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Complete Works of Virgil

Page 173

by Virgil


  compelled us forth. We fashioned us a fleet

  within Antander’s haven, in the shade

  of Phrygian Ida’s peak (though knowing not

  whither our fate would drive, or where afford

  a resting-place at last), and my small band

  of warriors I arrayed. As soon as smiled

  the light of summer’s prime, my reverend sire

  Anchises bade us on the winds of Fate

  to spread all sail. Through tears I saw recede

  my native shore, the haven and the plains

  where once was Troy. An exile on the seas,

  with son and followers and household shrines,

  and Troy’s great guardian-gods, I took my way.

  There is a far-off land where warriors breed,

  where Thracians till the boundless plains, and where

  the cruel-eyed Lycurgus once was king.

  Troy’s old ally it was, its deities

  had brotherhood with ours before our fall.

  Thither I fared, and on its winding shores

  set my first walls, though partial Fate opposed

  our entrance there. In memory of my name

  I called its people the Aeneadae.

  Unto Dione’s daughter, and all gods

  who blessed our young emprise, due gifts were paid;

  and unto the supreme celestial King

  I slew a fair white bull beside the sea.

  But haply near my place of sacrifice

  a mound was seen, and on the summit grew

  a copse of corner and a myrtle tree,

  with spear-like limbs outbranched on every side.

  This I approached, and tried to rend away

  from its deep roots that grove of gloomy green,

  and dress my altars in its leafy boughs.

  But, horrible to tell, a prodigy

  smote my astonished eyes: for the first tree,

  which from the earth with broken roots I drew,

  dripped black with bloody drops, and gave the ground

  dark stains of gore. Cold horror shook my frame,

  and every vein within me froze for fear.

  Once more I tried from yet another stock

  the pliant stem to tear, and to explore

  the mystery within, — but yet again

  the foul bark oozed with clots of blackest gore!

  From my deep-shaken soul I made a prayer

  to all the woodland nymphs and to divine

  Gradivus, patron of the Thracian plain,

  to bless this sight, to lift its curse away.

  But when at a third sheaf of myrtle spears

  I fell upon my knees, and tugged amain

  against the adverse ground (I dread to tell!),

  a moaning and a wail from that deep grave

  burst forth and murmured in my listening ear:

  “Why wound me, great Aeneas, in my woe?

  O, spare the dead, nor let thy holy hands

  do sacrilege and sin! I, Trojan-born,

  was kin of thine. This blood is not of trees.

  Haste from this murderous shore, this land of greed.

  O, I am Polydorus! Haste away!

  Here was I pierced; a crop of iron spears

  has grown up o’er my breast, and multiplied

  to all these deadly javelins, keen and strong.”

  Then stood I, burdened with dark doubt and fear

  I quailed, my hair rose and my utterance choked.

  For once this Polydorus, with much gold,

  ill-fated Priam sent by stealth away

  for nurture with the Thracian king, what time

  Dardania’s war Iooked hopeless, and her towers

  were ringed about by unrelenting siege.

  That king, when Ilium’s cause was ebbing low,

  and fortune frowned, gave o’er his plighted faith

  to Agamemnon’s might and victory;

  he scorned all honor and did murder foul

  on Polydorus, seizing lawlessly

  on all the gold. O, whither at thy will,

  curst greed of gold, may mortal hearts be driven?

  Soon as my shuddering ceased, I told this tale

  of prodigies before the people’s chiefs,

  who sat in conclave with my kingly sire,

  and bade them speak their reverend counsel forth.

  All found one voice; to leave that land of sin,

  where foul abomination had profaned

  a stranger’s right; and once more to resign

  our fleet unto the tempest and the wave.

  But fit and solemn funeral rites were paid

  to Polydorus. A high mound we reared

  of heaped-up earth, and to his honored shade

  built a perpetual altar, sadly dressed

  in cypress dark and purple pall of woe.

  Our Ilian women wailed with loosened hair;

  new milk was sprinkled from a foaming cup,

  and from the shallow bowl fresh blood out-poured

  upon the sacred ground. So in its tomb

  we laid his ghost to rest, and loudly sang,

  with prayer for peace, the long, the last farewell.

  After these things, when first the friendly sea

  looked safe and fair, and o’er its tranquil plain

  light-whispering breezes bade us launch away,

  my men drew down our galleys to the brine,

  thronging the shore. Soon out of port we ran,

  and watched the hills and cities fading far.

  There is a sacred island in mid-seas,

  to fruitful Doris and to Neptune dear,

  which grateful Phoebus, wielder of the bow,

  the while it drifted loose from land to land,

  chained firmly where the crags of Gyaros

  and Myconos uptower, and bade it rest

  immovable, in scorn of wind and wave.

  Thither I sped; by this my weary ships

  found undisturbed retreat and haven fair.

  To land we came and saw with reverent eyes

  Apollo’s citadel. King Anius,

  his people’s king, and priest at Phoebus’ fane,

  came forth to meet us, wearing on his brow

  the fillets and a holy laurel crown.

  Unto Anchises he gave greeting kind,

  claimed old acquaintance, grasped us by the hand,

  and bade us both his roof and welcome share.

  Then, kneeling at the shrine of time-worn stone:

  “Thou who at Thymbra on the Trojan shore

  hast often blessed my prayer, O, give to me

  a hearth and home, and to this war-worn band

  defensive towers and offspring multiplied

  in an abiding city; give to Troy

  a second citadel, that shall survive

  Achilles’ wrath and all our Argive foe.

  Whom shall we follow? Whither lies our way?

  Where wilt thou grant us an abiding-place?

  Send forth, O King, thy voice oracular,

  and on our spirits move.” Scarce had I spoke

  when sudden trembling through the laurels ran

  and smote the holy portals; far and wide

  the mighty ridges of the mountain shook,

  and from the opening shrine the tripod moaned.

  Prostrate to earth we fall, as on our ears

  this utterance breaks: “O breed of iron men,

  ye sons of Dardanus! the self-same land

  where bloomed at first your far-descended stem

  shall to its bounteous bosom draw ye home.

  Seek out your ancient Mother! There at last

  Aeneas’ race shall reign on every shore,

  and his sons’ sons, and all their house to be.”

  So Phoebus spoke; and mighty joy uprose

  from all my thronging people, who would know

  where Phoebus’ city lay, and whitherward

  the god ordained the w
andering tribe’s return.

  Then spake my father, pondering olden days

  and sacred memories of heroes gone:

  “Hear, chiefs and princes, what your hopes shall be!

  The Isle of Crete, abode of lofty Jove,

  rests in the middle sea. Thence Ida soars;

  there is the cradle of our race. It boasts

  a hundred cities, seats of fruitful power.

  Thence our chief sire, if duly I recall

  the olden tale, King Teucer sprung, who first

  touched on the Trojan shore, and chose his seat

  of kingly power. There was no Ilium then

  nor towered Pergama; in lowly vales

  their dwelling; hence the ancient worship given

  to the Protectress of Mount Cybele,

  mother of Gods, what time in Ida’s grove

  the brazen Corybantic cymbals clang,

  or sacred silence guards her mystery,

  and lions yoked her royal chariot draw.

  Up, then, and follow the behests divine!

  Pour offering to the winds, and point your keels

  unto that realm of Minos. It is near.

  if Jove but bless, the third day’s dawn should see

  our ships at Cretan land.” So, having said,

  he slew the victims for each altar’s praise.

  A bull to Neptune, and a bull to thee,

  o beauteous Apollo! A black lamb

  unto the clouds and storms; but fleece of snow

  to the mild zephyrs was our offering.

  The tale was told us that Idomeneus,

  from his hereditary kindgom driven,

  had left his Crete abandoned, that no foe

  now harbored there, but all its dwellings lay

  untenanted of man. So forth we sailed

  out of the port of Delos, and sped far

  along the main. The maenad-haunted hills

  of Naxos came in view; the ridges green

  of fair Donysa, with Olearos,

  and Paros, gleaming white, and Cyclades

  scattered among the waves, as close we ran

  where thick-strewn islands vex the channelled seas

  with rival shout the sailors cheerly called:

  “On, comrades! On, to Crete and to our sires!”

  Freely behind us blew the friendly winds,

  and gave smooth passage to that fabled shore,

  the land of the Curetes, friends of Jove.

  There eagerly I labored at the walls

  of our long-prayed-for city; and its name

  was Pergamea; to my Trojan band,

  pleased with such name, I gave command to build

  altar and hearth, and raise the lofty tower.

  But scarce the ships were beached along the strand

  (While o’er the isle my busy mariners

  ploughed in new fields and took them wives once more, —

  I giving homes and laws) when suddenly

  a pestilence from some infectious sky

  seized on man’s flesh, and horribly exhaled

  o’er trees and crops a fatal year of plague.

  Some breathed their last, while others weak and worn

  lived on; the dog-star parched the barren fields;

  grass withered, and the sickly, mouldering corn

  refused us life. My aged father then

  bade us re-cross the waves and re-implore

  Apollo’s mercy at his island shrine;

  if haply of our weariness and woe

  he might vouchsafe the end, or bid us find

  help for our task, or guidance o’er the sea.

  ‘T was night, and sleep possessed all breathing things;

  when, lo! the sacred effigies divine,

  the Phrygian gods which through the flames I bore

  from fallen Troy, seemed in a vision clear

  to stand before me where I slumbering lay,

  bathed in bright beams which from the moon at full

  streamed through the latticed wall: and thus they spoke

  to soothe my care away. “Apollo’s word,

  which in far Delos the god meant for thee,

  is uttered here. Behold, he sends ourselves

  to this thy house, before thy prayer is made.

  We from Troy’s ashes have companioned thee

  in every fight; and we the swollen seas,

  guided by thee, in thine own ships have crossed;

  our power divine shall set among the stars

  thy seed to be, and to thy city give

  dominion evermore. For mighty men

  go build its mighty walls! Seek not to shun

  the hard, long labors of an exile’s way.

  Change this abode! Not thine this Cretan shore,

  nor here would Delian Phoebus have thee bide.

  There is a land the roving Greeks have named

  Hesperia. It is a storied realm

  made mighty by great wars and fruitful land.

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

  have called it Italy, a chieftain’s name

  to a whole region given. That land alone

  our true abode can be; for Dardanus

  was cradled there, and old Iasius,

  their blood the oldest of our ancient line.

  Arise! go forth and cheer thy father gray

  with the glad tidings! Bid him doubt no more!

  Ausonia seek and Corythus; for Jove

  denies this Cretan realm to thine and thee.”

  I marvelled at the heavenly presences

  so vocal and so bright, for ‘t was not sleep;

  but face to face I deemed I could discern

  each countenance august and holy brow,

  each mantled head; and from my body ran

  cold sweat of awe. From my low couch I sprang,

  lifting to heaven my suppliant hands and prayer,

  and o’er my hearth poured forth libations free.

  After th’ auspicious offering, I told

  Anchises the whole tale in order due.

  He owned our stock two-branched, of our great sires

  the twofold line, and that his thought had strayed,

  in new confusion mingling ancient names;

  then spoke: “O son, in Ilium’s doom severe

  afflicted ever! To my ears alone

  this dark vicissitude Cassandra sang.

  I mind me now that her wild tongue foretold

  such destiny. For oft she called aloud

  ‘Hesperia!’ oft ‘Italia’s kingdom!’ called.

  But who had faith that Teucer’s sons should come

  to far Hesperia? What mortal ear

  gave heed to sad Cassandra’s voice divine?

  Now Phoebus speaks. Obedient let us be,

  and, warned by him, our happier Iot pursue!”

  He spoke: with heart of hope we all obeyed;

  again we changed abode; and, leaving there

  a feeble few, again with spreading sails

  we coursed in hollow ship the spacious sea.

  When from the deep the shores had faded far,

  and only sky and sea were round our way,

  full in the zenith hung a purple cloud,

  storm-laden, dark as night, and every wave

  grew black and angry, while perpetual gales

  came rolling o’er the main, and mountain-high

  the wreckful surges rose; our ships were hurled

  wide o’er the whirling waters; thunder-clouds

  and misty murk of night made end of all

  the light of heaven, save where the rifted storm

  flashed with the oft-reiterate shaft of Jove.

  Then went we drifting, beaten from our course,

  upon a trackless sea. Not even the eyes

  of Palinurus could tell night from noon

  or ken our way. Three days of blinding dark,

  three nights without a star, we roved the seas;
<
br />   The fourth, land seemed to rise. Far distant hills

  and rolling smoke we saw. Down came our sails,

  out flew the oars, and with prompt stroke the crews

  swept the dark waves and tossed the crested foam.

  From such sea-peril safe, I made the shores

  of Strophades, — a name the Grecians gave

  to islands in the broad Ionic main, —

  the Strophades, where dread Celaeno bides,

  with other Harpies, who had quit the halls

  of stricken Phineus, and for very fear

  fled from the routed feast; no prodigy

  more vile than these, nor plague more pitiless

  ere rose by wrath divine from Stygian wave;

  birds seem they, but with face like woman-kind;

  foul-flowing bellies, hands with crooked claws,

  and ghastly lips they have, with hunger pale.

  Scarce had we made the haven, when, behold!

  Fair herds of cattle roaming a wide plain,

  and horned goats, untended, feeding free

  in pastures green, surprised our happy eyes.

  with eager blades we ran to take and slay,

  asking of every god, and chicfly Jove,

  to share the welcome prize: we ranged a feast,

  with turf-built couches and a banquet-board

  along the curving strand. But in a trice,

  down from the high hills swooping horribly,

  the Harpies loudly shrieking, flapped their wings,

  snatched at our meats, and with infectious touch

  polluted all; infernal was their cry,

  the stench most vile. Once more in covert far

  beneath a caverned rock, and close concealed

  with trees and branching shade, we raised aloft

  our tables, altars, and rekindled fires.

  Once more from haunts unknown the clamorous flock

  from every quarter flew, and seized its prey

  with taloned feet and carrion lip most foul.

  I called my mates to arms and opened war

  on that accursed brood. My band obeyed;

  and, hiding in deep grass their swords and shields,

  in ambush lay. But presently the foe

  swept o’er the winding shore with loud alarm :

  then from a sentry-crag, Misenus blew

  a signal on his hollow horn. My men

  flew to the combat strange, and fain would wound

  with martial steel those foul birds of the sea;

  but on their sides no wounding blade could fall,

  nor any plume be marred. In swiftest flight

  to starry skies they soared, and left on earth

  their half-gnawed, stolen feast, and footprints foul.

  Celaeno only on a beetling crag

  took lofty perch, and, prophetess of ill,

  shrieked malediction from her vulture breast:

  “Because of slaughtered kine and ravished herd,

 

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