Complete Works of Virgil

by Virgil

  Their bellies seem to burn the seas below;

  Their speckled tails advance to steer their course,

  And on the sounding shore the flying billows force.

  And now the strand, and now the plain they held;

  Their ardent eyes with bloody streaks were fill’d;

  Their nimble tongues they brandish’d as they came,

  And lick’d their hissing jaws, that sputter’d flame.

  We fled amaz’d; their destin’d way they take,

  And to Laocoon and his children make;

  And first around the tender boys they wind,

  Then with their sharpen’d fangs their limbs and bodies grind.

  The wretched father, running to their aid

  With pious haste, but vain, they next invade;

  Twice round his waist their winding volumes roll’d;

  And twice about his gasping throat they fold.

  The priest thus doubly chok’d, their crests divide,

  And tow’ring o’er his head in triumph ride.

  With both his hands he labors at the knots;

  His holy fillets the blue venom blots;

  His roaring fills the flitting air around.

  Thus, when an ox receives a glancing wound,

  He breaks his bands, the fatal altar flies,

  And with loud bellowings breaks the yielding skies.

  Their tasks perform’d, the serpents quit their prey,

  And to the tow’r of Pallas make their way:

  Couch’d at her feet, they lie protected there

  By her large buckler and protended spear.

  Amazement seizes all; the gen’ral cry

  Proclaims Laocoon justly doom’d to die,

  Whose hand the will of Pallas had withstood,

  And dared to violate the sacred wood.

  All vote t’ admit the steed, that vows be paid

  And incense offer’d to th’ offended maid.

  A spacious breach is made; the town lies bare;

  Some hoisting-levers, some the wheels prepare

  And fasten to the horse’s feet; the rest

  With cables haul along th’ unwieldly beast.

  Each on his fellow for assistance calls;

  At length the fatal fabric mounts the walls,

  Big with destruction. Boys with chaplets crown’d,

  And choirs of virgins, sing and dance around.

  Thus rais’d aloft, and then descending down,

  It enters o’er our heads, and threats the town.

  O sacred city, built by hands divine!

  O valiant heroes of the Trojan line!

  Four times he struck: as oft the clashing sound

  Of arms was heard, and inward groans rebound.

  Yet, mad with zeal, and blinded with our fate,

  We haul along the horse in solemn state;

  Then place the dire portent within the tow’r.

  Cassandra cried, and curs’d th’ unhappy hour;

  Foretold our fate; but, by the god’s decree,

  All heard, and none believ’d the prophecy.

  With branches we the fanes adorn, and waste,

  In jollity, the day ordain’d to be the last.

  Meantime the rapid heav’ns roll’d down the light,

  And on the shaded ocean rush’d the night;

  Our men, secure, nor guards nor sentries held,

  But easy sleep their weary limbs compell’d.

  The Grecians had embark’d their naval pow’rs

  From Tenedos, and sought our well-known shores,

  Safe under covert of the silent night,

  And guided by th’ imperial galley’s light;

  When Sinon, favor’d by the partial gods,

  Unlock’d the horse, and op’d his dark abodes;

  Restor’d to vital air our hidden foes,

  Who joyful from their long confinement rose.

  Tysander bold, and Sthenelus their guide,

  And dire Ulysses down the cable slide:

  Then Thoas, Athamas, and Pyrrhus haste;

  Nor was the Podalirian hero last,

  Nor injur’d Menelaus, nor the fam’d

  Epeus, who the fatal engine fram’d.

  A nameless crowd succeed; their forces join

  T’ invade the town, oppress’d with sleep and wine.

  Those few they find awake first meet their fate;

  Then to their fellows they unbar the gate.

  “‘T was in the dead of night, when sleep repairs

  Our bodies worn with toils, our minds with cares,

  When Hector’s ghost before my sight appears:

  A bloody shroud he seem’d, and bath’d in tears;

  Such as he was, when, by Pelides slain,

  Thessalian coursers dragg’d him o’er the plain.

  Swoln were his feet, as when the thongs were thrust

  Thro’ the bor’d holes; his body black with dust;

  Unlike that Hector who return’d from toils

  Of war, triumphant, in Aeacian spoils,

  Or him who made the fainting Greeks retire,

  And launch’d against their navy Phrygian fire.

  His hair and beard stood stiffen’d with his gore;

  And all the wounds he for his country bore

  Now stream’d afresh, and with new purple ran.

  I wept to see the visionary man,

  And, while my trance continued, thus began:

  ‘O light of Trojans, and support of Troy,

  Thy father’s champion, and thy country’s joy!

  O, long expected by thy friends! from whence

  Art thou so late return’d for our defense?

  Do we behold thee, wearied as we are

  With length of labors, and with toils of war?

  After so many fun’rals of thy own

  Art thou restor’d to thy declining town?

  But say, what wounds are these? What new disgrace

  Deforms the manly features of thy face?’

  “To this the specter no reply did frame,

  But answer’d to the cause for which he came,

  And, groaning from the bottom of his breast,

  This warning in these mournful words express’d:

  ‘O goddess-born! escape, by timely flight,

  The flames and horrors of this fatal night.

  The foes already have possess’d the wall;

  Troy nods from high, and totters to her fall.

  Enough is paid to Priam’s royal name,

  More than enough to duty and to fame.

  If by a mortal hand my father’s throne

  Could be defended, ‘t was by mine alone.

  Now Troy to thee commends her future state,

  And gives her gods companions of thy fate:

  From their assistance walls expect,

  Which, wand’ring long, at last thou shalt erect.’

  He said, and brought me, from their blest abodes,

  The venerable statues of the gods,

  With ancient Vesta from the sacred choir,

  The wreaths and relics of th’ immortal fire.

  “Now peals of shouts come thund’ring from afar,

  Cries, threats, and loud laments, and mingled war:

  The noise approaches, tho’ our palace stood

  Aloof from streets, encompass’d with a wood.

  Louder, and yet more loud, I hear th’ alarms

  Of human cries distinct, and clashing arms.

  Fear broke my slumbers; I no longer stay,

  But mount the terrace, thence the town survey,

  And hearken what the frightful sounds convey.

  Thus, when a flood of fire by wind is borne,

  Crackling it rolls, and mows the standing corn;

  Or deluges, descending on the plains,

  Sweep o’er the yellow year, destroy the pains

  Of lab’ring oxen and the peasant’s gains;

  Unroot the forest oaks, and bear away

  Fl
ocks, folds, and trees, and undistinguish’d prey:

  The shepherd climbs the cliff, and sees from far

  The wasteful ravage of the wat’ry war.

  Then Hector’s faith was manifestly clear’d,

  And Grecian frauds in open light appear’d.

  The palace of Deiphobus ascends

  In smoky flames, and catches on his friends.

  Ucalegon burns next: the seas are bright

  With splendor not their own, and shine with Trojan light.

  New clamors and new clangors now arise,

  The sound of trumpets mix’d with fighting cries.

  With frenzy seiz’d, I run to meet th’ alarms,

  Resolv’d on death, resolv’d to die in arms,

  But first to gather friends, with them t’ oppose

  (If fortune favor’d) and repel the foes;

  Spurr’d by my courage, by my country fir’d,

  With sense of honor and revenge inspir’d.

  “Pantheus, Apollo’s priest, a sacred name,

  Had scap’d the Grecian swords, and pass’d the flame:

  With relics loaden. to my doors he fled,

  And by the hand his tender grandson led.

  ‘What hope, O Pantheus? whither can we run?

  Where make a stand? and what may yet be done?’

  Scarce had I said, when Pantheus, with a groan:

  ‘Troy is no more, and Ilium was a town!

  The fatal day, th’ appointed hour, is come,

  When wrathful Jove’s irrevocable doom

  Transfers the Trojan state to Grecian hands.

  The fire consumes the town, the foe commands;

  And armed hosts, an unexpected force,

  Break from the bowels of the fatal horse.

  Within the gates, proud Sinon throws about

  The flames; and foes for entrance press without,

  With thousand others, whom I fear to name,

  More than from Argos or Mycenae came.

  To sev’ral posts their parties they divide;

  Some block the narrow streets, some scour the wide:

  The bold they kill, th’ unwary they surprise;

  Who fights finds death, and death finds him who flies.

  The warders of the gate but scarce maintain

  Th’ unequal combat, and resist in vain.’

  “I heard; and Heav’n, that well-born souls inspires,

  Prompts me thro’ lifted swords and rising fires

  To run where clashing arms and clamor calls,

  And rush undaunted to defend the walls.

  Ripheus and Iph’itus by my side engage,

  For valor one renown’d, and one for age.

  Dymas and Hypanis by moonlight knew

  My motions and my mien, and to my party drew;

  With young Coroebus, who by love was led

  To win renown and fair Cassandra’s bed,

  And lately brought his troops to Priam’s aid,

  Forewarn’d in vain by the prophetic maid.

  Whom when I saw resolv’d in arms to fall,

  And that one spirit animated all:

  ‘Brave souls!’ said I,- ‘but brave, alas! in vain-

  Come, finish what our cruel fates ordain.

  You see the desp’rate state of our affairs,

  And heav’n’s protecting pow’rs are deaf to pray’rs.

  The passive gods behold the Greeks defile

  Their temples, and abandon to the spoil

  Their own abodes: we, feeble few, conspire

  To save a sinking town, involv’d in fire.

  Then let us fall, but fall amidst our foes:

  Despair of life the means of living shows.’

  So bold a speech incourag’d their desire

  Of death, and added fuel to their fire.

  “As hungry wolves, with raging appetite,

  Scour thro’ the fields, nor fear the stormy night-

  Their whelps at home expect the promis’d food,

  And long to temper their dry chaps in blood-

  So rush’d we forth at once; resolv’d to die,

  Resolv’d, in death, the last extremes to try.

  We leave the narrow lanes behind, and dare

  Th’ unequal combat in the public square:

  Night was our friend; our leader was despair.

  What tongue can tell the slaughter of that night?

  What eyes can weep the sorrows and affright?

  An ancient and imperial city falls:

  The streets are fill’d with frequent funerals;

  Houses and holy temples float in blood,

  And hostile nations make a common flood.

  Not only Trojans fall; but, in their turn,

  The vanquish’d triumph, and the victors mourn.

  Ours take new courage from despair and night:

  Confus’d the fortune is, confus’d the fight.

  All parts resound with tumults, plaints, and fears;

  And grisly Death in sundry shapes appears.

  Androgeos fell among us, with his band,

  Who thought us Grecians newly come to land.

  ‘From whence,’ said he, ‘my friends, this long delay?

  You loiter, while the spoils are borne away:

  Our ships are laden with the Trojan store;

  And you, like truants, come too late ashore.’

  He said, but soon corrected his mistake,

  Found, by the doubtful answers which we make:

  Amaz’d, he would have shunn’d th’ unequal fight;

  But we, more num’rous, intercept his flight.

  As when some peasant, in a bushy brake,

  Has with unwary footing press’d a snake;

  He starts aside, astonish’d, when he spies

  His rising crest, blue neck, and rolling eyes;

  So from our arms surpris’d Androgeos flies.

  In vain; for him and his we compass’d round,

  Possess’d with fear, unknowing of the ground,

  And of their lives an easy conquest found.

  Thus Fortune on our first endeavor smil’d.

  Coroebus then, with youthful hopes beguil’d,

  Swoln with success, and a daring mind,

  This new invention fatally design’d.

  ‘My friends,’ said he, ‘since Fortune shows the way,

  ‘T is fit we should th’ auspicious guide obey.

  For what has she these Grecian arms bestow’d,

  But their destruction, and the Trojans’ good?

  Then change we shields, and their devices bear:

  Let fraud supply the want of force in war.

  They find us arms.’ This said, himself he dress’d

  In dead Androgeos’ spoils, his upper vest,

  His painted buckler, and his plumy crest.

  Thus Ripheus, Dymas, all the Trojan train,

  Lay down their own attire, and strip the slain.

  Mix’d with the Greeks, we go with ill presage,

  Flatter’d with hopes to glut our greedy rage;

  Unknown, assaulting whom we blindly meet,

  And strew with Grecian carcasses the street.

  Thus while their straggling parties we defeat,

  Some to the shore and safer ships retreat;

  And some, oppress’d with more ignoble fear,

  Remount the hollow horse, and pant in secret there.

  “But, ah! what use of valor can be made,

  When heav’n’s propitious pow’rs refuse their aid!

  Behold the royal prophetess, the fair

  Cassandra, dragg’d by her dishevel’d hair,

  Whom not Minerva’s shrine, nor sacred bands,

  In safety could protect from sacrilegious hands:

  On heav’n she cast her eyes, she sigh’d, she cried-

  ‘T was all she could- her tender arms were tied.

  So sad a sight Coroebus could not bear;

  But, fir’d with rage, distracted with despair,


  Amid the barb’rous ravishers he flew:

  Our leader’s rash example we pursue.

  But storms of stones, from the proud temple’s height,

  Pour down, and on our batter’d helms alight:

  We from our friends receiv’d this fatal blow,

  Who thought us Grecians, as we seem’d in show.

  They aim at the mistaken crests, from high;

  And ours beneath the pond’rous ruin lie.

  Then, mov’d with anger and disdain, to see

  Their troops dispers’d, the royal virgin free,

  The Grecians rally, and their pow’rs unite,

  With fury charge us, and renew the fight.

  The brother kings with Ajax join their force,

  And the whole squadron of Thessalian horse.

  “Thus, when the rival winds their quarrel try,

  Contending for the kingdom of the sky,

  South, east, and west, on airy coursers borne;

  The whirlwind gathers, and the woods are torn:

  Then Nereus strikes the deep; the billows rise,

  And, mix’d with ooze and sand, pollute the skies.

  The troops we squander’d first again appear

  From several quarters, and enclose the rear.

  They first observe, and to the rest betray,

  Our diff’rent speech; our borrow’d arms survey.

  Oppress’d with odds, we fall; Coroebus first,

  At Pallas’ altar, by Peneleus pierc’d.

  Then Ripheus follow’d, in th’ unequal fight;

  Just of his word, observant of the right:

  Heav’n thought not so. Dymas their fate attends,

  With Hypanis, mistaken by their friends.

  Nor, Pantheus, thee, thy miter, nor the bands

  Of awful Phoebus, sav’d from impious hands.

  Ye Trojan flames, your testimony bear,

  What I perform’d, and what I suffer’d there;

  No sword avoiding in the fatal strife,

  Expos’d to death, and prodigal of life;

  Witness, ye heavens! I live not by my fault:

  I strove to have deserv’d the death I sought.

  But, when I could not fight, and would have died,

  Borne off to distance by the growing tide,

  Old Iphitus and I were hurried thence,

  With Pelias wounded, and without defense.

  New clamors from th’ invested palace ring:

  We run to die, or disengage the king.

  So hot th’ assault, so high the tumult rose,

  While ours defend, and while the Greeks oppose

  As all the Dardan and Argolic race

  Had been contracted in that narrow space;

  Or as all Ilium else were void of fear,

  And tumult, war, and slaughter, only there.