“Accursed breed of an ancestor accursed, would ye add violence to robbery, and drive the Harpies from their home? Then hear this oracle, which I heard from Apollo, and he from Jupiter: Your voyage is to Italy, and to Italy shall ye come; but, ere ever ye shall found a city there, dire hunger shall compel you to devour your tables, in vengeance for the wrong which ye have wrought upon me and my sisters.”
With prayer and sacrifice they sought to avert the evil foretold them; and when these were ended they went on board their ships, and the south wind bore them from that inhospitable shore. Then Ithaca looms in view, the rugged nurse of cruel Ulysses, and many a brow is bent, and many a curse is muttered, at the mention of that hated name. At last a cloud-capped peak appears, and, sweeping through a rocky and perilous channel, they cast anchor beneath the shadow of Apollo’s temple in the bay of Actium.
Winter is now approaching, and for some time their travels are at an end. The winter was passed in rest and recreation. At the first dawn of spring they broke up their camp, and skirting the coast of Epirus, put into the harbor of Buthrotum, on the mainland, opposite the blue mountains of Corfu.
PURSUED BY THE CYCLOPS
By H. L. Havell
Laden with rich gifts, and pursued by their kind hosts with blessings and tears, the children of destiny launch their ships, and at the fall of evening anchor under the towering headland which juts out into the Adriatic to meet the opposite cliffs of Italy. Here they intend to pass the night and cross the narrow waters next day. But at midnight Palinurus, the captain of Æneas’s vessel, wakes suddenly, and, seeing that the night is calm and the wind fair, gives the signal to start. With level sails they bound swiftly over the softly heaving, starlit waters, and every heart beats high as they draw nearer and nearer to the land of their adoption. And now the stars grew pale, and dawn flushed rosy red on the Acroceraunian heights, while before them, in the west, appeared a low line of misty hills. “Italy!” cried Achates, the trusty squire of Æneas; and all the fleet took up the cry, till the air rang with the magic name of Italy. Then Anchises filled a golden goblet with wine, and, standing high on the after-deck of the vessel, poured a drink-offering to the powers of land and sea, praying for a prosperous voyage and a safe landing. The wind blew stronger, in answer to his prayer, and speedily they saw before them an opening in the rock-bound coast, leading by a narrow channel into a land-locked basin. On a lofty height, commanding the haven, stood the columned temple of Minerva, and on a meadow near the shore four snow-white steeds were grazing. “It is a message of war,” said Anchises; for the horse is a warlike beast.
Here they may not linger, for all the coast bristles with foes. But before they turn their prows southward they veil their faces, as is the fashion of the Trojans, and with bowed knee and suppliant hands breathe the dreaded names of Juno and Minerva.
The shores of Italy begin to fade, and far away, on the southern horizon, rises the fiery crest of Ætna. To the right they hear an angry, moaning sound, which warns them that they are on the threshold of the dreaded Sicilian strait, the abode of Scylla and Charybdis. Even at this distance the billows rise to a gigantic height, threatening to swamp their vessels. Palinurus calls to his men to take to their oars; the rest of the fleet follow his example, and, borne forward by oars and sails, they are soon out of the reach of danger. With sunset the wind dropped, and after hours of weary toil they landed in the darkness beneath the black shadow of Ætna, where the giant Enceladus lies chained on his uneasy couch. For after the defeat of the Titans, the enormous brood of Earth, who had risen up in revolt against Jove, Enceladus, the most violent of these fierce rebels, was confined in a subterranean dungeon, and the huge mass of Ætna was flung upon his bruised limbs to keep him fast; and whenever he stirs in that living grave the whole mountain quakes and trembles, and fire and smoke and molten rocks are belched up through the throat of the furnace.
Fevered was the sleep and troubled the dreams of the Trojans while their fleet lay moored in that fearful neighborhood. The night was black and starless, and the air was full of strange sounds, as if some vast, primeval monster were groaning and gasping for breath. The day dawned red and threatening, and Æneas had given the order to embark, when out of the woods which clothe the lower slopes of Ætna a man came slowly limping, whose appearance showed him to be in the last extremity of want and misery. He was covered with mire, and clothed in rags, scarce held together with thorns, and his face was almost hidden by a matted growth of hair and beard. In such guise he came on with feeble steps, holding out his hands like one imploring pity and protection. When he recognized the Trojan arms and dress he halted suddenly, and seemed to hesitate; then, summoning resolution, he came on again with quickened steps, and flung himself at the knees of Æneas, who had advanced to meet him. “Save me,” he cried, speaking in the Greek language, with sobs and tears; “only take me from this horrible place, and then use me as ye will. I am a Greek, as ye hear, and I fought with the other Greeks against Troy. If that is a crime past forgiveness let me suffer for it; tear me limb from limb, and fling the fragments on the waves—it will be something to be slaughtered by human hands.”