by Virgil
No fair Ausonia’s ever-fading shore.
Ye still can see a Xanthus and a Troy,
Reared by your hands, old Ilion to restore,
And brighter auspices than ours enjoy, 559
Nor tempt, like ours, the Greeks to ravage and destroy.
LXIV . “‘If ever Tiber and the fields I see
Washed by her waves, ere mingling with the brine,
And build the city which the Fates decree,
Then kindred towns and neighbouring folk shall join,
Yours in Epirus, in Hesperia mine,
And linked thenceforth in sorrow and in joy,
With Dardanus the founder of each line, —
So let posterity its pains employ, 568
Two nations, one in heart, shall make another Troy.’
LXV . “On fly the barks o’er ocean. Near us frown
Ceraunia’s rocks, whence shortest lies the way
To Italy. And now the sun goes down,
And darkness gathers on the mountains grey.
Close by the water, in a sheltered bay,
A few as guardians of the oars we choose,
Then stretched at random on the beach we lay
Our limbs to rest, and on the toil-worn crews 577
Sleep steals in silence down, and sheds her kindly dews.
LXVI . “Nor yet had Night climbed heaven, when up from sleep
Starts Palinurus, and with listening ear
Catches the breeze. He marks the stars, that keep
Their courses, gliding through the silent sphere,
Arcturus, rainy Hyads and each Bear,
And, girt with gold, Orion. Far away
He sees the firmament all calm and clear,
And from the stern gives signal. We obey, 586
And shifting camp, set sail and tempt the doubtful way.
LXVII . “The stars were chased, and blushing rose the day.
Dimly, at distance through the misty shroud
Italia’s hills and lowlands we survey,
‘Italia,’ first Achates shouts aloud;
‘Italia,’ echoes from the joyful crowd.
Then sire Anchises hastened to entwine
A massive goblet with a wreath, and vowed
Libations to the gods, and poured the wine 595
And on the lofty stern invoked the powers divine:
LXVIII . “‘Great gods, whom Earth and Sea and Storms obey,
Breathe fair, and waft us smoothly o’er the main.’
Fresh blows the breeze, and broader grows the bay,
And on the cliffs is seen Minerva’s fane.
We furl the sails, and shoreward row amain.
Eastward the harbour arches, scarce descried.
Two jutting rocks, by billows lashed in vain,
Stretch out their arms the narrow mouth to hide. 604
Far back the temple stands, and seems to shun the tide.
LXIX . “Lo, here, first omen offered to our eyes,
Four snow-white steeds are grazing on the plain.
‘’Tis war thou bringest us,’ Anchises cries,
‘Strange land! For war the mettled steed they train,
And war these threaten. Yet in time again
These beasts are wont in harness to obey,
And bear the yoke, as guided by the rein.
Peace yet is hopeful.’ So our vows we pay 613
To Pallas, famed in arms, whose welcome cheered the way.
LXX . “Veiled at her shrines in Phrygian hood we stand,
And chief to Juno, mindful of the seer,
Burnt-offerings pay, as pious rites demand.
This done, the sailyards to the wind we veer,
And leave the Grecians and the land of fear.
Lo, there Tarentum’s harbour and the town,
If fame be true, of Hercules, and here
Lacinium’s queen and Caulon’s towers are known, 622
And Scylaceum’s rocks, with shattered ships bestrown.
LXXI . “Far off is seen, above the billowy mere,
Trinacrian Ætna, and the distant roar
Of ocean and the beaten rocks we hear,
And the loud burst of breakers on the shore;
High from the shallows leap the surges hoar,
And surf and sand mix eddying. ‘Behold
Charybdis!’ cries Anchises, ‘’tis the shore,
The dreaded rocks that Helenus foretold. 631
Row, comrades, for dear life, and let the oars catch hold.’
LXXII . “He spake, ’twas done; and Palinurus first
Turns the prow leftward: to the left we ply
With oars and sail, and shun the rocks accurst.
Now curls the wave, and lifts us to the sky,
Now sinks and, plunging in the gulf we lie.
Thrice roar the caverned shore-cliffs, thrice the spray
Whirls up and wets the dewy stars on high.
Thus tired we drift, as sinks the wind and day, 640
Unto the Cyclops’ shore, all weetless of the way.
LXXIII . “It was a spacious harbour, sheltered deep
From access of the winds, but looming vast
With awful ravage, Ætna’s neighbouring steep
Thundered aloud, and, dark with clouds, upcast
Smoke and red cinders in a whirlwind’s blast.
Live balls of flame, with showers of sparks, upflew
And licked the stars, and in combustion massed,
Torn rocks, her ragged entrails, molten new, 649
The rumbling mount belched forth from out the boiling stew.
LXXIV . “Here, while from Ætna’s furnaces the flame
Bursts forth, Enceladus, ’tis said, doth lie,
Scorched by the lightning. As his wearied frame
He shifts, Trinacria, trembling at the cry
Moans through her shores, and smoke involves the sky.
There all night long, screened by the woods, we hear
The dreadful sounds, and know not whence nor why,
For stars are none, nor planet gilds the sphere; 658
Night holds the moon in clouds, and heaven is dark and drear.
LXXV . “Now rose the Day-star from the East, and cleared
The mists, that melted with advancing Morn,
When suddenly from out the woods appeared
An uncouth form, a creature wan and worn,
Scarce like a man, in piteous plight forlorn.
Suppliant his hands he stretches to the shore;
We turn and look on tatters tagged with thorn,
Dire squalor and a length of beard, — what more, 667
A Greek, to Troy erewhile in native arms sent o’er.
LXXVI . “He scared to see the Dardan garb once more
And Trojan arms, stood faltering with dismay,
Then rushed, with prayer and weeping, to the shore.
‘O, by the stars, and by the Gods, I pray,
And life’s pure breath, this light of genial day,
Take me, O Teucrians; wheresoe’er ye go,
Enough to bear me from this land away.
I once was of the Danaan crews, I know, 676
And came to Trojan homes and Ilion as a foe.
LXXVII . “‘For that, if that be such a crime to you,
O strew me forth upon the watery waste,
And drown me in the deep. If death be due,
‘Twere sweet of death by human hands to taste.’
He cried, and, grovelling, our knees embraced,
And, clasping, clung to us. We bid him stand
And tell his birth and trouble; and in haste
Himself the sire Anchises pledged his hand, 685
And he at length took heart, and answered our demand.
LXXVIII . “‘My name is Achemenides. I come
From Ithaca. To Troy I sailed the sea
With evil-starred Ulysses, leaving home
And father, Adamastus; — poor was he,
A
nd O! if such my poverty could be.
Me here my thoughtless comrades, hurrying fast
To quit the cruel threshold and be free,
Leave in the Cyclops’ cavern. Dark and vast 694
That house of slaughtered men, and many a foul repast.
LXXIX . “‘Himself so tall, he strikes the lofty skies
(O gods, rid earth of such a monstrous brood!),
None dare with speech accost, nor mortal eyes
Behold him. Human entrails are his food.
Myself have seen him, gorged with brains and blood,
Pluck forth two comrades, in his cave bent back,
And dash them till the threshold swam with blood,
Then crunch the gobbets in his teeth, while black 703
With gore the limbs still quivered, and the bones did crack:
LXXX . “‘Not unavenged; nor brave Ulysses deigned
To brook such outrage. In that hour of tyne
True to himself the Ithacan remained.
When, gorged with food, and belching gore and wine,
With drooping neck, the giant snored supine,
Then, closing round him, to the gods we pray,
Each at his station, as the lots assign,
And where, beneath the frowning forehead, lay, 712
Huge as an Argive shield, or like the lamp of day,
LXXXI . “‘His one great orb, deep in the monster’s head
We drive the pointed weapon, joy’d at last
To wreak such vengeance for our comrades dead.
But fly, unhappy Trojans, fly, and cast
Your cables from the shore. Such and so vast
As Polyphemus, when the cave’s huge door
Shuts on his flocks, and for his night’s repast
He milks them, lo! a hundred Cyclops more 721
Roam on the lofty hills, and range the winding shore.
LXXXII . “‘Now thrice the Moon hath filled her horns with light,
And still in woods and lonely dens I lie,
And see the Cyclops stalk from height to height,
And hear their tramp, and tremble at their cry.
My food — hard berries that the boughs supply,
And roots of grass. Thus wandering, as I scanned
The distant ocean with despairing eye,
I saw your ships first bearing to the land, 730
And vowed, whoe’er ye proved, the strangers’ slave to stand.
LXXXIII . “‘Enough, these monsters to escape; O take
My life, and tear me as you will from day,
Rather than these devour me!’ — Scarce he spake,
When from the mountains to the well-known bay,
The shepherd Polyphemus gropes his way;
Huge, hideous, horrible in shape and show,
And visionless. A pine-trunk serves to stay
And guide his footsteps, and around him go 739
The sheep, his only joy and solace of his woe.
LXXXIV . “Down came the giant, wading in the main,
And rinsed his gory socket from the tide,
Gnashing his teeth and moaning in his pain.
On through the deep he stalks with awful stride,
So tall, the billows scarcely wet his side.
Forthwith our flight we hasten, prickt with fear,
On board— ’twas due — we let the suppliant hide,
Then, mute and breathless, cut the stern-ropes clear, 748
Bend to the emulous oar, and sweep the whitening mere.
LXXXV . “He heard, and turned his footsteps to the sound.
Short of its mark the huge arm idly fell
Outstretched, and swifter than his stride he found
The Ionian waves. Then rose a monstrous yell;
All Ocean shudders and her waves upswell;
Far off, Italia trembles with the roar,
And Ætna groans through many a winding cell,
And trooping to the call the Cyclops pour 757
From wood and lofty hill, and crowding fill the shore.
LXXXVI . “We see them scowling impotent, the band
Of Ætna, towering to the stars above,
An awful conclave! Tall as oaks they stand,
Or cypresses — the lofty trees of Jove,
Or cone-clad guardians of Diana’s grove.
Fain were we then, in agony of fear,
To shake the canvas to the winds, and rove
At random; natheless, we obey the seer, 766
Who past those fatal rocks had warned us not to steer,
LXXXVII . “Where Scylla here, and there Charybdis lies,
And death lurks double. Backward we essay
Our course, when lo, from out Pelorus flies
The North-Wind, sent to waft us on our way.
We pass the place where, mingling with the spray,
Through narrow rocks Pantagia’s stream outflows;
We see low-lying Thapsus and the bay
Of Megara. These shores the suppliant shows, 775
Known from the time he shared his wandering chieftain’s woes.
LXXXVIII . “Far-stretcht against Plemmyrium’s wave-beat shore
An island lies, before Sicania’s bay,
Now called Ortygia— ’twas its name of yore.
Hither from distant Elis, legends say,
Beneath the seas Alpheus stole his way,
And, mingling now with Arethusa here,
Mounts, a Sicilian fountain, to the day.
Here we with prayer, obedient to the seer, 784
Invoke the guardian gods to whom the place is dear.
LXXXIX . “Thence past Helorus’ marish speeds the bark,
Where fat and fruitful shines the meadowy lea.
We graze the cliffs and jutting rocks, that mark
Pachynus. Camarina’s fen we see,
Fixt there for ever by the fates’ decree;
Then Gela’s town (the river gave the name)
And Gela’s plains, far-stretching from the sea,
And distant towers and lofty walls proclaim 793
Steep Acragas, once known for generous steeds of fame.
XC . “Thee too we pass, borne onward by the wind,
Palmy Selinus, and the treacherous strand
And shoals of Lilybæum leave behind.
Last, by the shore at Drepanum we stand
And take the shelter of her joyless land,
Here, tost so long o’er many a storm-lashed main,
We lose the stay and comfort of our band,
Here thou, best father, leav’st me to my pain, 802
Thou, saved from countless risks, but saved, alas, in vain.
XCI . “Not Helenus, who many an ill forecast,
Warned us to think such sorrow was in store,
Not even dire Celæno. There at last
My wanderings ended, and my toils were o’er,
And thence a God hath led me to your shore.”
Thus, while mute wonder did the rest compose,
The Sire Æneas did his tale outpour,
And told his fates, his wanderings and his woes; 811
Then ceased at length his speech, and sought the wished repose.
BOOK FOUR
ARGUMENT
Dido opens her heart to her sister. But for her promised loyalty to the dead Sychæus, she must have yielded (1-36). Anna pleads for Æneas, and Dido half-yielding sacrifices to the marriage-gods. The growth of her passion is described (37-104). Venus feigns assent to Juno’s proposal that Æneas shall marry Dido and be king of Carthage. At a hunting Juno will send a storm and the lovers will shelter in a cave, and there plight their vows (105-144). The plot is consummated. Dido yields (145-198). Description of Rumour, who bruits abroad the story and rouses the jealous Iarbas to conjure his father, Jupiter, to interpose (199-248). Jupiter sends Mercury to remind Æneas of his mission (249-298). Æneas, terrified by the message, prepares for instant flight, to the delight of his followers a
nd the despair of Dido (299-342), who entreats him to stay, and rehearses the dangers to which he is leaving her (343-374). Æneas is obdurate. Although he loves Dido, he is the slave of a destiny which he must at all costs fulfil (375-410). After calling down a solemn curse upon him Dido swoons, but crushing the impulse to comfort her, he hastens his preparations for departure (411-468). Dido sends Anna with a last appeal to Æneas, who nevertheless, in spite of struggles, obeys the gods (469-513). In utter misery Dido, on pretext of burning all Æneas’ love-gifts, prepares a pyre and summons a sorceress. Her preparations complete, she utters her last lament (514-639). Mercury repeats his warning to Æneas, who sails forthwith (640-671). Daybreak reveals his flight, and Dido — cursing her betrayer — falls by her own hand, to the despair of her sister and the consternation of her subjects (672-837).
I . Long since a prey to passion’s torturing pains,
The Queen was wasting with the secret flame,
The cruel wound was feeding on her veins.
Back to the fancy of the lovelorn dame
Came the chief’s valour and his country’s fame.
His looks, his words still lingered in her breast,
Deep-fixt. And now the dewy Dawn upcame,
And chased the shadows, when her love’s unrest 1
Thus to her sister’s soul responsive she confessed:
II . “What dreams, dear Anna, fill me with alarms;
What stranger guest is this? like whom in face?
How proud in portance, how expert in arms!
In sooth I deem him of celestial race;
Fear argues souls degenerate and base;
But he — how oft by danger sore bestead,
What warlike exploits did his lips retrace.
Were not my purpose steadfast, ne’er to wed, 10
Since love first played me false, and mocked me with the dead,
III . “Were I not sick of bridal torch and bower,
This once, perchance, I had been frail again.
Anna — for I will own it — since the hour
When, poor Sychæus miserably slain,
A brother’s murder rent a home in twain,
He, he alone my stubborn will could tame,
And stir the balance of my soul. Too plain