The Æneid of Virgil translated into English prose

by Virgil

BOOK VII

And thou, too, in thy death, Caieta,[238] nurse of Æneas, hast

left to our coast the heritage of an ever-living fame; still in

this later day thy glory hovers over thy resting-place, and

a name on Hesperia’s mighty seaboard is thy monument,

if that be renown. So when good Æneas had paid the last 5

dues and raised a funeral mound, and had waited for the

calming of the deep, he spreads sail and leaves the harbour.

Nightward the breezes blow, nor does the fair Moon scorn

to show the way: her rippling light makes the sea shine

again. The next land they skirt is the coast of Circe’s 10

realm, where in queenly state the daughter of the Sun

thrills her forest fastness with never-ending song, and in

her haughty mansion burns fragrant cedar to give light by

night, as she draws her shrill comb over the delicate warp.

From the shore they heard the growling noise of lions in 15

wrath, disdaining their bonds and roaring in midnight

hour, bristly boars and caged bears venting their rage, and

shapes of huge wolves fiercely howling: things which

Circe, fell goddess, had transformed by her magic drugs

from the mien of man to a beast’s visage and a beast’s hide. 20

So, lest the pious race of Troy should suffer such monstrous

change, were they to seek harbour there or approach the

perilous shore, Neptune filled their sails with favouring

breezes, sped their flight along, and wafted them past the

seething waters. 25

The sea was just reddening in the dawn, and Aurora was

shining down from heaven’s height in saffron robe and rosy

car, when all at once the winds were laid, and every breath

sank in sudden sleep, and the oars pull slowly against the

smooth unmoving wave. In the same moment Æneas, 30

looking out from the sea, beholds a mighty forest. Among

the trees Tiber, that beauteous river, with his gulfy rapids

and the burden of his yellow sand, breaks into the main.

Around and above, birds of all plumes, the constant tenants

of bank and stream, were lulling the air with their notes and

flying among the woods. He bids his comrades turn aside 5

and set their prows landward, and enters with joy the

river’s shadowed bed.

Now be with me Erato,[239] and I will unfold who were the

kings, what the stage of circumstance, what the condition

of ancient Latium, when the stranger host first landed on 10

Ausonian shores, and will recall how the first blood was

drawn. Thou, goddess, thou prompt thy poet’s memory.

Mine is a tale of grisly war, of battle array, and princes in

their fury rushing on carnage—of Tyrrhenian[240] ranks, and

all Hesperia mustered in arms. Grander is the pile of 15

events that rises on my view, grander the task I essay.

It was the time when king Latinus, now stricken in age, was

ruling country and city in the calm of years of peace. He,

as story tells us, was the son of Faunus and a Laurentine

nymph, Marica. Faunus’ father was Picus, who owes his 20

birth to thee, great Saturn: thou art the first founder of the

line. No son, no male progeny, so Heaven willed, had

Latinus now; just as it was budding into youth, the branch

was cut off. The sole maintainer of the race, the sole

guardian of that princely house, was a daughter, already 25

ripe for wedlock, already arrived at full-blown womanhood.

Many were her wooers from mighty Latium, nay, from all

Ausonia. One wooer there was in beauty passing others,

Turnus,[241] strong in the glory of sires and grandsires: his alliance

the queen with intense yearning was seeking to compass; 30

but heavenly portents bar the way with manifold

alarm. There was a laurel in the middle of the palace, in the

very heart of royal privacy, sacred in its every leaf, cherished

by the awful observance of many years; men said that

father Latinus himself found it there when he first laid the 35

foundation of the tower, dedicated it to Phœbus, and thence

gave his new people the name of Laurentines. On the

top of this tree lodged a dense swarm of bees, marvellous

to tell, sailing thither with loud humming noise across the

liquid air, and twining their legs together, the cluster in a

moment was seen to hang from the leafy bough. At once

spoke a prophet: “There is a stranger approaching: I

see him now; along this self-same path a troop is moving 5

hitherward, and commanding the height of the citadel.”

Moreover, while Lavinia is applying the hallowed torch to

the altars, as she stands in maiden purity at her father’s

side, she was seen, oh, monstrous sight! to catch the fire

with her long tresses, all her headgear consuming in the 10

crackling flame, her queenly hair, her jewelled coronal all

ablaze, till at last she was wrapt in smoke and yellow

glare, and scattered the fire-god’s sparks the whole palace

through. There indeed was a tale of horror, a marvel and

a portent; for, said the wise men, she will herself be illustrious 15

in fame and fortune, but to the nation she bodes

tremendous war. Troubled by these prodigies, the king

repairs to the oracle of Faunus, his prophetic sire, to

question at the groves beneath Albunea’s shade—that

queen of forests, ever vocal with the sacred waters, ever 20

breathing from its dark heart deadly vaporous steam.

It is here that the tribes of Italy and all Œnotrian land

seek answers in their perplexity; hither the priestess

brings the inquirer’s offering, lies in the still of night on a

couch of slaughtered sheep’s skins, and turns to sleep, when 25

she sees many phantoms flitting in marvellous fashion,

and hears divers voices, and enjoys communion with the

gods, and holds converse with Acheron down in Avernus’

deep. Here also king Latinus, in quest of an answer, was

sacrificing duly a hundred sheep of the second year, and 30

was lying on their skins, a fleecy bed, when sudden from the

depth of the grove an utterance was heard: “Look not to

ally your daughter in wedlock of Latium, O my son;

put not faith in marriage chambers dressed and ready;

there are sons-in-law from a far country now on their way, 35

men destined by mixing their blood with ours to exalt our

name to the spheres—men whose lineal posterity shall

one day look down and see under their feet the whole

world, far as the two oceans which the sun surveys in his

daily round, revolving beneath them and wielded by their

control.” Such was the response of father Faunus,

the counsel given at still of night: nor does Latinus hold

it shut in the prison of his own lips; but Fame had flown 5

with the rumour through Ausonia far and wide from city

to city, when the young chivalry of old Laomedon anchored

their ships on the river’s grassy bank.

Æneas and his chief captains, and Iulus young and fair,

lay their limbs to rest under the boughs of a lofty tree; 10

there they spread the banquet, putting cakes of flour along

the sward to support the food—such was Jove’s high inspiration—and

rearing on the wheaten foundation a pile

of wilding fruits. It chanced that when the rest was eaten,

the want of meat forced them to ply their tooth on those 15

scanty gifts of Ceres—to profane with venturous hand and

mouth the sanctity of the cake’s fated circle, nor respect

the square impressed on its surface. “What! eating our

tables[242] as well?” cries Iulus, in his merry vein; that and no

more. That utterance first told the hearers that their 20

toils were over: even as it fell from the boy’s mouth his

father caught it up and broke it short, wondering in himself

at the power of Heaven. Then anon: “Hail to thee,

promised land of my destiny! hail to you,” he cries, “Troy’s

faithful gods! Yes, here is our home—this our country. 25

It was my father—these, I remember, were the mystic

words of fate he left me: ‘My son, whenever you are wafted

to an unknown coast, and hunger drives you, failing food,

to eat your tables, then remember my saying, there look

for a home of rest, set up your first roof-tree and strengthen 30

it with mound and rampart.’ This was the hunger he

meant. This was the last strait in store for us, not the

beginning but the end of death. Come then, take heart,

and with the morrow’s earliest light explore we what is

the place, who its dwellers, where the city of the nation, 35

making from the haven in different ways. Meanwhile

pour libations to Jove, invoke in prayer my sire Anchises,

and set again the wine on the board.” So having said, he

wreathes his brow with the leafy spray, and offers prayer

to the genius of the spot; to Earth the eldest of the gods;

to the nymphs and the streams yet unknown by name:

after that, to Night and Night’s new-born stars and

Ida’s Jove, and Phrygia’s mighty mother, invoking each 5

in turn, and his own two parents in the upper and the

nether world. Just then the Almighty Father thundered

thrice aloft in a clear sky, and with his own right hand

flashed in open view from on high a cloud ablaze with rays

of golden light. At once the news spreads among the Trojan 10

ranks that the day has arrived when they are to build

their promised city. With emulous haste they celebrate

the banquet, and in the power of the august presage set on

the bowls exultingly, and wreathe the wine.

Soon as on the morrow the risen day began to illumine 15

the earth with the first sparkle of her torch, some here,

some there, they set about exploring the city, the frontiers,

the seaboard of the country. This, they learn, is the spring

of Numicius, this the river Tiber, this the home of the brave

Latian race. Thereupon Anchises’ son commands an 20

embassy of a hundred, chosen from all classes alike, to go to

the monarch’s royal city, all of them with wreathed boughs

from Pallas’ tree, to carry presents for his honoured hand,

and entreat his friendship for the Teucrians. They delay

not, but hasten at his bidding, moving with rapid pace, 25

while he is marking out the city with a shallow trench,

preparing the ground, and surrounding this their first

settlement on the coast, camp-fashion, with battlements

and earthworks. Meanwhile the missioned band had performed

their journey, and were in sight of the towers and 30

stately homes of Latium, and passing under the city wall.

In a space before the town, boys and youths in their prime

are exercising on horseback, and breaking in their harnessed

cars among clouds of dust, or bending the sharp-springing

bow, or hurling from the arm the quivering javelin, 35

or vying on foot or with the gloves, when galloping up,

a messenger announces, in the aged monarch’s ears, that

mighty men have arrived in strange attire. The king bids

him summon them into the presence-hall, and takes his

seat in the midst on his ancestral throne. It was a reverend

pile, of vast proportions, raised high upon a hundred

pillars, on the city’s topmost ground, the palace of Picus

the Laurentine, clothed in the terror of waving woods and 5

hereditary awe. Here it was held to be of auspicious presage

that kings should first take in hand the sceptre, and

lift up the fasces: this temple was their senate-house,

the hall for their sacrificial feasts: here, when a ram was

slain, the seniors were wont to banquet down long lines 10

of tables. Here, too, in succession were the effigies of

past generations, carved from ancient cedar—Italus and

father Sabinus, planter of the vine, preserving in that

mimic form his curved hook, and hoary Saturn, and the

image of two-faced Janus, all standing in the vestibule, 15

and other kings from the earliest days, and heroes who had

sustained the war-god’s wounds in fighting for their

country. Moreover, there was hanging on the sacred

doors abundance of armour, captive chariots, crooked

axe-heads, helmet-crests, ponderous gates, javelins, and 20

shields, and beaks torn from vessels. There, as in life,

was sitting, decked with Quirinal staff and robe of scanty

border, in his left hand the sacred shield, Picus, tamer of

the steed, he whom, in her bridal jealousy, Circe, by a stroke

of her golden rod and the witchery of her drugs, transformed 25

to a bird, and scattered spots over his wings. Such was

the temple where Latinus, seated on his ancestral throne,

summoned the Teucrians to his presence within, and on

their entry with placid mien bespoke them thus:—

“Tell me, sons of Dardanus—for we know your city and 30

your race, and your coming over the deep has reached our

ears—what is your errand? what cause or what necessity

has wafted your ships to our Ausonian coast through

those many leagues of blue water? Be it from ignorance of

the way or stress of weather, or any of the thousand chances 35

that happen to seamen on the main, that you have passed

between our river’s banks, and are resting in the haven,

shrink not from our welcome, but know in the Latian

race the true people of Saturn, kept in righteousness by no

band of law, but by our own instinct and the rule of our

parent-god. And now I remember, though years have

dulled the freshness of the tale, that aged Auruncans used

to tell how in this land Dardanus saw the light, and hence 5

he won his way to the towns of Phrygian Ida and Thracian

Samos, which men now call Samothrace. Ay, it was from

the house of Tuscan Corythus he went, and now the golden

palace of starry heaven seats him on a throne, and among

the altars of the gods makes room for him.” 10

He ended; and Ilioneus followed thus: “Great king,

illustrious son of Faunus, no stress of gloomy storm has

made us the sport of the waves and driven us on your

coast, no sky or land misread has beguiled us of our

track: of set purpose, with full intent, we are arrived one 15

and all at your city, driven from a realm once the greatest

which the sun surveyed in his course from end to end of

heaven. From Jove is the origin of our race; in Jove, as

their ancestor, the sons of Dardanus glory; our monarch

himself, sprung of Jove’s own pure blood, Æneas of Troy, 20

has sent us to your doors. How dire a hurricane, launched

from fell Mycenæ, swept over Ida’s plains—how the two

worlds of Europe and Asia, fate driving each, met and

crashed together—has reached the ears of the man, if

such there be, whom earth’s last corner withdraws from 25

the wash of ocean, and his too who is parted from his fellows

by the zone that lies midmost among the four, the zone of

the tyrannous sun. From the jaws of that deluge flying

over many and mighty waters, we ask of you for our

country’s gods a narrow resting-place—the harmless 30

privilege of the coast, and the common liberty of water and

air. We shall be no disgrace to your kingdom, nor light

shall be the fame that men will blaze of you, nor shall

gratitude for your great bounty grow old, nor shall

Ausonia mourn the day when she welcomed Troy to her 35

heart. I swear by Æneas’ star, by his strong right hand,

known as such by all who have proved it in friendship or

in war, many have been the peoples, many the nations—nay,

scorn us not for that we accost you with fillets of suppliance

and words of prayer—who have sued for our company

and wished to make us one with them. But the

oracles of heaven, speaking as they only can, have driven

us to search out your realms. Hence sprang Dardanus; 5

hither Apollo bids us return, with the instance of high

command, even to Tuscan Tiber and the sacred waters of

Numicius’ spring. Moreover, here are presents from Æneas,

the scanty offerings of past prosperity, relics snatched from

the flames of Troy. From this gold his father, Anchises, 10

poured libations at the altar; this was Priam’s royal

accoutrement, when he gave laws in kingly fashion to the

assembled people; this sceptre, this sacred diadem, these

robes, the work of Trojan dames.”

Thus, as Ilioneus is speaking, Latinus holds his countenance 15

in set downcast gaze, and sits rooted to his throne,

turning his eyes in intense thought. Nor does the

broidered purple stir his princely mind; no, nor the sceptre

of Priam, so deeply as he ponders on the wedlock, the

bridal bed of his daughter, revolving in his breast old 20

Faunus’ oracle. This must be that predicted son-in-law,

arrived from a foreign home, destined to reign in joint

sovereignty with himself; thence must be born that glorious

progeny, whose prowess is to master the world. At

length he breaks out in glad tones: “May the gods prosper 25

our intent and ratify their own presage! Yes, Trojan,

you shall have your prayer, nor do I reject your presents.

Long as Latinus shall reign, you shall not lack the bounty of

a fruitful soil, nor miss the wealth of Troy. Let but Æneas

himself, if his desire of us is so great, if he covets the tie of 30

hospitality and the style of alliance, come to our presence,

nor shrink from eyes that will view him kindly. Peace

will be incomplete till I have touched your monarch’s

hand. And now do you take back to your king this my

message: I have a daughter, whose marriage with a husband 35

of our nation is forbidden by voices from my father’s

shrine, by countless prodigies from heaven; sons-in-law

are to arrive from foreign climes—such, they say, is

Fate’s will for Latium—who by mixing their blood with

ours are to exalt our name to the spheres. That he is this

chosen one of destiny is my belief, and, if my mind reads

the future true, my award.” With these words the old

king makes choice of horses from the multitude he possessed. 5

Three hundred there were, sleek-coated, standing

in their lofty stalls. At once he bids his servants

bring for each of the Teucrians a fleet-foot with housings

of embroidered purple; golden poitrels hang down to the

chest of each; there is gold on their coverings; yellow 10

gold under their champing teeth. For the absent Æneas

he orders a car and two coursers of ethereal seed, snorting

fire from their nostrils, sprung of that brood which artful

Circe raised up fraudfully to her father the Sun, a spurious

race, from the womb of a mortal dam. Thus graced with 15

gifts and kind speeches, the children of Æneas journey

homeward on their tall steeds, and carry tidings of peace.

Meanwhile, there was Jove’s relentless spouse travelling

back from her own Argos, city of Inachus, and already

launched on mid air; looking from the sky over Sicilian 20

Pachynus, she beheld in distant prospect Æneas in his

hour of joy and the Dardan fleet. Already she sees him

building his home; already he has made the soil his friend,

and has parted from his ships. Pierced with bitter grief,

she stayed her course, and then, shaking her head, pours 25

from her heart words like these: “Ah, that hated stock!

those destinies of Phrygia that hold my destinies in check!

Did the dead really fall on the plains of Sigeum? were the

captives captured in truth? did the flames of Troy burn

the men of Troy? Through the heart of the battle, 30

through the heart of the fire they have found a way.

Ay, belike, my power at last lies gasping and spent; my

hatred is slaked and I am at peace. I, who followed them

with a foe’s zeal over the water even when tossed from

their country’s arms, and met the exiles front to front on 35

every sea! Spent on these Teucrians is all that sky and

surge can do. Have Syrtes, has Scylla, has Charybdis’

yawning gulf stood me aught in stead? They have

gained the channel of Tiber, the haven of their wishes,

and may laugh at ocean and at me. Mars had strength to

destroy the Lapithan nation, huge as they were; the father

of the gods gave up the honoured land of Calydon to Diana’s

vengeance; and what had Lapithans or Calydon done 5

to earn such penal ruin? But I, Jove’s great consort,

who have stooped, miserably stooped, to leave nothing

untried, who have assumed every form by turns, am vanquished

by Æneas. Well, if my power be not august

enough, I would not shrink from suing for other aid, be it 10

found where it may; if I cannot prevail above, I will stir

up the fiends of the deep. It will not be mine to keep him

from the crown of Latium—be it so; fixed for him by fate

unalterably is his bride Lavinia; but delays and impediments

may well be where the matter is so great; but to 15

cut off the subjects of our two monarchs—this may be

done. So let father and son-in-law embrace, at the cost

of their people’s lives. The blood of Trojan and Rutulian

shall be your dower, fair lady; Bellona[243] is waiting to lead

you to your chamber. Nor is Hecuba the only mother that 20

has teemed with a fire-brand and given birth to a nuptial

blaze; Venus sees the tale repeated in her own offspring—a

second Paris—a funeral torch rekindled for reviving

Troy.”

Having vented words like these, she flew down in black 25

rage to the earth; and now she summons Allecto[244] the baleful

from the dwelling of the dread goddesses and the darkness

of the pit—Allecto, whom bitter wars, and strifes,

and stratagems, and injurious crimes cheer like a cordial.

Hateful even to Pluto her sire is the fiend, hateful to her 30

Tartarean sisters, so many the forms she puts on, so terrible

the mien of each, so countless the vipers that burgeon

blackly from her head. Her, thus dreadful, Juno lashes

to fiercer fury, speaking on this wise: “Grant me, maiden

daughter of Night, a boon all my own—thine undivided 35

aid, that my praise and renown may not be dashed from

their pedestal—that the children of Æneas may not be

able to ensnare Latinus in a bridal alliance or beset the

Italian frontier. Thou canst make brothers of one soul

take arms and fight; canst make peaceful homes dens of

strife; thou canst gain entrance for the scourge and the

funeral torch: thou hast a thousand names, a thousand

means of ill. Stir up that prolific bosom, snap the formed 5

bands of peace, scatter the incentives of war, let the nation

in the same moment desire, demand, and seize the sword.”

So then Allecto, empoisoned with Gorgon venom, first

repairs to Latium and the lofty halls of the Laurentine

monarch, and sits down before the hushed chamber of 10

queen Amata,[245] who, as she mused on the arrival of the

Trojans and Turnus’ bridal hopes, was glowing and seething

with all a woman’s passion, a woman’s spleen. Snatching

a snake from her dark venomed locks, she hurls it at

her, and lodges it in the bosom close to the very heart, that, 15

maddened by the pest, she may drive the whole house wild.

In glides the reptile unfelt, winding between the robe and

the marble breast, and beguiles her into frenzy, breathing

into her lungs its viperous breath; the linked gold round

her neck turns to the monstrous serpent; so does the festoon 20

of her long fillet; it twines her hair, it slides smoothly

from limb to limb. And while the first access of contagion,

stealing in with clammy poison, is pervading her senses

and threading her bones with flame, ere yet the soul has

caught fire through the whole compass of the bosom, she 25

speaks with gentle plaint, as mothers wont, shedding

many tears over her child and the Phrygian alliance: “And

are fugitives from Troy to take Lavinia in marriage, good

father? have you no compassion for your daughter and

yourself? none for her mother, whom with the first fair 30

gale the faithless pirate will leave and make for the deep,

carrying off his maiden prey? Ay, things were not so

when the Phrygian shepherd stole into Lacedæmon, and

bore away Leda’s Helen to Troy town. Where is your

pledged faith? where your old tenderness for your own 35

blood, and your hand plighted so oft to your kinsman

Turnus? If Latian folk must have a son-in-law fetched

from a foreign stock, and this is unalterably fixed, and

your father Faunus’ command sits heavy on your soul, I

hold that every nation is foreign whose independence

severs it from our rule, and that such is Heaven’s intent.

Turnus, too, if you go back to the first foundation of his

house, has Inachus and Acrisius for his ancestors, and the 5

heart of Mycenæ for his home.” But when, having tried

in vain what these words can do, she sees Latinus obstinately

bent, and meantime the serpent’s fiendish mischief

has sunk deep into her vitals, and is thrilling every

vein, then at last the miserable queen, unsexed by the 10

portentous enormity, raves in ungoverned frenzy through

the city’s length and breadth; as oft you may see a top

spinning under the lash, which boys are flogging round

and round in a great ring in an empty courtyard, with

every thought on their game: driven by the whip it 15

keeps making circle after circle: the beardless faces

hang over it in puzzled wonder, marvelling how the box-wood

can fly, as though the blows made it a living thing.

With motion as furious she courses through crowded

streets and unruly peoples. Nay, more than this, she 20

feigns the inspiration of Bacchus, nerving herself to more

atrocious deeds, and climbing new heights of madness—flies

into the woods, and hides her daughter among the

leafy hills, all to snatch from the Teucrians the bridal

bed and delay the kindling of Hymen’s torch. “Evoe 25

Bacchus!” is her cry; “thou, and none but thou art

fit mate for a maid like this. See! for thee she takes up

the sacred wand, for thee she leads the dance, for thee she

grows her dedicated hair.” Fame flies abroad; other

mothers are instinct with frenzy, and all have the same 30

mad passion driving them to seek a new home. They

have left their houses, and are spreading hair and shoulders

to the wind; while some are filling the sky with quivering

shrieks, clad in fawn-skins, and carrying vine-branch

spears. There in the middle is the queen all aglow, lifting 35

high a blazing pine, and singing the bridal song of Turnus

and her daughter, her eye red and glaring; and sudden she

shouts like a savage: “Ho! mothers of Latium all, where’er

ye be, if ye have human hearts and kindness left there for

poor Amata, if ye are stung to think of a mother’s rights,

off with the fillets from your hair, and join the orgie with

me.” Such is the queen, driven among the woods, among

the wild beasts’ lairs far and wide, by Bacchus’ goad in 5

Allecto’s hand.

And now, judging that she had barbed enough the

young fangs of frenzy, upheaving from their bases the

royal purpose and the royal house, the grim goddess next

soars in air on her murky wings on to the walls of the bold 10

Rutulian, the city which they say Danae built for her Argive

settlers, landing there under stress of wind. Ardea

was the name which past generations gave the place, and

Ardea still keeps her august title; but her star is set,

Here, in his lofty palace, Turnus at deep of night was in 15

the midst of his sleep. Allecto puts off her hideous features

and her fiendish shape, transforms herself to an old

woman’s countenance and furrows her loathly brow

with wrinkles, assumes hoary locks and woollen fillet,

lastly twines them with an olive spray, and so becomes 20

Calybe, the aged priestess of Juno’s temple; and presents

herself to the young warrior’s eyes with such words as

these: “And can Turnus calmly see all his toils poured out

in vain, and the crown that is his own transferred to settlers

from Dardania? See, the king is refusing you your bride 25

and your blood-bought dowry, and search is being made for

a foreign heir to fill the throne. Go on now, confront ungracious

perils, and earn derision; go, mow down the

Tuscan ranks, and spread over Latium the shield of peace.

These very words Saturn’s almighty daughter with her 30

own lips bade me say to you when you should be slumbering

in the still of night. Rise, then, bid your soldiery arm

and move from city to camp, set fire to the Phrygian

chiefs who have anchored in our fair river and to their

painted ships. The dread voice of heaven speaks by me, 35

Nay, let king Latinus, unless he consent to give you your

bride and respect his promise, feel at last and find what

it is to have Turnus for a foe.”

Laughing scornfully at the old seer, the youth thus spoke

in reply: “The news that a fleet has arrived in the Tiber

has not, as you imagine, escaped my ear. Conjure me

no such mighty terrors, nor think that queen Juno has forgotten

me. No, it is you, good mother, whom mouldering 5

dotage, drained dry of truth, is vexing to no end, mocking

your prophetic soul with false alarms in an atmosphere of

royal armaments. You are in your place watching over

statues and temples; but war and peace must be wielded

by men, whose work war is.” 10

At these words Allecto kindled into wrath. Even in

the act of speaking a shudder seized the youth’s frame and

his eyes grew stiff and stony, so fierce the hissing of the

Fury’s thousand snakes, so monstrous the features that

rose on his view. Instant with a roll of her fiery orbs she 15

thrust him back as he faltered and tried to speak further;

on either brow she upreared a serpent lock, and cracked her

whip, and with infuriate lips followed thus: “Here is the

mouldering mother, whom dotage, drained dry of truth, is

mocking with false alarms in an atmosphere of royal armaments. 20

Turn your eyes hither; I am come from the dwelling

of the Dread Sisters: war and death are wielded by

this hand.”

Saying thus, she hurled a torch full at the youth, and

lodged in his breast the pine-wood with its lurid smoke and 25

glare. The bonds of sleep are broken by the giant terror,

and a burst of sweat all over bathes the whole man, bone

and limb. “My sword!” he screams in frenzy; for his

sword he searches pillow and palace: the fever of the steel,

the guilty madness of bloodshed rage within him, and angry 30

pride tops all: even as when loud-crackling a fire of sticks

is heaped round the sides of a waving caldron, and the

heat makes the water start; there within is the flood,

steaming and storming, and bubbling high in froth, till at

last the wave cannot contain itself, and the black vapour 35

flies up into the air. So then, trampling on treaties, he

gives the word to the chiefs of his soldiery for a march

upon King Latinus, and bids arms be got ready. Italy

must be protected, the foe must be driven from the frontier;

he and his men will be enough for both, Teucrians and

Latians. So he says and appeals to Heaven: and the

Rutulians with emulous zeal encourage each other to

the fight. This one is fired by his leader’s peerless beauty 5

and youth; this by the kings in his pedigree; this by the

glorious deeds of his hand.

While Turnus is filling the Rutulians with the spirit of

daring, Allecto is putting her infernal wings in motion

against the Teucrians. A new device working in her 10

mind, she fixed her eye on the spot where on the winding

coast Iulus was hunting game with the snare and the

course. Hereon the maiden of Cocytus suddenly presents

to the hounds a maddening lure, and touches their nostrils

with the scent they know so well, making them chase a 15

stag in full cry; which was the first origin of the trouble,

and put the spark of war to the spirit of the countryside.

There was a stag of beauteous form and lofty horns,

taken by the sons of Tyrrheus from its mother’s breast,

and brought up by them and their father Tyrrheus, 20

who had the control of the royal herds and the charge of

the whole range of lawn. Trained to obey, it was the

chief care of their sister Silvia; she would deck and

wreathe its horns with delicate festoons, and comb its

rough coat, and wash it in the clear stream. Grown tame 25

to the hand, and accustomed to its master’s table, it would

run free in the forest and take itself back home to the

well-known door, however late the night. Now, in one

of its wanderings the maddened hounds of Iulus started

it in the hunt, as it happened to be floating down the 30

stream or allaying its heat on the verdant bank. Ascanius

himself, fired with a proud ambition, bent his bow and

levelled a shaft: nor did his hand err for want of heavenly

aid: the reed sped with a loud hurtling sound and pierced

the belly and the flank. The wounded creature took refuge 35

under the roof it knew, and moaning crept into its

stall, and bleeding all over filled, like a human suppliant,

the house with its piteous plaints. Sister Silvia first,

smiting on her arms with her flat hands, calls for help and

summons the rough country folk. They—for the fell

fiend is lurking in the silence of the forest—are at her

side ere she looks for them, armed one with a seared brand,

one with a heavy knotted stock: what each first finds as he 5

gropes about, anger makes do weapon’s service. Tyrrheus

musters the company, just as the news found him, splitting

an oak in four with convergent wedges, catching up an

axe and breathing savage rage. But the cruel goddess,

seizing from her watch-tower the moment of mischief, 10

makes for the stall’s lofty roof, and from its summit

shrills forth the shepherd’s clarion, pitching high on the

wreathen horn her Tartarean note; at the sound the

whole line of forest was convulsed, and the woods echoed

to their depths: it was heard far off by Trivia’s[246] lake, 15

heard by river Nar[246] with his whitening sulphurous waters,

and by the springs of the Veline[246]: and terror-stricken

mothers clasped their children to their breasts.

At once running to the sound with which the dread

clarion gave the signal, the untamed rustics snatch up 20

their weapons and gather from all sides; while the forces

of Troy, on their part, pour through the camp’s open gates

their succour for Ascanius. It is no longer a woodman’s

quarrel waged with heavy clubs or seared stakes; they try

the issue with two-edged steel; a dark harvest of drawn 25

swords bristles over the field; the brass shines responsive

to the sun’s challenge, and flings its radiance skyward; as

when the wave has begun to whiten under the rising wind,

the ocean gradually upheaves itself, and raises its billows

higher and higher, till at last, from its lowest depths, it 30

mounts up to heaven. See! as the arrow whizzes, a young

warrior in the first rank, once Tyrrheus’ eldest born, Almo,

is laid low in death; for the wound has lodged in his

throat, and has cut off, with the rush of blood, the passage

of the liquid voice and the vital breath. Round him lie 35

many gallant frames, and among them old Galæsus, while

throwing himself between the armies and pleading for

peace; none so just as he, none so wealthy before to-day in

Ausonian land; five flocks of sheep had he, five herds of

oxen went to and fro from his stalls, and his land was

furrowed by a hundred ploughs.

While thus on the plains the impartial war-god deals out

fortune, the goddess, having achieved her promise, soon 5

as she had inaugurated the war with blood, and brought

the battle to its first murderous shock, flies from Hesperia,

and rounding the cope of heaven, addresses Juno in the

haughty tones of triumph: “See here the work of discord

complete in the horrors of war! Now bid them come together 10

in friendship and strike truce. Thou hast seen that

I can sprinkle the Trojans with Ausonian blood; let me

but be assured of thy wish, I will give thee a further boon:

I will sew rumours and bring the neighbouring cities into

the war, and inflame their souls with mad martial passion 15

to crowd from all sides with succour; I will scatter arms

broadcast.” Juno returns: “There is panic and treachery

enough; the seeds of war are sown deep; men are fighting

hand to hand; the weapons which chance first supplied

are being seasoned with new-spilt blood. Such be the 20

alliance, such the nuptial rites solemnized by Venus’

virtuous son and good king Latinus. For thee to walk the

upper air with larger freedom would displease the great

Father, the monarch of high Olympus. Give place; should

any chance emerge in the struggle, myself will deal with it.” 25

So spoke Saturn’s daughter: the Fury lifts her wings that

hurtle with serpent plumage, and seeks her home in Cocytus,

leaving the altitudes above. There is a place in the

bosom of Italy, under the shadow of lofty hills, known to

fame and celebrated in far-off lands, the vale of Amsanctus; 30

pent between two woody slopes, dark with dense foliage,

while at the bottom a broken torrent makes a roaring

among the rocks along its winding bed. Here men show

an awful cavern, the very gorge of the fell infernal god, and

a deep gulf through which Acheron breaks open its baleful 35

mouth: there dived the Fury, and relieved of her loathed

presence earth and heaven.

Meanwhile, for her part, Saturn’s royal daughter gives

the last touch that brings down the war. From the battle-field

there pours into the city the whole company of shepherds,

with their slain in their arms, young Almo and

Galæsus’ disfigured countenance, calling on the gods and

adjuring Latinus. Turnus is on the spot, and, in the fury 5

and fire of the blood-cry, sounds again and again the note

of terror: “The Teucrians are invited to reign in Latium;

a Phrygian shoot is to be grafted on the royal tree; the

palace-gate is closed on himself.” Moreover, the kinsmen

of the matrons, who in Bacchic madness are footing the 10

pathless woods—for Amata’s name weighs not lightly—muster

from all sides, and strain the throat of Mars to

hoarseness. All at once, defying omens and oracles,

under the spell of a cursed deity, they clamour for an

atrocious war. With emulous zeal they swarm round 15

Latinus’ palace; he, like a rock in the sea, stands unshaken;

like a rock in the sea before the rush and crash of waters,

which, amid, thousands of barking waves, is fixed by its

own weight; the crags and the spray-foamed stones

roar about it in vain, and the lashed seaweed falls idly 20

from its side. But when he finds no power given him to

counterwork the secret agency, and all is moving at relentless

Juno’s beck, then with many an appeal to the gods

and the soulless skies, “Alas!” exclaims the good sire,

“shattered are we by destiny and whirled before the storm! 25

On you will come the reckoning, and your impious blood

will pay it, my wretched children! You, Turnus, you will

be met by your crime and its fearful vengeance, in a day

when it will be too late to pray to Heaven. For me, my

rest is assured; my ship is just dropping into port; it is 30

but of a happy departure that I am robbed.” No more

he spoke, but shut himself in an inner chamber, and let

the reins of empire go.

A custom there was in the Hesperian days of Latium,

observed as sacred in succession by the Alban cities, and 35

now honoured by the observance of Rome, the greatest

power on earth, when men first stir up the war-god to

battle, whether their purpose be to carry piteous war

among the Getæ, the Hyrcanians, or the Arabs, or to

march as far as India, track the Morning-star to its home,

and wrest the standards from the grasp of Parthia.

There are two folding-gates of War—such the title they

bear—clothed with religious awe and with the terrors of 5

Mars the cruel: they are closed by a hundred brazen bars

and by the everlasting strength of iron, and Janus[247] never

quits his guard on the threshold. When the fathers finally

conclude for battle, the consul himself, in the pride of

Quirinus’ striped robe and the Gabine[248] cincture, unbars the 10

grating portals, and with his own voice invokes battle;

the rest of the warriors take up the cry, and brazen horns

blare out in unison their hoarse assent. Thus it was that

then, too, Latinus was urged to declare war against the

family of Æneas and to unclose the grim gates. The good 15

old king recoiled from the touch, turned with averted eyes

from the service he loathed, and shrouded himself in impenetrable

gloom. Then darted down from the sky the

queen of heaven, smote with her own royal hand the unwilling

portals, and from their bursten fastenings, as Saturn’s 20

daughter might, flung back the valves on their hinges.

All Ausonia, sluggish and moveless till then, blazes into

fury; some commence their footmarch over the plain,

some from the height of their steeds storm through the

dust; one and all cry out for arms. Some are rubbing their 25

shields smooth and their javelins bright with unctuous

lard, and putting their axes under the grindstone; there

is joy in the carrying of the standard, joy in the hearing

of the trumpet’s sound. And now there are five great

cities with anvils everywhere set up, giving a new edge to 30

their weapons: Atina the mighty and Tibur the proud,

Ardea, and they of Crustumium, and tower-crowned

Antemnæ. Helmets are hollowed to guard the head;

willows are twisted into wicker frames for shields; others

are beating out brass into breastplates, or stretching ductile 35

silver into polished greaves. All the pride of sickle

and share, all the passion for the plough are swallowed

up in this; they bring out their father’s swords, and smelt

them anew in the furnace. Here, in wild haste, is one

snatching his helm from the chamber-wall; there is another

bringing his snorting steeds to the yoke, clothing

himself with shield and corslet of three-plied gold, and

girding to his side his trusty sword. 5

[F][249]Now, Muses, ope your Helicon,

The gates of song unfold,

What chiefs, what tribes to war came on

In those dim days of old,

What sons were then Italia’s pride, 10

And what the arms that blazed so wide:

For ye are goddesses: full well

Your mind takes note, your tongue can tell:

The far-off whisper of the years

Scarce reaches our bewildered ears. 15

Mezentius first from Tyrrhene coast,

Who mocks at heaven, arrays his host,

And braves the battle’s storm:

His son, young Lausus, at his side,

Excelled by none in beauty’s pride, 20

Save Turnus’ comely form:

Lausus, the tamer of the steed,

The conqueror of the silvan breed,

Leads from Agylla’s towers in vain

A thousand youths, a valiant train: 25

Ah happy, had the son been blest

In harkening to his sire’s behest,

Or had the sire from whom he came

Had other nature, other name!

Next drives along the grassy meads 30

His palm-crowned car and conquering steeds

Fair Aventinus, princely heir

Of Hercules the brave and fair,

And for his proud escutcheon takes

His father’s Hydra and her snakes. 35

’Twas he that priestess Rhea bare,

A stealthy birth, to upper air,

’Mid shades of woody Aventine

Mingling her own with heavenly blood,

When triumph-flushed from Geryon slain

Aleides touched the Latian plain,

And bathed Iberia’s distant kine

In Tuscan Tiber’s flood. 5

Long pikes and poles his bands uprear,

The shapely blade, the Sabine spear.

Himself on foot, with lion’s skin,

Whose long white teeth with ghastly grin

Clasp like a helmet brow and chin, 10

Joins the proud chiefs in rude attire,

And flaunts the emblem of his sire.

From Tiber’s walls twin brothers came,

The town that bears Tiburtus’ name,

Bold Coras and Catillus strong: 15

Through the thick-rained darts they storm along,

And foremost in the fray:

As when two cloud-born Centaurs leap

Down Homole or Othrys’ steep,

The forest parts before their sweep, 20

And crashing trees give way.

Nor lacked there to the embattled power

The founder of Præneste’s tower,

Brave Cæculus, by all renowned

As Vulcan’s son, ’mid embers found 25

And monarch of the rustics crowned.

Beneath him march his rural train,

Whom high Præneste’s walls contain,

Who dwell in Gabian Juno’s plain,

Whose haunt is Anio’s chilly flood 30

And Hernic rocks, by streams bedewed,

Who till Anagnia’s bosom green

Or drink of father Amasene.

Not all are furnished for the war

With ample shield or sounding car. 35

Some sling lead bullets o’er the field,

Some javelins twain in combat wield.

A cap of fur protects their head

By spoil of tawny wolf supplied;

Their left foot bare, on earth they tread, 40

The right is cased in raw bull-hide.

Messapus, tamer of the steed,

The Ocean-monarch’s mighty seed,

Whom none might harm, so willed his sire,

With force of iron or of fire,

Awakes his people’s slumbering zeal 5

Long time unused to war’s appeal,

And from the scabbard bares the steel.

With him Fescennia’s armed train,

The dwellers in Falerii’s plain,

Who hold Soracte’s lofty hill 10

Or fair Flavinia’s cornland till,

Capena’s woods their dwelling make

Or Ciminus, its mount and lake.

With measured pace they march along,

And make their monarch’s deeds their song; 15

Like snow-white swans in liquid air,

When homeward from their food they fare,

And far and wide melodious notes

Come rippling from their slender throats,

While the broad stream and Asia’s fen 20

Reverberate to the sound again.

Sure none had thought that countless crowd

A mail-clad company;

It rather seemed a dusky cloud

Of migrant fowl, that, hoarse and loud, 25

Press landward from the sea.

Lo! Clausus there, the Sabines’ boast,

Leads a great host, himself a host;

Whence spreads the Claudian race, since Rome

With Sabine burghers shared her home. 30

With him the Amiternians came

And Cures’ sons of ancient name,

The squadron that Eretum guards

And green Mutusca’s olive-yards.

Those whom Nomentum’s city yields, 35

Who till Velinus’ Rosean fields,

Who Tetrica’s rude summit climb

Or on Severus sits sublime,

Or dwell where runs Hemella by

Casperia’s walls and Foruli, 40

Who Tiber haunt and Fabaris’ banks,

Whom Nursia sends to battle down

From her cold home, Hortinian ranks

And Latian tribes of old renown,

With those whom Allia’s stream ill-starred

Flows through, dividing sward from sward: 5

Thick as the Libyan billows swarm

When fell Orion sets in storm,

Or as the sun-baked ears of grain

In Hæmus’ field or Lycia’s plain;

Their bucklers rattle, and the ground 10

Quakes, startled by their footfall’s sound.

Halæsus, Agamemnon’s mate,

Who hates all Troy with liegeman’s hate,

Yokes his swift horses to the car,

And brings his hosts to Turnus’ war, 15

The rustic tribes whose ploughshare tills

The vine-clad slopes of Massic hills,

Sent from Auruncan heights, or bound

From Sidicinian champaign-ground,

Who fertile Cales leave behind 20

Or where Vulturnian waters wind,

Saticule’s tenants, rough and rude,

And all the hardy Oscan brood.

Spiked truncheons they are wont to fling,

But fit them with a leathern string: 25

A target shields the good left hand,

And curved like primer’s hook the brand

They wield when foot to foot they stand.

Nor, Œbalus, shalt thou pass by

Unnamed in this our minstrelsy, 30

Born to old Telon, Capreæ’s king,

By Naiad of Sebethus’ spring;

The son contemned his sire’s domain,

And stretched o’er neighbouring lands his reign.

Sarrastes’ tribes his rule obey, 35

And fields where Sarnus’ waters play,

Who Batulum and Rufræ hold

Or till Celennæ’s fruitful mould,

Or those whom fair Abella sees

Down-looking through her apple-trees, 40

All wont in Teuton sort to throw

Nail-studded maces ’gainst the foe;

Their helm of bark from cork-tree peeled,

Of brass their sword, of brass their shield.

Thee too steep Nersæ sends to war 5

Brave Ufens, born ’neath happy star:

Hard as their clods the Æquian race,

Inured to labour in the chase;

In armour sheathed, they till their soil,

Heap foray up, and live by spoil. 10

Came too from old Marruvia’s realm,

An olive-garland round his helm,

Bold Umbro, priest at once and knight,

By king Archippus sent to fight;

Who baleful serpents knew to steep 15

By hand and voice in charmed sleep,

Soothed their fierce wrath with subtlest skill,

And from their bite drew off the ill.

But ah! his medicines could not heal

The death-wound dealt by Dardan steel; 20

His slumberous charms availed him nought,

Nor herbs on Marsian mountains sought

And cropped with magic shears;

For thee Anguitia’s woody cave,

For thee the glassy Fucine wave, 25

For thee the lake shed tears.

From green Aricia, bent on fame,

Hippolytus’ fair offspring came,

In lone Egeria’s forest reared,

Where Dian’s shrine is loved and feared. 30

For lost Hippolytus,’tis said,

By cruel stepdame’s cunning dead,

Dragged by his frightened steeds, to sate

His angry sire’s vindictive hate,

Was called once more to realms above, 35

By Pæon’s skill and Dian’s love.

Then Jove incensed that man should rise

From darkness to the upper skies,

The leech that wrought such healing hurled

With lightening down to Pluto’s world. 40

But Trivia kind her favourite hides

And to Egeria’s care confides,

To live in woods obscure and lone,

And lose in Virbius’ name his own.

’Tis thence e’en now from Trivia’s shrine 5

The horn-hoofed steeds are chased,

Since, scared by monsters of the brine,

The chariot and the youth divine

They tumbled on the waste,

Yet ne’ertheless with horse and car 10

His dauntless son essays the war.

In foremost rank see Turnus move,

His comely head the rest above:

On his tall helm the triple cone

Chimæra in relief is shown; 15

The monster’s gaping jaws expire

Hot volumes of Ætnæan fire:

And still she flames and raves the more

The deeper floats the field with gore.

With bristling hide and lifted horns 20

So, all gold, his shield adorns,

E’en as in life she stood;

There too is Argus, warder stern,

And Inachus from graven urn,

Her father, pours his flood. 25

A cloud of footmen at his back

And shielded hosts the plain made black;

Auruncans, Argives, brave and bold,

Rutulians and Sicanians old,

Sacranians thirsting for the field, 30

Labici with enamelled shield;

Who Tiber’s lawns with furrow score

And pure Numicius’ sacred shore,

Subdue Rutulian slopes, and plough

Circeius’ steep reluctant brow: 35

Where Anxur boasts her guardian Jove

And greenly blooms Feronia’s grove;

Where Satura’s unlovely mere

In sullen quiet sleeps,

And Ufens gropes through marshland drear 40

And hides him in the deeps.

Last marches forth for Latium’s sake

Camilla fair, the Volscian maid,

A troop of horsemen in her wake

In pomp of gleaming steel arrayed;

Stern warrior queen! those tender hands 5

Ne’er plied Minerva’s ministries:

A virgin in the fight she stands,

Or winged winds in speed outvies.

Nay, she might fly o’er fields of grain

Nor crush in flight the tapering wheat, 10

Or skim the surface of the main,

Nor let the billows touch her feet.

Where’er she moves, from house and land

The youths and ancient matrons throng,

And fixed in greedy wonder stand 15

Beholding as she speeds along:

In kingly dye that scarf was dipped:

’Tis gold confines those tresses’ flow:

Her pastoral wand with steel is tipped,

And Lycian are her shafts and bow. 20