Complete Works of Virgil

by Virgil

  nor is thy music mortal! Tell me, goddess,

  art thou bright Phoebus’ sister? Or some nymph,

  the daughter of a god? Whate’er thou art,

  thy favor we implore, and potent aid

  in our vast toil. Instruct us of what skies,

  or what world’s end, our storm-swept lives have found!

  Strange are these lands and people where we rove,

  compelled by wind and wave. Lo, this right hand

  shall many a victim on thine altar slay!”

  Then Venus: “Nay, I boast not to receive

  honors divine. We Tyrian virgins oft

  bear bow and quiver, and our ankles white

  lace up in purple buskin. Yonder lies

  the Punic power, where Tyrian masters hold

  Agenor’s town; but on its borders dwell

  the Libyans, by battles unsubdued.

  Upon the throne is Dido, exiled there

  from Tyre, to flee th’ unnatural enmity

  of her own brother. ‘T was an ancient wrong;

  too Iong the dark and tangled tale would be;

  I trace the larger outline of her story:

  Sichreus was her spouse, whose acres broad

  no Tyrian lord could match, and he was-blessed

  by his ill-fated lady’s fondest love,

  whose father gave him her first virgin bloom

  in youthful marriage. But the kingly power

  among the Tyrians to her brother came,

  Pygmalion, none deeper dyed in crime

  in all that land. Betwixt these twain there rose

  a deadly hatred, — and the impious wretch,

  blinded by greed, and reckless utterly

  of his fond sister’s joy, did murder foul

  upon defenceless and unarmed Sichaeus,

  and at the very altar hewed him down.

  Long did he hide the deed, and guilefully

  deceived with false hopes, and empty words,

  her grief and stricken love. But as she slept,

  her husband’s tombless ghost before her came,

  with face all wondrous pale, and he laid bare

  his heart with dagger pierced, disclosing so

  the blood-stained altar and the infamy

  that darkened now their house. His counsel was

  to fly, self-banished, from her ruined land,

  and for her journey’s aid, he whispered where

  his buried treasure lay, a weight unknown

  of silver and of gold. Thus onward urged,

  Dido, assembling her few trusted friends,

  prepared her flight. There rallied to her cause

  all who did hate and scorn the tyrant king,

  or feared his cruelty. They seized his ships,

  which haply rode at anchor in the bay,

  and loaded them with gold; the hoarded wealth

  of vile and covetous Pygmalion

  they took to sea. A woman wrought this deed.

  Then came they to these lands where now thine eyes

  behold yon walls and yonder citadel

  of newly rising Carthage. For a price

  they measured round so much of Afric soil

  as one bull’s hide encircles, and the spot

  received its name, the Byrsa. But, I pray,

  what men are ye? from what far land arrived,

  and whither going?” When she questioned thus,

  her son, with sighs that rose from his heart’s depths,

  this answer gave:

  “Divine one, if I tell

  my woes and burdens all, and thou could’st pause

  to heed the tale, first would the vesper star

  th’ Olympian portals close, and bid the day

  in slumber lie. Of ancient Troy are we —

  if aught of Troy thou knowest! As we roved

  from sea to sea, the hazard of the storm

  cast us up hither on this Libyan coast.

  I am Aeneas, faithful evermore

  to Heaven’s command; and in my ships I bear

  my gods ancestral, which I snatched away

  from peril of the foe. My fame is known

  above the stars. I travel on in quest

  of Italy, my true home-land, and I

  from Jove himself may trace my birth divine.

  With twice ten ships upon the Phryglan main

  I launched away. My mother from the skies

  gave guidance, and I wrought what Fate ordained.

  Yet now scarce seven shattered ships survive

  the shock of wind and wave; and I myself

  friendless, bereft, am wandering up and down

  this Libyan wilderness! Behold me here,

  from Europe and from Asia exiled still!”

  But Venus could not let him longer plain,

  and stopped his grief midway:

  “Whoe’er thou art,

  I deem that not unblest of heavenly powers,

  with vital breath still thine, thou comest hither

  unto our Tyrian town. Go steadfast on,

  and to the royal threshold make thy way!

  I bring thee tidings that thy comrades all

  are safe at land; and all thy ships, conveyed

  by favoring breezes, safe at anchor lie;

  or else in vain my parents gave me skill

  to read the skies. Look up at yonder swans!

  A flock of twelve, whose gayly fluttering file,

  erst scattered by Jove’s eagle swooping down

  from his ethereal haunt, now form anew

  their long-drawn line, and make a landing-place,

  or, hovering over, scan some chosen ground,

  or soaring high, with whir of happy wings,

  re-circle heaven in triumphant song:

  likewise, I tell thee, thy Iost mariners

  are landed, or fly landward at full sail.

  Up, then! let yon plain path thy guidance be,”

  She ceased and turned away. A roseate beam

  from her bright shoulder glowed; th’ ambrosial hair

  breathed more than mortal sweetness, while her robes

  fell rippling to her feet. Each step revealed

  the veritable goddess. Now he knew

  that vision was his mother, and his words

  pursued the fading phantom as it fled:

  “Why is thy son deluded o’er and o’er

  with mocking dreams, — another cruel god?

  Hast thou no hand-clasp true, nor interchange

  of words unfeigned betwixt this heart and thine?”

  Such word of blame he spoke, and took his way

  toward the city’s rampart. Venus then

  o’erveiled them as they moved in darkened air, —

  a liquid mantle of thick cloud divine, —

  that viewless they might pass, nor would any

  obstruct, delay, or question why they came.

  To Paphos then she soared, her Ioved abode,

  where stands her temple, at whose hundred shrines

  garlands of myrtle and fresh roses breathe,

  and clouds of orient sweetness waft away.

  Meanwhile the wanderers swiftly journey on

  along the clear-marked road, and soon they climb

  the brow of a high hill, which close in view

  o’er-towers the city’s crown. The vast exploit,

  where lately rose but Afric cabins rude,

  Aeneas wondered at: the smooth, wide ways;

  the bastioned gates; the uproar of the throng.

  The Tyrians toil unwearied; some up-raise

  a wall or citadel, from far below

  lifting the ponderous stone; or with due care

  choose where to build, and close the space around

  with sacred furrow; in their gathering-place

  the people for just governors, just laws,

  and for their reverend senate shout acclaim.

  Some clear the harbor mouth; s
ome deeply lay

  the base of a great theatre, and carve out

  proud columns from the mountain, to adorn

  their rising stage with lofty ornament.

  so busy bees above a field of flowers

  in early summer amid sunbeams toil,

  leading abroad their nation’s youthful brood;

  or with the flowing honey storing close

  the pliant cells, until they quite run o’er

  with nectared sweet; while from the entering swarm

  they take their little loads; or lined for war,

  rout the dull drones, and chase them from the hive;

  brisk is the task, and all the honeyed air

  breathes odors of wild thyme. “How blest of Heaven.

  These men that see their promised ramparts rise!”

  Aeneas sighed; and swift his glances moved

  from tower to tower; then on his way he fared,

  veiled in the wonder-cloud, whence all unseen

  of human eyes, — O strange the tale and true! —

  he threaded the thronged streets, unmarked, unknown.

  Deep in the city’s heart there was a grove

  of beauteous shade, where once the Tyrians,

  cast here by stormful waves, delved out of earth

  that portent which Queen Juno bade them find, —

  the head of a proud horse, — that ages long

  their boast might be wealth, luxury and war.

  Upon this spot Sidonian Dido raised

  a spacious fane to Juno, which became

  splendid with gifts, and hallowed far and wide

  for potency divine. Its beams were bronze,

  and on loud hinges swung the brazen doors.

  A rare, new sight this sacred grove did show,

  which calmed Aeneas’ fears, and made him bold

  to hope for safety, and with lifted heart

  from his low-fallen fortunes re-aspire.

  For while he waits the advent of the Queen,

  he scans the mighty temple, and admires

  the city’s opulent pride, and all the skill

  its rival craftsmen in their work approve.

  Behold! he sees old Ilium’s well-fought fields

  in sequent picture, and those famous wars

  now told upon men’s lips the whole world round.

  There Atreus’ sons, there kingly Priam moved,

  and fierce Pelides pitiless to both.

  Aeneas paused, and, weeping, thus began:

  “Alas, Achates, what far region now,

  what land in all the world knows not our pain?

  See, it is Priam! Virtue’s wage is given —

  O even here! Here also there be tears

  for what men bear, and mortal creatures feel

  each other’s sorrow. Therefore, have no fear!

  This story of our loss forbodes us well.”

  So saying, he received into his heart

  that visionary scene, profoundly sighed,

  and let his plenteous tears unheeded flow.

  There he beheld the citadel of Troy

  girt with embattled foes; here, Greeks in flight

  some Trojan onset ‘scaped; there, Phrygian bands

  before tall-plumed Achilles’ chariot sped.

  The snowy tents of Rhesus spread hard by

  (he sees them through his tears), where Diomed

  in night’s first watch burst o’er them unawares

  with bloody havoc and a host of deaths;

  then drove his fiery coursers o’er the plain

  before their thirst or hunger could be stayed

  on Trojan corn or Xanthus’ cooling stream.

  Here too was princely Troilus, despoiled,

  routed and weaponless, O wretched boy!

  Ill-matched against Achilles! His wild steeds

  bear him along, as from his chariot’s rear

  he falls far back, but clutches still the rein;

  his hair and shoulders on the ground go trailing,

  and his down-pointing spear-head scrawls the dust.

  Elsewhere, to Pallas’ ever-hostile shrine,

  daughters of Ilium, with unsnooded hair,

  and lifting all in vain her hallowed pall,

  walked suppliant and sad, beating their breasts,

  with outspread palms. But her unswerving eyes

  the goddess fixed on earth, and would not see.

  Achilles round the Trojan rampart thrice

  had dragged the fallen Hector, and for gold

  was making traffic of the lifeless clay.

  Aeneas groaned aloud, with bursting heart,

  to see the spoils, the car, the very corpse

  of his lost friend, — while Priam for the dead

  stretched forth in piteous prayer his helpless hands.

  There too his own presentment he could see

  surrounded by Greek kings; and there were shown

  hordes from the East, and black-browed Memnon’s arms;

  her band of Amazons, with moon-shaped shields,

  Penthesilea led; her martial eye

  flamed on from troop to troop; a belt of gold

  beneath one bare, protruded breast she bound —

  a warrior-virgin braving mail-clad men.

  While on such spectacle Aeneas’ eyes

  looked wondering, while mute and motionless

  he stood at gaze, Queen Dido to the shrine

  in lovely majesty drew near; a throng

  of youthful followers pressed round her way.

  So by the margin of Eurotas wide

  or o’er the Cynthian steep, Diana leads

  her bright processional; hither and yon

  are visionary legions numberless

  of Oreads; the regnant goddess bears

  a quiver on her shoulders, and is seen

  emerging tallest of her beauteous train;

  while joy unutterable thrills the breast

  of fond Latona: Dido not less fair

  amid her subjects passed, and not less bright

  her glow of gracious joy, while she approved

  her future kingdom’s pomp and vast emprise.

  Then at the sacred portal and beneath

  the temple’s vaulted dome she took her place,

  encompassed by armed men, and lifted high

  upon a throne; her statutes and decrees

  the people heard, and took what lot or toil

  her sentence, or impartial urn, assigned.

  But, lo! Aeneas sees among the throng

  Antheus, Sergestus, and Cloanthus bold,

  with other Teucrians, whom the black storm flung

  far o’er the deep and drove on alien shores.

  Struck dumb was he, and good Achates too,

  half gladness and half fear. Fain would they fly

  to friendship’s fond embrace; but knowing not

  what might befall, their hearts felt doubt and care.

  Therefore they kept the secret, and remained

  forth-peering from the hollow veil of cloud,

  haply to learn what their friends’ fate might be,

  or where the fleet was landed, or what aim

  had brought them hither; for a chosen few

  from every ship had come to sue for grace,

  and all the temple with their voices rang.

  The doors swung wide; and after access given

  and leave to speak, revered Ilioneus

  with soul serene these lowly words essayed:

  “O Queen, who hast authority of Jove

  to found this rising city, and subdue

  with righteous governance its people proud,

  we wretched Trojans, blown from sea to sea,

  beseech thy mercy; keep the curse of fire

  from our poor ships! We pray thee, do no wrong

  unto a guiltless race. But heed our plea!

  No Libyan hearth shall suffer by our sword,

  nor spo
il and plunder to our ships be borne;

  such haughty violence fits not the souls

  of vanquished men. We journey to a land

  named, in Greek syllables, Hesperia:

  a storied realm, made mighty by great wars

  and wealth of fruitful land; in former days

  Oenotrians had it, and their sons, ‘t is said,

  have called it Italy, a chieftain’s name

  to a whole region given. Thitherward

  our ships did fare; but with swift-rising flood

  the stormful season of Orion’s star

  drove us on viewless shoals; and angry gales

  dispersed us, smitten by the tumbling surge,

  among innavigable rocks. Behold,

  we few swam hither, waifs upon your shore!

  What race of mortals this? What barbarous land,

  that with inhospitable laws ye thrust

  a stranger from your coasts, and fly to arms,

  nor grant mere foothold on your kingdom’s bound?

  If man thou scornest and all mortal power,

  forget not that the gods watch good and ill!

  A king we had; Aeneas, — never man

  in all the world more loyal, just and true,

  nor mightier in arms! If Heaven decree

  his present safety, if he now do breathe

  the air of earth and is not buried low

  among the dreadful shades, then fear not thou!

  For thou wilt never rue that thou wert prompt

  to do us the first kindness. O’er the sea

  in the Sicilian land, are cities proud,

  with martial power, and great Acestes there

  is of our Trojan kin. So grant us here

  to beach our shattered ships along thy shore,

  and from thy forest bring us beam and spar

  to mend our broken oars. Then, if perchance

  we find once more our comrades and our king,

  and forth to Italy once more set sail,

  to Italy, our Latin hearth and home,

  we will rejoicing go. But if our weal

  is clean gone by, and thee, blest chief and sire,

  these Libyan waters keep, and if no more

  Iulus bids us hope, — then, at the least,

  to yon Sicilian seas, to friendly lands

  whence hither drifting with the winds we came,

  let us retrace the journey and rejoin

  good King Acestes.” So Ilioneus

  ended his pleading; the Dardanidae

  murmured assent.

  Then Dido, briefly and with downcast eyes,

  her answer made: “O Teucrians, have no fear!

  Bid care begone! It was necessity,

  and my young kingdom’s weakness, which compelled

  the policy of force, and made me keep

  such vigilant sentry my wide co’ast along.

  Aeneas and his people, that fair town

  of Troy — who knows them not? The whole world knows