The Æneid of Virgil translated into English prose

by Virgil

BOOK III

“After that it had seemed well to the powers above to

overthrow Asia’s fortunes and Priam’s guiltless nation;

after that Ilion fell headlong from its pride, and Troy,

which Neptune reared, became one levelled smoking ruin,

we are driven by auguries from heaven to look elsewhere 5

for the exile’s home in lands yet unpeopled. We build us

a fleet under the shadow of Antandros,[140] and the range of

our own Phrygian Ida, all uncertain whither fate may

carry us, where it may be our lot to settle, and muster

men for sailing. Scarcely had summer set in, when my 10

father, Anchises, was bidding us spread our sails to destiny.

Then I give my last tearful look to my country’s shores

and her harbours, and those plains where Troy once stood

but stands no longer. A banished man, I am wafted into

the deep with my comrades and my son, my household 15

gods and their mighty brethren.

“In the distance lies the land of the war-god, inhabited,

in vast extent—the Thracians are its tillers—subject

erewhile to Lycurgus’[141] savage sway, bound by old hospitality

to Troy, their household gods friends of ours, while 20

our star yet shone. Hither I am wafted, and on the

bending line of coast trace the outline of a city, a commencement

made in an evil hour, and call the new nation

Æneadæ,[142] after my own name.

“I was sacrificing to my parent, Dione’s[143] daughter, and 25

the rest of the gods, that they might bless the work I

had begun, and was slaying to the heavenly monarch of the

powers above a bull of shining whiteness on the shore.

It happened that there was a mound near, on whose top

were plants of cornel, and a myrtle bristling thick with 30

spearlike wands. I drew near, and essayed to pull up

from the ground the green forest growth, that I might

have leafy boughs wherewith to shadow the altar, when I

see a portent dreadful and marvellous to tell. For the

first tree that I pull up from the soil, severing its roots, 5

from that tree trickle drops of black blood, staining the

earth with gore. For me, a freezing shudder palsies my

frame, and my chilled blood curdles with affright. Again

I go on to pluck the reluctant fibres of a second tree, and

thus probe the hidden cause to the bottom; as surely 10

from the bark of that second tree the black blood follows.

Much musing in my mind, I began to call on the nymphs

of the wood, and Gradivus,[144] our father, patron of the land

of Thrace, that they might duly turn the appearance to

good, and make the heavy omen light. But when I come 15

to tear up a third spear-shaft with a still greater effort,

straining with my knees against the sand which pressed on

them—ought I to tell the tale or hold my peace?—a lamentable

groan is heard from the bottom of the mound, and

the utterance of a human voice reaches my ear: ‘Why, 20

Æneas, mangle a wretch like me? Spare me at length in

my grave—spare those pious hands the stain of guilt.

It was not an alien to you that Troy bore in bearing me—it

is no alien’s blood that is trickling from the stem. Ah!

fly from this land of cruelty, fly from this shore of greed, 25

for I am Polydorus. Here I lie, pierced and buried by a

growing crop of spears that has shot into sharp javelins.’

“Then, indeed, terror, blank and irresolute, came over

me—I was aghast—my hair stood erect, my tongue

clove to my mouth. Yes, this Polydorus had long ago 30

been sent secretly by Priam, unhappy then as ever, with

a vast weight of gold, to be brought up by the king of

Thrace, when he had already come to despair of the arms

of Dardania, and saw the siege folding closer round his

city. When the power of the Trojans had been broken, 35

and their star set, the Thracian followed Agamemnon’s

fortunes, and joined the standard of the conqueror—every

tie of duty is snapped—he murders Polydorus, and

by violence possesses himself of the gold. Cursed lust of

gold, to what dost thou not force the heart of man? After

the cold shuddering had ceased to tingle in my marrow,

I lay this portent from heaven before the select senate

of our nation, and my father as their chief, and ask them 5

what they think. All are of the same mind, to depart from

the land of crime, to leave the home of violated friendship,

and indulge our fleet with the gales that wooed it. So we

give Polydorus a solemn funeral: earth is heaped high

upon his mound; there stand the altars reared to his 10

manes,[145] in all the woe of dark fillets and sad-coloured

cypress: and round them are daughters of Ilion, their

hair unbound in mourner fashion: we offer bowls of new

milk warm and frothing, and dishes of consecrated blood:

so we lay the spirit to rest in its grave, and with a loud 15

voice give the farewell call.[146]

“Then, when the deep first looks friendly, and the

winds offer a smooth sea, and the south’s gentle whisper invites

us to the main, our crews haul down their ships and

crowd the shore. We sail out of the harbour, land and 20

town leaving us fast. There is a sacred country with

water all round it, chief favourite of the mother of the

Nereids and the god of the Ægean. Once it drifted among

the coasts and seaboards round about, till the heavenly

archer in filial gratitude moored it to the rock of Myconos 25

and to Gyaros, and gave it to be a fixed dwelling-place

henceforth, and to laugh at the winds. Hither I sail:

here it is that in a sheltered harbour our weary crews

find gentlest welcome. We land, and worship the city of

Apollo. King Anius, king of men at once and priest of 30

Phœbus, his temples wreathed with fillets and hallowed

bay, comes running up; in Anchises he owns an old friend,

we knit hand to hand in hospitality and enter his roof.

“Behold me now worshipping the temple of the god,

built of ancient stone. ‘Give us, god of Thymbra,[147] a home 35

that we can call our own: give us weary men a walled

habitation, a posterity, a city that will last: keep from

ruin Troy’s second Pergamus, all that was left by the

Danaans and their ruthless Achilles! Who is our guide?

Whither wouldst thou have us go? where set up our

roof-tree? Vouchsafe us a response, great father, and

steal with power upon our souls!’

“Scarce had I spoken, when methought suddenly came 5

a trembling on the whole place, temple-gate and hallowed

bay, a stir in the mountain from height to depth, a muttering

from the tripod as the door of the shrine flew open.

We fall low on earth, and a voice is wafted to our ears:

‘Sons of Dardanus, strong to endure, the land which first 10

gave you birth from your ancestral tree, the same land

shall welcome you back, restored to its fruitful bosom:

seek for your old mother till you find her. There it is

that the house of Æneas shall set up a throne over all

nations, they, and their children’s children, and those 15

that shall yet come after.’ Thus Phœbus; and a mighty

burst succeeds of wild multitudinous joy, all asking as one

man what that city is—whither is Phœbus calling the

wanderers, and bidding them return. Then my father,

revolving the traditions of men of old: ‘Listen,’ he cries, 20

‘lords of Troy, and learn where your hopes are. Crete

lies in the midst of the deep, the island of mighty Jove.

There is Mount Ida, and there the cradle of our race.

It has a hundred peopled cities, a realm of richest plenty.

Thence it was that our first father, Teucer, if I rightly 25

recall what I have heard, came in the beginning to the

Rhœtean coast, and fixed on the site of empire: Ilion and

the towers of Pergamus had not yet been reared: the

people dwelt low in the valley. Hence came our mighty

mother, the dweller on Mount Cybele, and the symbols 30

of the Corybants, and the forest of Ida: hence the inviolate

mystery of her worship, and the lions harnessed

to the car of their queen. Come, then, and let us follow

where the ordinance of heaven points the way: let us

propitiate the winds, and make for the realm of Gnossus[148]—the 35

voyage is no long one—let but Jupiter go with us,

and the third day will land our fleet on the Cretan shore.’

He said, and offered on the altar the sacrifice that was

meet—a bull to Neptune, a bull to thee, beauteous

Apollo—a black lamb to the storm-wind, to the favouring

Zephyrs a white one.

“Fame flies abroad that King Idomeneus[149] has been

driven to quit his paternal realm, that the shores of Crete 5

are abandoned, houses cleared of the enemy, dwellings

standing empty to receive us. So we leave Ortygia’s

harbour, and fly along the deep, past Naxos’ bacchant

mountains, and green Donysa, Olearos, and snowy Paros,

and the Cyclades sprinkled over the waves, and seas thick 10

sown with islands. Up rises the seaman’s shout amid

strain and struggle—each encourages his comrades,

‘For Crete and our forefathers, ho!’ A wind gets up

from the stern and escorts us on our way, and at length we

are wafted to the Curetes’ time-honoured shore. 15

“And now the site is chosen, and I am rearing a city’s

walls and calling it Pergamia: the new nation is proud

to bear the name of the old: I bid them love hearth and

home, and raise and roof the citadel. Already the ships

had been hauled up high and dry on the shore, the crews 20

were busied with marriage and tilling the new country, and

I was appointing laws to live by, and houses to dwell in—when

suddenly there came on the human frame a wasting

sickness, shed from the whole tainted expanse of the sky,

a piteous blight on trees and crops, a year charged with 25

death. There were men leaving the lives they loved, or

dragging with them the bodies that burdened them,

while Sirius baked the fields into barrenness, the herbage

was parching, the corn was sickening, and would not

yield its food. Back again to Phœbus and his Ortygian 30

oracle over the sea my father bids us go, and there sue for

grace, asking the god to what haven he means to bring our

overtoiled fortunes, whence he orders us to seek for help

in our sufferings—whither to direct our course.

“It was night and all living things on earth were in the 35

power of sleep, when methought the sacred images of the

gods, the Phrygian household deities, whom I had borne

away with me from Troy, even from the midst of the blazing

town, stood before my eyes as I lay in slumber, clear in

a flood of light, where the full moon was streaming through

the windows of the house. Then they began to address

me thus, and relieve my trouble with words like these:

‘The answer which Apollo has ready to give you when you 5

reach Ortygia, he delivers here, sending us, see, of his own

motion to your very door. We, the followers of you and

your fortune since Dardanland sunk in flame—we,

the comrades of the fleet which you have been guiding over

the swollen main—we it is that will raise to the stars the 10

posterity that shall come after you, and crown your city

with imperial sway. Be it yours to build mighty walls

for mighty dwellers, and not abandon the task of flight for

its tedious length. Change your settlement: it is not this

coast that the Delian god moved you to accept—not in 15

Crete that Apollo bade you sit down. No, there is a

place—the Greeks call it Hesperia[150]—a land old in

story, strong in arms and in the fruitfulness of its soil—the

Œnotrians were its settlers. Now report says that

later generations have called the nation Italian from the 20

name of their leader. That is our true home: thence

sprung Dardanus and father Iasius, the first founder of our

line. Quick! rise, and tell the glad tale, which brooks no

question, to your aged sire; tell him that he is to look for

Corythus[151] and the country of Ausonia. Jupiter bars you 25

from the fields of Dicte.’[152] Thus astonished by visions

and voices of heaven—for sleep it was not: no—methought

I saw them face to face, their wreathed locks and

their features all in full view; and a cold sweat, too,

trickled down my whole frame. I leap from the bed, and 30

direct upturned hand and voice to heaven, and pour on the

hearth the undefiled libation. The sacrifice paid, with

joy I inform Anchises, and expound the whole from first to

last. He owns the double pedigree and the rival ancestors,

and his own new mistake about the two old countries. 35

Then he says: ‘My son, trained in the school of Troy’s

destiny, Cassandra’s was the one voice which used to

chant to me of this chance. Now I recollect, this was the

fortune she presaged as appointed for our line, calling often

for Hesperia, often for the land of Italy. But could anyone

think that Teucrians would ever reach the Hesperian

shore? Could Cassandra’s prophesying in those days gain

any one’s credence? Let us give way to Phœbus, and 5

follow the better course enjoined.’ He said, and with one

consent we gladly obey. So we quit this settlement as we

quitted the last, and leaving a few behind, set sail, and

make our hollow barque fly over the vast world of waters.

“Soon as the ships had gained the mid-sea, and land was 10

no more to be seen, sky on every side, on every side ocean,

then came a murky storm-cloud and stood over my head,

charged with night and winter tempest, and darkness

ruffled the billow’s crest. At once the winds lay the sea in

heaps, and the waters rise mountains high: a scattered 15

fleet, we are tossed upon the vast abyss: clouds enshrouded

the day, and dank night robbed us of the sky, while fire

flashes momently from the bursting clouds. We are

dashed out of our track, and wander blindly over the blind

waters. Nay, even Palinurus owns he cannot tell day 20

from night in a heaven like this, or recollect the footpath

in the watery wilderness. Three dreary suns, blotted by

blinding darkness, we wander on the deep: three nights

with never a star. On the fourth day, at last, land was

first seen to rise, and mountains with curling smoke 25

wreaths to dawn in distant prospect. Down drop the

sails: we rise on our oars: incessantly the crews, straining

every nerve, toss the foam and sweep the blue.

“Escaped from the sea, I am first welcomed by the coast

of the Strophades—the Strophades are known by the 30

name Greece gave them, islands in the great Ionian, which

fell Celæno[153] and the rest of the Harpies have made their

home, ever since Phineus’[154] doors were closed against

them, and fear drove them from the board which once fed

them. A more baleful portent than this—a fiercer plague 35

of heaven’s vengeance never crawled out of the Stygian

flood. Birds with maiden’s faces, a foul discharge, crooked

talons, and on their cheeks the pallor of eternal famine.

“On our arrival here, and entering the harbour, see! we

behold luxuriant herds of oxen grazing dispersedly in the

fields, and goats all along the grass, with none to tend them.

On we rush, sword in hand, inviting the gods and Jove

himself to share the spoil with us: and then on the winding 5

shore pile up couches for the banquet, and regale on the

dainty fare. But on a sudden, with an appalling swoop

from the hills, the Harpies are upon us, flapping their

wings with a mighty noise—they tear the food in pieces,

and spoil all with their filthy touch, while fearful screeches 10

blend with foul smells. Again, in a deep retreat under a

hollow rock, with trees and crisp foliage all about us, we set

out the board and put new fire on new altars. Again,

from another quarter of the sky, out of their hidden lair,

comes the troop, all rush and sound, flying about the prey 15

with their hooked talons, tainting the food with their

loathsome mouths. I give the word to my comrades to

seize their arms and wage war with the fell tribe. As I

ordered they do—they arrange their swords in hiding

about the grass, and cover and conceal their shields. So 20

soon as the noise of their swoop was heard along the winding

shore, Misenus, from his lofty watch-tower, makes the

hollow brass sound the alarm. On rush my comrades, and

essay a combat of a new sort, to spoil with their swords the

plumage of these foul sea-birds. But no violence will 25

ruffle their feathers, no wounds pierce their skin: they are

off in rapid flight high in the air, leaving their half-eaten

prey and their filthy trail behind them. One of them,

Celæno, perches on a rock of vast height—ill-boding

prophetess—and gives vent to words like these: ‘What, 30

is it war, for the oxen you have slain and the bullocks

you have felled, true sons of Laomedon? is it war that

you are going to make on us, to expel us, blameless Harpies,

from our ancestral realm? Take then into your minds

these my words, and print them there. The prophecy 35

which the Almighty Sire imparted to Phœbus, Phœbus

Apollo to me, I, the chief of the Furies, make known to you.

For Italy, I know, you are crowding all sail: well, the winds

shall be at your call as you go to Italy, and you shall be

free to enter its harbours: but you shall not build walls

round your fated city, before fell hunger and your murderous

wrong against us drive you to gnaw and eat up your

very tables.’[155] She said, and her wings carried her swiftly 5

into the wood. But for my friends, a sudden terror curdled

their blood, their hearts died within them; no more arms—no,

we must sue for grace, with vows and prayers, be

the creatures goddesses or fell and loathsome birds. And

my father Anchises, spreading his hands from the shore, 10

invokes the mighty powers, and ordains meet sacrifice—‘Great

gods, forefend these menaces! Great gods, avert a

chance like this, and let your blessing shield your worshippers!’

Then he bids us tear our moorings from the shore,

and uncoil and stretch our ropes. 15

“The winds swell our sails, we scud over the foaming

surge, where gale and pilot bid us go. Now rising from

the wave are seen the woods of Zacynthos,[156] and Dulichium,

and Samos, and the tall cliffs of Neritos: we fly

past the rocks of Ithaca, Laertes’ realm, breathing a curse 20

for the land that nursed the hard heart of Ulysses. Soon,

too, the storm-capped peaks of Leucata dawn on the

view, and their Apollo, the terror of sailors. In our

weariness we make for him, and enter the little town:

our anchors are thrown from the prow, our sterns ranged 25

on the coast.

“So now, masters of the land beyond our hope, we perform

lustrations to Jove, and set the altars ablaze with

our vows, and solemnize the shores of Actium[157] with the

native games of Troy. My comrades strip, and practise 30

the wrestle of the old country, all slippery with oil: what

joy to have passed in safety by all those Argive cities,

and held on our flight through the heart of the foe!

Meanwhile the sun rolls round the mighty year, and the

north winds of icy winter roughen the sea. A shield of 35

hollow brass, once borne by the great Abas, I fasten up

full on the temple gate, and signalize the deed with a

verse: ‘These arms are the offering of Æneas, won from

his Danaan conquerors.’ Then I give the word to leave

the haven and take seat on the benches. Each vying with

each, the crews strike the water and sweep the marble

surface. In due course we hide from view the airy summits 5

of Phæacian[158] land, coast the shore of Epirus, enter

the Chaonian haven, and approach Buthrotum’s lofty

tower.

“Here a rumour of events past belief takes hold of our

ears—that Helenus, son of Priam, is reigning among

Grecian cities, lord of the wife and crown of Pyrrhus, 10

Achilles’ very son, and that Andromache had again been

given to a husband of her own nation. I was astounded:

my heart kindled with a strange longing to have speech

of my old friend, and learn all about this wondrous stroke

of fortune. So I advance into the country from the haven, 15

leaving fleet and coast behind, at the very time when

Andromache, before the city, in a grove, by the wave of

a mock Simois, was celebrating a yearly banquet, the

offering of sorrow, to the dead, and invoking her Hector’s

shade at a tomb called by his name, an empty mound of 20

green turf which she had consecrated to him with two

altars, that she might have the privilege of weeping.

Soon as her wild eye saw me coming with the arms of

Troy all about me, scared out of herself by the portentous

sight, she stood chained to earth while yet gazing—life’s 25

warmth left her frame—she faints, and after long time

scarce finds her speech:—‘Is it a real face that I see?

are those real lips that bring me news? Goddess-born,

are you among the living? or, if the blessed light has left

you, where is my Hector?’ She spoke—her tears flowed 30

freely, and the whole place was filled with her shrieks.

Few, and formed with labour, are the words I address to

her frenzied ear, broken and confused the accents I utter:—‘Aye,

I live, sure enough, and through the worst of

fortunes am dragging on life still. Doubt it not, your eye 35

tells you true. Alas! on what chance have you alit,

fallen from the height where your first husband throned

you? What smile has Fortune bright enough to throw

back on Hector’s Andromache? is it Pyrrhus’ bed you

are still tending?’ She dropped her eyes, and spoke with

bated breath:—‘O blest pre-eminently over all, Priam’s

virgin daughter,[159] bidden to die at the grave of her foe,

under Troy’s lofty walls! she that had not to brook the 5

chance of the lot, or, a slave and a captive, to touch the

bed of her lord and conqueror! While we, after the burning

of our city, carried over this sea and that, have stooped

to the scorn, the youthful insolence of Achilles’ heir, the

slave-mother of his child; he, after this, goes in quest of 10

Leda’s Hermione[160] and her Spartan alliance, and gives me

over to Helenus, the bondwoman to be the bondman’s

mate! Him, however, Orestes, fired by desperate passion

for a ravished bride, and maddened by the frenzy-fiend of

crime, surprises at unawares, and slays at his sire’s own 15

altar. At Neoptolemus’ death a portion of this kingdom

passed to Helenus, who called the fields Chaonian, and

the land itself Chaonia, from Chaon, their Trojan namesake,

and crowned, as you see, these heights with a new

Pergamus, the citadel of Ilion. But you—what wind, 20

what destiny has shaped your voyage? What god has

driven you on a coast which you know not to be ours?

What of the boy Ascanius? is he alive and breathing

upper air? he, whom you on that night at Troy—say,

can his boyish mind feel yet for the mother he has lost? 25

Is he enkindled at all to the valour of old days, the prowess

of a grown man, by a father like Æneas, an uncle like

Hector?’

“Such were the sorrows she kept pouring out, weeping

long and fruitlessly, when Priam’s noble son, Helenus, 30

presents himself from the city, with a train of followers,

and knows his friends again, and joyfully leads them to

his home, many a tear interrupting his utterance. As I

go on, I recognize a miniature Troy, a Pergamus copied

from the great one, a dry rivulet the namesake of Zanthus, 35

and throw my arms round a Scæan[161] gate. My

Trojan comrades, too, are made free of the friendly town.

The king made entertainment for them in spacious cloisters.

There, in the midst of the hall, they were pouring libations

from cups of wine, their meat served on gold, and

goblets in their hands.

“And now suppose a day past, and yet another day:

the breeze is inviting the sail, the swelling south inflating 5

the canvas, when I accost the prophet with these words,

and put to him the question I tell you:—‘True Trojan

born, heaven’s interpreter,[B] whose senses inform you of

the stars, and of the tongue of birds, and of the omens of

the flying wing, tell me now—for revelation has spoken 10

in auspicious words of the whole of my voyage, and all

the gods have urged me with one voice of power to make

for Italy, and explore that hidden clime. One alone, the

Harpy Celæno, forebodes a strange portent, too horrible

to tell, denouncing fierce vengeance and unnatural hunger. 15

Tell me then, what perils do I shun first, or what must

I observe to surmount the tremendous hardships before

me?’ Then Helenus first implores the favour of Heaven

by a solemn sacrifice of bullocks, and unbinds the fillet

from his consecrated brow, and with his own hand leads 20

me to thy temple, Phœbus, my mind lifted from its place

by the effluence of divine power; which done, that priestly

mouth chants these words from its prophetic lips:—

“‘Goddess-born—for that presages of mighty blessing

are attending you over the deep is clear beyond doubt—such 25

is the casting of the lot of fate by heaven’s king as

he rolls event after event—such the ordained succession—a

few things out of many, to make your voyage through

strange waters safer, your settlement in Ausonia’s haven

more assured. My speech shall unfold to you but a few—for 30

the rest the fatal sisters keep from Helenus’ knowledge,

and Saturnian Juno seals his lips. First then for

Italy, which you think close at hand, ready in your blindness

to rush into the harbours that neighbour us, the

length of a way where no way is severs you from its length 35

of territory. First must the oar be suppled in Trinacrian

waters, and your ships must traverse the expanse

of the Ausonian brine, and the spectral lake, and the isle

of Ææan Circe,[162] ere you can find a safe spot to build a

peaceful city. I will tell you the tokens, be it yours to 5

keep them lodged in your mind. When on an anxious

day, by the side of a sequestered river, you shall find an

enormous swine lying under the oaks on the bank with a

litter of thirty head just born, white herself through all

her lazy length, her children round her breasts as white 10

as she—that shall be the site of your city—that your

assured rest from toil and trouble. Nor need you shudder

beforehand at the prospect of gnawing your tables—the

fates will find you a path, and a prayer will bring you

Apollo. But as for these lands, and this line of the 15

Italian coast, which lies close at hand, and is washed by

the spray of our waters, this you must fly: the cities, one

and all, are peopled by enemies from Greece. Here the

Narycian Locrians have built them cities, and the Sallentine

fields have been occupied with an army by Lyctian 20

Idomeneus: here is the Melibœan chief Philoctetes’ tiny

town Patelia, with a strong wall to prop it. Further,

when your fleet stands moored on the other side the

water, and you build altars and pay vows on the coast,

shroud your head with the covering of a purple robe, lest, 25

while the hallowed fires are blazing, and the worship of

the gods is yet unfinished, some enemy’s eye should meet

yours, and make the omens void. Be this ritual custom

maintained by your comrades as by yourself: let the piety

of generations to come abide in this observance. But 30

when leaving Italy you are carried by the wind near the

Sicilian coast, and Pelorus’ narrow bars dimly open, make

for the left shore, for the left water, long as the circuit

round may be; avoid the right, its land and its seas.

This whole region by the forceful throes of a mighty convulsion—such 35

power of change is there in long centuries

of olden time—was rent in twain, so runs the story, the

two countries before having been one and unbroken; at

last the sea poured in violently between, and with its

waters cut off the Hesperian from the Sicilian side, washing

between fields and cities, their seaboards now parted,

with the waves of its narrow channel. There the right-hand

coast is held by Scylla,[163] the left by Charybdis, ever 5

hungering, who, at the bottom of the whirling abyss,

thrice a day draws the huge waves down her precipitous

throat, and in turn upheaves them to the sky, and lashes

the stars with their spray. But Scylla is confined in the

deep recesses of a cave, whence she thrusts out her mouths, 10

and drags vessels on to her rocks. At top, a human face,

a maiden with beauteous bosom; at bottom an enormous

sea-monster—dolphins’ tails attached to a belly all of

wolves’ heads. Better far wearily to round the goal of

Trinacrian[164] Pachynus and fetch about a tedious compass, 15

than once to have looked on the monster Scylla in her

enormous cave, and the rocks that echo with her sea-coloured

dogs. Moreover, if there be any foresight in

Helenus, if you give any credence to his prophetic tongue,

if his mind be a fountain of Apollo’s truth, one thing 20

there is, goddess-born, one thing outweighing all beside

which I will foreshow you, reiterating the warning again

and again—be Juno, great Juno, the first whose deity

you worship—to Juno chant your willing prayers: subdue

that mighty empress by suppliant offerings: thus at 25

last victorious you will leave Trinacria behind, and be

sped to the borders of Italy. When you are there at

length, and have come to the city of Cumæ, and the

haunted lake, and the woods that rustle over Avernus, you

will have sight of the frenzied prophetess, who, in the 30

cavern under the rock, chants her fateful strain, and commits

characters and words to the leaves of trees. All the

strains that the maid has written on these leaves she

arranges in order, shuts them up in her cave, and leaves

them there. They remain as she has left them, their 35

disposition unchanged. But, strange to say, when the

hinge is turned, and a breath of air moves the leaves,

and the opened door throws their light ranks into confusion,

henceforth she never troubles herself for a moment

to catch them as they fly about the cavern, to restore

them to their places, or to fit each strain to each. The

inquirers retire with their doubts unsolved, and a hatred

of the sibyl’s seat. Arrived here, let no cost of time or 5

delay weigh with you so much—though your comrades

should chide, and the voyage loudly call your sails

to sea, and a sheet-full of fair wind be there at your choice—but

that you visit the prophetess, and beg and pray

her herself to chant the oracle, loosing speech and tongue 10

with a ready will. She shall tell you of the nations of

Italy, and the wars of the future, and the way to shun or

stand the shock of every peril, and shall vouchsafe to

your prayer the boon of a prosperous voyage. Such are

the counsels which it is given you to receive from my 15

lips. Go on your way, and by your own actions lift to

heaven the greatness of Troy.’

“Soon as the seer had thus uttered these words of kindness,

he next orders massy gifts of gold and carved ivory

to be carried on shipboard, and stores in the keels, a 20

weight of silver and caldrons of Dodona, a cuirass of

chain-mail, three-threaded in gold, and a splendid helmet

with cone and flowing crest, the armour of Neoptolemus.

My father, too, has presents of his own. Horses, too, he

gives, and guides too; makes up the complement of oars, 25

and arms the crews. Meanwhile Anchises was giving the

word to rig the fleet, not to wear out the patience of a

fair wind. Him the interpreter of Phœbus addresses with

much pomp of courtesy: ‘Anchises, graced with the

proud privilege of Venus’ wedded love, the special care 30

of the gods, whom they twice interposed to save from the

fall of Pergamus, lo! there lies Ausonia’s land; for this

make all sail. Yet what have I said? This coast you

must needs sail past; far away yonder lies that part of

Ausonia which Apollo reveals to you. Go on your way,’ 35

cries he, ‘blessed in a son so duteous! Why proceed

further, and make the rising gales wait while I talk?’

As freely, too, Andromache, saddened with the grief of

parting, presents Ascanius with robes pictured with gold

embroidery, and a Phrygian scarf. She tires not in her

bounty, but loads him with gifts of needlework, and bespeaks

him thus: ‘Take, too, these, dear boy, to be a

memorial of what my hands can do—a token for long 5

years of the affection of Andromache, Hector’s wife. Yes,

take the last presents your kin can bestow, O sole surviving

image of my own Astyanax[165]! Those eyes are his

eyes, those hands his hands, that face his face, and he

would now be growing to manhood by your side, in bloom 10

like yours!’ Tears started forth, as I addressed my parting

words to the royal pair: ‘Live long and happily, as

those should for whom the book of Fortune is closed.

We, alas! are still called to turn page after page. You

have won your rest: you have no expanse of sea to 15

plough, no Ausonian fields to chase, still retiring as

you advance. Your eyes look upon a copy of the old

Xanthus, upon a Troy which your own hands have made—made,

I would hope and pray, with happier auspices, and

with less peril of a visit from Greece. If the day ever 20

arrive when I shall enter Tiber and the fields that neighbour

Tiber, and look on the walls which Fate has made

over to my people, then we will have our two kindred

cities, our two fraternal nations—the one in Epirus, the

other in Hesperia, with a common founder, Dardanus, 25

and a common history—animated by one heart, till they

come to be one Troy. Be this the destined care of our

posterity!’

“We push on over the sea under Ceraunia’s neighbouring

range, whence there is a way to Italy, the shortest 30

course through the water. Meantime the sun drops, and

the mountains are veiled in shadow. We stretch ourselves

gladly on the lap of earth by the water’s side, having cast

lots for the oars, and take our ease dispersedly along the

dry beach. Sleep’s dew sprinkles our wearied limbs. Not 35

yet was night’s car entering the middle of its circle, drawn

by the unflagging hours, when Palinurus, with no thought

of sloth, springs from his bed, explores every wind, and

catches with his ears the voices of the air. All the stars

he notes, as they swim through the silent sky, looking

round on Arcturus, and the showery Hyades, and the

twin Bears, and Orion in his panoply of gold. Soon as

he sees them all set in a heaven of calm, he gives a clear 5

signal from the stern. We break up our quarters, essay

our flight, and spread the wings of our sails. And now

the stars were fled, and Aurora[166] was just reddening in the

sky, when in the distance we see the dim hills and low

plains of Italy. ‘Italy!’ Achates was the first to cry. 10

Italy our crews welcome with a shout of rapture. Then

my father, Anchises, wreathed a mighty bowl with a garland,

and filled it with wine, and called on the gods, standing

upon the tall stern: ‘Ye powers that rule sea and

land and weather, waft us a fair wind and a smooth passage, 15

and breathe auspiciously!’ The breeze we wished

for freshens; the harbour opens as we near it, and the

temple of Minerva is seen crowning the height. The crews

furl the sails, and turn their prows coastward. The harbour

is curved into an arch by the easterly waves; a 20

barrier of cliffs on each side foams again with the briny

spray; between them the haven lies concealed; the towery

rocks let down their arms like two walls, and the temple

retires from the shore. Here on the grass I saw four

horses, the first token of heaven’s will, browsing the 25

meadow at large, of snowy whiteness. And Anchises, my

father, breaks forth: ‘War is on thy front, land of the

stranger; for war thy horses are prepared; war is threatened

by the cattle we see. Still, these beasts no less are trained

one day to stoop to the car, and carry harness and curb 30

in harmony with the yoke; yes,’ cries he, ‘there is hope

of peace, too.’ With that we make our prayers to the

sacred majesty of Pallas, queen of clanging arms, the first

to welcome us in the hour of our joy; and, according to

Helenus’ order, that order which he gave so earnestly, we 35

duly solemnize to Juno of Argos the prescribed honours.

Then, without dallying, soon as our vows were paid in

course, we turn landward the horns of our covered sail-yards,

and leave the homes of the sons of Greece, and

the fields we could not trust. Next we sight the bay of

Tarentum, the city, if legend say true, of Hercules; right

against us rises the goddess of Lacinium, and the towers

of Caulon, and Scylaceum, wrecker of ships. Then, in 5

the distance, from the surge is seen Trinacrian Ætna;

and the heavy groaning of the sea and the beating of the

rocks is heard from afar, and broken voices on the beach,

and the depths leap up to sight, and the sands are in a

turmoil with the surge. Then, my father, Anchises: ‘No 10

doubt this is that Charybdis; these the cliffs, these the

frightful rocks of Helenus’ song. Snatch us from them,

comrades; rise on your oars as one man.’ They do no

less than bidden; first of all Palinurus turned the plashing

prow to the waters on the left; for the left makes the 15

whole fleet, oars, winds, and all. Up we go to heaven on

the arched back of the wave; down again, as the water

gives way under us, we sink to the place of death below.

Thrice the rocks shouted in our ears deep in their stony

hollows; twice we saw the foam dashed up, and the stars 20

all dripping. Meanwhile, tired and spent, we lose wind

and sunlight at once, and, in our ignorance of the way,

float to the land of the Cyclops.

“There is a haven, sheltered from the approach of the

winds, and spacious, were that all; but Ætna is near, 25

thundering with appalling crashes; at one time it hurls

to the sky a black cloud, a smoky whirlwind of soot and

glowing ashes, and upheaves balls of fire, and licks the

stars; at another it raises rocks, torn from the mountain’s

bowels, and whirls heaps of molten stones into the air 30

with a groan, and boils up from its very foundations.

The legend is, that the body of Enceladus,[167] blasted by

lightning, is kept down by this mighty weight, and that

the giant bulk of Ætna, piled on him, breathes forth penal

fire through passages which that fire has burst; and ever, 35

as he shifts his side from weariness, all Trinacria quakes

and groans, and draws up a curtain of smoke over the

sky. That night, in the shelter of the woods, we endure

the visitation of monstrous portents, yet see not what

cause produces the sound. For there was no starlight,

no sky, bright with a heaven of constellations, but the

firmament was dim and murky, and dead night was keeping

the moon in a prison of storm-clouds. 5

“And now the next day was breaking in early dawn,

and Aurora had drawn off the dewy shadow from the

sky, when suddenly from the woods comes forth the

strange figure of a man unknown, in piteous trim—a

picture completed by Famine’s master-stroke, and 10

stretches his hands in supplication to the shore. We

look back: there was filth to make us shudder, a length

of beard, a covering fastened with thorns; yet the rest

betokened a Greek, who had once been sent to Troy in

the army of his nation. As for him, when he saw from 15

afar the dress of Dardan land and the arms of Troy, for

a moment he faltered, scared by the sight, and checked

his steps; soon he ran headlong to the shore, crying and

praying: ‘By the stars I adjure you, by the powers

above, by this blessed light of heaven we breathe, take 20

me with you, Teucrians; carry me off to any land you

will; this will be enough. I know I am one of the Danaan

crews; I own that I carried war into your Trojan homes;

for which, if the guilt of my crime is so black, fling me

piecemeal to the waves, drown me deep in the great sea. 25

If I am to die, there will be pleasure in dying by the hands

of men.’ His speech was over, and he was clinging about

us, clasping our knees, and writhing round them. We

encourage him to tell us who he is, of what race sprung,

to reveal what fortune has since made him its sport. My 30

father, Anchises, after no long pause, himself gives his

hand to the youth, and reassures him by the powerful

pledge. He at length lays aside his fear, and speaks as

follows:—

“‘I come from Ithaca, a comrade of the ill-starred 35

Ulysses, my name Achemenides. I went to Troy, leaving

my father, Adamastus, who was poor. Would that his

lot had remained mine! Here, in their hurry to leave

the door of the slaughterhouse, my comrades forgot me

and so left me behind in the Cyclops’ enormous den. It

is a house of gore and bloody feasting, deep, and dark,

and huge; its master towers aloft, and strikes the stars

on high (ye gods, remove from the earth a plague like 5

this!), whom no eye rests on with pleasure, no tongue dare

accost. The flesh of wretched men and their black blood

are the food he feeds on. These eyes saw, when two

bodies from our company, caught by his huge hand, as

he threw back his head in the midst of the den, were 10

being brained against the rock, and the floor was plashed

and swimming with blood—they saw, when he was

crunching their limbs, dripping with black gore, and the

warm joints were quivering under his teeth. He did it,

but not unpunished. Ulysses was not the man to brook 15

a deed like this; the brain of Ithaca was not wanting to

itself when the need was so great. For soon as, gorged

with his food and buried in wine, he bent and dropped

his neck, and lay all along the den in unmeasured length,

belching out gore in his sleep, and gobbets mixed with 20

bloody wine; then we, having made our prayer to the

great gods and drawn our places by lot, surround him on

all sides as one man, and with a sharp weapon bore out

his eye, that vast eye, which used to lie single and sunk

under his grim brow,[C] and thus at last take triumphant 25

vengeance for our comrades’ shades. But fly, unhappy

men, fly, and tear your cable from the shore. For hideous

and huge as is Polyphemus, folding in his den his woolly

flocks and pressing their udders, as hideous and huge are

a hundred others that dwell everywhere along this coast, 30

monster Cyclops, and stalk over the tall mountains. It

is now the third moon, whose horns are filling out with

light, that I am dragging along my life in the woods;

among the lonely lairs where wild beasts dwell, and looking

forth on the huge Cyclops as they stalk from rock to 35

rock, and trembling at their tread and at the sound of

their voices. My wretched fare, berries and stony cornels,

is supplied by the boughs, and herbage uprooted yields

me food. As I turned my eyes all about, this fleet of

yours at last I saw advancing to the shore; with this, 5

prove it what might, I cast in my lot; it is enough to

have escaped this race of monsters. Sooner do you destroy

this life by any death you please.’

“Scarce had he ended, when on the mountain-top we

see the giant himself, moving along with his enormous 10

bulk among his cattle, and making for the well-known

shore—a monster dreadful, hideous, huge, with his eye

extinguished. A pine, lopped by his own hand, guides

him and steadies his footsteps. His woolly sheep accompany

him—there is his sole pleasure, the solace of his 15

suffering. After he had touched the waves of the deep

and come to the sea, he washes with its water the gore

that trickles from his scooped-out eye, gnashing his teeth

with a groan; and he steps through the sea, now at main

height, while the wave has not yet wetted his tall sides. 20

We, in alarm, hasten our flight from the place, taking on

board the suppliant, who had thus made good his claim,

and silently cut the cable; then throw ourselves forward,

and with emulous oars sweep along the sea. He perceived

it, and turned his steps towards the noise he heard. 25

But when he finds he has no means of grasping at us with

his hand, no power of keeping pace with the Ionian waves

in pursuit, he raises a gigantic roar, at which the sea and

all its waters trembled inwardly, and the land of Italy

shuddered to its core, and Ætna bellowed through her 30

winding caverns. But the tribe of the Cyclops, startled

from wood and lofty mountain, rush to the haven and

fill the shore. There we see them standing, each with

the empty menace of his grim eye, the brethren of Ætna,

lifting their tall heads to heaven, a dire assemblage—like 35

as on some tall peak, skyey oaks or cone-bearing cypresses

stand together, a lofty forest of Jupiter, or a grove of

Diana. Headlong our crews are driven by keen terror to

fling out the ropes anywhither, and stretch their sails to

the winds that would catch them. On the other hand,

Helenus’ warning bids them not to hold on their way

between Scylla and Charybdis, a passage on either side

removed but a hair’s breadth from death; so our purpose 5

stands to spread our sails backward. When lo! the north

wind is upon us, sped from Pelorus’ narrow strait. On I

fly past Pantagia’s mouth of living rock, and the bay of

Megara, and low-lying Thapsus. Such were the coasts

named to us by Achemenides, as he retraced his former 10

wanderings—Achemenides, comrade of the ill-starred

Ulysses.

“Stretched before the Sicanian bay lies an island, over

against Plemyrium the billowy—former ages named it

Ortygia. Hither, the legend is, Alpheus, the river of 15

Elis, made himself a secret passage under the sea; and

he now, through thy mouth, Arethusa,[168] blends with the

waters of Sicily. Obedient to command, we worship

the mighty gods of the place; and from thence I pass the

over-rich soil of Helorus the marshy. Hence we skirt the 20

tall crags and jutting rocks of Pachynus, and Camarina is

seen in the distance,—Camarina, which the oracle gave

no man leave to disturb, and the plains of Gela, and Gela

itself, mighty city, called from the stream that laves it.

Next Acragas the craggy displays from afar its lofty 25

walls, one day the breeder of generous steeds. Thee,

too, I leave, by favour of the winds, palmy Selinus, and

pick my way through the sunk rocks that make Lilybæum’s

waters perilous. Hence Drepanum receives me,

with its haven and its joyless coast. Here, after so many 30

storms on the sea had done their worst, woe is me! I

lose him that had made every care and danger light, my

father, Anchises. Here, best of sires, you leave your son,

lone and weary, you, who had been snatched from those

fearful dangers, alas! in vain. Helenus, the seer, among 35

the thousand horrors he foretold, warned me not of

this agony; no, nor dread Celæno. This was my last

suffering, this the goal of my long journeyings. It

was on parting hence that Heaven drove me on your

coast.”

Thus father Æneas, alone, amid the hush of all around,

was recounting Heaven’s destined dealings, and telling of

his voyages; and now, at length, he was silent, made an 5

end, and took his rest.