The Aeneid of Virgil

by Virgil

And on the next bright morning
As light streamed over the earth, they took the bearings
For city and land and coast-line; here they found
Numicius’ fountain, here the river Tiber,
Here the brave Latins dwell. A hundred envoys,
Picked men of every station, Aeneas orders
To go to King Latinus’ noble city:
They must bear gifts, be crowned with leaves of olive,
Appeal for peace. They hurry at his bidding.
Aeneas himself marks where the walls shall rise,
With a shallow trench, studies the site, and circles
The settlement, like a camp, with moat and rampart.
And his ambassadors had made their journey;
They were seeing, now, the Latin towers and roof-tops,
And, on suburban plains, young men in training,
Breaking their steeds to saddle or car, or drawing
The bow, or hurling darts, daring each other
To fights and races. A courier, at the gallop,
Brought the king word that foreigners were coming,
Big men, in strange attire. He bade them welcome,
And took his place, high on the throne, before them.

That was a mighty palace, rising high
Over the city, with a hundred columns;
Picus had ruled from there, and the place was holy
With sacred forest and revered tradition.
Here kings received the sceptre, here uplifted
The bundled rods of power; here was their senate,
Their banquet-hall, their temple; here the elders
Made sacrifice, faced the long line of tables.
And here were statues of the ancient fathers,
Carved out of cedar, Italus, Sabinus,
The planter of the vine, whose image guarded
The curving sickle, and Saturn, and two-faced Janus,
All standing in the hallways; and other kings
From the very first beginning; and warriors wounded
Fighting for homeland. On the door were hanging
The consecrated arms; and there were chariots,
Trophies of battle, curving axes, helmets
And helmet-plumes, bars wrenched from gates, and javelins,
And shields, and beaks of captured ships. Quirinus,
The god (on earth the hero, Romulus),
Was seated, holding the sacred staff of office,
Wearing the augur’s robe; and near him Picus,
Tamer of horses, whom that lovesick woman,
Circe, his wife, had struck with her golden wand,
And changed by magic spells into a bird
Whose wings were of many colors.

In this temple,
Latinus, from his father’s throne, gave summons,
And the Trojans entered, and he made them greeting
In courteous oration: “Tell me, Trojans—
We know, you see, your city and race, your voyage
Across the oceans—tell me your petition.
What cause, what need, has brought you here? You have come
Over the blue-green waters to Ausonia.
Were you off your course, or driven by storm? Mischances
On the high seas are not unknown to sailors.
No matter: you have entered peaceful rivers,
You rest in a good harbor. We bid you welcome.
Do not avoid our friendship. We must tell you
We Latins come from Saturn; we are people
Whose sense of justice comes from our own nature
And the custom of our god. No law, no bondage,
Compels our decency. And I remember,
Though it was long ago, some story told us
By older men; it seems that Dardanus,
An ancestor of yours, was born here, left here
For towns in Phrygian Ida, and Thracian Samos,
Or Samothrace, they call it now. He left here,
When he departed, from his Tuscan dwelling
Called Corythus, and now the golden palace
Of starry sky receives him, throned in heaven,
A god, who multiplies their count of altars.”

Ilioneus answered:—“Son of Faunus,
Great king, no tempest and no blackness drove us
Over the waves to shelter here; no star,
No shore, has fooled us in our voyage.
We came on purpose, and with willing hearts,
To this your city, exiled from a kingdom,
The greatest, once, that ever the sun looked down on.
We come from Jove; in Jove as ancestor
The sons of Troy rejoice; our king, Aeneas,
Himself is sprung from Jove; it is he who sent us
To seek your threshold. No one in all the world,
Whether he lives on the farthest edge of ocean,
Whether he lives in the deepest heart of the tropics,
No one, I think, but knows how fierce a storm-cloud
Broke from Mycenae over the plains of Ida,
And how two worlds, Europe and Asia, battled
Driven by fate to war. We have been driven
By that great tidal wave across vast oceans,
And now we ask a little home, a harbor—
We will do no damage—for our country’s gods,
We ask for nothing more than all should have,
For air and water. You need not be sorry,
We shall do nothing shameful in your kingdom,
Your fame, your kindness, as we tell the story,
Will grow in greatness. Ausonia, I promise,
Will not regret receiving Troy. I swear it
On our captain’s fate and honor, proven often
In loyalty, in war. There are many nations,
Nations and people both, who have often sought us,
Wanted us for their allies—do not scorn us
For coming as petitioners, with garlands,
With suppliant words—it was the will of heaven
That drove us to your shores. Dardanus came
From here, and over and over again Apollo guides us
To Tiber and Numicia’s sacred fountain.
Our king is sending presents, little tokens
Of former fortune, relics and remainders
Rescued from Troy on fire. This gold Anchises
Used when he poured libations at the altar,
This sceptre and this diadem were Priam’s,
Who wore these robes, the work of Trojan women,
When he gave laws to the assembled people.”

Latinus, at his words, was grave; he held
His gaze downcast, but his anxious eyes kept turning.
It was not the crimson color, nor Priam’s sceptre,
That moved him so; he was thinking of his daughter,
Her marriage, and the oracle of Faunus.
This one might be the man, this stranger, coming
From a far-off land, might be his son, a ruler
Called, by the fates, to share his power, to father
Illustrious children, masters of the world.
He spoke, in gladness:—“Bless, O gods, our project
And your own augury! It will be given,
O Trojan, as you ask. I do not scorn
The gifts you bring. Never, while I am ruling,
Shall you be lacking fruitful land in plenty,
And Troy’s abundance shall be yours forever.
And as for king Aeneas, if you bring us
True tidings of his longing for our friendship,
Our hospitality, and our alliance,
Let him appear in person, let him never
Shrink from our friendly gaze. To King Latinus
It will be pact and covenant to meet him,
To take him by the hand. Give him my answer:
I have a daughter; prodigies from heaven
Innumerable, and my father’s warnings,
Delivered through his oracle, forbid me
To give my daughter to a native husband.
They tell me that my son-to-be is coming
From foreign shores, to raise our name to heaven.
Such is the prophecy they make for Latium.
Your king, I think, must be the man they promise,
If I have any sense of divination.
He is the one I choose.”

And he brought horses,
The pick of his stables, out of all his hundreds,
Assigned them to the Trojans in due order,
Swift runners they were, caparisoned with crimson,
With saddle-cloths of gold, and golden halters
Swung at their shoulders, and the bits were golden.
He chose a chariot for Aeneas; with it
Two stallions breathing fire, immortal horses
Sprung from the stock which Circe, in her cunning,
Had stolen from the sun, her father, and bred them
To her own mares. The Trojans rode back happy
With gifts and peace and welcome from Latinus.

And here was Juno coming back from Argos,
Riding the air, and fierce as ever, seeing,
As far away as Sicily and Pachynus,
Aeneas and the Trojan fleet rejoicing.
She saw them building homes, she saw them trusting
The friendly land, she saw their ships forsaken.
She stopped, she tossed her head, in hurt and hatred,
Speaking, with none to listen:—“There they are,
The race I hate, the fates that fight my own.
They could not die on Sigean fields; they could not
Be captured, and stay captured. Troy went down,
It seems, in fire, and they rose from the ashes.
Armies and flame were nothing; they found the way.
Whereas my power, no doubt, lies weak and weary,
I have hated them enough, I am tired of hating,
I have earned my rest. Or have I? I dared to follow
Those exiles over the water with deadly hatred,
Used up all threats of sea and sky against them,
And what good did it do? Scylla, Charybdis,
The Syrtes, all availed me nothing. Tiber
Shelters them in his channel now, in safety.
What do they care for me, or the threats of ocean?
Mars could destroy the giant race of Lapiths,
Jupiter put a curse on Calydon
To soothe Diana’s anger; what had either,
Calydon or the Lapiths, done to merit
The vengeance of the gods? But I, great queen
Of heaven, wife of Jove, I keep enduring,
Dare everything, turn everywhere, for nothing—
I am beaten by Aeneas! So, if my power
Falls short of greatness, I must try another’s,
Seek aid where I can find it. If I cannot
Bend Heaven, I can raise Hell. It will not be given,—
I know, I know—to keep him from his kingdom,
To keep him from his bride: Lavinia, Latium,
Will come to him in time. It is permitted
To keep that time far off. It is permitted
To strike their people down. It will cost them something,
Their precious father and son. As for the bride,
Bloodshed will be her dowry, and Bellona
Matron of honor. Hecuba bore one firebrand,
And Venus’ issue shall be such another,
A funeral torch for Troy re-born.”

She came
Earthward, with that, and summoned, in her anger,
One of the evil goddesses, Allecto,
Dweller in Hell’s dark shadows, sorrow-bringer,
Lover of gloom and war and plot and hatred.
Even her father hates her, even her sisters,
She takes so many forms, such savage guises,
Her hair a black and tangled nest of serpents.
And Juno whets the knife-edge of her passion:—
“Daughter of Night, grant me a boon, a service,
To keep my pride and honor undefeated.
Stop it, this Trojan swindle of Latinus
With marriages, this ravage of his kingdom!
You have the power: when brothers love each other
You know the way to arm them, set them fighting,
You can turn houses upside down with malice,
Bring under one roof the lash, the funeral torches,
You have a thousand names of evil-doing,
A thousand ways and means. Invent, imagine,
Contrive—break up the peace, sow seeds of warfare,
Let arms be what they want; in the same moment
Let arms be what they seize.”

Therewith Allecto,
Infected with her Gorgon poison, travelled
To Latium and the palace, where the queen,
Amata, brooded, womanly resentment
Burning within her heart, for Turnus’ marriage,
And, fuel on fire, the coming of the Trojans.
From her own dark hair, Allecto pulled one serpent
Meant for the queen, her intimate heart, her bosom,
Corruption, evil, frenzy, for the household.
Between the robe and the smooth breasts the serpent
Went gliding deep, unseen, unfelt; the woman
Received the viperous menace. The snake grew larger,
Became a collar of gold, became a ribbon
Wound through the hair, entwining, sliding smoothly
Over the limbs, mercurial poison, working
With slow infection, no great passionate fury,
So that the queen, at first, spoke low and softly,
As mothers do, protesting to Latinus
And weeping for her daughter’s Trojan marriage:—
“Must she be given, my lord, to Trojan exiles?
Have you no pity for her, for yourself,
No pity for a mother? He will desert us,
This faithless pirate, with our child as booty,
At the first turn of the wind. That was the way—
Remember?—the Phrygian shepherd came to Sparta
And went away with Leda’s daughter, Helen.
A solemn pledge—does that amount to nothing?
You loved your people once; you were bound to Turnus.
Our son must be a stranger; Faunus says so.
If Faunus speaks, so be it. I remind you
All lands, not ours, are foreign; and prince Turnus,
By the letter of the oracle, an alien.
Trace back his ancestry—Acrisius’ daughter
Founded his line, and what could be more foreign
Than the heart of Greece, Mycenae?”

But she found
Her words were vain: Latinus had decided,
She saw she could not move him. And the poison
By now had taken hold, a wild excitement
Coursing the veins; her bones were turned to water;
Poor queen, there was no limit to her raging,
Streeling, one end of the city to another.
You know how schoolboys, when a top is spinning,
Snap at it with a whiplash, in a circle
Around an empty court, and keep it going,
Wondering at the way it keeps on whirling,
Driven by blows in this or that direction,
So, through the midst of cities and proud people,
Amata drives, is driven. Madness and guilt upon her,
She flies to the mountains, tries to hide her daughter
Deep in the woods, acts like a drunken woman,
Cries, over and over, “This girl is meant for Bacchus,
And not for any Trojans, only Bacchus
Is worthy of her; she honors him in dancing,
Carries his wand, and keeps for him the sacred
Lock of her hair!” And Rumor, flying over,
Excites the other wives to leave their houses.
They come with maddened hearts, with their hair flying,
Their necks bare to the winds; they shriek to the skies,
Brandish the vine-bound spears, are dressed as tigers,
Circle and wheel around their queen, whose frenzy
Tosses the burning pine-brand high, in gesture
To suit the marriage-hymn: “O Latin mothers,
Listen, wherever you are: if any care
For poor Amata moves you, or any sense
Of any mother’s rights, come join the revels,
Loosen the hair, exult!” Allecto drives her
To the dens of the beasts; her eyes are stained and bloodshot,
Rolled upward to the white.