The Aeneid of Virgil

by Virgil

Meanwhile the dawn had brought to weary mortals
Her kindly light, and work again, and labors.
Along the winding shore Aeneas, Tarchon,
Set up the pyres, and all, as had their fathers,
Brought bodies of their kinsmen, lit the fires
That burned, but darkly, and the light of heaven
Was hidden by the blackness of that shadow.
Three times, in glittering armor, they went riding
Around the funeral blaze, three times they circled
The mournful fire and cried with wailing voices.
Tears fell on earth and armor; heaven heard
The groans of men, the blare of trumpet. Spoils
Went to the fire, the handsome swords, the helmets,
Bridles and shining wheels, and well-known gifts
For men who died, their shields, their luckless weapons.
Bullocks were slain, and bristly swine, and sheep
From all the fields, homage to fire and death,
And all along the shore, they watched their comrades
Burn on the pyres, and guarded the dead embers,
And could not leave till day had gone, and night
Dewy with gleaming stars rolled over heaven.

And elsewhere in the countryside the Latins
Built, as the Trojans had, pyres without number.
Many were slain, and many men were buried
Where they had fallen, and many men sent home
To their own cities, and many no one knew,
No one could mark with honor or distinction,
And these were given one common pyre; the fields
Rivalled each other as the fires kept burning.
Three days had gone; and over bones and ashes
They heaped the earth, still warm. Inside the walls,
Within the city of that rich king Latinus,
Grief swelled from murmur to wailing, to loud uproar,
The greatest share of sorrow. Brides and mothers,
Sisters and fatherless boys, crying and cursing,
Denounced the evil war and Turnus’ marriage.
They call on him, on Turnus alone, to settle
The issue with the sword; he is the one,
Their accusation cries, who wants the kingdom,
All Italy for himself, and the highest honors.
And Drances, savage, tips the balance further:
Turnus, alone, (he says) is called on, Turnus
Alone is called to battle. But against them
Many a man has good to say of Turnus,
And the shadow of the queen’s great name protects him,
And he has been a mighty man in battle.

And during all this swirling burning tumult,
Envoys, who came from Diomede’s great city,
Brought gloomy news: nothing had been accomplished
With all that toil and trouble; nothing gained
By gifts or gold or pleading, and the Latins
Were left two choices, to seek for other allies
Or ask Aeneas for peace. Under the burden
Of that great grief even Latinus falters.
Aeneas is called by fate, the will of heaven
Is clear, the gods are angry; the fresh graves,
Before their eyes, bear more than ample witness.
Therefore, he calls a council; all his leaders
Stream through the crowded highways to the palace,
And in their midst, the oldest man among them,
The first in power, Latinus, far from happy,
Speaks from his throne,—the messengers from Arpi
Should tell what news they bring, in proper order,
Sparing no single item. All were silent,
Obedient to his word, and Venulus
Gave the report:—“O citizens, we have seen
The Argive camp, and Diomede. We made
The journey safely through all kinds of perils.
We have touched the hand by which Troy fell. That hero
Has his own city now, named from his father,
In Garganus’ conquered fields. We entered there,
Had leave to speak, offered our gifts, and told him
Our name and country, why we came to Arpi,
Who made war on us. He listened to our story
And answered us, quite calmly. These are his words:—

‘O happy people of the realm of Saturn,
Ancient Ausonians, what chance, what fortune
Disturbs your rest, leads you to unknown warfare?
All of us, every one, who desecrated
The fields of Troy with steel—I do not mention
All that we suffered under those high walls,
Or heroes drowned in Simois—every one,
All over the world, has paid and kept on paying
All kinds of punishment, all kinds of torture,
A band that even Priam would have to pity.
Minerva knows it, with her baleful star,
Euboea’s headland knows it, and Caphereus,
That cape of vengeance. From that warfare driven
Ulysses faced the Cyclops; Menelaus
Was exiled far to the west. Idomeneus
Lost Crete: what need is there to mention Pyrrhus,
To name the Locrians on Libya’s coastline?
Even the Greeks’ great captain, Agamemnon,
Met shame beyond his threshold; Clytemnestra
Struck with her evil hand,—the king of men,
The conqueror of Asia, fell, a cuckold
Murdered in his own palace, at Mycenae.
To me the gods were kinder; they would not let me
See home again, the wife I loved, the altars
Of lovely Calydon; here I am, still haunted
By portents horrible to see—my comrades
Lost, seeking heaven on their wings, or aimless
Along the rivers, crying in shrill voices
Around the rocks, creatures of lamentation
That once were men! The gods know how to punish.
This, so it seems, was what I had to hope for
Ever since that first moment of my madness
When I took steel in hand and wounded Venus.
No, no; do not invite me to such battles.
The walls of Troy have fallen; I have no quarrel
With any Trojans any more. Those evils
I have forgotten, or, if I remember,
I find no pleasure in them. Take Aeneas
The gifts you bring me from your native country.
I have stood up against his terrible weapons,
I have fought him hand to hand. Believe an expert,
Take it from one who knows, how huge he rises
Above that shield of his, with what a whirlwind
He rifles out that spear. If Troy had only
Two other men as good, Greece would be mourning
With doom the other way, and the towns of Argos
Admit the conqueror. For ten long years
They kept us waiting at that stubborn city,
And the Greek victory was at a standstill
Through Hector and Aeneas; both were famous
In spirit, both in feats of arms, Aeneas
The more devoted man. I tell you, join them
In treaty, on what terms you can. I warn you,
Beware, beware, of facing them in battle.’

So you have heard, great king, Diomede’s answer
And what he thinks of this great war.”

The sound
Rose, as he ended, like the sound of water
When rocks delay a flood, and the banks re-echo
The stir and protest of the angry river,
Confusion, argument, in swirl and eddy,—
So the Ausonians brawled among each other,
Muttered, and then subsided; and king Latinus
Spoke from his lofty throne:—“I wish, O Latins,
Decision had been taken in such matters
A long while since; that would have been much better.
This is no time for councils to be summoned.
The enemy is at the gate. We are waging
A most unhappy war against a people
Descended from the gods; we cannot beat them.
No battles wear them down; if they are conquered,
They cannot let the sword fall from the hand.
Whatever hope you had in Diomede,
Forget it. All your hope is what you are,
But you can see how little that amounts to.
You have it all before your eyes; you have it
In your own hands, and most of it is ruin.
I lay no blame on any man; what valor
Could do, it has done: the body of our kingdom
Has fought with all its strength. We are bled to the white.
Hear, then, what I propose; I am not yet certain
Entirely—here it is, in brief. We have
An ancient tract of land, far to the west,
Touching the Tuscan river, where our natives,
Rutulians, Auruncans, sow and harrow
The stubborn hills, rough land and cattle country.
Let all this region and its high pine-forest
Be ceded to the Trojans out of friendship;
Let us make fair terms and have them share our kingdom.
Here they may build and settle if they want to.
But if their minds are bent on other borders,
On any other nation, if they are able
To leave our soil, let us build a navy for them,
Twenty good ships of oak, more if they need them.
We have the timber at the water’s edge;
All they need tell us is what kind, how many,
For us to give them workmen, bronze, and dockyards.
A hundred spokesmen from the noblest Latins
Should go with boughs of olive, bearing presents,
Talents of gold and ivory, the robe,
The throne, of state, symbols of our dominion.
Consult together; help our weary fortunes.”

Then Drances, hostile still, whom Turnus’ glory
Goaded with envy’s bitter sting, arose,
A man of wealth, better than good with his tongue;
If not so fierce in war, no fool in council,
A trouble-maker, though; his mother was noble,
His father no-one much. He spoke in anger:—
“Good king, you ask our guidance in a matter
Obscure to none, needing no word of ours.
All know, admit they know, what fortune orders,
Yet mutter rather than speak. Let him abate
That bluster of his, through whose disastrous ways
Evil has come upon us, and bad omens.
I will speak out, however much he threaten.
Let us have freedom to speak frankly. Mourning
Has settled on the town, the light of the leaders
Dies out in darkness, while that confident hero,
Confident, but in flight, attacks the Trojans
And frightens heaven with arms. To all these gifts
Promised and sent the Trojans, add, O king,
One more: let no one’s violence dissuade you
From giving your daughter in a worthy marriage,
An everlasting covenant between us.
But if such terror holds our hearts, then let us
Beseech this prince, sue for his royal favor,
Let him give up his claim, for king and country.
Why, Turnus, fountain-head of all our troubles
Consign us, wretches that we are, to danger
Open and often? In war there is no safety.
Turnus, we ask for peace, and, to confirm it,
The only proper pledge. You know I hate you,
Make no mistake in that regard. But still,
I, first of all, implore you, pity your people!
Put off that pride: give in, give up, and leave us!
We have seen enough of death and desolation.
If glory moves you, you with the heart of oak,
Or if the royal dowry is your passion,
Be bold, have confidence,—and face Aeneas!
So Turnus have his royal bride, no matter
If we, cheap souls, a herd unwept, unburied,
Lie strewn across the field. O son of Mars,
If son you really are, the challenger
Is calling: dare you look him in the face?”

And Turnus’ violence blazed out in fury,
A groan or a growl and savage words erupting:—
“A flow of talk is what you have, O Drances,
Always, when wars need men; and you come running
The first one there, whenever the senate gathers.
But this is not the time for words, that fly
From your big mouth in safety, in a meeting,
While the walls keep off the foe, and the dry trenches
Have not yet swum in blood. As usual,
Orator, thunder on! Convict me, Drances,
Of cowardice, you having slain so many
Tremendous heaps of Trojans, all the fields
Stacked with your trophies! Try your courage, Drances:
The enemy are not far to seek, our walls
Are circled with them. Coming? Why the coyness?
Will your idea of Mars be found forever
In windy tongue and flying feet? I, beaten?
Who says so? What foul liar calls me beaten,
Seeing the Tiber red with blood, Evander
Laid low with all his house, and the Arcadians
Stripped of their arms? Ask Pandarus and Bitias,
The thousands I have sent to hell, cut off
Inside their walls, hedged by a ring of foemen.
In war there is no safety. Sing that song,
Madman, to your own cause and prince Aeneas!
Keep on, don’t stop, confound confusion further
With panic fear, and praise those noble heroes
Of that twice-beaten race, despite the arms
Of King Latinus. Now the Myrmidons,
Or so we hear, are trembling, and their river
Runs backward in sheer fright, and Diomedes
Turns pale, and I suppose Achilles also!
Now he pretends my threats, my anger, scare him—
A nice artistic piece of work!—he sharpens
Slander with apprehension. Listen to him!
Listen to me: I tell you, you will never
Lose such a life as yours by this right hand,
Quit worrying, keep that great and fighting spirit
Forever in that breast! And now, my father,
I turn to you and more important counsels.
If you have hope no longer in our arms,
If we are so forsaken, if we are lost,
Utterly, over one repulse, if fortune
Cannot retrace her steps, let us pray for peace,
Let us hold out helpless hands in supplication.
But still, if only some of our valor, something—
Happy the men who died before they saw it!
But if we still have any power, warriors
Standing unhurt, any Italian city,
Any ally at all, if any Trojans
Have ever died (their glory has been costly
As well as ours, and the storm has no more spared them),
Why do we fail like cowards on the edge
Of victory? Why do we shudder and tremble
Before the trumpet sounds? Many an evil
Has turned to good in time; and many a mortal
Fate has despised and raised. Diomede, Arpi,
Refuse us help; so be it. There are others,
There is Messapus for one, Tolumnius
Whose luck is good, and all those other leaders
Sent by so many nations, and great glory
Will follow Latium’s pride. We have Camilla
Of Volscian stock, leading her troop of horsemen,
Her warriors bright in bronze. If I am summoned
Alone to meet Aeneas, if I alone
Am obstinate about the common welfare,
If such is your decision, my hands have never
Found victory so shrinking or elusive
That I should fear the risk. Bring on your Trojan!
Let him surpass Achilles, and wear armor
Made by the hands of Vulcan! Second to no one
Of all my ancestors in pride and courage,
I, Turnus, vow this life to you, Latinus,
My king, my father. The challenger is calling—
Well, let him call, I hope he does. No Drances,
If heaven’s wrath is here, will ever appease it,
No Drances take away my honor and glory.”

So, in the midst of doubt, they brawled and quarreled,
And all the time Aeneas’ line came forward.
A messenger rushed through the royal palace,
Through scenes of noise and uproar, through the city
Filling the town with panic: They are coming,
He cries, they are ready for battle, all the Trojans,
All the Etruscans, rank on rank, from Tiber,
All over the plain! And the people’s minds are troubled,
Their hearts are shaken, their passion and their anger
Pricked by no gentle spur. However frightened,
They call for arms, they make impatient gestures,
The young men shout, and the old ones moan and mutter;
The noise, from every side, goes up to heaven
Loud and discordant, the way jays rasp and chatter
Or swans along Padusa’s fishy river
Utter their raucous clamor over the pools.
And Turnus, seizing on the moment, cries:—
“A fine time, citizens, to call a council,
To sit there praising peace. The enemy
Is up in arms against us!” That was all,
And he went rushing from the lofty palace.
“Volusus, arm the squadrons of the Volscians,
Lead the Rutulians forth! Messapus, Coras,
Deploy the horsemen over the plains! You others,
Some of you, guard the city gates and towers!
The rest, be ready to charge where I direct you!”

So Turnus gave excited orders: quickly,
The rush to the walls was on, all over the city.
Latinus left the council, sorely troubled
In that sad hour, put off the plan he hoped for,
Blaming himself in that he had not welcomed,
More eagerly, his Trojan son Aeneas
For the welfare of the city. And his men
Were digging trenches, trundling stones, or setting
Stakes in the ground, and pitfalls; and the trumpet
Sounded for bloody war; and boys and mothers
Filled in the gaps along the walls. Amata,
The queen, with a great throng of matrons, rode
To Pallas’ temple on the heights; beside her
The girl Lavinia, cause of all that evil,
Went with head bowed and downcast eyes. The women
Climbed on, and made the temple steam with incense,
And from the threshold chanted sorrowful prayers:—
“O mighty power in war, Tritonian virgin,
Break off his spear, lay low the Trojan robber,
Stretch him in death before our lofty portals!”