“Descending Phœbus had Hesperia's shores
“Now touch'd; and Canens with her heart and looks
“Sought for her spouse in vain: her servants all,
“And all the people roam through every wood,
“Bearing bright torches. Not content the nymph
“To weep, to tear her tresses, and to beat
“Her bosom, though not one of these was spar'd,
“She sally'd forth herself; and frantic stray'd
“Through Latium's plains. Six times the night beheld,
“And six returning suns, her, wandering o'er
“The mountain tops, or through the vallies deep,
“As chance directed: foodless, sleepless, still.
“Tiber at length beheld her; with her toil,
“And woe, worn out, upon his chilling banks
“Her limbs extending. There her very griefs,
“Pour'd with her tears, still musically sound.
“Mourning, her words in a soft dying tone
“Are heard, as when of old th' expiring swan
“Sung his own elegy. Wasted at length
“Her finest marrow, fast she pin'd away;
“And vanish'd quite to unsubstantial air.
“Yet still tradition marks the spot, the muse
“Of ancient days, still Canens call'd the place,
“In honor of the nymph, and justly too.
“Many the tales like these I heard; and much
“Like this I saw in that long tedious year.
“Sluggish and indolent for lack of toil,
“Thence are we bid to plough the deep again;
“Again to hoist the sail. But Circé told
“So much of doubtful ways, of voyage vast,
“And all the perils of the raging deep
“We must encounter; that my soul I own
“Trembled. I gain'd this shore, and here remain'd.”
Here Macareus finish'd; to Æneäs' nurse
Inurn'd in marble, this short verse was given:
“Cajeta here, sav'd from the flames of Greece,
“Her foster-son, for piety renown'd,
“With fires more fitting burn'd.” Loos'd are the ropes
That bound them to the grassy beach, and far
They leave the dwelling of the guileful power;
And seek the groves, beneath whose cloudy shade
The yellow-sanded Tiber in the main
Fierce rushes. Here Æneäs gains the realm,
And daughter of Latinus, Faunus' son:
But not without a war. Battles ensue
With the fierce people. For his promis'd bride
Turnus loud rages. All the Tuscans join
With Latium, and with doubtful warfare long
Is sought the conquest. Either side augment
With foreign aid their strength. Rutilians crowds
Defend, and crowds the Trojan trenches guard.
Not bootless, suppliant to Evander's roof
Æneäs went; though Venulus in vain,
To exil'd Diomed's great town was sent.
A mighty city Diomed' had rear'd
Beneath Apulian Daunus, and possess'd
His lands by marriage dower. But when made known
By Venulus, the message Turnus sent,
Beseeching aid, th' Etolian hero aid
Deny'd. For neither was his wish to send
His father's troops to fight, nor of his own
Had he, which might the strenuous warfare wage.—
“Lest this but feign'd you think,” he said, “though grief
“The sad relation will once more renew,
“Yet will I now th'afflicting tale repeat.
“When lofty Ilium was consum'd,—the towers
“Of Pergamus a prey to Grecian flames,
“The Locrian Ajax, for the ravish'd maid,
“Drew vengeance on us all; which he alone
“Deserv'd from angry Pallas. Scatter'd wide,
“And swept by tempests through the foaming deep,
“The Grecians, thunders, rains, and darkness bore,
“All heaven's and ocean's rage; and all to crown,
“On the Capharean rocks the fleet was dash'd.
“But not to tire you with each mournful scene
“In order; Greece might then the tears have drawn
“Ev'n from old Priam. Yet Minerva's care
“Snatch'd me in safety from the surge. Again
“From Argos, my paternal land, I'm driven;
“Bright Venus bearing still in mind the wound
“Of former days. Upon th'expanded deep
“Such toils I bore excessive; on the land
“So in stern combat strove, that oft those seem'd
“To me most blest, who in the common wreck,
“Caphareus sunk beneath the boisterous waves;
“A fate I anxious wish'd I'd with them shar'd.
“Now all my comrades, of the toilsome main,
“And constant warfare weary; respite crav'd
“From their long wanderings. Not was Agmon so,
“Fierce still his bosom burn'd; and now he rag'd
“From his misfortunes fiercer, as he cry'd—
“What, fellows! can remain which now to bear
“Your patience should refuse? What, though she would,
“Possesses Cythereä to inflict?
“When worse is to be dreaded, is the time
“For prayers: but when our state the worst has seen
“Fear should be spurn'd at; in our depth of woe
“Secure. Let she herself hear all my words;
“And let her hate, as hate she does, each man
“Who follows Diomed'! Yet will we all
“Her hatred mock, and stand against her power
“So mighty, with a no less mighty breast.—
“With words like these Etolian Agmon goads
“Th' already raging goddess, and revives
“Her ancient hate. Few with his boldness pleas'd;
“Far most my friends his daring speech condemn.
“Aiming at words respondent, straight his voice
“And throat are narrow'd; into plumes his hair
“Is alter'd; plumes o'er his new neck are spread;
“And o'er his chest, and back; his arms receive
“Long pinions, bending into light-form'd wings;
“Most of his feet is cleft in claws; his mouth
“Hardens to horn, and in a sharp beak ends.
“Lycus, Rhetenor, Nycteus, Abas, stare
With wonder, and while wondering there they stand
“The same appearance take; and far the most
“Of all my troop on wings up fly: and round
“The ship the air resounds with clapping wings.
“If what new shape those birds so sudden form'd
“Distinguish'd, you would know: swans not to be,
“Nought could the snowy swan resemble more.
“Son now to Daunus, my diminish'd host
“Scarce guards this kingdom, and those barren fields.”
Thus far Diomedes; and Venulus
Th' Apulian kingdom left, Calabria's gulf
Pass'd, and Messapia's plains, where he beheld
Caverns with woods deep shaded, with light rills
Cool water'd: here the goatish Pan now dwelt;
Once tenanted by wood-nymphs. From the spot
Them, Appulus, a shepherd drove to flight;
Alarm'd at first by sudden dread, but soon,
Resum'd their courage, his pursuit despis'd,
They to the measur'd notes their agile feet
Mov'd in the dance. The clown insults them more,
Mimics their motions in his boorish steps,
To coarse abusing adding speech obscene:
Nor ceas'd his tongue 'till bury'd in a tree.
Well may his manner from the fruit be known;
For the wild olive marks his tongue's reproach,
In berries most austere: to them transferr'd
The rough ungrateful sharpness of his words.
Return'd the legates, and the message told,
Th' Etolians' aid deny'd; without their help
Wage the Rutilians now the ready war:
And streams of blood from either army flow.
Lo! Turnus comes, and greedy torches brings
To fire the cover'd ships; the flames they fear
Whom tempests spar'd. And now the fire consum'd
The pitch, the wax, with all that flame could feed;
Then, mounting up the lofty mast, assail'd
The canvas; and the rowers' benches smok'd.
This saw the sacred mother of the gods,
And mindful that from Ida's lofty top
The pines were hew'd, with clash of tinkling brass,
And sounds of hollow box, fill'd all the air.
Then borne through ether by her lions tam'd,
She said; “Those flames with sacrilegious hand
“Thou hurl'st in vain: I will them snatch away.
“Ne'er will I calmly view the greedy fire
“Aught of the forests, which are mine consume.”
Loud thunders rattled as the goddess spoke;
And showery floods with hard rebounding hail,
The thunder follow'd. In the troubled air
The blustering brethren rag'd, and swell'd the main:
The billows furious clash'd. The mother us'd
One blast's exerted force; the cables burst,
Which bound the Phrygian vessels to the shore;
Them swiftly swept along, and in the deep
Low plung'd them. Straight the rigid wood grows soft
The timber turns to flesh; the crooked prows
To heads are chang'd: the oars to floating legs,
And toes; while what were ribs, as ribs remain;
The keels, deep in the vessels sunk, become
The spinal bones; in soft long tresses flows
The cordage; into arms the sailyards change:
The hue of all cerulean as before.
And now the Naiäds of the ocean sport
With girlish play, amid those very waves
Ere while so dreaded: sprung from rugged hills
They love the gentle main; nor aught their birth
Their bosoms irks. Yet mindful still what risks
Themselves encounter'd on the raging main,
Oft with assisting hand the high-tost bark
They aid; save Greeks the hapless bark contains.
Mindful of Iliüm's fall, they still detest
The Argives; and with joyful looks behold
The shatter'd fragments of Ulysses' ship:
With joy behold the bark Alcinous gave
Harden to rock, stone growing from the wood.
'Twas hop'd, the fleet transform'd to nymphs marine,
The fierce Rutilians, struck with awe, might cease
The war; but stubborn either side persists.
Each have their gods, and each have godlike souls.
Nor seek they now, so much the kingdom dower,
Latinus' sceptre, or Lavinia! thee,
As conquest: waging war through shame to cease.
Venus at last beholds, brave Turnus slain,
Her son's victorious arms; and Ardea falls,
A mighty town when Turnus yet was safe:
It cruel flames destroy'd; and every roof
The smoking embers hid; up from the heap
Of ruins, sprung a bird unknown before,
And beat the ashes with its sounding wings:
Its voice, its leanness, pallid hue, and all,
Suit well a captur'd city; and the name
Retaining still, with beating wings it wails.
Now had Æneäs' virtues, all the gods,
Ev'n Juno, forc'd to cease their ancient hate.
The young Iülus' growing empire fixt
On firm foundations, ripe was then for heaven
The Cytheréan prince. Venus besought
That favor of the gods; round her sire's neck
Her arms she clasp'd—“O, father!”—she exclaim'd—
“Indulgent still, be more than ever kind:
“Grant that a deity, though e'er so low,
“Æneäs may become! who through my blood
“Claims thee as grandsire; something let him gain.
“Let it suffice, that he has once beheld
“The dreary realm; and once already past
“The Stygian stream.”—The deities consent:
Nor does the heavenly queen, her forehead stern
Retain, consenting with a cheerful mien.
Then spoke the sire. “Both, daughter, merit well
“The boon celestial: what thou ask'st receive,
“Since thou desir'st it, and since he deserves.”
He ceas'd. O'erjoy'd, she grateful thanks returns;
And by yok'd turtles borne through yielding air,
She seeks Laurentum's shore, where gently creep
Numicius' waters 'midst a reedy shade
Into the neighbouring main. She bids him cleanse
All of Æneäs that to death was given;
And bear him silent floating to the sea.
The horned god, what Venus bade perform'd:
All that Æneäs had of mortal mould
He purg'd away, and wash'd him with his waves.
His better part remain'd. Odours divine,
O'er his lustrated limbs, the mother pour'd;
And with ambrosia and sweet nectar touch'd
His lips, and perfect is the new-made god:
Whom Indiges, the Roman people call,
Worship with altars, and in temples place.
Alba, and Latium then beneath the rule
Of young Iülus, call'd Ascanius, came.
Him Sylvius follow'd. Then Latinus held
The ancient sceptre, with his grandsire's name.
Alba to fam'd Latinus was the next.
Then Epitus; Capetus; Capys reign'd:
Capys before Capetus. After these
The realm was sway'd by Tiberinus; sunk
Beneath the billows of the Tuscan stream,
The waters took his name. His sons were two,
Fierce Remulus, and Acrota; the first
Pre-eminent in years, the thunder mock'd;
And by the thunder dy'd. Of meeker mind
His brother, to brave Aventinus left
The throne; who bury'd 'neath the self-same hill
Where once he reign'd, gave to the hill a name;
And Procas now the Latian people rul'd.