Complete Works of Virgil

by Virgil

  And would indeed the King himself, Æneas, with us were,

  Driven by that self-same southern gale: but sure men will I send,

  And bid them search through Libya from end to utmost end,

  Lest, cast forth anywhere, he stray by town or forest part.”

  Father Æneas thereupon high lifted up his heart,

  Nor stout Achates less, and both were fain the cloud to break;

  And to Æneas first of all the leal Achates spake:

  “O Goddess-born, what thought hereof ariseth in thy mind?

  All safe thou seest thy ships; thy folk fair welcomed dost thou find:

  One is away, whom we ourselves saw sunken in the deep;

  But all things else the promised word thy mother gave us keep.”

  Lo, even as he spake the word the cloud that wrapped them cleaves,

  And in the open space of heaven no dusk behind it leaves;

  And there Æneas stood and shone amid the daylight clear,

  With face and shoulders of a God: for loveliness of hair

  His mother breathed upon her son, and purple light of youth,

  And joyful glory of the eyes: e’en as in very sooth

  The hand gives ivory goodliness, or when the Parian stone,

  Or silver with the handicraft of yellow gold is done:

  And therewithal unto the Queen doth he begin to speak,

  Unlooked-for of all men:

  “Lo here the very man ye seek,

  Trojan Æneas, caught away from Libyan seas of late!

  Thou, who alone of toils of Troy hast been compassionate,

  Who takest us, the leavings poor of Danaan sword, outworn

  With every hap of earth and sea, of every good forlorn,

  To city and to house of thine: to thank thee to thy worth,

  Dido, my might may compass not; nay, scattered o’er the earth

  The Dardan folk, for what thou dost may never give thee meed:

  But if somewhere a godhead is the righteous man to heed,

  If justice is, or any soul to note the right it wrought,

  May the Gods give thee due reward. What joyful ages brought

  Thy days to birth? what mighty ones gave such an one today?

  Now while the rivers seaward run, and while the shadows stray

  O’er hollow hills, and while the pole the stars is pasturing wide,

  Still shall thine honour and thy name, still shall thy praise abide

  What land soever calleth me.”

  Therewith his right hand sought

  His very friend Ilioneus, his left Serestus caught,

  And then the others, Gyas strong, Cloanthus strong in fight.

  Sidonian Dido marvelled much, first at the hero’s sight,

  Then marvelled at the haps he had, and so such word doth say:

  “O Goddess-born, what fate is this that ever dogs thy way

  With such great perils? What hath yoked thy life to this wild shore?

  And art thou that Æneas then, whom holy Venus bore

  Unto Anchises, Dardan lord, by Phrygian Simoïs’ wave?

  Of Teucer unto Sidon come a memory yet I have,

  Who, driven from out his fatherland, was seeking new abode

  By Belus’ help: but Belus then, my father, over-rode

  Cyprus the rich, and held the same as very conquering lord:

  So from that tide I knew of Troy and bitter Fate’s award,

  I knew of those Pelasgian kings — yea, and I knew thy name.

  He then, a foeman, added praise to swell the Teucrian fame,

  And oft was glad to deem himself of ancient Teucer’s line.

  So hasten now to enter in ‘neath roofs of me and mine.

  Me too a fortune such as yours, me tossed by many a toil,

  Hath pleased to give abiding-place at last upon this soil,

  Learned in illhaps full wise am I unhappy men to aid.”

  Such tale she told, and therewith led to house full kingly made

  Æneas, bidding therewithal the Gods with gifts to grace;

  Nor yet their fellows she forgat upon the sea-beat place,

  But sendeth them a twenty bulls, an hundred bristling backs

  Of swine, an hundred fatted lambs, whereof his ewe none lacks,

  And gifts and gladness of the God.

  Meanwhile the gleaming house within with kingly pomp is dight,

  And in the midmost of the hall a banquet they prepare:

  Cloths laboured o’er with handicraft, and purple proud is there;

  Great is the silver on the board, and carven out of gold

  The mighty deeds of father-folk, a long-drawn tale, is told,

  Brought down through many and many an one from when their race began.

  Æneas, through whose father’s heart unquiet love there ran,

  Sent on the swift Achates now unto the ships to speed,

  To bear Ascanius all these haps, and townward him to lead;

  For on Ascanius well beloved was all his father’s thought:

  And therewithal gifts good to give from Ilium’s ruin caught

  He bade him bring: a cope all stiff with golden imagery;

  With saffron soft acanthus twine a veil made fair to see;

  The Argive Helen’s braveries, brought from Mycenæ erst,

  When she was seeking Pergamos and wedding all accursed:

  Her mother Leda gave her these and marvellous they were.

  A sceptre too that Ilione in days agone did bear,

  The eldest-born of Priam’s maids; a neckchain pearl bestrown,

  And, doubly wrought with gold and gems, a kingly-fashioned crown.

  So to the ships Achates went these matters forth to speed.

  But Cytherea in her heart turned over new-wrought rede,

  New craft; how, face and fashion changed, her son the very Love

  For sweet Ascanius should come forth, and, gift-giving, should move

  The Queen to madness, make her bones the yoke-fellows of flame.

  Forsooth the doubtful house she dreads, the two-tongued Tyrian name;

  And bitter Juno burneth her, and care the night doth wake:

  Now therefore to the winged Love such words as this she spake:

  “O son, my might, my only might, who fearest nought at all

  How his, the highest Father’s bolts, Typhoeus’ bane, may fall,

  To thee I flee, and suppliant so thy godhead’s power beseech:

  Thy brother, e’en Æneas, tossed on every sea-side beach

  Thou knowest; all the fashioning of wrongful Juno’s hate

  Thou knowest; oft upon my grief with sorrow wouldst thou wait.

  Him now Phoenician Dido holds, and with kind words enow

  Delays him there, but unto what Junonian welcomes grow

  I fear me: will she hold her hand when thus the hinge is dight?

  Now therefore am I compassing to catch their craft in flight,

  To ring the Queen about with flame that her no power may turn,

  That she may cling to me and sore for mine Æneas yearn.

  Now hearken how I counsel thee to bring about my will:

  The kingly boy his father calls, he whom I cherish still,

  To that Sidonian city now is ready dight to fare,

  And gifts, the gleanings of the sea and flames of Troy, doth bear,

  Whom soaked in sleep forthwith will I in high Cythera hide,

  Or in Idalium’s holy place where I am wont to bide,

  Lest any one the guile should know and thrust themselves between:

  But thou with craft his fashion feign, and with his face be seen

  Well known of all, for no more space than one night’s wearing by;

  And so, when Dido, gladdest grown, shall take thee up to lie

  Upon her breast ‘twixt queenly board and great Lyæus’ wave,

  And thou the winding of her arms and kisses sweet shalt have,

  Then breathe the hidden flame in her and
forge thy venomed guile.”

  His lovesome mother Love obeyed, and doffed his wings awhile,

  And as Iulus goeth now rejoicing on his way.

  But Venus all Ascanius’ limbs in quiet rest doth lay,

  And cherished in her goddess’ breast unto Idalian groves

  She bears him, where the marjoram still soft about him moves

  And breatheth sweet from scented shade and blossoms on the air.

  Love wrought her will, and bearing now those royal gifts and rare,

  Unto the Tyrians joyous went, e’en as Achates led.

  But when he came into the house, there on her golden bed

  With hangings proud Queen Dido lay amidmost of the place:

  The father then, Æneas, then the youth of Trojan race,

  There gather, and their bodies cast on purple spread abroad.

  Folk serve them water for their hands, and speed the baskets stored

  With Ceres, and the towels soft of close-clipped nap they bear.

  Within were fifty serving-maids, whose long array had care

  To furnish forth the meat and drink, and feed the house-gods’ flame;

  An hundred more, and youths withal of age and tale the same,

  Set on the meat upon the board and lay the cups about.

  And now through that wide joyous door came thronging from without

  The Tyrians, and, so bidden, lie on benches painted fair.

  They wonder at Æneas’ gifts, and at Iulus there,

  The flaming countenance of God, and speech so feigned and fine;

  They wonder at the cope and veil with that acanthus twine.

  And chiefly that unhappy one doomed to the coming ill,

  Nor hungry hollow of her heart nor burning eyes may fill

  With all beholding: gifts and child alike her heart do move.

  But he, when he had satisfied his feignèd father’s love,

  And clipped Æneas all about, and round his neck had hung,

  Went to the Queen, who with her eyes and heart about him clung,

  And whiles would strain him to her breast — poor Dido! knowing nought

  What God upon her bosom sat; who ever had in thought

  His Acidalian mother’s word, and slowly did begin

  To end Sychæus quite, and with a living love to win

  Her empty soul at rest, and heart unused a weary tide.

  But when the feasting first was stayed, and boards were done aside,

  Great beakers there they set afoot, and straight the wine they crowned.

  A shout goes up within the house, great noise they roll around

  The mighty halls: the candles hang adown from golden roof

  All lighted, and the torches’ flame keeps dusky night aloof.

  And now a heavy bowl of gold and gems the Queen bade bring

  And fill with all unwatered wine, which erst used Belus king,

  And all from Belus come: therewith through the hushed house she said:

  “O Jupiter! they say by thee the guesting laws were made;

  Make thou this day to Tyrian folk, and folk come forth from Troy,

  A happy day, and may our sons remember this our joy!

  Mirth-giver Bacchus, fail thou not from midst our mirth! be kind,

  O Juno! and ye Tyrian folk, be glad this bond to bind!”

  She spake, and on the table poured the glorious wave of wine,

  Then touched the topmost of the bowl with dainty lip and fine,

  And, egging on, to Bitias gave: nought slothful to be told

  The draught he drained, who bathed himself within the foaming gold;

  Then drank the other lords of them: long-haired Iopas then

  Maketh the golden harp to sing, whom Atlas most of men

  Erst taught: he sings the wandering moon and toiling of the sun,

  And whence the kind of men and beasts, how rain and fire begun,

  Arcturus, the wet Hyades, and twin-wrought Northern Bears:

  And why so swift the winter sun unto his sea-bath fares,

  And what delayeth night so long upon the daylight’s hem.

  Then praise on praise the Tyrians shout, the Trojans follow them.

  Meanwhile unhappy Dido wore the night-tide as it sank

  In diverse talk, and evermore long draughts of love she drank,

  And many a thing of Priam asked, of Hector many a thing:

  With what-like arms Aurora’s son had come unto the King;

  What were the steeds of Diomed, how great Achilles was.

  At last she said:

  “But come, O guest, tell all that came to pass

  From earliest tide; of Danaan craft, and how thy land was lorn,

  And thine own wanderings; for as now the seventh year is worn

  That thee a-straying wide away o’er earth and sea hath borne.”

  BOOK II.

  ARGUMENT.

  ÆNEAS TELLETH TO DIDO AND THE TYRIANS THE STORY OF TROY’S OVERTHROW.

  All hearkened hushed, and fixed on him was every face of man,

  As from the couch high set aloft Æneas thus began:

  “Unutterable grief, O Queen, thou biddest me renew

  The falling of the Trojan weal and realm that all shall rue

  ‘Neath Danaan might; which thing myself unhappy did behold,

  Yea, and was no small part thereof. What man might hear it told

  Of Dolopes, or Myrmidons, or hard Ulysses’ band,

  And keep the tears back? Dewy night now falleth from the land

  Of heaven, and all the setting stars are bidding us to sleep:

  But if to know our evil hap thy longing is so deep,

  If thou wilt hear a little word of Troy’s last agony,

  Though memory shuddereth, and my heart shrunk up in grief doth lie,

  I will begin.

  By battle broke, and thrust aback by Fate

  Through all the wearing of the years, the Danaan lords yet wait

  And build a horse up mountain-huge by Pallas’ art divine,

  Fair fashioning the ribs thereof with timbers of the pine,

  And feign it vowed for safe return, and let the fame fly forth.

  Herein by stealth a sort of men chosen for bodies’ worth

  Amid its darkness do they shut; the caverns inly lost

  Deep in the belly of the thing they fill with armed host.

  In sight of Troy lies Tenedos, an island known of all,

  And rich in wealth before the realm of Priam had its fall,

  Now but a bay and roadstead poor, where scarcely ships may ride.

  So thither now they sail away in desert place to hide.

  We thought them gone, and that they sought Mycenæ on a wind,

  Whereat the long-drawn grief of Troy fell off from every mind.

  The gates are opened; sweet it is the Dorian camp to see,

  The dwellings waste, the shore all void where they were wont to be:

  Here dwelt the band of Dolopes, here was Achilles set,

  And this was where their ships were beached; here edge to edge we met.

  Some wonder at unwedded maid Minerva’s gift of death,

  That baneful mountain of a horse; and first Thymoetes saith

  ‘Twere good in walls to lead the thing, on topmost burg to stand;

  Whether such word the fate of Troy or evil treason planned

  I know not: Capys and the rest, who better counsel have,

  Bid take the fashioned guile of Greeks, the doubtful gift they gave,

  To tumble it adown to sea, with piled-up fire to burn,

  Or bore the belly of the beast its hidden holes to learn;

  So cleft atwain is rede of men abiding there in doubt.

  But first before all others now with much folk all about

  Laocoon the fiery man runs from the burg adown,

  And shouts from far:

  ‘O wretched men, how hath such madness grown?

  Deem ye the foe hath fared away? Deem
ye that Danaan gifts

  May ever lack due share of guile? Are these Ulysses’ shifts?

  For either the Achæans lurk within this fashioned tree,

  Or ’tis an engine wrought with craft bane of our walls to be,

  To look into our very homes, and scale the town perforce:

  Some guile at least therein abides: Teucrians, trust not the horse!

  Whatso it is, the Danaan folk, yea gift-bearing I fear.’

  Thus having said, with valiant might he hurled a huge-wrought spear

  Against the belly of the beast swelled out with rib and stave;

  It stood a-trembling therewithal; its hollow caverns gave

  From womb all shaken with the stroke a mighty sounding groan.

  And but for God’s heart turned from us, for God’s fate fixed and known,

  He would have led us on with steel to foul the Argive den,

  And thou, O Troy, wert standing now, thou Priam’s burg as then!

  But lo, where Dardan shepherds lead, with plenteous clamour round,

  A young man unto Priam’s place with hands behind him bound,

  Who privily had thrust himself before their way e’en now

  The work to crown, and into Troy an open way to show

  Unto the Greeks; a steadfast soul, prepared for either end,

  Or utterly to work his craft or unto death to bend.

  Eager to see him as he went around the Trojans flock

  On every side, and each with each contend the man to mock.

  Lo now, behold the Danaan guile, and from one wrong they wrought

  Learn ye what all are like to be.

  For as he stood in sight of all, bewildered, weaponless,

  And let his eyes go all around the gazing Phrygian press,

  He spake:

  ‘What land shall have me now, what sea my head shall hide?

  What then is left of deed to do that yet I must abide?

  No place I have among the Greeks, and Dardan folk withal

  My foemen are, and bloody end, due doom, upon me call.’

  And with that wail our hearts were turned, and somewhat backward hung

  The press of men: we bade him say from whence his blood was sprung,

  And what he did, and if indeed a captive we might trust;

  So thus he spake when now all fear from off his heart was thrust:

  ‘Whatso betide, to thee, O King, the matter’s verity

  Will I lay bare unto the end, nor Argive blood deny:

  This firstly; for if Fate indeed shaped Sinon for all bale

  To make him liar and empty fool her worst may not avail.

  Perchance a rumour of men’s talk about your ears hath gone,