The Aeneid of Virgil

by Virgil

As Turnus raised war’s banner, and the trumpets
Blared loud above Laurentum’s citadel,
And fiery horses reared, and arms were clashing,
Confusion reigned: all Latium joined alliance,
The youth were mad for war. Messapus, Ufens,
And that despiser of the gods, Mezentius,
Brought forces in from everywhere; wide fields
Were stripped of countrymen. They sent a message
By Venulus, to Diomede in Arpi:
Come to our aid; the Trojans are in Latium;
Aeneas with a fleet and vanquished gods
Proclaims himself a king; it is fate, he says;
And many tribes are joining him; his name
Spreads far and wide in Latium. Diomede
(The message says) better than many others,
Should know the outcome, if the grace of fortune
Follows Aeneas in the scheme he nurtures.
He knows the Trojans; he can judge them better
Than Turnus or Latinus.
So, in Latium,
Events were shaping, and Aeneas knew it,
And saw it all, and turned and tossed in torment
On a great sea of trouble. The swift mind
Went searching, probing, veering with every shift,
As when in a bronze bowl the light of water,
Reflected by the sun or moonlight, wavers,
Dances and flits about, from wall to ceiling.
Night: over all the world the weary creatures,
The beasts and birds, were deep in sleep; Aeneas,
With warfare in his heart, stretched out for rest
Where the cold sky was awning over the river,
And sleep came late. Before him rose an image,
An aged head amid the poplar leaves,
A mantle of gray, and shady reeds around him,
Tiber, the river-god, in consolation
And comfort speaking:—“Son of the gods, redeemer
Of Troy from overseas, her savior ever,
O long-awaited on Laurentian fields,
Here is your home, be sure of it; here dwell
Your household gods, be sure. Do not turn back,
Do not be frightened by the threats of war:
The swollen rage of Heaven has subsided.
Soon—do not take my words for idle phantoms,
Illusions of a dream—under the holm-oaks
Along the shore, you will find a huge sow lying,
White, with a new-born litter at her udders,
Thirty of them, all white, a certain token
Of a new city, in thirty years. Your son
Will found it; he will call it the White City,
A glorious name, beyond all doubt whatever.
Further, I have a word or two of guidance
To speed you through the pressure of the moment
Toward ultimate victory. Inland a little
Arcadian people live, a race descended
From Pallas’ line; their king is called Evander,
Under whose banner they have built a city,
High on the hills; its name is Pallanteum.
They wage continual warfare with the Latins;
Take them as allies, in covenant and treaty.
And I myself will guide you there, upstream
Along the banks, the oars against the current.
Rise, goddess-born; when the stars set, make prayer
To Juno first, with suppliant vows appeasing
Her threats and anger. As for me, my tribute
May wait your triumph. I am blue-green Tiber,
The river most dear to Heaven, I am the river
You see, brim-full to these rich banks, this ploughland:
This is my home, the source of lofty cities.”

So spoke the river-god, to his deep pool diving.
Slumber and night were gone. Aeneas rose,
Faced eastern sunlight, took up river water
In the hollow of his hands, and made his prayer:—
“Laurentian Nymphs, to whom the rivers owe
Their essence, father Tiber, holy river,
Receive Aeneas, be his shield in danger.
Wherever your presence dwells, in pool or fountain,
Whatever land its flowing bounty graces,
O comforter in time of trouble, surely
Our gifts will bring their meed of honor, always,
To the horned ruler of the western waters.
Only be with us, give us confirmation!”
He had made his prayer; two ships were quickly chosen
Out of the fleet, equipped, and the crews made ready.

And then a marvel struck their eyes, a wonder!
White in the wood, on the green ground, there lay
A sow with her white litter, and Aeneas
Brought them in sacrifice to Juno’s altar.
All that long night, the Tiber calmed his flood;
The silent wave, retreating, lay as still
As pool or mere or watery plain; the oars
Dipped without strain; the voyage went with laughter
And cheerful shouting; over the waters rode
The oily keels; and waves and woods in wonder
Beheld the shields of men, the colored vessels,
Divide the flood. Day turns to night. They traverse
The winding bends, with green shade arching over,
Parting the green woods in the quiet water,
Till it is noon, and they see walls and houses,
Evander’s town, which Roman power later
Made equal to the city, a mighty empire,
But it was little then. They turned to the shore,
Drew near the city.

On that day, it happened,
The king was paying customary homage,
In a grove before the city, to the gods,
To Hercules, most of all. And his son Pallas
Was with him there, and the leaders of the people,
The lowly senate, bringing gifts of incense
Where the warm blood was smoking at the altars.
They saw the tall ships come, they saw them gliding
Upstream, through the dark wood, the feathered oar-blades
Making no noise at all, and they were frightened,
They rose; they would have left the feast, but Pallas,
Unterrified, forbade them; he seized a weapon,
Rushed out in challenge, calling from a hillock:—
“What cause, young men, has brought you here, exploring
Ways that you do not know? Where are you going?
What is your race? Where do you come from? Are you
Bringers of peace or war?” Aeneas answered
From the high stern, raising the branch of olive:—
“We are men from Troy; we are armed against the Latins,
Whose arrogant war we flee. We seek Evander.
Take him this message: tell him chosen leaders,
Dardanus’ sons, have come, to seek for friendship,
For allied arms.” And Pallas, in amazement
At hearing that great name, cried, “Come and join us,
Whoever you are, speak to my father, enter,
O guest, into our household!” And his hand
Reached out to greet and guide them. They left the river,
Drew near the grove; with friendly words Aeneas
Spoke to Evander:—“Best of the sons of Greeks,
To whom, at fortune’s will, I bring petition,
Bearing the branch of peace, I have not been frightened
To come to you, a Danaan chief, related
To Atreus’ twin sons. In my own right
I am worth something; we are bound together
By the god’s holy oracles, by the old
Ancestral kinship, by your own renown
Widespread through all the world. I am glad to follow
The will of fate. Dardanus, our great father,
Was father of Troy; his mother was Electra,
Daughter of Atlas, who carries on his shoulders
The weight of heaven. Mercury is your father,
Born, on Cyllene’s chilly peak, to Maia,
And Maia, if legend is credible, the daughter
Of Atlas, who carries heaven on his shoulders.
A common blood runs in our veins, and therefore
I sent no embassies, I planned no careful
Tentative overtures; myself, I came here
My life at your disposal, in supplication
Before your threshold. We are harried in war
By the same race that harries you, the sons
Of Daunus; nothing, so they think, will stop them,
If we are beaten, from complete dominion
Over the western land and both her oceans.
Receive and give alliance: our hearts are brave,
Our spirit tried and willing.”

He had finished.
Evander had been watching him, expression,
Gesture, and mood, and bearing. He made answer:—
“How gladly, bravest man of all the Trojans,
I recognize and welcome you! Your father,
The great Anchises, speaks to me again,—
These are the words, the voice, the very features
That I recall so well. Once Priam came here,
Faring to Salamis, his sister’s kingdom.
I was a young man then; I stared in wonder
At the chiefs of Troy, at Priam, but Anchises
Towered above them all, and my heart was burning
To clasp his hand, to speak with him: I met him,
I led him, proudly, to Pheneus’ city,
And when he left, he gave me a fine quiver
With Lycian arrows, a cloak with gold embroidered,
A pair of golden bridles; my son Pallas
Rejoices in them now. The bond you ask for
Is given, the treaty made. To-morrow morning
My escort will attend your leave, my riches
Be at your service. Meanwhile, since you come here
As friends of ours, join us in celebrating
These yearly rites of ours. It is not permitted
Our people to postpone them. In your kindness,
Become accustomed to your allies’ tables.”

He gave the orders for the feast’s renewal.
Once more the cups are set; the king, in person,
Conducts his guests to places on the greensward,
Reserving for Aeneas, in special honor,
A maple throne, draped with the skin of a lion.
Chosen attendants and the priest of the altar
Bring the roast portions, pile the bread in baskets,
Serve Bacchus’ wine. Aeneas and the Trojans
Feast on the consecrated food.

When hunger
Was satisfied, and the wine went round, Evander
Told them a story:—“No vain superstition,
No ignorance of the gods, enjoins upon us
These solemn rites, this feast, this deep devotion
To a mighty power’s altar. O Trojan guest,
We are grateful men, saved from a cruel danger,
We pay these rites each year, each year renewing
A worship justly due. Look up at the cliff
Hung on the high rocks yonder, see the scattered
Rubble of rock, the ruin of a dwelling,
The jumble of toppled crags. There was a cave there
Once on a time; no man had ever measured
Its awful depth, no sunlight ever cheered it.
The half-man, Cacus, terrible to look at,
Lived in that cave, and the ground was always reeking
With the smell of blood, and nailed to the doors, the faces
Of men hung pale and wasted. Vulcan fathered
This monster; you would know it if you saw him
With the black fire pouring from mouth and nostrils,
A bulk of moving evil. But time at last
Brought us the help we prayed for; a great avenger,
A god, came to our rescue, Hercules,
Proud in the death and spoil of triple Geryon,
Drove his huge bulls this way, the great herd filling
Valley and river. And the crazy Cacus,
Who never would lose a chance for crime or cunning,
Made off with four of the bulls and four sleek heifers,
Dragging them by their tails; the tracks would never
Prove he had driven them to his rocky cavern.
He hid them in the darkness; whoever looked
Would think they had gone not to, but from, the cave.
Meanwhile, as Hercules drove the well-fed herd
Out of the stables to the road again,
Some of them lowed in protest; hill and grove
Gave back the sound, and from the cave one heifer
Lowed in return. That was the doom of Cacus.
Black bile burned hot in Hercules; he grabbed
His weapons, his great knotted club, went rushing
Up to the mountain-top. Never before
Had men seen terror in the eyes of Cacus.
Swifter than wind, he dove into his cavern,
Shut himself in, shattered the links of iron
That held aloft the giant boulder, dropped it
To block the doorway, and Hercules came flinging
His angry strength against it, to no purpose.
This way he faced, and that, and gnashed his teeth
In sheer frustration; he went around the mountain
Three times, in burning rage; three times he battered
The bulkhead of the door; three times he rested,
Breathless and weary, on the floor of the valley.
Above the cavern ridge, a pointed rock,
All flint, cut sharp, with a sheer drop all around it,
Rose steep, a nesting place for kites and buzzards.
It leaned a little leftward toward the river.
This Hercules grabbed and shook, straining against it;
His right hand pushed and wrenched it loose; he shoved it,
With a sudden heave, down hill, and the heaven thundered,
The river ran backward and the banks jumped sideways,
And Cacus’ den stood open, that great palace
Under the rock, the chambered vault of shadows.
An earthquake, so, might bring to light the kingdoms
Of the world below the world, the pallid regions
Loathed by the gods, the gulf of gloom, where phantoms
Shiver and quake as light descends upon them.
So there was Cacus, desperate in the light,
Caught in the hollow rock, howling and roaring
As Hercules rained weapons down upon him,
Everything he could use, from boughs to millstones,
But Cacus still had one way out of the danger:
A cloud of smoke rolled out of his jaws; the cave
Darkened to utter blackness, thick night rolling
With fitful glints of fire. This was too much
For Hercules in his fury; he jumped down through it,
Through fire, where the smoke came rolling forth the thickest,
Where the black billows seethed around the cavern.
And Cacus, in the darkness, to no purpose
Poured forth his fire and smoke. Hercules grabbed him,
Twisted him into a knot, hung on and choked him
Till the eyes bulged out and the throat was dry of blood.
He tore the doors loose, and the house was open;
People could see the lost and stolen plunder,
And Hercules dragged the shapeless ugly carcass
Out by the feet, a fascinating object
For the gaze of men, the terrible eyes, the muzzle,
The hairy chest, and the fire dead in the gullet.
Ever since then we keep this day, rejoicing
In honor of our deliverance; Potitius
Was founder of the rite, Pinaria’s household
Custodian of the service. In this grove
We set our altar, calling it the greatest,
And greatest it shall be, to me, forever.
Join with us, then, in honor of all that glory,
Bind wreaths around your temples, reach the wine-cup,
Call with good-will upon our common god.”
He veiled his hair with the two-colored poplar
In Hercules’ honor, and held out the goblet;
All made libation and prayer.

And evening came,
And the priests went forth, Potitius first; they wore
The skins of beasts, and they were bearing torches.
The feast renewed, they brought the welcome viands
To a second table, loading, too, the altars.
And the Dancing Priests around the sacred altars
Lit fire and sang their songs. They too wore poplar,
Both groups, one old, one young, and chanted verses
In praise of Hercules, his deeds, his glories,
How first he strangled in his grip twin serpents,
The monsters Juno sent; how, great in war,
Troy and Oechalia went down before him;
How, under King Eurystheus, he bore
A thousand heavy toils, at Juno’s order.
“Hail, O unvanquished hero, whose hand brought low
Pholus, Hylaeus, the cloud-born double shapes,
Monsters of Crete and the Nemean lion.
The Stygian lakes trembled at Hercules’ crossing,
And Cerberus was frightened, in his cavern,
Lying on bones half-eaten. O unafraid
Of any monster, even Typhoeus, towering
High in his arms, even the snake of Lerna
With all its hissing heads,—hail, son of Jove,
Hail, glorious addition to the heavens!
Favor our rites and yours with gracious blessing!”
So they sang praises, and they crowned the service
With the tale of Cacus, that fire-breathing monster,
And hill and woodland echoed to the singing.

Then back to the city again; and old Evander
Kept his son Pallas near him and Aeneas,
Talking of various matters, so the journey
Was lightened, and the landscape charmed Aeneas,
Who wondered as he watched the scene, and questioned,
And learned its early legend. King Evander
Began the story:—“Native Nymphs and Fauns
Dwelt in these woodlands once, and a race of men
Sprung from the trunks of trees, or rugged oak,
Men primitive and rude, with little culture:
They had no knowledge of ploughing, none of harvest;
The fruits of the wild trees, the spoils of hunting,
Gave them their nourishment. Then Saturn came here,
Fleeing Jove’s arms, an exile from his kingdom.
He organized this race, unruly, scattered
Through the high mountains, gave them law and order.
He gave the place a name; Latium, he called it,
Since once he lay there safely, hiding in shelter.
Under his rule there came those golden ages
That people tell of, all the nations dwelling
In amity and peace. But little by little
A worse age came, lack-luster in its color,
And the madness of war, and the evil greed of having.
Then came the Ausonian bands, Sicanian peoples,
And the land of Saturn took on other names,
And the kings came, and the fierce giant Thybris
For whom we named our river; we forgot
Its older title, Albula. Here I came
An exile from my country, over the seas,
Driven by fate and fortune, which no man
Can cope with or escape. The nymph Carmentis,
My mother, led me here with solemn warnings
Under Apollo’s guidance.”

So Evander
Finished the tale, resumed the walk. They came,
First, to an altar and a gate: Carmental
The Romans call it, in honor of that nymph
Who first foretold the greatness of the Romans,
The glory of Pallanteum. Past the portal
They came to a spreading grove, a sanctuary
Restored by Romulus, and under the cold cliff
The Lupercal, named, in Arcadian fashion,
For the great god Pan. And then Evander showed him
The wood of Argiletum, and told the legend
Of the death of Argus, once a guest. From there
They went to the Tarpeian house, and a place
Golden as we now know it, once a thicket,
Once brush and briar, and now our Capitol.
Even then men trembled, fearful of a presence
Haunting this wood, this rock. “A god lives here,”
Evander said, “What god, we are not certain,
But certainly a god. Sometimes my people
Think they have seen, it may be, Jove himself
Clashing the darkening shield, massing the storm-cloud.
Here you can see two towns; the walls are shattered,
But they remind us still of men of old,
Two forts, one built by Janus, one by Saturn,
Janiculum, Saturnia.”