Complete Works of Virgil

by Virgil

  To whom the Father of th’ immortal race,

  Smiling with that serene indulgent face,

  With which he drives the clouds and clears the skies,

  First gave a holy kiss; then thus replies:

  “Daughter, dismiss thy fears; to thy desire

  The fates of thine are fix’d, and stand entire.

  Thou shalt behold thy wish’d Lavinian walls;

  And, ripe for heav’n, when fate Aeneas calls,

  Then shalt thou bear him up, sublime, to me:

  No councils have revers’d my firm decree.

  And, lest new fears disturb thy happy state,

  Know, I have search’d the mystic rolls of Fate:

  Thy son (nor is th’ appointed season far)

  In Italy shall wage successful war,

  Shall tame fierce nations in the bloody field,

  And sov’reign laws impose, and cities build,

  Till, after ev’ry foe subdued, the sun

  Thrice thro’ the signs his annual race shall run:

  This is his time prefix’d. Ascanius then,

  Now call’d Iulus, shall begin his reign.

  He thirty rolling years the crown shall wear,

  Then from Lavinium shall the seat transfer,

  And, with hard labor, Alba Longa build.

  The throne with his succession shall be fill’d

  Three hundred circuits more: then shall be seen

  Ilia the fair, a priestess and a queen,

  Who, full of Mars, in time, with kindly throes,

  Shall at a birth two goodly boys disclose.

  The royal babes a tawny wolf shall drain:

  Then Romulus his grandsire’s throne shall gain,

  Of martial tow’rs the founder shall become,

  The people Romans call, the city Rome.

  To them no bounds of empire I assign,

  Nor term of years to their immortal line.

  Ev’n haughty Juno, who, with endless broils,

  Earth, seas, and heav’n, and Jove himself turmoils;

  At length aton’d, her friendly pow’r shall join,

  To cherish and advance the Trojan line.

  The subject world shall Rome’s dominion own,

  And, prostrate, shall adore the nation of the gown.

  An age is ripening in revolving fate

  When Troy shall overturn the Grecian state,

  And sweet revenge her conqu’ring sons shall call,

  To crush the people that conspir’d her fall.

  Then Caesar from the Julian stock shall rise,

  Whose empire ocean, and whose fame the skies

  Alone shall bound; whom, fraught with eastern spoils,

  Our heav’n, the just reward of human toils,

  Securely shall repay with rites divine;

  And incense shall ascend before his sacred shrine.

  Then dire debate and impious war shall cease,

  And the stern age be soften’d into peace:

  Then banish’d Faith shall once again return,

  And Vestal fires in hallow’d temples burn;

  And Remus with Quirinus shall sustain

  The righteous laws, and fraud and force restrain.

  Janus himself before his fane shall wait,

  And keep the dreadful issues of his gate,

  With bolts and iron bars: within remains

  Imprison’d Fury, bound in brazen chains;

  High on a trophy rais’d, of useless arms,

  He sits, and threats the world with vain alarms.”

  He said, and sent Cyllenius with command

  To free the ports, and ope the Punic land

  To Trojan guests; lest, ignorant of fate,

  The queen might force them from her town and state.

  Down from the steep of heav’n Cyllenius flies,

  And cleaves with all his wings the yielding skies.

  Soon on the Libyan shore descends the god,

  Performs his message, and displays his rod:

  The surly murmurs of the people cease;

  And, as the fates requir’d, they give the peace:

  The queen herself suspends the rigid laws,

  The Trojans pities, and protects their cause.

  Meantime, in shades of night Aeneas lies:

  Care seiz’d his soul, and sleep forsook his eyes.

  But, when the sun restor’d the cheerful day,

  He rose, the coast and country to survey,

  Anxious and eager to discover more.

  It look’d a wild uncultivated shore;

  But, whether humankind, or beasts alone

  Possess’d the new-found region, was unknown.

  Beneath a ledge of rocks his fleet he hides:

  Tall trees surround the mountain’s shady sides;

  The bending brow above a safe retreat provides.

  Arm’d with two pointed darts, he leaves his friends,

  And true Achates on his steps attends.

  Lo! in the deep recesses of the wood,

  Before his eyes his goddess mother stood:

  A huntress in her habit and her mien;

  Her dress a maid, her air confess’d a queen.

  Bare were her knees, and knots her garments bind;

  Loose was her hair, and wanton’d in the wind;

  Her hand sustain’d a bow; her quiver hung behind.

  She seem’d a virgin of the Spartan blood:

  With such array Harpalyce bestrode

  Her Thracian courser and outstripp’d the rapid flood.

  “Ho, strangers! have you lately seen,” she said,

  “One of my sisters, like myself array’d,

  Who cross’d the lawn, or in the forest stray’d?

  A painted quiver at her back she bore;

  Varied with spots, a lynx’s hide she wore;

  And at full cry pursued the tusky boar.”

  Thus Venus: thus her son replied again:

  “None of your sisters have we heard or seen,

  O virgin! or what other name you bear

  Above that style- O more than mortal fair!

  Your voice and mien celestial birth betray!

  If, as you seem, the sister of the day,

  Or one at least of chaste Diana’s train,

  Let not an humble suppliant sue in vain;

  But tell a stranger, long in tempests toss’d,

  What earth we tread, and who commands the coast?

  Then on your name shall wretched mortals call,

  And offer’d victims at your altars fall.”

  “I dare not,” she replied, “assume the name

  Of goddess, or celestial honors claim:

  For Tyrian virgins bows and quivers bear,

  And purple buskins o’er their ankles wear.

  Know, gentle youth, in Libyan lands you are-

  A people rude in peace, and rough in war.

  The rising city, which from far you see,

  Is Carthage, and a Tyrian colony.

  Phoenician Dido rules the growing state,

  Who fled from Tyre, to shun her brother’s hate.

  Great were her wrongs, her story full of fate;

  Which I will sum in short. Sichaeus, known

  For wealth, and brother to the Punic throne,

  Possess’d fair Dido’s bed; and either heart

  At once was wounded with an equal dart.

  Her father gave her, yet a spotless maid;

  Pygmalion then the Tyrian scepter sway’d:

  One who condemn’d divine and human laws.

  Then strife ensued, and cursed gold the cause.

  The monarch, blinded with desire of wealth,

  With steel invades his brother’s life by stealth;

  Before the sacred altar made him bleed,

  And long from her conceal’d the cruel deed.

  Some tale, some new pretense, he daily coin’d,

  To soothe his sister, and delude her mind.

  At length, in dead of nigh
t, the ghost appears

  Of her unhappy lord: the specter stares,

  And, with erected eyes, his bloody bosom bares.

  The cruel altars and his fate he tells,

  And the dire secret of his house reveals,

  Then warns the widow, with her household gods,

  To seek a refuge in remote abodes.

  Last, to support her in so long a way,

  He shows her where his hidden treasure lay.

  Admonish’d thus, and seiz’d with mortal fright,

  The queen provides companions of her flight:

  They meet, and all combine to leave the state,

  Who hate the tyrant, or who fear his hate.

  They seize a fleet, which ready rigg’d they find;

  Nor is Pygmalion’s treasure left behind.

  The vessels, heavy laden, put to sea

  With prosp’rous winds; a woman leads the way.

  I know not, if by stress of weather driv’n,

  Or was their fatal course dispos’d by Heav’n;

  At last they landed, where from far your eyes

  May view the turrets of new Carthage rise;

  There bought a space of ground, which (Byrsa call’d,

  From the bull’s hide) they first inclos’d, and wall’d.

  But whence are you? what country claims your birth?

  What seek you, strangers, on our Libyan earth?”

  To whom, with sorrow streaming from his eyes,

  And deeply sighing, thus her son replies:

  “Could you with patience hear, or I relate,

  O nymph, the tedious annals of our fate!

  Thro’ such a train of woes if I should run,

  The day would sooner than the tale be done!

  From ancient Troy, by force expell’d, we came-

  If you by chance have heard the Trojan name.

  On various seas by various tempests toss’d,

  At length we landed on your Libyan coast.

  The good Aeneas am I call’d- a name,

  While Fortune favor’d, not unknown to fame.

  My household gods, companions of my woes,

  With pious care I rescued from our foes.

  To fruitful Italy my course was bent;

  And from the King of Heav’n is my descent.

  With twice ten sail I cross’d the Phrygian sea;

  Fate and my mother goddess led my way.

  Scarce sev’n, the thin remainders of my fleet,

  From storms preserv’d, within your harbor meet.

  Myself distress’d, an exile, and unknown,

  Debarr’d from Europe, and from Asia thrown,

  In Libyan desarts wander thus alone.”

  His tender parent could no longer bear;

  But, interposing, sought to soothe his care.

  “Whoe’er you are- not unbelov’d by Heav’n,

  Since on our friendly shore your ships are driv’n-

  Have courage: to the gods permit the rest,

  And to the queen expose your just request.

  Now take this earnest of success, for more:

  Your scatter’d fleet is join’d upon the shore;

  The winds are chang’d, your friends from danger free;

  Or I renounce my skill in augury.

  Twelve swans behold in beauteous order move,

  And stoop with closing pinions from above;

  Whom late the bird of Jove had driv’n along,

  And thro’ the clouds pursued the scatt’ring throng:

  Now, all united in a goodly team,

  They skim the ground, and seek the quiet stream.

  As they, with joy returning, clap their wings,

  And ride the circuit of the skies in rings;

  Not otherwise your ships, and ev’ry friend,

  Already hold the port, or with swift sails descend.

  No more advice is needful; but pursue

  The path before you, and the town in view.”

  Thus having said, she turn’d, and made appear

  Her neck refulgent, and dishevel’d hair,

  Which, flowing from her shoulders, reach’d the ground.

  And widely spread ambrosial scents around:

  In length of train descends her sweeping gown;

  And, by her graceful walk, the Queen of Love is known.

  The prince pursued the parting deity

  With words like these: “Ah! whither do you fly?

  Unkind and cruel! to deceive your son

  In borrow’d shapes, and his embrace to shun;

  Never to bless my sight, but thus unknown;

  And still to speak in accents not your own.”

  Against the goddess these complaints he made,

  But took the path, and her commands obey’d.

  They march, obscure; for Venus kindly shrouds

  With mists their persons, and involves in clouds,

  That, thus unseen, their passage none might stay,

  Or force to tell the causes of their way.

  This part perform’d, the goddess flies sublime

  To visit Paphos and her native clime;

  Where garlands, ever green and ever fair,

  With vows are offer’d, and with solemn pray’r:

  A hundred altars in her temple smoke;

  A thousand bleeding hearts her pow’r invoke.

  They climb the next ascent, and, looking down,

  Now at a nearer distance view the town.

  The prince with wonder sees the stately tow’rs,

  Which late were huts and shepherds’ homely bow’rs,

  The gates and streets; and hears, from ev’ry part,

  The noise and busy concourse of the mart.

  The toiling Tyrians on each other call

  To ply their labor: some extend the wall;

  Some build the citadel; the brawny throng

  Or dig, or push unwieldly stones along.

  Some for their dwellings choose a spot of ground,

  Which, first design’d, with ditches they surround.

  Some laws ordain; and some attend the choice

  Of holy senates, and elect by voice.

  Here some design a mole, while others there

  Lay deep foundations for a theater;

  From marble quarries mighty columns hew,

  For ornaments of scenes, and future view.

  Such is their toil, and such their busy pains,

  As exercise the bees in flow’ry plains,

  When winter past, and summer scarce begun,

  Invites them forth to labor in the sun;

  Some lead their youth abroad, while some condense

  Their liquid store, and some in cells dispense;

  Some at the gate stand ready to receive

  The golden burthen, and their friends relieve;

  All with united force, combine to drive

  The lazy drones from the laborious hive:

  With envy stung, they view each other’s deeds;

  The fragrant work with diligence proceeds.

  “Thrice happy you, whose walls already rise!”

  Aeneas said, and view’d, with lifted eyes,

  Their lofty tow’rs; then, entiring at the gate,

  Conceal’d in clouds (prodigious to relate)

  He mix’d, unmark’d, among the busy throng,

  Borne by the tide, and pass’d unseen along.

  Full in the center of the town there stood,

  Thick set with trees, a venerable wood.

  The Tyrians, landing near this holy ground,

  And digging here, a prosp’rous omen found:

  From under earth a courser’s head they drew,

  Their growth and future fortune to foreshew.

  This fated sign their foundress Juno gave,

  Of a soil fruitful, and a people brave.

  Sidonian Dido here with solemn state

  Did Juno’s temple build, and consecrate,

  Enrich’d with gifts, and with a golden shrine; />
  But more the goddess made the place divine.

  On brazen steps the marble threshold rose,

  And brazen plates the cedar beams inclose:

  The rafters are with brazen cov’rings crown’d;

  The lofty doors on brazen hinges sound.

  What first Aeneas this place beheld,

  Reviv’d his courage, and his fear expell’d.

  For while, expecting there the queen, he rais’d

  His wond’ring eyes, and round the temple gaz’d,

  Admir’d the fortune of the rising town,

  The striving artists, and their arts’ renown;

  He saw, in order painted on the wall,

  Whatever did unhappy Troy befall:

  The wars that fame around the world had blown,

  All to the life, and ev’ry leader known.

  There Agamemnon, Priam here, he spies,

  And fierce Achilles, who both kings defies.

  He stopp’d, and weeping said: “O friend! ev’n here

  The monuments of Trojan woes appear!

  Our known disasters fill ev’n foreign lands:

  See there, where old unhappy Priam stands!

  Ev’n the mute walls relate the warrior’s fame,

  And Trojan griefs the Tyrians’ pity claim.”

  He said (his tears a ready passage find),

  Devouring what he saw so well design’d,

  And with an empty picture fed his mind:

  For there he saw the fainting Grecians yield,

  And here the trembling Trojans quit the field,

  Pursued by fierce Achilles thro’ the plain,

  On his high chariot driving o’er the slain.

  The tents of Rhesus next his grief renew,

  By their white sails betray’d to nightly view;

  And wakeful Diomede, whose cruel sword

  The sentries slew, nor spar’d their slumb’ring lord,

  Then took the fiery steeds, ere yet the food

  Of Troy they taste, or drink the Xanthian flood.

  Elsewhere he saw where Troilus defied

  Achilles, and unequal combat tried;

  Then, where the boy disarm’d, with loosen’d reins,

  Was by his horses hurried o’er the plains,

  Hung by the neck and hair, and dragg’d around:

  The hostile spear, yet sticking in his wound,

  With tracks of blood inscrib’d the dusty ground.

  Meantime the Trojan dames, oppress’d with woe,

  To Pallas’ fane in long procession go,

  In hopes to reconcile their heav’nly foe.

  They weep, they beat their breasts, they rend their hair,

  And rich embroider’d vests for presents bear;

  But the stern goddess stands unmov’d with pray’r.