> + Whom o’er his neck his flound’ring courser threw.<br> + As when loud Boreas, with his blust’ring train,<br> + Stoops from above, incumbent on the main;<br> + Where’er he flies, he drives the rack before,<br> + And rolls the billows on th’ Aegaean shore:<br> + So, where resistless Turnus takes his course,<br> + The scatter’d squadrons bend before his force;<br> + His crest of horses’ hair is blown behind<br> + By adverse air, and rustles in the wind.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + This haughty Phegeus saw with high disdain,<br> + And, as the chariot roll’d along the plain,<br> + Light from the ground he leapt, and seiz’d the rein.<br> + Thus hung in air, he still retain’d his hold,<br> + The coursers frighted, and their course controll’d.<br> + The lance of Turnus reach’d him as he hung,<br> + And pierc’d his plated arms, but pass’d along,<br> + And only raz’d the skin. He turn’d, and held<br> + Against his threat’ning foe his ample shield;<br> + Then call’d for aid: but, while he cried in vain,<br> + The chariot bore him backward on the plain.<br> + He lies revers’d; the victor king descends,<br> + And strikes so justly where his helmet ends,<br> + He lops the head. The Latian fields are drunk<br> + With streams that issue from the bleeding trunk.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + While he triumphs, and while the Trojans yield,<br> + The wounded prince is forc’d to leave the field:<br> + Strong Mnestheus, and Achates often tried,<br> + And young Ascanius, weeping by his side,<br> + Conduct him to his tent. Scarce can he rear<br> + His limbs from earth, supported on his spear.<br> + Resolv’d in mind, regardless of the smart,<br> + He tugs with both his hands, and breaks the dart.<br> + The steel remains. No readier way he found<br> + To draw the weapon, than t’ inlarge the wound.<br> + Eager of fight, impatient of delay,<br> + He begs; and his unwilling friends obey.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Iapis was at hand to prove his art,<br> + Whose blooming youth so fir’d Apollo’s heart,<br> + That, for his love, he proffer’d to bestow<br> + His tuneful harp and his unerring bow.<br> + The pious youth, more studious how to save<br> + His aged sire, now sinking to the grave,<br> + Preferr’d the pow’r of plants, and silent praise<br> + Of healing arts, before Phoebean bays.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Propp’d on his lance the pensive hero stood,<br> + And heard and saw, unmov’d, the mourning crowd.<br> + The fam’d physician tucks his robes around<br> + With ready hands, and hastens to the wound.<br> + With gentle touches he performs his part,<br> + This way and that, soliciting the dart,<br> + And exercises all his heav’nly art.<br> + All soft’ning simples, known of sov’reign use,<br> + He presses out, and pours their noble juice.<br> + These first infus’d, to lenify the pain,<br> + He tugs with pincers, but he tugs in vain.<br> + Then to the patron of his art he pray’d:<br> + The patron of his art refus’d his aid.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Meantime the war approaches to the tents;<br> + Th’ alarm grows hotter, and the noise augments:<br> + The driving dust proclaims the danger near;<br> + And first their friends, and then their foes appear:<br> + Their friends retreat; their foes pursue the rear.<br> + The camp is fill’d with terror and affright:<br> + The hissing shafts within the trench alight;<br> + An undistinguish’d noise ascends the sky,<br> + The shouts of those who kill, and groans of those who die.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + But now the goddess mother, mov’d with grief,<br> + And pierc’d with pity, hastens her relief.<br> + A branch of healing dittany she brought,<br> + Which in the Cretan fields with care she sought:<br> + Rough is the stem, which woolly leafs surround;<br> + The leafs with flow’rs, the flow’rs with purple crown’d,<br> + Well known to wounded goats; a sure relief<br> + To draw the pointed steel, and ease the grief.<br> + This Venus brings, in clouds involv’d, and brews<br> + Th’ extracted liquor with ambrosian dews,<br> + And odorous panacee. Unseen she stands,<br> + Temp’ring the mixture with her heav’nly hands,<br> + And pours it in a bowl, already crown’d<br> + With juice of med’c’nal herbs prepar’d to bathe the wound.<br> + The leech, unknowing of superior art<br> + Which aids the cure, with this foments the part;<br> + And in a moment ceas’d the raging smart.<br> + Stanch’d is the blood, and in the bottom stands:<br> + The steel, but scarcely touch’d with tender hands,<br> + Moves up, and follows of its own accord,<br> + And health and vigour are at once restor’d.<br> + Iapis first perceiv’d the closing wound,<br> + And first the footsteps of a god he found.<br> + “Arms! arms!” he cries; “the sword and shield prepare,<br> + And send the willing chief, renew’d, to war.<br> + This is no mortal work, no cure of mine,<br> + Nor art’s effect, but done by hands divine.<br> + Some god our general to the battle sends;<br> + Some god preserves his life for greater ends.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The hero arms in haste; his hands infold<br> + His thighs with cuishes of refulgent gold:<br> + Inflam’d to fight, and rushing to the field,<br> + That hand sustaining the celestial shield,<br> + This gripes the lance, and with such vigour shakes,<br> + That to the rest the beamy weapon quakes.<br> + Then with a close embrace he strain’d his son,<br> + And, kissing thro’ his helmet, thus begun:<br> + “My son, from my example learn the war,<br> + In camps to suffer, and in fields to dare;<br> + But happier chance than mine attend thy care!<br> + This day my hand thy tender age shall shield,<br> + And crown with honours of the conquer’d field:<br> + Thou, when thy riper years shall send thee forth<br> + To toils of war, be mindful of my worth;<br> + Assert thy birthright, and in arms be known,<br> + For Hector’s nephew, and Aeneas’ son.”<br> + He said; and, striding, issued on the plain.<br> + Anteus and Mnestheus, and a num’rous train,<br> + Attend his steps; the rest their weapons take,<br> + And, crowding to the field, the camp forsake.<br> + A cloud of blinding dust is rais’d around,<br> + Labours beneath their feet the trembling ground.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now Turnus, posted on a hill, from far<br> + Beheld the progress of the moving war:<br> + With him the Latins view’d the cover’d plains,<br> + And the chill blood ran backward in their veins.<br> + Juturna saw th’ advancing troops appear,<br> + And heard the hostile sound, and fled for fear.<br> + Aeneas leads; and draws a sweeping train,<br> + Clos’d in their ranks, and pouring on the plain.<br> + As when a whirlwind, rushing to the shore<br> + From the mid ocean, drives the waves before;<br> + The painful hind with heavy heart foresees<br> + The flatted fields, and slaughter of the trees;<br> + With like impetuous rage the prince appears<br> + Before his doubled front, nor less destruction bears.<br> + And now both armies shock in open field;<br> + Osiris is by strong Thymbraeus kill’d.<br> + Archetius, Ufens, Epulon, are slain<br> + (All fam’d in arms, and of the Latian train)<br> + By Gyas’, Mnestheus’, and Achates’ hand.<br> + The fatal augur falls, by whose command<br> + The truce was broken, and whose lance, embrued<br> + With Trojan blood, th’ unhappy fight renew’d.<br> + Loud shouts and clamours rend the liquid sky,<br> + And o’er the field the frighted Latins fly.<br> + The prince disdains the dastards to pursue,<br> + Nor moves to meet in arms the fighting few;<br> + Turnus alone, amid the dusky plain,<br> + He seeks, and to the combat calls in vain.<br> + Juturna heard, and, seiz’d with mortal fear,<br> + Forc’d from the beam her brother’s charioteer;<br> + Assumes his shape, his armour, and his mien,<br> + And, like Metiscus, in his seat is seen.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + As the black swallow near the palace plies;<br> + O’er empty courts, and under arches, flies;<br> + Now hawks aloft, now skims along the flood,<br> + To furnish her loquacious nest with food:<br> + So drives the rapid goddess o’er the plains;<br> + The smoking horses run with loosen’d reins.<br> + She steers a various course among the foes;<br> + Now here, now there, her conqu’ring brother shows;<br> + Now with a straight, now with a wheeling flight,<br> + She turns, and bends, but shuns the single fight.<br> + Aeneas, fir’d with fury, breaks the crowd,<br> + And seeks his foe, and calls by name aloud:<br> + He runs within a narrower ring, and tries<br> + To stop the chariot; but the chariot flies.<br> + If he but gain a glimpse, Juturna fears,<br> + And far away the Daunian hero bears.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + What should he do! Nor arts nor arms avail;<br> + And various cares in vain his mind assail.<br> + The great Messapus, thund’ring thro’ the field,<br> + In his left hand two pointed jav’lins held:<br> + Encount’ring on the prince, one dart he drew,<br> + And with unerring aim and utmost vigour threw.<br> + Aeneas saw it come, and, stooping low<br> + Beneath his buckler, shunn’d the threat’ning blow.<br> + The weapon hiss’d above his head, and tore<br> + The waving plume which on his helm he wore.<br> + Forced by this hostile act, and fir’d with spite,<br> + That flying Turnus still declin’d the fight,<br> + The Prince, whose piety had long repell’d<br> + His inborn ardour, now invades the field;<br> + Invokes the pow’rs of violated peace,<br> + Their rites and injur’d altars to redress;<br> + Then, to his rage abandoning the rein,<br> + With blood and slaughter’d bodies fills the plain.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + What god can tell, what numbers can display,<br> + The various labours of that fatal day;<br> + What chiefs and champions fell on either side,<br> + In combat slain, or by what deaths they died;<br> + Whom Turnus, whom the Trojan hero kill’d;<br> + Who shar’d the fame and fortune of the field!<br> + Jove, could’st thou view, and not avert thy sight,<br> + Two jarring nations join’d in cruel fight,<br> + Whom leagues of lasting love so shortly shall unite!<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Aeneas first Rutulian Sucro found,<br> + Whose valour made the Trojans quit their ground;<br> + Betwixt his ribs the jav’lin drove so just,<br> + It reach’d his heart, nor needs a second thrust.<br> + Now Turnus, at two blows, two brethren slew;<br> + First from his horse fierce Amycus he threw:<br> + Then, leaping on the ground, on foot assail’d<br> + Diores, and in equal fight prevail’d.<br> + Their lifeless trunks he leaves upon the place;<br> + Their heads, distilling gore, his chariot grace.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Three cold on earth the Trojan hero threw,<br> + Whom without respite at one charge he slew:<br> + Cethegus, Tanais, Tagus, fell oppress’d,<br> + And sad Onythes, added to the rest,<br> + Of Theban blood, whom Peridia bore.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Turnus two brothers from the Lycian shore,<br> + And from Apollo’s fane to battle sent,<br> + O’erthrew; nor Phoebus could their fate prevent.<br> + Peaceful Menoetes after these he kill’d,<br> + Who long had shunn’d the dangers of the field:<br> + On Lerna’s lake a silent life he led,<br> + And with his nets and angle earn’d his bread;<br> + Nor pompous cares, nor palaces, he knew,<br> + But wisely from th’ infectious world withdrew:<br> + Poor was his house; his father’s painful hand<br> + Discharg’d his rent, and plow’d another’s land.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + As flames among the lofty woods are thrown<br> + On diff’rent sides, and both by winds are blown;<br> + The laurels crackle in the sputt’ring fire;<br> + The frighted sylvans from their shades retire:<br> + Or as two neighb’ring torrents fall from high;<br> + Rapid they run; the foamy waters fry;<br> + They roll to sea with unresisted force,<br> + And down the rocks precipitate their course:<br> + Not with less rage the rival heroes take<br> + Their diff’rent ways, nor less destruction make.<br> + With spears afar, with swords at hand, they strike;<br> + And zeal of slaughter fires their souls alike.<br> + Like them, their dauntless men maintain the field;<br> + And hearts are pierc’d, unknowing how to yield:<br> + They blow for blow return, and wound for wound;<br> + And heaps of bodies raise the level ground.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Murranus, boasting of his blood, that springs<br> + From a long royal race of Latian kings,<br> + Is by the Trojan from his chariot thrown,<br> + Crush’d with the weight of an unwieldy stone:<br> + Betwixt the wheels he fell; the wheels, that bore<br> + His living load, his dying body tore.<br> + His starting steeds, to shun the glitt’ring sword,<br> + Paw down his trampled limbs, forgetful of their lord.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Fierce Hyllus threaten’d high, and, face to face,<br> + Affronted Turnus in the middle space:<br> + The prince encounter’d him in full career,<br> + And at his temples aim’d the deadly spear;<br> + So fatally the flying weapon sped,<br> + That thro’ his brazen helm it pierc’d his head.<br> + Nor, Cisseus, couldst thou scape from Turnus’ hand,<br> + In vain the strongest of th’ Arcadian band:<br> + Nor to Cupentus could his gods afford<br> + Availing aid against th’ Aenean sword,<br> + Which to his naked heart pursued the course;<br> + Nor could his plated shield sustain the force.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Iolas fell, whom not the Grecian pow’rs,<br> + Nor great subverter of the Trojan tow’rs,<br> + Were doom’d to kill, while Heav’n prolong’d his date;<br> + But who can pass the bounds, prefix’d by fate?<br> + In high Lyrnessus, and in Troy, he held<br> + Two palaces, and was from each expell’d:<br> + Of all the mighty man, the last remains<br> + A little spot of foreign earth contains.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + And now both hosts their broken troops unite<br> + In equal ranks, and mix in mortal fight.<br> + Seresthus and undaunted Mnestheus join<br> + The Trojan, Tuscan, and Arcadian line:<br> + Sea-born Messapus, with Atinas, heads<br> + The Latin squadrons, and to battle leads.<br> + They strike, they push, they throng the scanty space,<br> + Resolv’d on death, impatient of disgrace;<br> + And, where one falls, another fills his place.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The Cyprian goddess now inspires her son<br> + To leave th’ unfinish’d fight, and storm the town:<br> + For, while he rolls his eyes around the plain<br> + In quest of Turnus, whom he seeks in vain,<br> + He views th’ unguarded city from afar,<br> + In careless quiet, and secure of war.<br> + Occasion offers, and excites his mind<br> + To dare beyond the task he first design’d.<br> + Resolv’d, he calls his chiefs; they leave the fight:<br> + Attended thus, he takes a neighb’ring height;<br> + The crowding troops about their gen’ral stand,<br> + All under arms, and wait his high command.<br> + Then thus the lofty prince: “Hear and obey,<br> + Ye Trojan bands, without the least delay<br> + Jove is with us; and what I have decreed<br> + Requires our utmost vigour, and our speed.<br> + Your instant arms against the town prepare,<br> + The source of mischief, and the seat of war.<br> + This day the Latian tow’rs, that mate the sky,<br> + Shall level with the plain in ashes lie:<br> + The people shall be slaves, unless in time<br> + They kneel for pardon, and repent their crime.<br> + Twice have our foes been vanquish’d on the plain:<br> + Then shall I wait till Turnus will be slain?<br> + Your force against the perjur’d city bend.<br> + There it began, and there the war shall end.<br> + The peace profan’d our rightful arms requires;<br> + Cleanse the polluted place with purging fires.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + He finish’d; and, one soul inspiring all,<br> + Form’d in a wedge, the foot approach the wall.<br> + Without the town, an unprovided train<br> + Of gaping, gazing citizens are slain.<br> + Some firebrands, others scaling ladders bear,<br> + And those they toss aloft, and these they rear:<br> + The flames now launch’d, the feather’d arrows fly,<br> + And clouds of missive arms obscure the sky.<br> + Advancing to the front, the hero stands,<br> + And, stretching out to heav’n his pious hands,<br> + Attests the gods, asserts his innocence,<br> + Upbraids with breach of faith th’ Ausonian prince;<br> + Declares the royal honour doubly stain’d,<br> + And twice the rites of holy peace profan’d.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Dissenting clamours in the town arise;<br> + Each will be heard, and all at once advise.<br> + One part for peace, and one for war contends;<br> + Some would exclude their foes, and some admit their friends.<br> + The helpless king is hurried in the throng,<br> + And, whate’er tide prevails, is borne along.<br> + Thus, when the swain, within a hollow rock,<br> + Invades the bees with suffocating smoke,<br> + They run around, or labour on their wings,<br> + Disus’d to flight, and shoot their sleepy stings;<br> + To shun the bitter fumes in vain they try;<br> + Black vapours, issuing from the vent, involve the sky.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + But fate and envious fortune now prepare<br> + To plunge the Latins in the last despair.<br> + The queen, who saw the foes invade the town,<br> + And brands on tops of burning houses thrown,<br> + Cast round her eyes, distracted with her fear—<br> + No troops of Turnus in the field appear.<br> + Once more she stares abroad, but still in vain,<br> + And then concludes the royal youth is slain.<br> + Mad with her anguish, impotent to bear<br> + The mighty grief, she loathes the vital air.<br> + She calls herself the cause of all this ill,<br> + And owns the dire effects of her ungovern’d will;<br> + She raves against the gods; she beats her breast;<br> + She tears with both her hands her purple vest:<br> + Then round a beam a running noose she tied,<br> + And, fasten’d by the neck, obscenely died.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Soon as the fatal news by Fame was blown,<br> + And to her dames and to her daughter known,<br> + The sad Lavinia rends her yellow hair<br> + And rosy cheeks; the rest her sorrow share:<br> + With shrieks the palace rings, and madness of despair.<br> + The spreading rumour fills the public place:<br> + Confusion, fear, distraction, and disgrace,<br> + And silent shame, are seen in ev’ry face.<br> + Latinus tears his garments as he goes,<br> + Both for his public and his private woes;<br> + With filth his venerable beard besmears,<br> + And sordid dust deforms his silver hairs.<br> + And much he blames the softness of his mind,<br> + Obnoxious to the charms of womankind,<br> + And soon seduc’d to change what he so well design’d;<br> + To break the solemn league so long desir’d,<br> + Nor finish what his fates, and those of Troy, requir’d.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now Turnus rolls aloof o’er empty plains,<br> + And here and there some straggling foes he gleans.<br> + His flying coursers please him less and less,<br> + Asham’d of easy fight and cheap success.<br> + Thus half-contented, anxious in his mind,<br> + The distant cries come driving in the wind,<br> + Shouts from the walls, but shouts in murmurs drown’d;<br> + A jarring mixture, and a boding sound.<br> + “Alas!” said he, “what mean these dismal cries?<br> + What doleful clamours from the town arise?”<br> + Confus’d, he stops, and backward pulls the reins.<br> + She who the driver’s office now sustains,<br> + Replies: “Neglect, my lord, these new alarms;<br> + Here fight, and urge the fortune of your arms:<br> + There want not others to defend the wall.<br> + If by your rival’s hand th’ Italians fall,<br> + So shall your fatal sword his friends oppress,<br> + In honour equal, equal in success.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + To this, the prince: “O sister—for I knew<br> + The peace infring’d proceeded first from you;<br> + I knew you, when you mingled first in fight;<br> + And now in vain you would deceive my sight—<br> + Why, goddess, this unprofitable care?<br> + Who sent you down from heav’n, involv’d in air,<br> + Your share of mortal sorrows to sustain,<br> + And see your brother bleeding on the plain?<br> + For to what pow’r can Turnus have recourse,<br> + Or how resist his fate’s prevailing force?<br> + These eyes beheld Murranus bite the ground:<br> + Mighty the man, and mighty was the wound.<br> + I heard my dearest friend, with dying breath,<br> + My name invoking to revenge his death.<br> + Brave Ufens fell with honour on the place,<br> + To shun the shameful sight of my disgrace.<br> + On earth supine, a manly corpse he lies;<br> + His vest and armour are the victor’s prize.<br> + Then, shall I see Laurentum in a flame,<br> + Which only wanted, to complete my shame?<br> + How will the Latins hoot their champion’s flight!<br> + How Drances will insult and point them to the sight!<br> + Is death so hard to bear? Ye gods below,<br> + (Since those above so small compassion show,)<br> + Receive a soul unsullied yet with shame,<br> + Which not belies my great forefather’s name!”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + He said; and while he spoke, with flying speed<br> + Came Sages urging on his foamy steed:<br> + Fix’d on his wounded face a shaft he bore,<br> + And, seeking Turnus, sent his voice before:<br> + “Turnus, on you, on you alone, depends<br> + Our last relief: compassionate your friends!<br> + Like lightning, fierce Aeneas, rolling on,<br> + With arms invests, with flames invades the town:<br> + The brands are toss’d on high; the winds conspire<br> + To drive along the deluge of the fire.<br> + All eyes are fix’d on you: your foes rejoice;<br> + Ev’n the king staggers, and suspends his choice;<br> + Doubts to deliver or defend the town,<br> + Whom to reject, or whom to call his son.<br> + The queen, on whom your utmost hopes were plac’d,<br> + Herself suborning death, has breath’d her last.<br> + ’Tis true, Messapus, fearless of his fate,<br> + With fierce Atinas’ aid, defends the gate:<br> + On ev’ry side surrounded by the foe,<br> + The more they kill, the greater numbers grow;<br> + An iron harvest mounts, and still remains to mow.<br> + You, far aloof from your forsaken bands,<br> + Your rolling chariot drive o’er empty sands.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Stupid he sate, his eyes on earth declin’d,<br> + And various cares revolving in his mind:<br> + Rage, boiling from the bottom of his breast,<br> + And sorrow mix’d with shame, his soul oppress’d;<br> + And conscious worth lay lab’ring in his thought,<br> + And love by jealousy to madness wrought.<br> + By slow degrees his reason drove away<br> + The mists of passion, and resum’d her sway.<br> + Then, rising on his car, he turn’d his look,<br> + And saw the town involv’d in fire and smoke.<br> + A wooden tow’r with flames already blaz’d,<br> + Which his own hands on beams and rafters rais’d;<br> + And bridges laid above to join the space,<br> + And wheels below to roll from place to place.<br> + “Sister, the Fates have vanquish’d: let us go<br> + The way which Heav’n and my hard fortune show.<br> + The fight is fix’d; nor shall the branded name<br> + Of a base coward blot your brother’s fame.<br> + Death is my choice; but suffer me to try<br> + My force, and vent my rage before I die.”<br> + He said; and, leaping down without delay,<br> + Thro’ crowds of scatter’d foes he freed his way.<br> + Striding he pass’d, impetuous as the wind,<br> + And left the grieving goddess far behind.<br> + As when a fragment, from a mountain torn<br> + By raging tempests, or by torrents borne,<br> + Or sapp’d by time, or loosen’d from the roots—<br> + Prone thro’ the void the rocky ruin shoots,<br> + Rolling from crag to crag, from steep to steep;<br> + Down sink, at once, the shepherds and their sheep:<br> + Involv’d alike, they rush to nether ground;<br> + Stunn’d with the shock they fall, and stunn’d from earth rebound:<br> + So Turnus, hasting headlong to the town,<br> + Should’ring and shoving, bore the squadrons down.<br> + Still pressing onward, to the walls he drew,<br> + Where shafts, and spears, and darts promiscuous flew,<br> + And sanguine streams the slipp’ry ground embrue.<br> + First stretching out his arm, in sign of peace,<br> + He cries aloud, to make the combat cease:<br> + “Rutulians, hold; and Latin troops, retire!<br> + The fight is mine; and me the gods require.<br> + ’Tis just that I should vindicate alone<br> + The broken truce, or for the breach atone.<br> + This day shall free from wars th’ Ausonian state,<br> + Or finish my misfortunes in my fate.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Both armies from their bloody work desist,<br> + And, bearing backward, form a spacious list.<br> + The Trojan hero, who receiv’d from fame<br> + The welcome sound, and heard the champion’s name,<br> + Soon leaves the taken works and mounted walls,<br> + Greedy of war where greater glory calls.<br> + He springs to fight, exulting in his force<br> + His jointed armour rattles in the course.<br> + Like Eryx, or like Athos, great he shows,<br> + Or Father Apennine, when, white with snows,<br> + His head divine obscure in clouds he hides,<br> + And shakes the sounding forest on his sides.<br> + The nations, overaw’d, surcease the fight;<br> + Immovable their bodies, fix’d their sight.<br> + Ev’n death stands still; nor from above they throw<br> + Their darts, nor drive their batt’ring-rams below.<br> + In silent order either army stands,<br> + And drop their swords, unknowing, from their hands.<br> + Th’ Ausonian king beholds, with wond’ring sight,<br> + Two mighty champions match’d in single fight,<br> + Born under climes remote, and brought by fate,<br> + With swords to try their titles to the state.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now, in clos’d field, each other from afar<br> + They view; and, rushing on, begin the war.<br> + They launch their spears; then hand to hand they meet;<br> + The trembling soil resounds beneath their feet:<br> + Their bucklers clash; thick blows descend from high,<br> + And flakes of fire from their hard helmets fly.<br> + Courage conspires with chance, and both engage<br> + With equal fortune yet, and mutual rage.<br> + As when two bulls for their fair female fight<br> + In Sila’s shades, or on Taburnus’ height;<br> + With horns adverse they meet; the keeper flies;<br> + Mute stands the herd; the heifers roll their eyes,<br> + And wait th’ event; which victor they shall bear,<br> + And who shall be the lord, to rule the lusty year:<br> + With rage of love the jealous rivals burn,<br> + And push for push, and wound for wound return;<br> + Their dewlaps gor’d, their sides are lav’d in blood;<br> + Loud cries and roaring sounds rebellow thro’ the wood:<br> + Such was the combat in the listed ground;<br> + So clash their swords, and so their shields resound.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Jove sets the beam; in either scale he lays<br> + The champions’ fate, and each exactly weighs.<br> + On this side, life and lucky chance ascends;<br> + Loaded with death, that other scale descends.<br> + Rais’d on the stretch, young Turnus aims a blow<br> + Full on the helm of his unguarded foe:<br> + Shrill shouts and clamours ring on either side,<br> + As hopes and fears their panting hearts divide.<br> + But all in pieces flies the traitor sword,<br> + And, in the middle stroke, deserts his lord.<br> + Now is but death, or flight; disarm’d he flies,<br> + When in his hand an unknown hilt he spies.<br> + Fame says that Turnus, when his steeds he join’d,<br> + Hurrying to war, disorder’d in his mind,<br> + Snatch’d the first weapon which his haste could find.<br> + ’Twas not the fated sword his father bore,<br> + But that his charioteer Metiscus wore.<br> + This, while the Trojans fled, the toughness held;<br> + But, vain against the great Vulcanian shield,<br> + The mortal-temper’d steel deceiv’d his hand:<br> + The shiver’d fragments shone amid the sand.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Surpris’d with fear, he fled along the field,<br> + And now forthright, and now in orbits wheel’d;<br> + For here the Trojan troops the list surround,<br> + And there the pass is clos’d with pools and marshy ground.<br> + Aeneas hastens, tho’ with heavier pace—<br> + His wound, so newly knit, retards the chase,<br> + And oft his trembling knees their aid refuse—<br> + Yet, pressing foot by foot, his foe pursues.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Thus, when a fearful stag is clos’d around<br> + With crimson toils, or in a river found,<br> + High on the bank the deep-mouth’d hound appears,<br> + Still opening, following still, where’er he steers;<br> + The persecuted creature, to and fro,<br> + Turns here and there, to scape his Umbrian foe:<br> + Steep is th’ ascent, and, if he gains the land,<br> + The purple death is pitch’d along the strand.<br> + His eager foe, determin’d to the chase,<br> + Stretch’d at his length, gains ground at ev’ry pace;<br> + Now to his beamy head he makes his way,<br> + And now he holds, or thinks he holds, his prey:<br> + Just at the pinch, the stag springs out with fear;<br> + He bites the wind, and fills his sounding jaws with air:<br> + The rocks, the lakes, the meadows ring with cries;<br> + The mortal tumult mounts, and thunders in the skies.<br> + Thus flies the Daunian prince, and, flying, blames<br> + His tardy troops, and, calling by their names,<br> + Demands his trusty sword. The Trojan threats<br> + The realm with ruin, and their ancient seats<br> + To lay in ashes, if they dare supply<br> + With arms or aid his vanquish’d enemy:<br> + Thus menacing, he still pursues the course,<br> + With vigour, tho’ diminish’d of his force.<br> + Ten times already round the listed place<br> + One chief had fled, and t’ other giv’n the chase:<br> + No trivial prize is play’d; for on the life<br> + Or death of Turnus now depends the strife.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Within the space, an olive tree had stood,<br> + A sacred shade, a venerable wood,<br> + For vows to Faunus paid, the Latins’ guardian god.<br> + Here hung the vests, and tablets were engrav’d,<br> + Of sinking mariners from shipwreck sav’d.<br> + With heedless hands the Trojans fell’d the tree,<br> + To make the ground enclos’d for combat free.<br> + Deep in the root, whether by fate, or chance,<br> + Or erring haste, the Trojan drove his lance;<br> + Then stoop’d, and tugg’d with force immense, to free<br> + Th’ incumber’d spear from the tenacious tree;<br> + That, whom his fainting limbs pursued in vain,<br> + His flying weapon might from far attain.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Confus’d with fear, bereft of human aid,<br> + Then Turnus to the gods, and first to Faunus pray’d:<br> + “O Faunus, pity! and thou Mother Earth,<br> + Where I thy foster son receiv’d my birth,<br> + Hold fast the steel! If my religious hand<br> + Your plant has honour’d, which your foes profan’d,<br> + Propitious hear my pious pray’r!” He said,<br> + Nor with successless vows invok’d their aid.<br> + Th’ incumbent hero wrench’d, and pull’d, and strain’d;<br> + But still the stubborn earth the steel detain’d.<br> + Juturna took her time; and, while in vain<br> + He strove, assum’d Meticus’ form again,<br> + And, in that imitated shape, restor’d<br> + To the despairing prince his Daunian sword.<br> + The Queen of Love, who, with disdain and grief,<br> + Saw the bold nymph afford this prompt relief,<br> + T’ assert her offspring with a greater deed,<br> + From the tough root the ling’ring weapon freed.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Once more erect, the rival chiefs advance:<br> + One trusts the sword, and one the pointed lance;<br> + And both resolv’d alike to try their fatal chance.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Meantime imperial Jove to Juno spoke,<br> + Who from a shining cloud beheld the shock:<br> + “What new arrest, O Queen of Heav’n, is sent<br> + To stop the Fates now lab’ring in th’ event?<br> + What farther hopes are left thee to pursue?<br> + Divine Aeneas, (and thou know’st it too,)<br> + Foredoom’d, to these celestial seats are due.<br> + What more attempts for Turnus can be made,<br> + That thus thou ling’rest in this lonely shade?<br> + Is it becoming of the due respect<br> + And awful honour of a god elect,<br> + A wound unworthy of our state to feel,<br> + Patient of human hands and earthly steel?<br> + Or seems it just, the sister should restore<br> + A second sword, when one was lost before,<br> + And arm a conquer’d wretch against his conqueror?<br> + For what, without thy knowledge and avow,<br> + Nay more, thy dictate, durst Juturna do?<br> + At last, in deference to my love, forbear<br> + To lodge within thy soul this anxious care;<br> + Reclin’d upon my breast, thy grief unload:<br> + Who should relieve the goddess, but the god?<br> + Now all things to their utmost issue tend,<br> + Push’d by the Fates to their appointed end.<br> + While leave was giv’n thee, and a lawful hour<br> + For vengeance, wrath, and unresisted pow’r,<br> + Toss’d on the seas, thou couldst thy foes distress,<br> + And, driv’n ashore, with hostile arms oppress;<br> + Deform the royal house; and, from the side<br> + Of the just bridegroom, tear the plighted bride:<br> + Now cease at my command.” The Thund’rer said;<br> + And, with dejected eyes, this answer Juno made:<br> + “Because your dread decree too well I knew,<br> + From Turnus and from earth unwilling I withdrew.<br> + Else should you not behold me here, alone,<br> + Involv’d in empty clouds, my friends bemoan,<br> + But, girt with vengeful flames, in open sight<br> + Engag’d against my foes in mortal fight.<br> + ’Tis true, Juturna mingled in the strife<br> + By my command, to save her brother’s life,<br> + At least to try; but, by the Stygian lake,<br> + (The most religious oath the gods can take,)<br> + With this restriction, not to bend the bow,<br> + Or toss the spear, or trembling dart to throw.<br> + And now, resign’d to your superior might,<br> + And tir’d with fruitless toils, I loathe the fight.<br> + This let me beg (and this no fates withstand)<br> + Both for myself and for your father’s land,<br> + That, when the nuptial bed shall bind the peace,<br> + (Which I, since you ordain, consent to bless,)<br> + The laws of either nation be the same;<br> + But let the Latins still retain their name,<br> + Speak the same language which they spoke before,<br> + Wear the same habits which their grandsires wore.<br> + Call them not Trojans: perish the renown<br> + And name of Troy, with that detested town.<br> + Latium be Latium still; let Alba reign<br> + And Rome’s immortal majesty remain.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then thus the founder of mankind replies<br> + (Unruffled was his front, serene his eyes)<br> + “Can Saturn’s issue, and heav’n’s other heir,<br> + Such endless anger in her bosom bear?<br> + Be mistress, and your full desires obtain;<br> + But quench the choler you foment in vain.<br> + From ancient blood th’ Ausonian people sprung,<br> + Shall keep their name, their habit, and their tongue.<br> + The Trojans to their customs shall be tied:<br> + I will, myself, their common rites provide;<br> + The natives shall command, the foreigners subside.<br> + All shall be Latium; Troy without a name;<br> + And her lost sons forget from whence they came.<br> + From blood so mix’d, a pious race shall flow,<br> + Equal to gods, excelling all below.<br> + No nation more respect to you shall pay,<br> + Or greater off’rings on your altars lay.”<br> + Juno consents, well pleas’d that her desires<br> + Had found success, and from the cloud retires.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The peace thus made, the Thund’rer next prepares<br> + To force the wat’ry goddess from the wars.<br> + Deep in the dismal regions void of light,<br> + Three daughters at a birth were born to Night:<br> + These their brown mother, brooding on her care,<br> + Indued with windy wings to flit in air,<br> + With serpents girt alike, and crown’d with hissing hair.<br> + In heav’n the Dirae call’d, and still at hand,<br> + Before the throne of angry Jove they stand,<br> + His ministers of wrath, and ready still<br> + The minds of mortal men with fears to fill,<br> + Whene’er the moody sire, to wreak his hate<br> + On realms or towns deserving of their fate,<br> + Hurls down diseases, death and deadly care,<br> + And terrifies the guilty world with war.<br> + One sister plague if these from heav’n he sent,<br> + To fright Juturna with a dire portent.<br> + The pest comes whirling down: by far more slow<br> + Springs the swift arrow from the Parthian bow,<br> + Or Cydon yew, when, traversing the skies,<br> + And drench’d in pois’nous juice, the sure destruction flies.<br> + With such a sudden and unseen a flight<br> + Shot thro’ the clouds the daughter of the night.<br> + Soon as the field inclos’d she had in view,<br> + And from afar her destin’d quarry knew,<br> + Contracted, to the boding bird she turns,<br> + Which haunts the ruin’d piles and hallow’d urns,<br> + And beats about the tombs with nightly wings,<br> + Where songs obscene on sepulchers she sings.<br> + Thus lessen’d in her form, with frightful cries<br> + The Fury round unhappy Turnus flies,<br> + Flaps on his shield, and flutters o’er his eyes.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + A lazy chillness crept along his blood;<br> + Chok’d was his voice; his hair with horror stood.<br> + Juturna from afar beheld her fly,<br> + And knew th’ ill omen, by her screaming cry<br> + And stridor of her wings. Amaz’d with fear,<br> + Her beauteous breast she beat, and rent her flowing hair.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + “Ah me!” she cries, “in this unequal strife<br> + What can thy sister more to save thy life?<br> + Weak as I am, can I, alas! contend<br> + In arms with that inexorable fiend?<br> + Now, now, I quit the field! forbear to fright<br> + My tender soul, ye baleful birds of night;<br> + The lashing of your wings I know too well,<br> + The sounding flight, and fun’ral screams of hell!<br> + These are the gifts you bring from haughty Jove,<br> + The worthy recompense of ravish’d love!<br> + Did he for this exempt my life from fate?<br> + O hard conditions of immortal state,<br> + Tho’ born to death, not privileg’d to die,<br> + But forc’d to bear impos’d eternity!<br> + Take back your envious bribes, and let me go<br> + Companion to my brother’s ghost below!<br> + The joys are vanish’d: nothing now remains,<br> + Of life immortal, but immortal pains.<br> + What earth will open her devouring womb,<br> + To rest a weary goddess in the tomb!”<br> + She drew a length of sighs; nor more she said,<br> + But in her azure mantle wrapp’d her head,<br> + Then plung’d into her stream, with deep despair,<br> + And her last sobs came bubbling up in air.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now stern Aeneas waves his weighty spear<br> + Against his foe, and thus upbraids his fear:<br> + “What farther subterfuge can Turnus find?<br> + What empty hopes are harbour’d in his mind?<br> + ’Tis not thy swiftness can secure thy flight;<br> + Not with their feet, but hands, the valiant fight.<br> + Vary thy shape in thousand forms, and dare<br> + What skill and courage can attempt in war;<br> + Wish for the wings of winds, to mount the sky;<br> + Or hid, within the hollow earth to lie!”<br> + The champion shook his head, and made this short reply:<br> + “No threats of thine my manly mind can move;<br> + ’Tis hostile heav’n I dread, and partial Jove.”<br> + He said no more, but, with a sigh, repress’d<br> + The mighty sorrow in his swelling breast.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Then, as he roll’d his troubled eyes around,<br> + An antique stone he saw, the common bound<br> + Of neighb’ring fields, and barrier of the ground;<br> + So vast, that twelve strong men of modern days<br> + Th’ enormous weight from earth could hardly raise.<br> + He heav’d it at a lift, and, pois’d on high,<br> + Ran stagg’ring on against his enemy,<br> + But so disorder’d, that he scarcely knew<br> + His way, or what unwieldly weight he threw.<br> + His knocking knees are bent beneath the load,<br> + And shiv’ring cold congeals his vital blood.<br> + The stone drops from his arms, and, falling short<br> + For want of vigour, mocks his vain effort.<br> + And as, when heavy sleep has clos’d the sight,<br> + The sickly fancy labours in the night;<br> + We seem to run; and, destitute of force,<br> + Our sinking limbs forsake us in the course:<br> + In vain we heave for breath; in vain we cry;<br> + The nerves, unbrac’d, their usual strength deny;<br> + And on the tongue the falt’ring accents die:<br> + So Turnus far’d; whatever means he tried,<br> + All force of arms and points of art employ’d,<br> + The Fury flew athwart, and made th’ endeavor void.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + A thousand various thoughts his soul confound;<br> + He star’d about, nor aid nor issue found;<br> + His own men stop the pass, and his own walls surround.<br> + Once more he pauses, and looks out again,<br> + And seeks the goddess charioteer in vain.<br> + Trembling he views the thund’ring chief advance,<br> + And brandishing aloft the deadly lance:<br> + Amaz’d he cow’rs beneath his conqu’ring foe,<br> + Forgets to ward, and waits the coming blow.<br> + Astonish’d while he stands, and fix’d with fear,<br> + Aim’d at his shield he sees th’ impending spear.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + The hero measur’d first, with narrow view,<br> + The destin’d mark; and, rising as he threw,<br> + With its full swing the fatal weapon flew.<br> + Not with less rage the rattling thunder falls,<br> + Or stones from batt’ring-engines break the walls:<br> + Swift as a whirlwind, from an arm so strong,<br> + The lance drove on, and bore the death along.<br> + Naught could his sev’nfold shield the prince avail,<br> + Nor aught, beneath his arms, the coat of mail:<br> + It pierc’d thro’ all, and with a grisly wound<br> + Transfix’d his thigh, and doubled him to ground.<br> + With groans the Latins rend the vaulted sky:<br> + Woods, hills, and valleys, to the voice reply.<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + Now low on earth the lofty chief is laid,<br> + With eyes cast upward, and with arms display’d,<br> + And, recreant, thus to the proud victor pray’d:<br> + “I know my death deserv’d, nor hope to live:<br> + Use what the gods and thy good fortune give.<br> + Yet think, O think, if mercy may be shown,<br> + Thou hadst a father once, and hast a son.<br> + Pity my sire, now sinking to the grave;<br> + And for Anchises’ sake old Daunus save!<br> + Or, if thy vow’d revenge pursue my death,<br> + Give to my friends my body void of breath!<br> + The Latian chiefs have seen me beg my life;<br> + Thine is the conquest, thine the royal wife:<br> + Against a yielded man, ’tis mean ignoble strife.”<br> + </p> + + <p class="poem"> + In deep suspense the Trojan seem’d to stand,<br> + And, just prepar’d to strike, repress’d his hand.<br> + He roll’d his eyes, and ev’ry moment felt<br> + His manly soul with more compassion melt;<br> + When, casting down a casual glance, he spied<br> + The golden belt that glitter’d on his side,<br> + The fatal spoils which haughty Turnus tore<br> + From dying Pallas, and in triumph wore.<br> + Then, rous’d anew to wrath, he loudly cries<br> + (Flames, while he spoke, came flashing from his eyes)<br> + “Traitor, dost thou, dost thou to grace pretend,<br> + Clad, as thou art, in trophies of my friend?<br> + To his sad soul a grateful off’ring go!<br> + ’Tis Pallas, Pallas gives this deadly blow.”<br> + He rais’d his arm aloft, and, at the word,<br> + Deep in his bosom drove the shining sword.<br> + The streaming blood distain’d his arms around;<br> + And the disdainful soul came rushing through the wound. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 228 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + |