VIRGIL’S ÆNEID

Macmillan’s Pocket American and English Classics

A Series of English Texts, edited for use in Elementary and
Secondary Schools, with Critical Introductions, Notes, etc.

16mo Cloth 48 cents each

* Cannot be sold in British Dominions.

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · DALLAS
ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited
LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd.
TORONTO

WILLIAMS ENGRAVING CO., N.Y.

THE
ÆNEID OF VIRGIL

TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH PROSE

BY
JOHN CONINGTON, M.A.
LATE CORPUS PROFESSOR OF LATIN IN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

EDITED, WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES
BY
EDGAR S. SHUMWAY, Ph.D.
EDITOR “LATINE”

NEW YORK
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1917

All rights reserved

Copyright, 1910,
By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.

Set up and electrotyped. Published February, 1910.
Reprinted June, 1914; September, 1917.

Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.—Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.

CONTENTS

PAGE
Introduction
The Æneid [ix]
Virgil’s Life [x]
Influence of the Æneid [xiii]
The Epic Itself [xvii]
The Story [xix]
Sources [xxi]
The Translation [xxi]
Chronological Table [xxv]
Verse Translations Recommended [xxvi]
Books for Reference [xxvii]
Subjects for Investigation [xxvii]
The Æneid
Book I. [1]
II. [26]
III. [51]
IV. [74]
V. [96]
VI. [122]
VII. [150]
VIII. [176]
IX. [198]
X. [222]
XI. [250]
XII. [277]
Notes [305]
Index to Notes [345]

INTRODUCTION

The Æneid

When Rome, torn and bleeding from a century of civil wars, turned to that wise judge of men, the second Cæsar, and acquiesced as, through carefully selected ministers, he gathered the reins of power into velvet-clad fingers of steel, she did wisely. Better one-man power than anarchy! It became the part of true patriotism for the citizen and of statesmanship for the politician to bring to the aid of the First Man of the state all the motives that could harmonize the chaotic elements, and start Republican Rome on the path of a new unity—the unity of the Empire.

For already “far away on the wide Roman marches might be heard, as it were, the endless, ceaseless monotone of beating horses’ hoofs and marching feet of men. They were coming, they were nearing, like footsteps heard on wool;[A] there was a sound of multitudes and millions of barbarians, all the North, mustering and marshalling her peoples.” In his great task Augustus, with the aid of Mæcenas, very cleverly drew to his help writers whose work has since charmed the world. We can almost pardon fate for destroying the Republic—it gave us Virgil and Horace.

Pleasant indeed had it been for Virgil to sing in emulation of his great teacher Lucretius! “As for me,” he says, “first of all I would pray that the charming Muses, whose minister I am, for the great love that has smitten me, would receive me graciously, and teach me the courses of the stars in heaven, the various eclipses of the sun and the earth, what is the force by which the deep seas swell to the bursting of their barriers and settle down again on themselves—why the winter suns make such haste to dip in ocean, or what is the retarding cause which makes the nights move slowly.” Pleasant, too, to spend his “chosen coin of fancy flashing out from many a golden phrase” in picturing “the liberty of broad domains, grottos and natural lakes, cool Tempe-like valleys, lawns and dens where wild beasts hide, a youth strong to labor and inured to scanty fare.” “Let me delight in the country and the streams that freshen the valleys—let me love river and woodland with an unambitious love.” “Then, too, there are the husbandman’s sweet children ever hanging on his lips—his virtuous household keeps the tradition of purity.” Ah, yes, to Virgil most attractive was the simple life of the lover of nature, and charmingly did he portray it in his Eclogues and Georgics!

But Augustus, recognizing the genius of Virgil, and realizing the supreme need of a reinvigorated patriotism, urgently demanded an epic that should portray Rome’s beginnings and her significance to the world. Reluctantly then Virgil took up this task. Even at his death he considered it unfulfilled. Indeed it was his wish that the manuscript be destroyed. Almost immediately the Æneid became the object of the closest study, and ever since it has evoked the deepest admiration. Perhaps no other secular writing has so profoundly affected literature.

Virgil’s Life

Virgil (Publius Vergilius Maro), born in the rural district near Mantua, a farmer’s son, was given by his loving father a careful education. Of his father Virgil says, “those whom I have ever loved and above all my father.” The regard of his hero Æneas for his father Anchises not merely illustrates the early Roman filial affection—it suggests Virgil’s relation to his own parent. In north Italy Virgil studied at Mantua, Cremona, and Milan, and at seventeen took up his wider studies at Rome itself in the year 53 B.C. Catullus had died the year before, Lucretius was dead two years. At Rome Virgil had the best masters in Greek, rhetoric, and in philosophy, a study in which he especially delighted. In forming his own poetic style Virgil was profoundly influenced by Lucretius, whose great poem On Nature treated of the wondrous physical universe, and by the subtly sweet young Catullus,

“Tenderest of Roman poets.”

—Tennyson.

In such studies Virgil spent ten years. But in 41 B.C. he appears again in north Italy and this time in storm and stress. In the year of Philippi the triumvirs, settling their victorious legions, confiscated lands about Cremona, and Virgil, attempting to resist dispossession, came near to losing his life. Through fellow-students of the Roman days he secured an introduction to Octavius and was compensated—either recovering his own farm, or receiving in lieu of it an estate in Campania.

Virgil relates his experience in two of his ten Eclogues which were published in their present form in 38 B.C. These charming poems were especially loved by Milton and Wordsworth. Macaulay indeed considered them the best of Virgil’s works. At Rome they met immediate success with the people and with Octavius and his wise minister Mæcenas, Horace’s patron. In them Virgil tenderly sings love of friends, home, and country.

Then Virgil spent seven years on the four books of the Georgics, publishing them in 29 B.C., two years after Actium. The Georgics Merivale calls “the glorification of labor.” In them Virgil hymns the farmer’s life in beautiful Italy.

“Hail to thee, land of Saturn, mighty mother of noble fruits and noble men! For thee I essay the theme of the glory and the skill of olden days.”

Virgil was now acknowledged the greatest poet of Italy. In the year 26 B.C., one year after the title Augustus had been conferred on Octavius, we find the emperor writing Virgil the most urgent letters begging the poet to send him, then in Spain, some portion of the projected Æneid. It was, however, considerably later when Virgil read to Augustus the second, fourth, and sixth books, for the young Marcellus, the emperor’s nephew, died in 23 B.C., and we are told that Octavia, his mother, fainted on hearing the poet read the immortal lines about her son in the sixth book:—

“Child of a nation’s sorrow! Were there hope of thy breaking the tyranny of fate, thou shalt be Marcellus. Bring me handfuls of lilies, that I may strew the grave with their dazzling hues, and crown, if only with these gifts, my young descendant’s shade, and perform the vain service of sorrow.”

Virgil,

“who would write ten lines, they say,

At dawn, and lavish all the golden day

To make them wealthier in his readers’ eyes,”

had already spent some ten years on the Æneid, when in 19 B.C. he decided to devote three years to its revision and improvement amid the “famous cities” and scenes of Greece and Asia. It is in anticipation of this voyage that his friend Horace prays the winds to

“Speed thee, O ship, as I pray thee to render

Virgil, a debt duly lent to thy charge,

Whole and intact on the Attican borders

Faithfully guarding the half of my soul.”

Augustus, however, met him at Athens and persuaded him to accompany his own return. But Virgil was never again to see Rome. He contracted a fever in Greece. It grew worse on the homeward trip; and he died, a few days after landing, in Brundisium, having reached the age of fifty-one. His tomb looks down upon the bay of Naples,

“That delicious Bay

Parthenope’s Domain—Virgilian haunt;

Illustrated with never dying verse

And by the Poet’s laurel-shaded tomb,

Age after age to pilgrims from all lands

Endeared.”

—Wordsworth.

Influence of the Æneid

As to the success of the Æneid, it was immediate with poets and people. Two years after Virgil’s death Horace writes in his Secular Hymn:—

“If Rome be all thy work, if Trojan bands

Upon the Etruscan shore have won renown,

That chosen remnant, who at thy command

Forsook their hearths, and homes, and native town;

If all unscathed through Ilion’s flames they sped

By sage Æneas led,

And o’er the ocean waves in safety fled,

Destined from him, though of his home bereft,

A nobler dower to take, than all that they had left.”

—Translated by Martin.

Some of the scholars, indeed, criticised it as having an undue simplicity, as coining new words and using old words, with new meanings, as borrowing too freely from Homer, as not written in chronological order, as containing anachronisms, etc. But within ten years it was as familiarly quoted by writers as we quote Shakespeare. It became the chief text-book in the Roman schools of grammar and rhetoric. The great writers of later days, like Pliny and Tacitus, show the profound influence of his style, which would seem to have gripped them as Goethe tells us Luther’s translation of the Scriptures affected his style, and as the King James version has left its indelible traces on English literature.

When the race-mind tired of problems of government and law, and turned strongly to the problems of religion,—degenerating easily, to be sure, to superstition,—it was evidence of Virgil’s grip on humanity that the poet of poets became the wizard of wizards. Even under the Antonines, the Sors Vergiliana (Virgilian prophecy) was practised. The Æneid was opened at random, and the first verse that struck the eye was considered a prophecy of good or bad portent. “The mediæval world looked upon him as a poet of prophetic insight who contained within himself all the potentialities of wisdom. He was called the Poet, as if no other existed; the Roman, as if the ideal of the commonwealth were embodied in him; the perfect in style, with whom no other writer could be compared; the Philosopher, who grasped the ideas of all things; the Wise One, whose comprehension seemed to other mortals unlimited. His writings became the Bible of a race. The mysteries of Roman priestcraft, the processes of divination, the science of the stars, were all found in his works.”

True indeed are the words of Professor MacMechan: “Beginning the Æneid is like setting out upon a broad and beaten highway along which countless feet have passed in the course of nineteen centuries. It is a spiritual highway, winding through every age and every clime;” and these of Professor Woodberry: “The Æneid shows that characteristic of greatness in literature which lies in its being a watershed of time; it looks back to antiquity in all that clothes it with the past of imagination, character and event, and forward to Christian times in all that clothes it with emotion, sentiment, and finality to the heart.”

As we approach modern literature, the great Italian Dante consciously takes Virgil as his “master and author.” “O glory and light of other poets! May the long zeal avail me, and the great love, that made me search thy volume. Thou art my master and my author.” On English literature the influence of the Æneid has been so potent that our space will hardly suffice to convey the barest hint of its direct and indirect lines. Celtic story developed from it a voyage of Brutus who founds a new Troy, or London. Geoffrey of Monmouth in the twelfth century sets forth this tale in his history. It was believed down to the seventeenth century and is reported by Milton. Elizabethan literature has frequent references to it. Chaucer in his House of Fame outlines the Æneid, emphasizing the Dido episode, which interested also Nash, Marlowe, and Shakespeare. Spenser teems with allusions and indeed translations, so—

“Anchyses sonne, begott of Venus fayre,”

Said he, “out of the flames for safegard fled

And with a remnant did to sea repayre;

Where he, through fatall errour, long was led

Full many yeares, and weetlesse wandered

From shore to shore emongst the Lybick sandes

Ere rest he fownd.”

—F. Q., III., ix., 41.

and—

“Like a great water-flood, that, tombling low

From the high mountaines, threates to overflow

With suddein fury all the fertile playne,

And the sad husbandmans long hope doth throw

Adown the streame, and all his vowes make vayne,

Nor bounds nor banks his headlong ruine may sustayne.”

—F. Q., II., xi., 18; cf. Æn. II., 304 ff.

Bacon calls Virgil “the chastest poet and royalest that to the memory of man is known.” “Milton,” writes Dryden, “has acknowledged to me that Spenser was his original.” But beside this indirect influence, and that through the Italian school, Virgil’s direct influence on Milton is attested by many an allusion. Dryden, Cowper, with his “sweet Maro’s matchless strain,” Wordsworth, Matthew Arnold, with his “sweet, tender Virgil,” freely acknowledge the debt they owe our poet. Dryden and Morris translated the Æneid into verse.

Tennyson, “the most Virgilian of modern poets,” gives the following tribute, written at the request of the Mantuans for the nineteenth centenary of Virgil’s death:—

“Roman Virgil, thou that singest Ilion’s lofty temples robed in fire,

Ilion falling, Rome arising, wars, and filial faith, and Dido’s pyre,

Landscape lover, lord of language more than he that sang the Works and Days,

All the chosen coin of fancy flashing out from many a golden phrase,

Thou that singest wheat and woodland, tilth and vineyard, hive and horse and herd,

All the charm of all the Muses often flowering in a lonely word,

Poet of the happy Tityrus piping underneath his beechen bowers,

Poet of the poet-satyr whom the laughing shepherds bound with flowers,

Chanter of the Pollio, glorying in the blissful years again to be,

Summers of the snakeless meadow, unlaborious earth and oarless sea,

Thou that seest Universal Nature moved by Universal Mind,

Thou majestic in thy sadness at the doubtful doom of human kind,

Light among the vanished ages, star that gildest yet this phantom shore,

Golden branch amid the shadows, kings and realms that pass to rise no more,

Now thy Forum roars no longer, fallen every purple Cæsar’s dome—

Tho’ thine ocean-roll of rhythm sound forever of Imperial Rome—

Now the Rome of slaves hath perished, and the Rome of freemen holds her place,

I, from out the Northern Island, sundered once from all the human race,

I salute thee, Mantovano, I that loved thee since my day began,

Wielder of the stateliest measure ever moulded by the lips of man.”

It is a lover of Horace (and who is not a lover of Horace?), the brilliant Andrew Lang, who points out (in his Letters to Dead Authors) a vital difference that has made Virgil’s the higher influence: “Virgil might wander forth bearing the golden branch ‘the Sibyl doth to singing man allow,’ and might visit, as one not wholly without hope, the dim dwellings of the dead and the unborn. To him was it permitted to see and sing ‘mothers and men, and the bodies outworn of mighty heroes, boys and unwedded maids, and young men borne to the funeral fire before their parents’ eyes.’ The endless caravan swept past him—‘many as fluttering leaves that drop and fall in autumn woods when the first frost begins; many as birds that flock landward from the great sea when now the chill year drives them o’er the deep and leads them to sunnier lands.’ Such things was it given to the sacred poet to behold, and the happy seats and sweet pleasances of fortunate souls, where the larger light clothes all the plains and dips them in a rosier gleam, plains with their own new sun and stars before unknown. Ah, not frustra pius was Virgil, as you say, Horace, in your melancholy song. In him, we fancy, there was a happier mood than your melancholy patience.”

The Epic Itself

The purpose of the epic is to indicate the divinely ordained origin and history of Rome as a conquering, civilizing, and organizing government, destined to replace both anarchy and tyrannical despotism by liberty under law. As the real world-historic reason for Rome’s existence is so commonly overlooked, let us recall Mommsen’s words in the introduction to his Provinces of the Roman Empire: “It fostered the peace and prosperity of the many nations united under its sway longer and more completely than any other leading power has ever succeeded in doing.... If an angel of the Lord were to strike the balance whether the domain ruled by Severus Antoninus was governed with the greater intelligence and the greater humanity at that time or in the present day, whether civilization and national prosperity generally have since that time advanced or retrograded, it is very doubtful whether the decision would prove in favor of the present.” Virgil states the function of Rome clearly in the famous passage of the sixth book wherein Greek and Roman are compared:—

“Forget not, O Roman, thy fate—to rule in thy might o’er the nations:

This is to be thine art—peace to the world to give.”

So the hero Æneas, himself of divine birth, is preserved by divine intervention when Troy falls, and mid dire perils for seven years’ voyagings, and all the bitter warring in Italy, “to bring the gods unto Latium,” “to found a city,” to teach Italy religion and a virile civilization. “Whence Rome mighty in her defences,” “a task of so great magnitude it was to build the Roman nation.” Twice,—once in fields Elysian from the lips of sainted Anchises, and again, portrayed on the shield that Vulcan made for Æneas, is rehearsed the long line of legendary and historical Roman heroes down to Augustus himself. “On this side is Augustus Cæsar, leading the Italians to conflict, with the senate and the people, the home-gods and their mighty brethren, standing aloft on the stern.” “But Cæsar ... was consecrating to the gods of Italy a votive tribute to deathless gratitude, three hundred mighty fanes the whole city through.” “Such sights Æneas scans with wonder on Vulcan’s shield ... as he heaves on his shoulder the fame and the fate of grandsons yet to be” (end of eighth book). Incidentally ground is given, in compensating fate, for Rome’s conquest of Greek lands—she is but loyal to her Trojan ancestry!—and for the duel to the death with Semitic Carthage—whose queen once was the stately Dido, left by King Æneas at Jove’s command! Incidentally, too, Virgil draws from Trojan origins governmental forms, religious rites, yes, even games.

While this great task of glorifying patriotism and harmonizing it with loyalty to Cæsar is ever present to Virgil, he cannot lose two qualities that make him the most modern of ancient poets—his love of nature and his pathos. As examples—of the former, it suffices to cite the charming harbor scene succeeding storm and wreck, in the first book; and, of the latter, the death-scene of the immortal twain, Nisus and Euryalus (in Book nine).

“Down falls Euryalus in death; over his beauteous limbs gushes the blood, and his powerless neck sinks on his shoulders; as when a purple flower, severed by the plough, pines in death, or poppies with faint necks droop the head, when rain has chanced to weigh them down. But Nisus rushes full on the foe ... and dying robs his foe of life. Then he flung himself on his breathless friend, pierced through and through, and there at length slept away in peaceful death.

“Happy pair! if this my song has ought of potency, no lapse of days shall efface your names from the memory of time, so long as the house of Æneas shall dwell on the Capitol’s moveless rock, and a Roman father shall be the world’s lord.”

The Story

The story on which Virgil builds is, briefly, the fall of Troy, the voyaging of Trojan refugees under Æneas, and the successful wars of Æneas with Italian barbarians.

According to the ancient legend the Greeks had warred ten years under Troy’s walls, because the Trojan prince, Paris, having awarded the prize of beauty to Venus as against Juno and Minerva, and, having been promised as reward by Venus Helen the beautiful wife of the Greek Menelaus, had eloped with that fatal beauty to Troy, and his father King Priam had refused to make restitution.

The story then, as related by Æneas to Queen Dido in her palace at Carthage, takes up (in the second book of the Æneid) the downfall and destruction of Troy, with the escape of Æneas, his father and son, together with a band of Trojans. Then (in the third book) are depicted their voyagings, unsuccessful attempts to found cities, and arrival in Sicily. Here father Anchises dies. From Sicily they sail in the endeavor to reach Latium in Italy.

It is at this point that the epic begins. So after his invocation and introduction (in Book one), Virgil makes unrelenting Juno, through the storm-king Æolus, let loose upon the Trojan fleet a fierce tempest, which drives the remnant of the fleet far away to the Carthaginian coast. Æneas, directed by his disguised mother Venus, comes to the court of Dido by whom he is kindly received, banqueted; and at her request narrates (in Books two and three) his harsh experiences.

Book four continues the Dido episode. The queen madly loves Æneas—this through the influence of Venus, who else had feared Carthaginian hostility to her dear Trojans. Juno thinks to thwart the fates and Jove’s will that Æneas should create the Roman race; and she plans to hold Æneas as spouse of the Carthaginian queen. Jove intervenes, sending Mercury with explicit commands to Æneas to seek Italy. He sails, and Dido slays herself.

In Book five they reach Sicily again, and it being the anniversary of Anchises’ death, Æneas celebrates it with athletic contests. During these Juno again attempts to thwart the fates, sending a messenger to incite the Trojan women to set the fleet on fire. But this attempt is only successful in so far as it leads Æneas to leave the weaklings under the kindly sway of their kinsman, the Sicilian chief, Acestes. The rest sail for Italy, losing the faithful pilot, Palinurus.

Book six details the visit Æneas, under the guidance of the Sibyl, to the abode of the dead. There he meets again his father Anchises, who passes in review, as souls about to be reborn into the upper world, their heroic descendants.

So far, with the exception of Book two, which recorded the fall and sack of Troy, a theme omitted by Homer, Virgil has recorded the Odyssey or wanderings of his hero Æneas. Now in the succeeding six books is given the Iliad or wars of Æneas in Italy. As he lands, King Latinus is divinely led to promise Æneas his daughter Lavinia. But she has been betrothed to Turnus. Under Juno’s prompting then begins this tremendous duel between Æneas and Turnus. And here we note a curious likeness between Milton and Virgil. As our sympathies are aroused in the Paradise Lost for Lucifer, so Turnus, “the reckless one,” looms up a figure of heroic size, doomed by the fates to die that Rome may live.

Sources

As Virgil’s sources for his story and indeed for no small portion of his language may be mentioned preeminently:— Homer’s Odyssey and Iliad; Euripides, “with his droppings of warm tears”; the Greek epic poets, called the cyclic poets, as dealing with the cycle of story revolving around Troy; the Greek freedman and teacher, Livius Andronicus, who translated roughly the Odyssey; Nævius, who wrote on the First Punic War, tracing Carthaginian hostility back to the Æneas visit; and especially Ennius, “father of Latin literature,” who in a great epic traced the history of Rome from Æneas down. Of Virgil’s borrowings it were enough perhaps to say that, like our Shakespeare, he ennobled what he borrowed, wove it into the texture of his song—stamped it Virgilian.

The Translation

Concerning the translation itself, we should perhaps set over against Emerson’s famous saying, “I should as soon think of swimming across Charles River when I wish to go to Boston, as of reading all my books in originals, when I have them rendered for me in my mother tongue,” that other remark of a great scholar, that “the thing for the student of language to learn is that translation is impossible.” Exquisitely done as is this version by Professor Conington, noble student of Virgil as he was, some faint notion of what is lost in the process might be gained by comparing a prose version of, say, Longfellow’s “Evangeline” with his hexameters themselves:—

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks

Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,

Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic—

Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.

At the very least, “the noblest measure ever moulded by the lips of man,” Virgil’s “ocean-roll of rhythm,” is lost. That indeed is not revived for us in Conington’s own poetical version, not in Dryden’s, nor in Morris’s. Of Virgil also that is true which T. B. Aldrich, charming poet that he was, wrote me anent his own early translations, “But who could hope to decant the wine of Horace?”

Yet it may be not without interest to compare some verse renderings of the initial lines:—

I (woll now) sing (if that I can,)

The armes and also the man,

That first came through his destinie,

Fugitive fro Troy the countrie

Into Itaile, with full much pine,

Unto the stronds of Lavine.

—Chaucer, House of Fame.

Arms, and the man I sing, who, forced by Fate,

And haughty Juno’s unrelenting hate,

Expelled and exiled, left the Trojan shore,

Long labors, both by sea and land, he bore,

And in the doubtful war, before he won

The Latian realm, and built the destined town;

His banished gods restored to rites divine,

And settled sure succession in his line,

From whence the race of Alban fathers come

And the long glories of majestic Rome.

—Dryden.

I sing of arms, I sing of him, who from the Trojan land,

Thrust forth by Fate, to Italy and that Lavinian strand

First came: all tost about was he on earth and on the deep

By heavenly might for Juno’s wrath, that had no mind to sleep:

And plenteous war he underwent ere he his town might frame,

And set his gods in Latian earth, whence is the Latin name.

And father-folk of Alba-town, and walls of mighty Rome.

—Morris.

Arms and the man I sing, who first,

By Fate of Ilian realm amerced,

To fair Italia onward bore,

And landed on Lavinium’s shore:—

Long tossing earth and ocean o’er,

By violence of heaven, to sate

Fell Juno’s unrelenting hate;

Much labored too in battle-field,

Striving his city’s walls to build,

And give his gods a home:

Thence come the hardy Latin brood,

The ancient sires of Alba’s blood,

And lofty-rampired Rome.

—Conington.

I sing of arms, and of the man who first

Came from the coasts of Troy to Italy

And the Lavinian shores, exiled by fate,

Much was he tossed about upon the lands

And in the ocean by supernal powers,

Because of cruel Juno’s sleepless wrath.

Many things also suffered he in war,

Until he built a city, and his gods

Brought into Latium; whence the Latin race,

The Alban sires and walls of lofty Rome.

—Cranch.

I sing of war, I sing the man who erst,

From off the shore of Troy fate-hunted, came

To the Lavinian coast in Italy,

Hard pressed on land and sea, the gods malign,

Fierce Juno’s hate unslaked. Much too in war

He bore while he a city built, and set

His gods in Latium. Thence the Latin race,

Our Alban sires, the walls of haughty Rome.

—Long.

Arms and the man I sing who first, from Troy

Expelled by Fate’s decree, to Italy

And the Lavinian shores, a wanderer came.

Sore travail he endured by land and sea

From adverse gods, and unrelenting rage

Of haughty Juno: harassed, too, by war,

His destined city while he strove to build

And raise new altars for his exiled gods.

The Latian race, the Alban fathers hence

Their birth derived—hence Rome’s proud fabric sprung.

—Rickards.

(In hexameters.)

Arms and the hero I sing, who of old from the borders of Troja

Came to Italia, banished by fate to Lavinia’s destined

Sea coasts: Much was he tossed on the lands and the deep by enlisted

Might of supernals, through Juno’s remembered resentment:

Much, too, he suffered in warfare, while he was founding a city,

And into Latium bearing his gods: whence issued the Latin

Race, and the Alban fathers, and walls of imperial Roma.

—Crane.

Sing I the arms and the man, who first from the shores of the Trojan,

Driven by Fate, into Italy came, to Lavinium’s borders

Much was he vexed by the power of the gods, on the land and the ocean,

Through the implacable wrath of the vengeful and pitiless Juno;

Much, too, he suffered in war, until he could found him a city,

And into Latium carry his gods; whence the race of the Latins,

Alba’s illustrious fathers, and Rome’s imperial bulwarks.

—Howland.

Chronological Table

B.C.
98.Birth of Lucretius.
87.Birth of Catullus.
70.Virgil is born.
69.Birth of Mæcenas; Cicero is ædile.
66.Cicero is prætor.
65.Horace is born.
63.Birth of Octavius (afterward Gaius Julius Cæsar Octavianus Augustus). Cicero’s consulship and Orations against Catiline.
60.First Triumvirate (Cæsar, Pompey, and Crassus).
58.Cicero banished. Cæsar begins conquest of Gaul.
57.Cicero recalled from exile.
55.Virgil assumes the toga virilis. Death of Lucretius, Cæsar in Britain.
54.Virgil studies in Milan. Death of Catullus. Cicero edits Lucretius’ On Nature, and (perhaps) Catullus’ Odes, and begins his essay On the State.
53.Virgil goes to Rome: Horace is also taken there. Cicero is augur. Parthians defeat Romans at Carrhæ.
52.Cicero’s Oration for Milo.
51.Cicero proconsul in Cilicia.
49.Civil War. Cæsar marches on Rome, bestowing Roman citizenship on Italians north of the Po. Pompey leaves Italy.
48.Battle of Pharsalia. Assassination of Pompey.
46.Battle of Thapsus. Suicide of Cato at Utica.
45.Horace goes to Athens.
44.Cæsar assassinated: Octavius, adopted in his will, assumes his name. Cicero’s Philippics.
43.Birth of Ovid. Second Triumvirate (Octavianus, Antony, and Lepidus). Assassination of Cicero. Civil war with Brutus and Cassius. Horace a tribune in Brutus’ army.
42.Battles of Philippi. Death of Brutus and Cassius.
41.Confiscations by the triumvirs. Virgil introduced to Mæcenas and Octavianus. Horace returns to Rome.
40.Virgil restored to his estate.
39.Horace introduced to Mæcenas by Virgil and Varius.
37.Virgil publishes Eclogues. Phraates king of Parthia.
36.Antony invades Parthia.
35.Horace publishes First Book of Satires.
33.Phraates attacks Armenia and Media.
31.Battle of Actium. Overthrow of Antony. Octavianus visits the East.
30.Horace publishes Second Book of Satires and his Epodes.
29.Octavianus returns from the East and celebrates threefold triumph. Temple of Janus closed in sign of peace. Virgil publishes Georgics.
27.Octavianus receives the title of Augustus.
26.Augustus in Spain corresponds with Virgil.
24.Horace (probably) publishes first Three Books of Odes.
23.Death of Marcellus. Virgil reads portions of the Æneid to Augustus.
20.Expedition of Augustus to the East. Parthians restore standards taken at Carrhæ.
19.Virgil journeys to Greece. Returns with Augustus. Dies at Brundisium. Augustus directs Virgil’s friend Varius and Tucca to edit the Æneid.
18.Horace publishes First Book of Epistles.
17.The Secular Festival. Horace writes the Secular Hymn.
13.Horace publishes Fourth Book of Odes.
8.Death of Mæcenas and Horace.

Verse Translations Recommended

Dryden; Conington (Crowell, New York); William Morris (Roberts Brothers, Boston); Cranch; Long (Lockwood Brooks & Co., Boston); Crane (Baker & Taylor Co., New York); Howland (D. Appleton & Co., New York), Rickards (Books I.-VI., Blackwood & Sons, London); Rhoades (Longmans); Billson (Edward Arnold, London).

Books for Reference

Roman Poets of the Augustan Age, Sellar (Oxford, Clarendon Press); Virgil, Nettleship (Appletons), and in his Lectures and Essays (Oxford); Classical Essays, F. W. H. Myers (Macmillan); Studies in Virgil, Glover (Edward Arnold, London); Country of Horace and Virgil, Boissier (Putnam); Master Virgil, Tunison (Robert Clark & Co., Cincinnati); Vergil in the Middle Ages, Comparetti (Sonnenschein, London); Legends of Virgil, Leland (Macmillan); Histories of Roman Literature by Teuffel (George Bell & Sons, London), Browne (Bentley, London), Cruttwell (Scribners, N.Y.), Simcox (Harpers, N.Y.). Æneas as a Character Study, Miller (Latine, Vol. IV., p. 18).

Subjects for Investigation

(Miller, in Latine for January, 1886.)

(1) Virgilian Proverbs. (2) A Word Study. (3) Fatalism in Virgil. (4) Virgil’s Pictures of Roman Customs. (5) Pen Pictures. (6) Astronomy in Virgil. (7) Virgil’s Debt to Homer. (8) Milton’s Debt to Virgil. (9) Virgil’s Gods and Religious Rites. (10) Omens and Oracles. (11) Virgil’s Influence upon Literature in General. (12) Figures in Virgil. (13) Virgilian Herbarium. (14) Detailed Account of the Wandering of Æneas. (15) The Geography of Virgil. (16) Virgil as a Poet of Nature. (17) Virgil’s Life as gleaned from his Works. [(18) The Manuscript Texts of Virgil.] (19) Virgilian Translators and Commentators. (20) Some Noted Passages—why? (21) The Platonism of the Sixth Book. (22) Dryden’s Dictum Discussed, (23) Dante—The Later Virgil. [(24) The Prosody of Virgil.] (25) Dido—A Psychological Study. (28) Æneas—A Character Study. [(27) Testimonium Veterum de Vergilio.] (28) Virgil and Theocritus. (29) Virgil’s Creations. (30) Epithets of Æneas. (31) The Virgilian Birds. (32) Was Virgil Acquainted with the Hebrew Scriptures? (33) Visions and Dreams—Supernatural Means of Spirit Communication. (34) Night Scenes in Virgil. (35) Different Names for Trojans and Greeks and their Significance. (36) The Story of the Æneid.

VIRGIL’S ÆNEID

THE ÆNEID

BOOK I

Arms and the man I sing,[1] who at the first from Troy’s[2]

shores the exile of destiny, won his way to Italy and her

Latian[3] coast—a man much buffeted on land and on the

deep by violence from above, to sate the unforgetting wrath

of Juno[4] the cruel—much[5] scourged too in war, as he 5

struggled to build him a city, and find his gods a home in

Latium—himself the father of the Latian people, and the

chiefs of Alba’s[6] houses, and the walls of high towering

Rome.

Bring to my mind, O Muse,[7] the causes—for what 10

treason against her godhead, or what pain received, the

queen of heaven drove a man of piety so signal to turn

the wheel of so many calamities, to bear the brunt of so

many hardships! Can heavenly natures hate[8] so fiercely

and so long? 15

Of old there was a city, its people emigrants from

Tyre,[9] Carthage, over against Italy and Tiber’s mouths,

yet far removed—rich and mighty, and formed to all

roughness by war’s[10] iron trade—a spot where Juno, it

was said, loved to dwell more than in all the world beside, 20

Samos[11] holding but the second place. Here was her

armour, here her chariot—here to fix by her royal act

the empire of the nations, could Fate be brought to assent,

was even then her aim, her cherished scheme. But she

had heard that the blood of Troy was sowing the seed of a 25

race to overturn one day those Tyrian towers—from that

seed a nation, monarch of broad realms and glorious in

war, was to bring ruin on Libya[12]—such the turning of

Fate’s[13] wheel. With these fears Saturn’s[14] daughter, and

with a lively memory of that old war which at first she

had waged at Troy for her loved Argos’[15] sake—nor indeed

had the causes of that feud and the bitter pangs

they roused yet vanished from her mind—no, stored up 5

in her soul’s depths remains the judgment of Paris,[16] and

the wrong done to her slighted beauty, and the race abhorred

from the womb, and the state enjoyed by the

ravished Ganymede.[17] With this fuel added to the fire,

the Trojans, poor remnants of Danaan[18] havoc and 10

Achilles’[19] ruthless spear, she was tossing from sea to sea,

and keeping far away from Latium; and for many long

years they were wandering, with destiny still driving

them, the whole ocean round. So vast the effort it cost

to build up the Roman nation! 15

Scarce out of sight of the land of Sicily were they spreading

their sails merrily to the deep, and scattering with

their brazen prows the briny spray, when Juno, the everlasting

wound still rankling in her heart’s core, thus communed

with herself: “And am I to give up what I have 20

taken in hand, baffled, nor have power to prevent the king

of the Teucrians[20] from reaching Italy—because, forsooth,

the Fates forbid me? What! was Pallas[21] strong enough

to burn up utterly the Grecian fleet, and whelm the crews

in the sea, for the offence of a single man, the frenzy of 25

Ajax,[22] Oïleus’ son? Aye, she with her own hand launched

from the clouds Jove’s[23] winged fire, dashed the ships apart,

and turned up the sea-floor with the wind—him, gasping

out the flame which pierced his bosom, she caught in the

blast, and impaled on a rock’s[24] point—while I, who walk 30

the sky as its queen, Jove’s sister and consort both, am

battling with a single nation these many years. And are

there any found to pray to Juno’s deity after this, or lay

on her altar a suppliant’s gift?”

With such thoughts sweeping through the solitude of 35

her enkindled breast, the goddess comes to the storm-cloud’s

birthplace, the teeming womb of fierce southern

blasts, Æolia.[25] Here, in a vast cavern,[26] King Æolus[27]

is bowing to his sway struggling winds and howling tempests,

and bridling them with bond[28] and prison. They,

in their passion, are raving at the closed doors, while the

huge rock roars responsive: Æolus is sitting aloft in his

fortress, his sceptre in his hand, soothing their moods 5

and allaying their rage; were he to fail in this, why sea

and land, and the deep of heaven, would all be forced

along by their blast, and swept through the air. But

the almighty sire has buried them in caverns dark and

deep, with this fear before his eyes, and placed over them 10

giant bulk and tall mountains, and given them a king

who, by the terms of his compact, should know how to

tighten or slacken the reins at his patron’s will. To him

it was that Juno then, in these words, made her humble

request:— 15

“Æolus—for it is to thee that the sire of gods and king

of men has given it with the winds now to calm, now to

rouse the billows—there is a race which I love not now

sailing the Tyrrhene[29] sea, carrying Ilion[30] into Italy and

Ilion’s vanquished gods; do thou lash the winds to fury, 20

sink and whelm their ships, or scatter them apart, and

strew the ocean with their corpses. Twice seven nymphs

are of my train, all of surpassing beauty; of these her whose

form is fairest, Deiopea, I will unite to thee in lasting wedlock,

and consecrate her thy own, that all her days, for a 25

service so great, she may pass with thee, and make thee

father of a goodly progeny.”

Æolus returns: “Thine, great Queen, is the task to

search out on what thou mayest fix thy heart; for me to do

thy bidding[31] is but right. Thou makest this poor realm 30

mine, mine the sceptre and Jove’s smile; thou givest me a

couch at the banquets of the gods, and makest me lord

of the storm-cloud and of the tempest.”

So soon as this was said, he turned his spear, and pushed

the hollow mountain on its side; and the winds, as though 35

in column formed, rush forth[32] where they see any outlet,

and sweep over the earth in hurricane. Heavily they

fall[33] on the sea, and from its very bottom crash down the

whole expanse—one and all, east and south, and south-west,

with his storms thronging at his back, and roll huge

billows shoreward. Hark to the shrieks of the crew, and

the creaking of the cables! In an instant the clouds

snatch sky and daylight[34] from the Teucrians’ eyes—night 5

lies on the deep, black and heavy—pole thunders to

pole; heaven flashes thick with fires, and all nature

brandishes instant death in the seaman’s face. At once

Æneas’[35] limbs are unstrung and chilled[36]—he groans

aloud, and, stretching his clasped hands to the stars, 10

fetches from his breast words like these:—“O happy,

thrice[37] and again, whose lot it was, in their fathers’ sight,

under Troy’s high walls to meet death! O thou, the bravest

of the Danaan race, Tydeus’ son,[38] why was it not mine

to lay me low on Ilion’s plains, and yield this fated life to 15

thy right hand? Aye, there it is that Hector,[39] stern as

in life, lies stretched by the spear of Æacides[40]—there

lies Sarpedon’s[41] giant bulk—there it is that Simois[42]

seizes and sweeps down her channel those many shields

and helms, and bodies of the brave!” 20

Such words as he flung wildly forth, a blast roaring from

the north strikes his sail full in front and lifts the billows

to the stars.[43] Shattered are the oars; then the prow

turns and presents the ship’s side to the waves; down

crashes in a heap a craggy mountain of water. Look! 25

these are hanging on the surge’s crest[44]—to those the

yawning deep is giving a glimpse of land down among

the billows; surf and sand are raving together. Three

ships the south catches, and flings upon hidden rocks—rocks 30

which, as they stand with the waves all about them,

the Italians call Altars, an enormous ridge rising above

the sea. Three the east drives from the main on to shallows

and Syrtes,[45] a piteous sight, and dashes them on

shoals, and embanks them in mounds of sand. One in

which the Lycians were sailing, and true Orontes, a 35

mighty sea strikes from high on the stem before Æneas’

very eyes; down goes the helmsman, washed from his

post, and topples on his head, while she is thrice whirled

round by the billow in the spot where she lay, and swallowed

at once by the greedy gulf. You might see them

here and there swimming in that vast abyss—heroes’

arms, and planks, and Troy’s treasures glimmering through

the water. Already Ilioneus’ stout ship, already brave 5

Achates’, and that in which Abas sailed, and that which

carried old Aletes, are worsted by the storm; their side-jointings[46]

loosened, one and all give entrance to the

watery foe, and part failingly asunder.

Meantime the roaring riot of the ocean and the storm let 10

loose reached the sense of Neptune,[47] and the still waters

disgorged from their deep beds, troubling him grievously;

and casting a broad glance over the main he raised at

once his tranquil brow from the water’s surface. There

he sees Æneas’ fleet tossed hither and thither over the 15

whole expanse—the Trojans whelmed under the billows,

and the crashing ruin of the sky—nor failed the brother

to read Juno’s craft and hatred there. East and West

he calls before him, and bespeaks them thus:—“Are ye

then so wholly o’ermastered by the pride of your birth? 20

Have ye come to this, ye Winds, that, without sanction

from me, ye dare to confound[48] sea and land, and upheave

these mighty mountains? ye! whom I—but it were best

to calm the billows ye have troubled. Henceforth ye

shall pay me for your crimes in far other coin. Make 25

good speed with your flight, and give your king this message.

Not to him did the lot assign the empire of the sea

and the terrible trident, but to me. His sway is over those

enormous rocks, where you, Eurus,[49] dwell, and such as

you; in that court let Æolus lord it, and rule in the prison-house 30

of the winds when its doors are barred.”

He speaks, and ere his words are done soothes the swelling

waters, and routs[50] the mustered clouds, and brings

back the sun in triumph. Cymothoë and Triton[51] combine

their efforts to push off the vessels from the sharp-pointed 35

rock. The god himself upheaves them with his

own trident,[52] and levels the great quicksands, and allays

the sea, and on chariot-wheels of lightest motion glides

along the water’s top. Even as when in a great crowd tumult

is oft stirred up, and the base herd waxes wild and frantic,

and brands and stones are flying already, rage suiting

the weapon[53] to the hand—at that moment, should their

eyes fall on some man of weight, for duty done and public 5

worth, tongues are hushed and ears fixed in attention,

while his words sway the spirit and soothe the breast—so

fell all the thunders of the ocean, so soon as the great

father, with the waves before him in prospect, and the

clear sky all about him, guides his steeds at will, and as he 10

flies flings out the reins freely to his obedient car.

Spent with toil, the family of Æneas labour to gain the

shore that may be nearest, and are carried to the coasts

of Libya. There is a spot retiring deep into the land, where

an island forms a haven[54] by the barrier of its sides, which 15

break every billow from the main and send it shattered

into the deep indented hollows. On either side of the bay are

huge rocks, and two great crags rising in menace to the

sky; under their summits far and wide the water is hushed

in shelter, while a theatric background of waving woods, 20

a black forest of stiffening shade, overhangs it from the

height. Under the brow that fronts the deep is a cave

with pendent crags; within there are fresh springs and

seats in the living rock—the home of the nymphs; no

need of cable[55] here to confine the weary bark or anchor’s 25

crooked fang to grapple her to the shore. Here with seven

ships mustered from his whole fleet Æneas enters; and

with intense yearning for dry land the Trojans disembark

and take possession of the wished-for shore, and lay their

brine-drenched limbs upon the beach. And first Achates 30

from a flint struck out a spark, and received the fire as it

dropped in a cradle of leaves, and placed dry food all about

it, and spread the strong blaze among the tinder. Then

their corn, soaked and spoiled as it was, and the corn-goddess’

armoury they bring out, sick of fortune; and make 35

ready to parch the rescued grain at the fire, and crush it

with the millstone.

Æneas meanwhile clambers up a rock, and tries to get a

full view far and wide over the sea, if haply he may see

aught of Antheus, driven by the gale, and the Phrygian

biremes,[56] or Capys, or high on the stern the arms of Caicus.

Sail there is none in sight; three stags he sees at distance

straying on the shore; these the whole herd follows in the 5

rear, and grazes along the hollows in long array. At once

he took his stand, and caught up a bow and fleet arrows,

which true Achates chanced to be carrying, and lays low first

the leaders themselves, as they bear their heads aloft with

tree-like antlers, then the meaner sort, and scatters with 10

his pursuing shafts the whole rout among the leafy woods;

nor stays his hand till he stretches on earth victoriously

seven huge bodies, and makes the sum of them even with

his ships. Then he returns to the haven and gives all his

comrades their shares. The wine next, which that good 15

Acestes had stowed in casks on the Trinacrian shore, and

given them at parting with his own princely hand, he

portions out, and speaks words of comfort to their sorrowing

hearts:—

“Comrades! for comrades we are, no strangers to hardships 20

already; hearts that have felt deeper wounds! for

these too heaven will find a balm. Why, men, you have

even looked on Scylla[57] in her madness, and heard those

yells that thrill the rocks; you have even made trial of

the crags of the Cyclops.[58] Come, call your spirits back, 25

and banish these doleful fears—who knows but some

day this too will be remembered[59] with pleasure? Through

manifold chances, through these many perils of fortune,

we are making our way to Latium, where the Fates hold

out to us a quiet settlement; there Troy’s empire has 30

leave to rise again from its ashes. Bear up, and reserve

yourselves for brighter days.”

Such were the words his tongue uttered; heart-sick[60]

with overwhelming care, he wears the semblance of hope

in his face, but has grief deep buried in his heart. They 35

gird themselves to deal with the game, their forthcoming

meal; strip the hide from the ribs, and lay bare the flesh—some

cut it into pieces, and impale it yet quivering on

spits, others set up the caldrons on the beach, and supply

them with flame. Then with food they recall their

strength, and, stretched along the turf, feast on old wine

and fat venison to their hearts’ content. Their hunger

sated by the meal, and the boards removed, they vent in 5

long talk their anxious yearning for their missing comrades—balanced

between hope and fear, whether to

think of them as alive, or as suffering the last change, and

deaf already to the voice that calls on them. But good

Æneas’ grief exceeds the rest; one moment he groans for 10

bold Orontes’ fortune, another for Amycus’, and in the

depth of his spirit laments for the cruel fate of Lycus;

for the gallant Gyas and the gallant Cloanthus.

And now at last their mourning had an end, when

Jupiter from the height of ether,[61] looking down on the sea 15

with its fluttering sails, on the flat surface of earth, the

shores, and the broad tribes of men, paused thus upon

heaven’s very summit, and fixed his downward gaze on

Libya’s realms. To him, revolving in his breast such

thoughts as these, sad beyond her wont, with tears suffusing 20

her starry eyes, speaks Venus: “O thou, who by thy

everlasting laws swayest the two commonwealths of men

and gods, and awest them by thy lightning! What can

my poor Æneas have done to merit thy wrath? What

can the Trojans? yet they, after the many deaths they 25

have suffered already, still find the whole world barred[62]

against them for Italy’s sake. From them assuredly it

was that the Romans, as years rolled on—from them were

to spring those warrior chiefs, aye from Teucer’s blood revived,

who should rule sea and land with absolute sway—such 30

was thy promise: how has thy purpose, O my father,

wrought a change in thee? This, I know, was my constant

solace when Troy’s star set in grievous ruin, as I sat balancing

destiny against destiny. And now here is the same

Fortune, pursuing the brave men she has so oft discomfited 35

already. Mighty king, what end of sufferings hast thou

to give them? Antenor,[63] indeed, found means to escape

through the midst of the Achæans, to thread in safety

the windings of the Illyrian coast, and the realms of the

Liburnians, up at the gulf’s head, and to pass the springs

of Timavus, whence through nine mouths,’mid the rocks’

responsive roar, the sea comes bursting up, and deluges

the fields with its thundering billows. Yet in that spot 5

he built the city of Patavium for his Trojans to dwell in,

and gave them a place and a name among the nations, and

set up a rest for the arms[64] of Troy: now he reposes, lapped

in the calm of peace. Meantime we, of thine own blood,

to whom thy nod secures the pinnacle of heaven, our ships, 10

most monstrous, lost, as thou seest, all to sate the malice

of one cruel heart, are given up to ruin, and severed far

from the Italian shores. Is this the reward of piety[65]?

Is this to restore a king to his throne?”

Smiling on her, the planter of gods and men, with that 15

face which calms the fitful moods of the sky, touched with

a kiss his daughter’s lips, then addressed her thus: “Give

thy fears a respite, lady of Cythera[66]: thy people’s destiny

abides still unchanged for thee; thine eyes shall see the

city of thy heart, the promised walls of Lavinium[67]; 20

thine arms shall bear aloft to the stars of heaven thy hero

Æneas; nor has my purpose wrought a change in me.

Thy hero—for I will speak out, in pity for the care that

rankles yet, and awaken the secrets of Fate’s book from

the distant pages where they slumber—thy hero shall 25

wage a mighty war in Italy, crush its haughty tribes, and

set up for his warriors a polity and a city, till the third

summer shall have seen him king over Latium, and three

winters in camp shall have passed over the Rutulians’[68]

defeat. But the boy Ascanius,[69] who has now the new 30

name of Iulus—Ilus he was, while the royalty of Ilion’s

state stood firm—shall let thirty of the sun’s great courses

fulfil their monthly rounds while he is sovereign, then

transfer the empire from Lavinium’s seat, and build

Alba the Long, with power and might. Here for full three 35

hundred years the crown shall be worn by Hector’s[70] line,

till a royal priestess, teeming by the war-god, Ilia, shall

be the mother of twin sons. Then shall there be one,

proud to wear the tawny hide of the wolf that nursed him,

Romulus, who will take up the sceptre, and build a new

city, the city of Mars, and give the people his own name

of Roman. To them I assign no limit, no date of empire:

my grant to them is dominion without end. Nay, Juno, 5

thy savage foe, who now, in her blind terror, lets neither

sea, land, nor heaven rest, shall amend her counsels, and

vie with me in watching over the Romans, lords of earth,

the great nation of the gown. So it is willed. The time

shall come, as Rome’s years roll on, when the house of 10

Assaracus[71] shall bend to its yoke Phthia[72] and renowned

Mycenæ,[73] and queen it over vanquished Argos.[74] Then shall

be born the child of an illustrious line, one of thine own

Trojans, Cæsar, born to extend his empire to the ocean, his

glory to the stars,[75]—Julius, in name as in blood the heir of 15

great Iulus. Him thou shalt one day welcome in safety to

the sky, a warrior laden with Eastern spoils; to him, as to

Æneas, men shall pray and make their vows. In his days

war[76] shall cease, and savage times grow mild. Faith with

her hoary head, and Vesta,[77] Quirinus,[78] and Remus his 20

brother, shall give law to the world: grim, iron-bound,

closely welded, the gates of war shall be closed; the fiend

of Discord a prisoner within, seated on a pile of arms deadly

as himself, his hands bound behind his back with a hundred

brazen chains, shall roar ghastly from his throat of blood.” 25

So saying, he sends down from on high the son of Maia,[79]

that Carthage the new, her lands and her towers, may

open themselves to welcome in the Teucrians, lest Dido,[80]

in her ignorance of Fate, should drive them from her

borders. Down flies Mercury through the vast abyss of 30

air, with his wings for oars, and has speedily alighted on

the shore of Libya. See! he is doing his bidding already:

the Punic[81] nation is resigning the fierceness of its nature

at the god’s pleasure; above all the rest, the queen is

admitting into her bosom thoughts of peace towards the 35

Teucrians, and a heart of kindness.

But Æneas the good, revolving many things the whole

night through, soon as the gracious dawn is vouchsafed,

resolves to go out and explore this new region; to inquire

what shores be these on which the wind has driven him,

who their dwellers, for he sees it is a wilderness, men or

beasts; and bring his comrades back the news. His

fleet he hides in the wooded cove under a hollow rock, 5

with a wall of trees and stiffening shade on each side.

He moves on with Achates, his single companion, wielding

in his hands two spear shafts, with heads of broad iron.

He had reached the middle of the wood, when his way

was crossed by his mother, wearing a maiden’s mien and 10

dress, and a maiden’s armour, Spartan, or even as Harpalyce

of Thrace, tires steed after steed, and heads the swift

waters of her own Hebrus as she flies along. For she had

a shapely bow duly slung from her shoulders in true huntress

fashion, and her hair streaming in the wind, her knee 15

bare, and her flowing scarf gathered round her in a knot.

Soon as she sees them, “Ho![82] youths,” cries she, “if you

have chanced to see one of my sisters wandering in these

parts, tell me where to find her—wandering with a quiver,

and a spotted lynx hide fastened about her; or, it may 20

be, pressing on the heels of the foaming boar with her

hounds in full cry.”

Thus Venus spoke, and Venus’ son replied:—“No sight

or hearing have we had of any sister of thine, O thou—what

name shall I give thee? maiden; for thy face is not 25

of earth, nor the tone of thy voice human: some goddess[83]

surely thou art. Phœbus’[84] sister belike, or one of the

blood of the nymphs? be gracious, whoe’er thou art, and

relieve our hardship, and tell us under what sky now,

on what realms of earth we are thrown. Utter strangers 30

to the men and the place, we are wandering, as thou seest,

by the driving of the wind and of the mighty waters.

Do this, and many a victim shall fall to thee at the altar

by this hand of mine.”

Then Venus:—“Nay, I can lay claim to no such honours. 35

Tyrian maidens, like me, are wont to carry the

quiver, and tie the purple buskin high up the calf. This

that you now see is the Punic realm, the nation Tyrian

and the town Agenor’s[85]; but on the frontiers are the

Libyans, a race ill to handle in war. The queen is Dido,

who left her home in Tyre to escape from her brother.

Lengthy is her tale of wrong, lengthy the windings of its

course; but I will pass rapidly from point to point. Her 5

husband was Sychæus, wealthiest of Phœnician landowners,

and loved by his poor wife with fervid passion;

on him her father had bestowed her in her maiden bloom,

linking them together by the omens of a first bridal. But

the crown of Tyre was on the head of her brother, Pygmalion, 10

in crime monstrous beyond the rest of men.

They were two, and fury came between them. Impious

that he was, at the very altar of the palace, the love of

gold blinding his eyes, he surprises Sychæus with his

stealthy steel, and lays him low, without a thought for 15

his sister’s passion; he kept the deed long concealed,

and with many a base coinage sustained the mockery

of false hope[86] in her pining love-lorn heart. But lo! in

her sleep there came to her no less than the semblance of

her unburied spouse, lifting up a face of strange unearthly 20

pallor; the ruthless altar and his breast gored with the

steel, he laid bare the one and the other, and unveiled

from first to last the dark domestic crime. Then he urges

her to speed her flight, and quit her home for ever, and in

aid of her journey unseals a hoard of treasure long hid in 25

the earth, a mass of silver and gold which none else knew.

Dido’s soul was stirred; she began to make ready her

flight, and friends to share it. There they meet, all whose

hate of the tyrant was fell or whose fear was bitter; ships,

that chanced to lie ready in the harbour, they seize, and 30

freight with gold. Away it floats over the deep, the

greedy Pygmalion’s wealth; and who heads the enterprise?

a woman[87]! So they came to the spot where you

now see yonder those lofty walls, and the rising citadel

of Carthage the new; there they bought ground, which 35

got from the transaction the name of Byrsa,[88] as much as

they could compass round with a bull’s hide. But who

are you after all? What coast are you come from, or

whither are you holding on your journey?” That question

he answers thus, with a heavy sigh, and a voice

fetched from the bottom of his heart:—

“Fair goddess! should I begin from the first and proceed

in order, and hadst thou leisure to listen to the chronicle 5

of our sufferings, eve would first close the Olympian gates

and lay the day to sleep. For us, bound from ancient

Troy, if the name of Troy has ever chanced to pass through

a Tyrian ear, wanderers over divers seas already, we have

been driven by a storm’s wild will upon your Libyan 10

coasts. I am Æneas, styled the good, who am bearing

with me in my fleet the gods of Troy rescued from the

foe; a name blazed by rumour above the stars. I am in

quest of Italy, looking there for an ancestral home, and a

pedigree drawn from high Jove himself. With twice ten 15

ships I climbed the Phrygian main, with a goddess mother

guiding me on my way, and a chart of oracles to follow.

Scarce seven remain to me now, shattered by wind and

wave. Here am I, a stranger, nay, a beggar, wandering

over your Libyan deserts, driven from Europe and Asia 20

alike.” Venus could bear the complaint no longer, so

she thus struck into the middle of his sorrows:—

“Whoever you are, it is not, I trow, under the frown of

heavenly powers that you draw the breath of life,[89] thus to

have arrived at our Tyrian town. Only go on, and make 25

your way straight hence to the queen’s palace. For I

give you news that your comrades are returned and your

fleet brought back, wafted into shelter by shifting gales,

unless my learning of augury was vain, and the parents

who taught me cheats. Look at these twelve swans 30

exultant in victorious column, which the bird of Jove,[90]

swooping from the height of ether, was just now driving

in confusion over the wide unsheltered sky; see now how

their line stretches, some alighting on the ground, others

just looking down on those alighted. As they, thus rallied, 35

ply their whirring wings[91] in sport, spreading their train

round the sky, and uttering songs of triumph, even so

your vessels and your gallant crews are either safe in the

port, or entering the haven with sails full spread. Only

go on, and where the way leads you direct your steps.”

She said, and as she turned away, flashed on their sight

her neck’s roseate hue; her ambrosial locks breathed from

her head a heavenly fragrance; her robe streamed down 5

to her very feet; and in her walk[92] was revealed the true

goddess. Soon as he knew his mother, he pursued her

flying steps with words like these:—“Why wilt thou be

cruel like the rest, mocking thy son these many times

with feigned semblances? Why is it not mine to grasp 10

thy hand in my hand, and hear and return the true language

of the heart?” Such are his upbraidings, while he

yet bends his way to the town. But Venus fenced them

round with a dim cloud as they moved, and wrapped them

as a goddess only can in a spreading mantle of mist, that 15

none might be able to see them, none to touch them, or

put hindrances in their path, or ask the reason of their coming.

She takes her way aloft to Paphos,[93] glad to revisit

the abode she loves, where she has a temple and a hundred

altars, smoking with Sabæan[94] incense, and fragrant with 20

garlands ever new.

They, meanwhile, have pushed on their way, where the

path guides them, and already they are climbing the hill

which hangs heavily over the city, and looks from above

on the towers that rise to meet it. Æneas marvels at the 25

mass of building, once a mere village of huts; marvels at

the gates, and the civic din, and the paved ways. The

Tyrians are alive and on fire—intent, some on carrying

the walls aloft and upheaving the citadel, and rolling

stones from underneath by force of hand; some on making 30

choice of a site for a dwelling, and enclosing it with a

trench. They are ordaining the law and its guardians, and

the senate’s sacred majesty. Here are some digging out

havens; there are others laying deep the foundation of a

theatre, and hewing from the rocks enormous columns, 35

the lofty ornaments of a stage that is to be. Such are the

toils that keep the commonwealth of bees[95] at work

in the sun among the flowery meads when summer is

new, what time they lead out the nation’s hope, the young

now grown, or mass together honey, clear and flowing, and

strain the cells to bursting with its nectarous sweets, or

relieve those who are coming in of their burdens, or collect

a troop and expel from their stalls the drones, that lazy, 5

thriftless herd. The work is all afire, and a scent of thyme

breathes from the fragrant honey. “O happy they, whose

city is rising already!” cries Æneas, as he looks upward

to roof and dome. In he goes, close fenced by his cloud,

miraculous to tell, threads his way through the midst, 10

and mingles with the citizens, unperceived of all.

A grove there was in the heart of the city, most plenteous

of shade—the spot where first, fresh from the buffeting of

wave and wind, the Punic race dug up the token which

queenly Juno had bidden them expect, the head of a fiery 15

steed—for even thus, said she, the nation should be renowned

in war and rich in sustenance for a life of centuries.

Here Dido, Sidon’s[96] daughter, was building a vast temple

to Juno, rich in offerings and in the goddess’s especial

presence; of brass was the threshold with its rising steps, 20

clamped with brass the door-posts, the hinge creaked on

a door of brass. In this grove it was that first a new object

appeared, as before, to soothe away fear: here it was that

Æneas first dared to hope that all was safe, and to place a

better trust in his shattered fortunes. For while his eye 25

ranges over each part under the temple’s massy roof, as

he waits there for the queen—while he is marvelling at

the city’s prosperous star, the various artist-hands vying

with each other, their tasks and the toil they cost, he

beholds, scene after scene, the battles of Ilion, and the 30

war that Fame had already blazed the whole world over—Atreus’[o]

sons, and Priam, and the enemy of both,

Achilles. He stopped short, and breaking into tears,

“What place is there left?” he cries, “Achates, what

clime on earth that is not full of our sad story? See there 35

Priam. Here, too, worth finds its due reward; here, too,

there are tears[97] for human fortune, and hearts that are

touched by mortality. Be free from fear: this renown

of ours will bring you some measure of safety.” So speaking,

he feeds his soul on the empty portraiture, with many

a sigh, and lets copious rivers run down his cheeks. For

he still saw how, as they battled round Pergamus,[98] here

the Greeks were flying, the Trojan youth in hot pursuit; 5

here the Phrygians, at their heels in his car Achilles, with

that dreadful crest. Not far from this he recognizes with

tears the snowy canvas of Rhesus’ tent, which, all surprised

in its first sleep, Tydeus’ son was devastating with wide

carnage, himself bathed in blood—see! he drives off 10

the fiery steeds to his own camp, ere they have had time

to taste the pastures of Troy or drink of Xanthus.[99] There

in another part is Troilus[100] in flight, his arms fallen from

him—unhappy boy, confronted with Achilles in unequal

combat—hurried away by his horses, and hanging half 15

out of the empty car, with his head thrown back, but the

reins still in his hand; his neck and his hair are being

trailed along the ground, and his inverted spear is drawing

lines in the dust. Meanwhile to the temple of Pallas,[101]

not their friend, were moving the Trojan dames with locks 20

dishevelled, carrying the sacred robe, in suppliant guise

of mourning, their breasts bruised with their hands—the

goddess was keeping her eyes riveted on the ground,

with her face turned away. Thrice had Achilles dragged

Hector round the walls of Ilion, and was now selling for 25

gold his body, thus robbed of breath. Then, indeed,

heavy was the groan that he gave from the bottom of

his heart, when he saw the spoils, the car, the very body

of his friend, and Priam, stretching out those helpless

hands. Himself, too, he recognizes in the forefront of 30

the Achæan ranks, and the squadrons of the East, and the

arms of the swarthy Memnon.[102] There, leading the columns

of her Amazons, with their moony shields, is Penthesilea[103]

in her martial frenzy, blazing out, the centre of thousands,

as she loops up her protruded breast with a girdle of gold, 35

the warrior queen, and nerves herself to the shock of combat,

a maiden against men.

While these things are meeting the wondering eyes of

Æneas the Dardan—while he is standing bewildered,

and continues riveted in one set gaze—the queen has

moved towards the temple, Dido, of loveliest presence,

with a vast train of youths thronging round her. Like

as on Eurotas’ banks, or along the ridges of Cynthus, 5

Diana[104] is footing the dance, while, attending her, a thousand

mountain nymphs are massing themselves on either

side; she, her quiver on her shoulder, as she steps, towers

over the whole goddess sisterhood, while Latona’s[105] bosom

thrills silently with delight; such was Dido—such she 10

bore herself triumphant through the midst, to speed the

work which had empire for its prospect. Then, at the doors

of the goddess, under the midmost vaulting of the temple,

with a fence of arms round her, supported high on a throne,

she took her seat. There she was giving laws and judgments 15

to her citizens, and equalizing the burden of their

tasks by fair partition, or draughting it by lot, when suddenly

Æneas sees coming among the great crowd Antheus

and Sergestus, and brave Cloanthus, and other of the

Teucrians, whom the black storm had scattered over the 20

deep, and carried far away to other coasts. Astounded

was he, overwhelmed, too, was Achates, all for joy and

fear: eagerly were they burning to join hands with theirs,

but the unexplained mystery confounds their minds.

They carry on the concealment, and look out from the 25

hollow cloud that wraps them, to learn what fortune their

mates have had, on what shore they are leaving their fleet,

what is their errand here—for they were on their way,

a deputation from all the crews, suing for grace, and were

making for the temple with loud cries. 30

After they had gained an entrance, and had obtained

leave to speak in the presence, Ilioneus, the eldest, thus

began, calm of soul:—

“Gracious queen, to whom Jupiter has given to found a

new city, and to restrain by force of law the pride of savage 35

nations, we, hapless Trojans, driven by the winds over

every sea, make our prayer to you—keep off from our

ships the horrors of fire, have pity on a pious race, and

vouchsafe a nearer view to our affairs. We are not come

to carry the havoc of the sword into the homes of Libya—to

snatch booty and hurry it to the shore; such violence

is not in our nature; such insolence were not for

the vanquished. There is a place—the Greeks call it 5

Hesperia—a land old in story, strong in arms and in

the fruitfulness of its soil; the Œnotrians were its settlers;

now report says that later generations have called the

nation Italian, from the name of their leader. Thither

were we voyaging, when, rising with a sudden swell, Orion,[106] 10

lord of the storm, carried us into hidden shoals, and far

away by the stress of reckless gales over the water, the

surge mastering us, and over pathless rocks scattered us

here and there: a small remnant, we drifted hither on to

your shores. What race of men have we here? What 15

country is so barbarous as to sanction a native usage like

this? Even the hospitality of the sand is forbidden us—they

draw the sword, and will not let us set foot on the

land’s edge. If you defy the race of men, and the weapons

that mortals wield, yet look to have to do with gods, who 20

watch over the right and the wrong. Æneas was our king,

than whom never man breathed more just, more eminent

in piety, or in war and martial prowess. If the Fates are

keeping our hero alive—if he is feeding on this upper

air, and not yet lying down in death’s cruel shade—all 25

our fears are over, nor need you be sorry to have made

the first advance in the contest of kindly courtesy. The

realm of Sicily, too, has cities for us, and store of arms,

and a hero-king of Trojan blood, Acestes.[o] Give us leave

but to lay up on shore our storm-beaten fleet, to fashion 30

timber in your forests, and strip boughs for our oars, that,

if we are allowed to sail for Italy, our comrades and king

restored to us, we may make our joyful way to Italy and

to Latium; or, if our safety is swallowed up, and thou,

best father of the Teucrians, art the prey of the Libyan 35

deep, and a nation’s hope lives no longer in Iulus, then, at

least, we may make for Sicania’s straits, and the houses

standing to welcome us, whence we came hither, and may

find a king in Acestes.” Such was the speech of Ilioneus;

an accordant clamour burst at once from all the sons of

Dardanus.

Then briefly Dido, with downcast look, makes reply:—“Teucrians!

unburden your hearts of fear, lay your anxieties 5

aside. It is the stress of danger and the infancy of

my kingdom that make me put this policy in motion and

protect my frontiers with a guard all about. The men

of Æneas and the city of Troy—who can be ignorant of

them?—the deeds and the doers, and all the blaze of that 10

mighty war? Not so blunt are the wits we Punic folk

carry with us, not so wholly does the sun turn his back

on our Tyrian town when he harnesses his steeds.

Whether you make your choice of Hesperia the great, and

the old realm of Saturn, or of the borders of Eryx and their 15

king Acestes, I will send you on your way with an escort

to protect you, and will supply you with stores. Or would

you like to settle along with me in my kingdom here?

Look at the city I am building, it is yours, lay up your

ships, Trojan and Tyrian shall be dealt with by me without 20

distinction. Would to heaven your king were here too,

driven by the gale that drove you hither—Æneas himself!

For myself, I will send trusty messengers along the coast,

with orders to traverse the furthest parts of Libya, in case

he should be shipwrecked and wandering anywhere in 25

forest or town.”

Excited by her words, brave Achates and father Æneas,

too, were burning long ere this to break out of their cloud.

Achates first accosts Æneas:—“Goddess-born, what purpose

now is foremost in your mind? All you see is safe, 30

our fleet and our mates are restored to us. One is missing,

whom our own eyes saw in the midst of the surge swallowed

up, all the rest is even as your mother told us.”

Scarce had he spoken when the cloud that enveloped

them suddenly parts asunder and clears into the open sky. 35

Out stood Æneas, and shone[107] again in the bright sunshine,

his face and his bust the image of a god, for his great

mother had shed graceful tresses over her son’s brow,

and the glowing flush of youth, and had breathed the

breath of beauty and gladness into his eyes, loveliness such

as the artist’s touch imparts to ivory, or when silver or

Parian marble is enchased[108] with yellow gold. Then he

addresses the queen, and speaks suddenly to the astonishment 5

of all:—“Here am I whom you are seeking, before

you,—Æneas, the Trojan, snatched from the jaws of the

Libyan wave. O heart that alone of all has found pity for

Troy’s cruel agonies—that makes us, poor remnants of

Danaan fury, utterly spent by all the chances of land and 10

sea, destitute of all, partners of its city, of its very palace!

To pay such a debt of gratitude, Dido, is more than we can

do—more than can be done by all the survivors of the

Dardan nation, now scattered the wide world over. May

the gods—if there are powers that regard the pious, if 15

justice and conscious rectitude count for aught anywhere

on earth—may they give you the reward you merit!

What age had the happiness to bring you forth? what

godlike parents gave such nobleness to the world? While

the rivers run into the sea, while the shadows sweep along 20

the mountain-sides, while the stars draw life from the

sky, your glory and your name and your praise shall still

endure, whatever the land whose call I must obey.” So

saying, he stretches out his right hand to his friend Ilioneus,

his left to Serestus, and so on to others, gallant Gyas 25

and gallant Cloanthus.

Astounded was Dido, Sidon’s daughter, first at the hero’s

presence, then at his enormous sufferings, and she bespoke

him thus:—“What chance is it, goddess-born, that is

hunting you through such a wilderness of perils? what 30

violence throws you on our savage coasts? Are you, indeed,

the famed Æneas, whom to Anchises the Dardan,

Venus, queen of light and love, bore by the stream of

Simois? Aye, I remember Teucer coming to Sidon, driven

from the borders of his fatherland, hoping to gain a new 35

kingdom by the aid of Belus. Belus, my sire, was then

laying waste the rich fields of Cyprus, and ruling the isle

with a conqueror’s sway. Ever since that time I knew

the fate of the Trojan city, and your name, and the

Pelasgian princes. Foe as he was, he would always extol

the Teucrians with signal praise, and profess that

he himself came of the ancient Teucrian stock. Come

then, brave men, and make our dwellings your home. 5

I, too, have had a fortune like yours, which, after the

buffeting of countless sufferings, has been pleased that

I should find rest in this land at last. Myself no stranger

to sorrow, I am learning[109] to succour the unhappy.”

With these words, at the same moment she ushers 10

Æneas into her queenly palace, and orders a solemn

sacrifice at the temples of the gods. Meantime, as if

this were nought, she sends to his comrades at the shore

twenty bulls, a hundred huge swine with backs all bristling,

a hundred fat lambs with their mothers, and the 15

wine-god’s jovial bounty.

But the palace within is laid out with all the splendour of

regal luxury, and in the centre of the mansion they are

making ready for the banquet; the coverlets are embroidered

and of princely purple—on the tables is massy 20

silver, and chased on gold the gallant exploits of Tyrian

ancestors, a long, long chain of story, derived through

hero after hero ever since the old nation was young.

Æneas, for his fatherly love would not leave his heart at

rest, sends on Achates with speed to the ships to tell Ascanius 25

the news and conduct him to the city. On Ascanius

all a fond parent’s anxieties are centred. Presents,

moreover, rescued from the ruins of Ilion, he bids him

bring—a pall stiff with figures of gold, and a veil with

a border of yellow acanthus,[110] adornments of Argive 30

Helen,[111] which she carried away from Mycenæ, when she

went to Troy and to her unblessed bridal, her mother

Leda’s marvellous gift; the sceptre, too, which Ilione

had once borne, the eldest of Priam’s daughters, and the

string of pearls for the neck, and the double coronal of 35

jewels and gold. With this to despatch, Achates was

bending his way to the ships.

But the lady of Cythera is casting new wiles, new devices

in her breast, that Cupid,[112] form and feature changed, may

arrive in the room of the charmer Ascanius, and by the

presents he brings influence the queen to madness, and turn

the very marrow of her bones to fire. She fears the two-faced

generation, the double-tongued sons of Tyre; Juno’s 5

hatred scorches her like a flame, and as night draws on the

care comes back to her. So then with these words she

addresses her winged Love:—“My son, who art alone my

strength and my mighty power, my son, who laughest to

scorn our great father’s Typhœan[113] thunderbolts, to thee 10

I fly for aid, and make suppliant prayer of thy majesty.

How thy brother Æneas is tossed on the ocean the whole

world over by Juno’s implacable rancour I need not tell

thee—nay, thou hast often mingled thy grief with mine.

He is now the guest of Dido, the Phœnician woman, and 15

the spell of a courteous tongue is laid on him, and I fear

what may be the end of taking shelter under Juno’s

wing; she will never be idle at a time on which so much

hangs. Thus then I am planning to be first in the field,

surprising the queen by stratagem, and encompassing 20

her with fire, that no power may be able to work a change

in her, but that a mighty passion for Æneas may keep

her mine. For the way in which thou mayest bring this

about, listen to what I have been thinking. The young

heir of royalty, at his loved father’s summons, is making 25

ready to go to this Sidonian city—my soul’s darling

that he is—the bearer of presents that have survived

the sea and the flames of Troy. Him I will lull in deep

sleep and hide him in my hallowed dwelling high on

Cythera or Idalia, that by no chance he may know or mar 30

our plot. Do thou then for a single night, no more, artfully

counterfeit his form, and put on the boy’s usual looks,

thyself a boy, that when Dido, at the height of her joy,

shall take thee into her lap while the princely board is

laden and the vine-god’s liquor flowing, when she shall 35

be caressing thee and printing her fondest kisses on thy

cheek, thou mayest breathe concealed fire into her veins,

and steal upon her with poison.”[114]

At once Love complies with his fond mother’s words,

puts off his wings, and walks rejoicing in the gait of Iulus.

As for Ascanius, Venus sprinkles his form all over with the

dew of gentle slumber,[115] and carries him, as a goddess may,

lapped in her bosom, into Idalia’s lofty groves, where a 5

soft couch of amaracus enfolds him with its flowers, and

the fragrant breath of its sweet shade. Meanwhile Cupid

was on his way, all obedience, bearing the royal presents to

the Tyrians, and glad to follow Achates. When he arrives,

he finds the queen already settled on the gorgeous tapestry 10

of a golden couch, and occupying the central place. Already

father Æneas, already the chivalry of Troy are flocking

in, and stretching themselves here and there on coverlets

of purple. There are servants offering them water

for their hands, and deftly producing the bread from the 15

baskets, and presenting towels with shorn nap. Within

are fifty maidens, whose charge is in course to pile up provisions

in lasting store, and light up with fire the gods of the

hearth. A hundred others there are, and male attendants

of equal number and equal age, to load the table with 20

dishes, and set on the cups. The Tyrians, too, have

assembled in crowds through the festive hall, and scatter

themselves as invited over the embroidered couches.

There is marvelling at Æneas’ presents, marvelling at

Iulus, at those glowing features, where the god shines 25

through, and those words which he feigns so well, and at

the robe and the veil with the yellow acanthus border.

Chief of all, the unhappy victim of coming ruin cannot

satisfy herself with gazing,[116] and kindles as she looks,

the Phœnician woman, charmed with the boy and the 30

presents alike. He, after he has hung long in Æneas’

arms and round his neck, gratifying the intense fondness

of the sire he feigned to be his, finds his way to the queen.

She is riveted by him—riveted, eye and heart, and ever

and anon fondles him in her lap[117]—poor Dido, unconscious 35

how great a god is sitting heavy on that wretched bosom.

But he, with his mind still bent on his Acidalian mother,

is beginning to efface the name of Sychæus letter by letter,

and endeavouring to surprise by a living passion affections

long torpid, and a heart long unused to love.

When the banquet’s first lull was come, and the board

removed, then they set up the huge bowls and wreathe the

wine. A din rings to the roof—the voice rolls through 5

those spacious halls; lamps[118] hang from the gilded ceiling,

burning brightly, and flambeau-fires put out the night.

Then the queen called for a cup, heavy with jewels and

gold, and filled it with unmixed wine; the same which

had been used by Belus, and every king from Belus downward. 10

Then silence was commanded through the hall.

“Jupiter, for thou hast the name of lawgiver for guest and

host, grant that this day may be auspicious alike for the

Tyrians and the voyagers from Troy, and that its memory

may long live among our posterity. Be with us, Bacchus,[119] 15

the giver of jollity, and Juno, the queen of our blessings;

and you, the lords of Tyre, may your goodwill grace this

meeting.” She said, and poured on the table an offering

of the wine, and, the libation made, touched the cup

first with her lips, then handed it to Bitias, rallying his 20

slowness. Eagerly he quaffed the foaming goblet, and

drenched himself deep with its brimming gold. Then

came the other lords in order. Iopas, the long-haired

bard, takes his gilded lyre, and fills the hall with music;

he, whose teacher was the mighty Atlas.[120] His song[121] is of 25

the wanderings of the moon and the agonies of the sun,

whence sprung man’s race and the cattle, whence rain-water

and fire; of Arcturus and the showery Hyades,

and the twin Bears; why the winter suns make such

haste to dip in ocean, or what is the retarding cause that 30

bids the nights move slowly. Plaudits redouble from

the Tyrians, and the Trojans follow the lead. With

varied talk, too, she kept lengthening out the night, unhappy

Dido, drinking draughts of love long and deep,

as she asked much about Priam, about Hector much; 35

now what were the arms in which Aurora’s son had come

to battle; now what Diomede’s steeds were like; now how

great was Achilles. “Or rather, gentle guest,” cries she,

“tell us the story from the very first—all about the stratagems

of the Danaans, and the sad fate of your country,

and your own wanderings—for this is now the seventh

summer that is wafting you a wanderer still over every

land and wave.”

BOOK II

Every tongue was hushed, and every eye fixed intently,

when, from high couch, father Æneas began thus:—

“Too cruel to be told, great queen, is the sorrow you

bid me revive—how the power of Troy and its empire

met with piteous overthrow from the Danaans—the 5

heartrending sights which my own eyes saw, and the scenes

where I had a large part to play. Who, in such recital—be

he of the Myrmidons[122] or the Dolopes, or a soldier of

ruthless Ulysses’[123] band—would refrain from tears? And

now, too, night is rushing in dews down the steep of heaven, 10

and the setting stars counsel repose. Still, if so great be

your longing to acquaint yourself with our disasters, and

hear the brief tale of Troy’s last agony, though my mind

shudders at the remembrance, and starts back in sudden

anguish, I will essay the task. 15

“Broken by war and foiled by destiny, the chiefs of the

Danaans, now that the flying years were numbering so

many, build a horse of mountain size, by the inspiration of

Pallas’ skill, and interlace its ribs with planks of fir. A

vow for their safe journey home is the pretext: such the 20

fame that spreads. In this they secretly enclose chosen

men of sinew, picked out by lot, in the depth of its sides,

and fill every corner of those mighty caverns, the belly of

the monster, with armed warriors.

“In sight of Troy lies Tenedos, an island of wide-spread 25

renown, powerful and rich while Priam’s empire yet was,

now a mere bay, a treacherous roadstead for ships. Thus

far they sail out, and hide themselves on the forsaken

coast. We thought them gone off with a fair wind for

Mycenæ. And so all Trojan land shakes off the agony of 30

years. Open fly the gates; what pleasure to go and see the

Dorian camp, and the places deserted, and the shore forsaken!

Yes, here were the troops of the Dolopes; here

the tent of that savage Achilles; here the ships were drawn

up; here they used to set the battle in array. Some of 5

us are standing agaze at the fatal offering to the virgin

goddess, and wondering at the hugeness of the horse;

and Thymœtes takes the lead, urging to have it dragged

within the walls, and lodged in the citadel, either with

treasonable intent, or that the fate of Troy had begun to 10

set that way. But Capys, and the men of saner judgment,

bid us send this snare of the Danaans, this suspicious present,

headlong into the sea, or light a fire under and burn

it; or, if not that, to pierce and probe that hollow womb

that might hide so much. The populace, unstable as 15

ever, divides off into opposite factions.

“Throwing himself before all, with a great crowd at his

back, Laocoon,[124] all on fire, comes running down the steep

of the citadel, crying in the distance, ‘What strange

madness is this, my unhappy countrymen? Think you 20

that the enemy has sailed off, or that a Danaan could ever

make a present that had no treachery in it? Is this your

knowledge of Ulysses? Either the Achæans are shut up

and hiding in this piece of wood, or it is an engine framed

against our walls, to command the houses and come down 25

on the city from above, or there is some other secret trick.

Men of Troy, put no faith in the horse. Whatever it be,

I fear a Greek even with a gift in his hand.’ With these

words he hurled a mighty spear with all his force against

the beast’s side, the jointed arch of its belly. It lodged, 30

and stood quivering; the womb shook again, and an echo

and a groan rang hollow from its caverns; and, then,

had but heaven’s destiny and man’s judgment been unwarped,

he had led us to carry sword and havoc into the

Argive lurking-place, and Troy would now be standing, 35

and thou, Priam’s tall fortress, still in being.

“Meanwhile, see! some Dardan shepherds are dragging

with loud shouts before the king a young man with his

hands tied behind him, who had thrown himself, a stranger,

across their way, to compass this very thing, and thus

let the Achæans into Troy—bold of heart, and ready for

either issue, either to play off his stratagem, or to meet

inevitable death. From all sides, in eager curiosity, 5

the Trojan youth come streaming round, vying in their

insults to the prisoner. Now then, listen, to the tale of

Danaan fraud, and from one act of guilt learn what the

whole nation is. There as he stood, with all eyes bent on

him, bewildered, defenceless, and looked round on the 10

Phrygian bands, ’ Alas!’ he cries, ‘where is there a

spot of earth or sea that will give me shelter now? or what

last resource is left for a wretch like me—one who has no

place among the Danaans to hide my head—while the

children of Dardanus no less are in arms against me, 15

crying for bloody vengeance?’ At that piteous cry our

mood was changed, and every outrage checked. We

encourage him to speak—to tell us what his parentage

is; what his business; what he has to rest on as a prisoner.

‘All, my lord, shall be avowed to you truly, whatever 20

be the issue. I will not deny that I am an Argive by

nation; this to begin with. Nor if Fortune has made a

miserable man out of Sinon, shall her base schooling

make him deceiver and liar as well. If haply in talk your

ears ever caught the name of Palamedes, of the house of 25

Belus, and his wide-spread renown—his, whom under

false accusation, an innocent man, charged by the blackest

calumny, all because his voice was against the war,

the Pelasgians sent down to death, and now, when he is

laid in darkness, lament him too late—know that it was 30

as his comrade and near kinsman I was sent by a needy

father to a soldier’s life in earliest youth. While he stood

with his royal state unimpaired, an honoured member of

the kingly council, I, too, enjoyed my measure of name

and dignity; but after the jealousy of false Ulysses—you 35

know the tale—removed him from this upper clime—dashed

from my height, I dragged on life in darkness and

sorrow, and vented to my own heart my rage at the disaster

of my innocent friend. Nor did I keep silence—madman

that I was! No, if ever the chance were given

me—if ever I came back with glory to my native Argos—I

vowed myself his avenger, and my words stirred up

bitter enmity. From that time my ruin began; from that 5

time Ulysses was ever threatening me with some new

charge, ever scattering abroad words of mystery, and looking

for allies to plot with. Nor did he rest till by Calchas’[125]

agency—but why recall this unwelcome story with no

end to gain? Why waste your time, if you hold all Achæans 10

alike, and to hear that is to hear enough? Take the

vengeance you should have taken long ago. It is just

what would please the Ithacan, and earn a large reward

from the sons of Atreus!’[126]

“This makes us burn, indeed, to explore and inquire into 15

the reason of his tale, not knowing that crime could be so

monstrous, and Pelasgian art so cunning. He resumes, in

faltering tones, spoken from his false heart:—

“‘Often have the Danaans designed to turn their back

on Troy and accomplish a retreat, and abandon the war 20

that had wearied them so long; and would they had done

it! As often has the fierce inclemency of the deep barred

their purpose, and the south wind frightened them from

sailing. Especially, when this horse was set up at last, a

compacted mass of maple planks, the thunder of the storm-clouds 25

was heard the whole firmament over. In our

perplexity we send Eurypylus to inquire of Phœbus’[127]

oracle, and this is the gloomy message that he brings back

from the shrine: “With blood it was ye appeased the winds,

even with a maiden’s slaughter, when first ye came, Danaans, 30

to the shore of Ilion. With blood it is ye must buy

your return, and propitiate heaven by the life of an Argive!”

Soon as the news reached the public ear, every

mind was cowed, and a cold shudder thrilled the depth of

every heart. For whom has Fate a summons? Whom does 35

Apollo demand as his prey? And now the Ithacan, with

boisterous vehemence, drags forward the prophet Calchas,

insists on knowing what that announcement of heaven’s

will may mean; and many even then were the prophetic

mouths that warned me of the trickster’s cruel villany,

and many the eyes that silently foresaw the future. Ten

days the seer holds his peace, and keeps his tent, refusing

to utter a word that should, disclose any name or sacrifice 5

any life. At last, goaded by the Ithacan’s vehement

clamour, he breaks into a concerted utterance, and dooms

me to the altar. All assented, well content that the danger

which each feared for himself should be directed to the

extinction of one poor wretch. And now the day of horror 10

was come; all was being ready for my sacrifice—the

salt cakes for the fire, and the fillet to crown my brow—when

I escaped, I own it, from death, and broke my

bonds, and hid myself that night in a muddy marsh in the

covert of the rushes, while they should be sailing, in the 15

faint hope that they had sailed. My old country, I

never expect to see it again, nor my darling children, and

the father I have longed so for! No! they are likely

to visit them with vengeance for my escape, and expiate

this guilt of mine by taking their poor lives. O! by the 20

gods above, and the powers that know when truth is

spoken, if there is yet abiding anywhere among men such

a thing as unsullied faith, I conjure you, have pity on this

weight of suffering, have pity on a soul that is unworthily

borne down!’ 25

“Such a tearful appeal gains him his life, and our compassion

too. Priam himself is first to bid them relieve the

man of his manacles and the chains that bound him, and

addresses him in words of kindness. ‘Whoever you are,

from this time forth have done with the Greeks, and forget 30

them. I make you my man, and bid you answer truly

the questions I shall put. What do they mean by setting

up this huge mountain of a horse? Who was the prompter

of it? What is their object? Some religious offering, or

some engine of war?’ 35

“Thus Priam: the prisoner, with all his Pelasgian craft

and cunning about him, raised his unfettered hands to the

stars:—

“‘You, eternal fires, with your inviolable majesty, be

my witnesses; you, altars and impious swords, from which

I fled; and you, hallowed fillets, which I wore for the sacrifice!

I am free to break all the sacred ties that bound me

to the Greeks. I am free to treat them as my foes, and 5

disclose all their secrets to the light of day, all the claims

of the land of my birth notwithstanding. Only do thou

abide by thy plighted word, and preserve faith with thy

preserver, land of Troy, if he tells thee true, and makes

thee large returns. 10

“‘The strength of the Danaan hopes, and the soul of

their confidence in the war they plunged into, has ever

been the aid of Pallas. From the time when Tydeus’ impious

son and Ulysses, that coiner of villany, dared to

drag away from her hallowed temple the fateful Palladium,[128] 15

slaughtering the guards who watched the citadel’s

height, thenceforth there was an ebb and a backsliding in

the Danaan hopes, their forces shattered, the goddess estranged.

Nor were the portents dubious that betokened

Tritonia’s change of mood. Scarce was the image lodged 20

in the camp, when flashing fire glowed in her uplifted eyes,

and salt sweat trickled over her frame, and thrice of herself

she leaped from the ground, marvellous to relate, shield

and quivering lance and all. Forthwith Calchas sounds

the note for flight over the perilous deep, for that Pergamus 25

can never be razed by Argive steel, unless they go to

Argos for fresh omens, and bring back the divine aid

which their crooked keels bore with them aforetime over

the sea. And now this their voyage home to Mycenæ is

to get new forces and gods to sail with them; they will re-cross 30

the deep, and come upon you unforeseen. Such is

Calchas’ scanning of the omens. As for this image, he

warned them to set it up in exchange for the Palladium,

and, in expiation of injured deity, to atone for their fatal

crime. Calchas, however, bade them raise it to the vast 35

height you see, knitting plank to plank, till it was brought

near to heaven, that it might not be admitted at the gates

or dragged within the walls, and thus restore to the people

the bulwark of their old worship. For if your hand should

profane Minerva’s offering, then (said he) a mighty destruction—may

the gods turn the omen on his head ere

it falls on yours!—would come on the empire of Priam

and the Phrygian nation; but if these hands of yours 5

should help it to scale your city’s height, Asia would roll

the mighty tide of invasion on the walls of Pelops,[129] and

our posterity would have to meet the fate he threatened.’

“Such was the stratagem—the cursed art of perjured

Sinon—that gained credence for the tale; and such the 10

victory won over us by wiles and constrained tears—over

us, whom not Tydeus’ son, nor Achilles of Larissa,

nor ten years of war subdued, nor a fleet of a thousand

sail.

“And now another object, greater and far more terrible, 15

is forced on my poor countrymen, to the confusion of their

unprophetic souls. Laocoon, drawn by lot as Neptune’s

priest, was sacrificing a mighty bull at the wonted altar—when

behold from Tenedos, over the still deep—I

shudder as I recount the tale—two serpents coiled in vast 20

circles are seen breasting the sea, and moving side by side

towards the shore. Their breasts rise erect among the

waves; their manes, of blood-red hue, tower over the

water, the rest of them floats behind on the main, trailing

a huge undulating length; the brine foams and dashes 25

about them; they are already on shore, in the plain—with

their glowing eyes bloodshot and fiery, and their

forked tongues playing in their hissing mouths. We fly

all ways in pale terror: they, in an unswerving column,

make for Laocoon, and first each serpent folds round one 30

of his two sons, clasping the youthful body, and greedily

devouring the poor limbs. Afterwards, as the father comes

to the rescue, weapon in hand, they fasten on him and lash

their enormous spires tight round him—and now twice

folded round his middle, twice embracing his neck with 35

their scaly length, they tower over him with uplifted head

and crest. He is straining with agonizing clutch to pull

the knots asunder, his priestly fillets all bedewed with gore

and black poison, and raising all the while dreadful cries

to heaven—like the bellowing, when a wounded bull darts

away from the altar, dashing off from his neck the ill-aimed

axe. But the two serpents escape glidingly to the

temple top, making for the height where ruthless Tritonia 5

is enthroned, and there shelter themselves under the goddess’s

feet and the round of her shield. Then, indeed,

every breast is cowed and thrilled through by a new and

strange terror—every voice cries that Laocoon has been

duly punished for his crime, profaning the sacred wood 10

with his weapon’s point, and hurling his guilty lance

against the back of the steed. Let the image be drawn

to her temple, and let prayer be made to the goddess, is

the general cry—we break through the walls and open

the town within. All gird them to the work, putting 15

wheels to run easily under its feet, and throwing lengths

of hempen tie round its neck. It scales the walls, that

fateful engine, with its armed brood—boys and unwedded

girls, standing about it, chant sacred hymns, delighted to

touch the rope. In it moves, rolling with threatening brow 20

into the heart of the city. O my country! O Ilion,

home of the gods! O ye, Dardan towers, with your martial

fame! Yes—four times on the gateway’s very threshold

it stopped, four times the arms rattled in its womb.

On, however, we press, unheeding, in the blindness of our 25

frenzy, and lodge the ill-starred portent in our hallowed

citadel. Even then Cassandra[130] unseals to speak of future

fate those lips which by the god’s command no Trojan

ever believed—while we, alas! we, spend the day that

was to be our last in crowning the temples of the gods 30

with festal boughs the whole city through.

“Meantime round rolls the sky, and on comes night from

the ocean, wrapping in its mighty shade earth and heaven

and Myrmidon wiles: through the city the Trojans are

hushed in careless repose, their tired limbs in the arms of 35

sleep. Already was the Argive host on its way from Tenedos,

through the friendly stillness of the quiet moon,

making for the well-known shore, when see! the royal

ship mounts its fire signal, and Sinon, sheltered by heaven’s

partial decree, stealthily sets at large the Danaans, hid in

that treacherous womb, and opens the pine-wood door:

they as the horse opens are restored to upper air, and leap

forth with joy from the hollow timber, Thessander and 5

Sthenelus leading the way, and the dreaded Ulysses, gliding

down the lowered rope, and Achamas and Thoas, and

Neoptolemus of Peleus’ line, and first Machaon, and Menelaus,

and the framer of the cheat himself, Epeus. They

rush on the town as it lies drowned in sleep and revelry. 10

The watchers are put to the sword, the gates thrown open,

and all are welcoming their comrades, and uniting with

the conspiring bands.

“It was just the time when first slumber comes to heal

human suffering, stealing on men by heaven’s blessing 15

with balmiest influence. Lo! as I slept, before my eyes

Hector,[131] in deepest sorrow, seemed to be standing by me,

shedding rivers of tears—mangled from dragging at the

car, as I remember him of old, and black with gory dust,

and with his swollen feet bored by the thong. Ay me! 20

what a sight was there! what a change from that Hector

of ours, who comes back to us clad in the spoils of Achilles,

or from hurling Phrygian fire on Danaan vessels! with

stiffened beard and hair matted with blood, and those

wounds fresh about him, which fell on him so thickly 25

round his country’s walls. Methought I addressed him

first with tears like his own, fetching from my breast the

accents of sorrow—‘O light of Dardan land, surest hope

that Trojans ever had! What delay has kept you so long?

From what clime is the Hector of our longings returned 30

to us at last? O the eyes with which, after long months

of death among your people, months of manifold suffering

to Troy and her sons, spent and weary, we look upon you

now! What unworthy cause has marred the clear beauty

of those features, or why do I behold these wounds?’ 35

He answers nought, and gives no idle heed to my vain

inquiries, but with a deep sigh, heaved from the bottom

of his heart—‘Ah! fly, goddess-born!’ cries he, ‘and

escape from these flames—the walls are in the enemy’s

hand—Troy is tumbling from its summit—the claims

of country and king are satisfied—if Pergamus could be

defended by force of hand, it would have been defended

by mine, in my day. Your country’s worship and her 5

gods are what she entrusts to you now—take them to

share your destiny—seek for them a mighty city, which

you shall one day build when you have wandered the

ocean over.’ With these words he brings out Queen Vesta[132]

with her fillets and the ever-burning fire from the secret 10

shrine.

“Meanwhile the city in its various quarters is being convulsed

with agony—and ever more and more, though my

father Anchises’ palace was retired in the privacy of embosoming

trees, the sounds deepen, and the alarm of 15

battle swells. I start up from sleep, mount the sloping

roof, and stand intently listening—even as, when among

standing corn a spark falls with a fierce south wind to

fan it, or the impetuous stream of a mountain torrent

sweeps the fields, sweeps the joyous crops and the bullocks’ 20

toil, and drives the woods headlong before it, in

perplexed amazement a shepherd takes in the crash from

a rock’s tall summit. Then, indeed, all doubt was over,

and the wiles of the Danaans stood confessed. Already

Deiphobus’ palace has fallen with a mighty overthrow 25

before the mastering fire-god—already his neighbour

Ucalegon is in flames—the expanse of the Sigean sea

shines again with the blaze. Up rises at once the shouting

of men and the braying of trumpets. To arms I rush

in frenzy.—not that good cause is shown for arms—but 30

to muster a troop for fight, and run to the citadel with

my comrades is my first burning impulse—madness and

rage drive my mind headlong, and I think how glorious to

die with arms in my hand.

“But see! Panthus, escaped from an Achæan volley, 35

Panthus, Othrys’ son, priest of Phœbus in the citadel,

comes dragging along with his own hand the vanquished

gods of his worship and his young grandchild, and making

distractedly for my door. ‘How goes the day, Panthus?

What hold have we of the citadel?’ The words

were scarcely uttered when with a groan he replies, ‘It is

come, the last day, the inevitable hour—on Dardan land

no more Trojans; no more of Ilion, and the great renown 5

of the sons of Teucer; Jove, in his cruelty, has carried all

over to Argos; the town is on fire, and the Danaans are

its masters. There, planted high in the heart of the city,

the horse is pouring out armed men, and Sinon is flinging

about fire in the insolence of conquest; some are 10

crowding into the unfolded gates—thousands, many as

ever came from huge Mycenæ: some are blocking up the

narrow streets, with weapons pointed at all comers; the

sharp steel with its gleaming blade stands drawn, ready

for slaughter; hardly, even on the threshold, the sentinels 15

of the gates are attempting resistance, in a struggle where

the powers of war are blind.’

“At these words of the son of Othrys, and heaven’s

will thus expressed, I plunge into the fire and the battle,

following the war-fiend’s yell, the din of strife, and the 20

shout that rose to the sky. There join me Rhipeus and

Epytus, bravest in fight, crossing my way in the moonlight,

as also Hypanis and Dymas, and form at my side;

young Coroebus, too, Mygdon’s son; he happened to be

just then come to Troy, with a frantic passion for Cassandra, 25

and was bringing a son-in-law’s aid to Priam and his

Phrygians—poor boy! to have given no heed to the

warnings of his heaven-struck bride! Seeing them

gathered in a mass and nerved for battle, I begin thereon:—‘Young

hearts, full of unavailing valour, if your desire 30

is set to follow a desperate man, you see what the plight

of our affairs is—gone in a body from shrine and altar

are the gods who upheld this our empire—the city you

succour is a blazing ruin; choose we then death, and rush

we into the thick of the fight. The one safety for vanquished 35

men is to hope for none.’ These words stirred

their young spirits to madness: then, like ravenous wolves

in night’s dark cloud, driven abroad by the blind rage of

lawless hunger, with their cubs left at home waiting their

return with parched jaws, among javelins, among foemen,

on we go with no uncertain fate before us, keeping our

way through the heart of the town, while night flaps over

us its dark, overshadowing wings. Who could unfold in 5

speech the carnage, the horrors of that night, or make his

tears keep pace with our suffering? It is an ancient city,

falling from the height where she queened it many a year;

and heaps of unresisting bodies are lying confusedly in the

streets, in the houses, on the hallowed steps of temples. 10

Nor is it on Teucer’s sons alone that bloody vengeance

lights. There are times when even the vanquished feel

courage rushing back to their hearts, and the conquering

Danaans fall. Everywhere is relentless agony; everywhere

terror, and the vision of death in many a manifestation. 15

“First of the Danaans, with a large band at his back,

Androgeos crosses our way, taking us for a troop of his

friends in his ignorance, and hails us at once in words of

fellowship: ‘Come, my men, be quick. Why, what sloth 20

is keeping you so late? Pergamus is on fire, and the rest

of us are spoiling and sacking it, and here are you, but

just disembarked from your tall ships.’ He said, and instantly,

for no reply was forthcoming to reassure him, saw

that he had fallen into the thick of the enemy. Struck 25

with consternation, he drew back foot and tongue. Just

as a man who at unawares has trodden on a snake among

thorns and briers in his walk, and recoils at once in sudden

alarm from the angry uplifted crest and the black swelling

neck, so Androgeos, appalled at the sight, was retiring. 30

But we rush on him, and close round, weapons in

hand; and, in their ignorance of the ground, and the

surprise of their terror, they fall before us everywhere.

Fortune smiles on our first encounter. Hereon Coroebus,

flushed with success and daring, ‘Come, my friends,’ he 35

cries, ‘where Fortune at starting directs us to the path of

safety, and reveals herself as our ally, be it ours to follow

on. Let us change shields, and see if Danaan decorations

will fit us. Trick or strength of hand, who, in dealing

with an enemy, asks which? They shall arm us against

themselves.’ So saying, he puts on Androgeos’ crested

helm, and his shield with its goodly device, and fastens

to his side an Argive sword. So does Rhipeus, so Dymas 5

too, and all our company, with youthful exultation, each

arming himself out of the new-won spoils. On we go,

mixing with the Greeks, under auspices not our own, and

many are the combats in which we engage in the blindness

of night, many the Danaans whom we send down to 10

the shades. They fly on all hands: some to the ships,

making at full speed for safety on the shore; others, in

the debasement of terror, climb once more the horse’s

huge sides, and hide themselves in the womb they knew

so well. 15

“Alas! it is not for man to throw himself on the gods

against their will!

“Lo! there was a princess of Priam’s house being

dragged by her dishevelled hair from the temple, from

the very shrine of Minerva, Cassandra, straining her flashing 20

eyes to heaven in vain—her eyes—for those delicate

hands were confined by manacles. The sight was too

much for the infuriate mind of Coroebus: rushing to his

doom, he flung himself into the middle of the hostile force.

One and all, we follow, close our ranks, and fall on. And 25

now, first from the temple’s lofty top we are overwhelmed

by a shower of our own countrymen’s darts, and a most

piteous carnage ensues, all along of the appearance of our

arms and our mistaken Grecian crests. Then the Danaans,

groaning and enraged at the rescue of the maiden, rally 30

from all sides, and fall on us. Ajax, in all his fury, and

the two sons of Atreus, and the whole array of the Dolopes—even

as one day when the tempest is broken loose, and

wind meets wind—west, and south, and east exulting in

his orient steeds—there is crashing in the woods, and 35

Nereus,[133] in a cloud of foam, is plying his ruthless trident,

and stirring up the sea from its very bottom. Such of

the foe, moreover, as in the darkness of night we had

driven routed through, the gloom—thanks to our stratagem—and

scattered the whole city over, rally again:

they are the first to recognize the imposture of shield and

weapon, and to mark the different sound of our speech.

All is over—we are overwhelmed by numbers: first of 5

all, Coroebus is stretched low; his slayer Peneleos, his

place of death the altar of the Goddess of Arms; slain,

too, is Rhipeus, the justest and most righteous man in

Troy—but heaven’s will is not ours—down go Hypanis

and Dymas both, shot by their friends; nor could all 10

your acts of piety, good Panthus, shield you in your fall;

no, nor the fillet of Apollo on your brow. Ye ashes of

Ilion, and thou, funeral fire of those I loved, witness ye

that in your day of doom I shrank from no Danaan dart,

no hand-to-hand encounter; nay, that had my fate been 15

to fall, my hand had earned it well. We are parted from

the rest, Iphitus, Pelias, and I. Iphitus, a man on whom

years were already pressing; Pelias, crippled by a wound

from Ulysses—all three summoned by the shouting to

Priam’s palace. 20

“Here, indeed, the conflict was gigantic—just as if the

rest of the war were nowhere—as if none were dying in the

whole city beside: even such was the sight we saw—the

war-god raging untamed, the Danaans streaming up to the

roof, the door blockaded by a long penthouse of shields. 25

The scaling ladders are clasping the walls; close to the very

door men are climbing, with their left hands presenting

the buckler to shelter them from darts, while with their

right they are clasping the battlements. The Dardans,

on their part, are tearing up from the palace turret and 30

roof—such the weapons with which, in their dire extremity,

in the last death-struggle, they make ready for their

defence—gilded rafters, the stately ornaments of elder

days, they are hurling down; while others, their swords

drawn, are stationed at the doors at the bottom, and 35

guarding them in close array. The fire revived within

me, to bring succour to the royal roof, and relieve those

brave men, and breathe new daring into the vanquished.

“A door there was, a hidden entrance, a thoroughfare

through Priam’s palace, a postern which you leave in the

rear; by it the hapless Andromache,[134] while yet the throne

was standing, used often to repair unattended to her husband’s 5

parents, and pull the boy Astyanax into his grandsire’s

presence. Through it I make my way to the summit

of the roof, whence the wretched Teucrians were hurling

darts without avail. There was a tower standing precipitous,

its roof reared high to the stars, whence could be

seen all Troy, and the Danaan fleet, and the Achæan camp; 10

to this we applied our weapons, just where the lofty flooring

made the joining insecure; we wrench it from its eminence,

we have toppled it over—down it falls at once, a huge

crashing ruin, and tumbles far and wide over the Danaan

ranks. But others fill their place; while stones and every 15

kind of missile keep raining unabated.

“There in the entry, at the very gate, is Pyrrhus[135] in his

glory, gleaming with spear and sword, and with all the

brilliance of steel. Even as against the daylight a serpent

gorged with baleful herbage, whom winter’s cold of late 20

was keeping swollen underground, now, his skin shed, in

new life and in the beauty of youth, rears his breast erect,

and wreathes his shining scales, towering to the sun, and

flashes in his mouth his three-forked tongue. With him

gigantic Periphas and Automedon, his armour-bearer, 25

once Achilles’ charioteer, with him the whole chivalry

of Scyros press to the walls, and hurl up fire to the roof.

Himself among the foremost, a two-edged axe in hand,

is bursting through the stubborn door and forcing from

their hinges the valves copper-sheathed; see! now he has 30

cut out a plank and delved into that stout heart of oak,

and made a wide gaping window in the middle. There is

seen the house within, and the long vista of the hall;

there is seen the august retirement of Priam and the

monarchs of past days, and armed warriors are disclosed 35

standing in the entrance.

“But the palace within is a confused scene of shrieking

and piteous disorder; the vaulted chambers wail from

their hollow depths with female lamentation; the noise

strikes the golden stars above. The terror-stricken matrons

are running to and fro through the spacious courts, clinging

claspingly to the gates and printing them with kisses.

On presses Pyrrhus with all his father’s might; neither 5

barrier of oak nor yet living guard can resist him; the

door gives way under the thick strokes of the battery,

and the valves are torn from their hinges and brought

down. Force finds its way; the Danaans burst a passage,

rush in, and slaughter those they meet, and the whole 10

wide space is flooded with soldiers. With far less fury,

when the river, all foam, has broken the prison of its banks

and streamed with triumphant tide over the barriers set

to check it, down it comes tumbling along the corn-fields,

and along the whole country sweeps away herd and stall. 15

With my own eyes I saw Neoptolemus, mad with carnage,

and the two Atridæ on the palace-floor. I saw Hecuba[136]

and her hundred daughters-in-law, and Priam at the

altar, polluting with his blood the flames he had himself

made holy. Those fifty marriage-chambers, the splendid 20

promise of children’s children, doors gorgeous with barbaric

gold and plundered treasure, all sank in dust. Where

the fire flags, the Danaans are masters.

“Perhaps, too, you may be curious to hear the fate of

Priam. When he saw his city fallen and captured, the 25

doors of his palace burst open, the foe in the heart of his

home’s sanctuary, poor old man! helplessly and hopelessly

he puts about his shoulders, trembling with age,

his armour, long disused, and girds on his unavailing sword,

and is going to his doom among the thick of the foe. In 30

the midst of the palace, under the naked height of the sky,

stood a great altar, and by it a bay tree of age untold,

leaning over the altar and enfolding the household gods

in its shade. Here about the altar Hecuba and her

daughters, all helpless, like doves driven headlong down 35

by a murky tempest, huddled together and clinging to

the statues of the gods, were sitting. But when she saw

Priam—yes, Priam—wearing the arms of his youth—‘What

monstrous thought,’ cries she, ‘my most wretched

spouse, has moved you to gird on these weapons? or to

what are you hurrying? It is not help like this, not protections

like those you wear, that the crisis needs. No,

not even if my lost Hector were now at our side. Come, 5

join us here at last; this altar shall be a defence for us all,

or we will die together.’ With these words she took him

to where she was, and lodged his aged frame in the hallowed

resting-place.

“But, see! here is Polites, one of Priam’s sons escaped 10

from Pyrrhus’ murderous hand, through showers of darts

and masses of foemen, flying down the long corridors and

traversing the empty courts, sore and wounded, while

Pyrrhus, all on fire, is pursuing him, with a deadly stroke,

his hand all but grasping him, his spear close upon him. 15

Just as at last he won his way into the view and presence of

his parents, down he fell and poured out his life in a gush of

blood. Hereon Priam, though hemmed in by death on

all sides, could not restrain himself, or control voice and

passion. ‘Aye,’ cries he, ‘for a crime, for an outrage like 20

this, may the gods, if there is any sense of right in heaven

to take cognizance of such deeds, give you the full thanks

you merit, and pay you your due reward; you, who have

made me look with my own eyes on my son’s death, and

stained a father’s presence with the sight of blood. But 25

he whom your lying tongue calls your sire, Achilles, dealt

not thus with Priam his foe—he had a cheek that could

crimson at a suppliant’s rights, a suppliant’s honour.

Hector’s lifeless body he gave back to the tomb, and sent

me home to my realms in peace.’ So said the poor old 30

man, and hurled at him a dart unwarlike, unwounding,

which the ringing brass at once shook off, and left hanging

helplessly from the end of the shield’s boss. Pyrrhus

retorts: ‘You shall take your complaint, then, and carry

your news to my father, Pelides. Tell, him about my 35

shocking deeds, about his degenerate Neoptolemus,

and do not forget. Now die.’ With these words he

dragged him to the very altar, palsied and sliding in a pool

of his son’s blood, wreathed his left hand in his hair, and

with his right flashed forth and sheathed in his side the

sword to the hilt. Such was the end of Priam’s fortunes,

such the fatal lot that fell upon him, with Troy blazing

and Pergamus in ruins before his eyes—upon him, once 5

the haughty ruler of those many nations and kingdoms,

the sovereign lord of Asia! There he lies on the shore,

a gigantic trunk, a head severed from the shoulders, a

body without a name.

“Now, for the first time grim horror prisoned me round—I 10

was wildered—there rose up the image of my dear

father, as I saw the king, his fellow in age, breathing out

his life through that ghastly wound. There rose up Creusa[137]

unprotected, my house, now plundered, and the chance to

which I had left my little Iulus. I cast my eyes back and 15

look about to see what strength there is round me. All

had forsaken me, too tired to stay; they had leapt to the

ground, or dropped helplessly into the flames. And now

I was there alone. When lodged in the temple of Vesta,

and crouching mutely in its darkest recess, the daughter of 20

Tyndareus[138] meets my eye; the brilliant blaze gives light

to my wandering feet and ranging glance. Yes, she in her

guilty fears, dreading at once the Teucrians whom the

overthrow of Pergamus had made her foes, and the vengeance

of the Danaans, and the wrath of the husband she 25

abandoned—she, the common fiend of Troy and of her

country, had hid herself away, and was sitting in hateful

solitude at the altar. My spirit kindled into flame—a

fury seized me to avenge my country in its fall, and to do

justice on a wretch. ‘So she is to see Sparta and her 30

native Mycenæ again in safety, and is to move as a queen

in a triumph of her own? She is to look upon her lord

and her old home, her children and her parents, with a

crowd of our Trojan ladies and Phrygian captives to wait

on her? Shall it be for this that Priam has died by the 35

sword, that Troy has been burnt with fire, that the Dardan

shore has gushed so oft with the sweat of blood? No,

never—for though there are no proud memories to be

won by vengeance on a woman, no laurels to be reaped from

a conquest like this, yet the extinction of so base a life

and the exaction of vengeance so merited will count as a

praise, and it will be a joy to have glutted my spirit with

the flame of revenge and slaked the thirsty ashes of those 5

I love.’ Such were the wild words I was uttering, such

the impulse of my infuriate heart, when suddenly there

appeared to me, brighter than I had ever seen her before,

and shone forth in clear radiance through the night, my

gracious mother, all her deity confessed, with the same 10

mien and stature by which she is known to the dwellers

in heaven. She seized me by the hand and stayed me,

seconding her action with these words from her roseate

lips; ‘My son, what mighty agony is it that stirs up

this untamed passion? What means your frenzy? or 15

whither has fled your care for me? Will you not first see

where you have left your father Anchises, spent with age

as he is? whether your wife, Creusa, be yet alive, and

your child, Ascanius? All about them the Grecian armies

are ranging to and fro, and were not my care exerted to 20

rescue them, ere this they had been snatched by the flame,

devoured by the foeman’s sword. It is not the hated

beauty of the daughter of Tyndareus, the Spartan woman—not

the reviled Paris. No, it is heaven, unpitying

heaven that is overturning this great empire and levelling 25

Troy from its summit. See here—for I will take away

wholly the cloud whose veil, cast over your eyes, dulls

your mortal vision and darkles round you damp and

thick—do you on your part shrink in naught from your

mother’s commands, nor refuse to obey the instructions 30

she gives. Here, where you see huge masses rent asunder,

and stones wrenched from stones, and blended torrents

of smoke and dust, is Neptune with his mighty trident

shaking the walls and upheaving the very foundations;

here is Juno, cruellest of foes, posted at the entry of the 35

Scæan gate, and summoning in tones of fury from the

ships her confederate band, herself girt with steel like them.

Look behind you—there is Tritonian Pallas, seated already

on the summit of our towers, in the lurid glare of

her storm-cloud and grim Gorgon’s head. The great

Father himself is nerving the Danaans with courage and

strength for victory—himself leading the gods against

our Dardan forces. Come, my son, catch at flight while 5

you may and bring the struggle to an end. I will not leave

you, till I have set you in safety at your father’s door.’

She had ceased, and veiled herself at once in night’s

thickest shadows. I see a vision of awful shapes—mighty

presences of gods arrayed against Troy. 10

“Then, indeed, I beheld all Ilion sinking into flame, and

Neptune’s city, Troy, overturned from its base. Even as

an ancient ash on the mountain-top, which woodmen have

hacked with steel and repeated hatchet strokes, and are

trying might and main to dislodge—it keeps nodding 15

menacingly, its leafy head palsied and shaken, till at

last, gradually overborne by wound after wound, it has

given its death-groan, and fallen uprooted in ruined

length along the hill. I come down, and, following my

heavenly guide, thread my way through flames and foemen, 20

while weapons glance aside and flames retire.

“Now when at last I had reached the door of my father’s

house, that old house I knew so well, my sire, whom it

was my first resolve to carry away high up the hills—who

was the first object I sought—refuses to survive the 25

razing of Troy and submit to banishment. ‘You, whose

young blood is untainted, whose strength is firmly based

and self-sustained, it is for you to think of flight. For me,

had the dwellers in heaven willed me to prolong my life,

they would have preserved for me my home. It is enough 30

and more than enough to have witnessed one sack, to

have once outlived the capture of my city. Here, O

here as I lie, bid farewell to my corpse and begone. I will

find me a warrior’s death. The enemy will have mercy on

me, and my spoils will tempt him. The loss of a tomb 35

will fall on me lightly. Long, long have I been a clog on

time, hated of heaven and useless to earth, from the day

when the father of gods and sovereign of men blasted me

with the wind of his lightning, and laid on me the finger

of flame.’[139]

“Such the words he kept on repeating and continued

unshaken, while we were shedding our hearts in tears—Creusa,

my wife, and Ascanius and my whole house, 5

imploring my father not to be bent on dragging

all with him to ruin, and lending his weight to the avalanche

of destiny. But he refuses, and will not be moved

from his purpose or his home. Once more I am plunging

into battle, and choosing death in the agony of my 10

wretchedness—for what could wisdom or fortune do

for me now? What, my father? that I could stir a step

to escape, leaving you behind? was this your expectation?

could aught so shocking fall from a parent’s lips? No—if

it is the will of heaven that naught of this mighty city 15

should be spared—if your purpose is fixed, and you find

pleasure in throwing yourself and yours on Troy’s blazing

pile, the door stands open for the death you crave. Pyrrhus

will be here in a moment, fresh from bathing in

Priam’s blood—Pyrrhus, who butchers the son before the 20

father’s face, who butchers the father at the altar. Gracious

mother! was it for this that thou rescuest me from fire and

sword—all that I may see the foe in the heart of my

home’s sanctuary—may see my Ascanius, and my father,

and my Creusa by them sacrificed in a pool of each other’s 25

blood? My arms, friends, bring me my arms! the call

of the day of death rings in the ears of the conquered.

Give me back to the Danaans, let me return and renew the

combat. Never shall this day see us all slaughtered unresisting. 30

“Now I gird on my sword again, and was buckling and

fitting my shield to my left arm, and making my way out

of the house—when lo! my wife on the threshold began

to clasp and cling to my feet, holding out my little Iulus to

his father. ‘If it is to death you are going, then carry us 35

with you to death and all, but if experience gives you any

hope in the arms you are resuming, let your first stand be

made at your home. To whom, think you, are you leaving

your little Iulus—your father, and me who was once

styled your wife?’

“Thus she was crying, while her moaning filled the

house, when a portent appears, sudden and marvellous to

relate. Even while the hands and eyes of his grieving 5

parents were upon him, lo, a flickering tongue of flame

on the top of Iulus’ head was seen to shoot out light,

playing round his soft curly locks with innocuous contact

and pasturing about his temples. We are all hurry and

alarm, shaking out his blazing hair and quenching the 10

sacred fire with water from the spring—but Anchises

my father raised his eyes in ecstasy to heaven, directing

hand and voice to the stars: ‘Almighty Jove, if any

prayer can bow thy will, look down on us—’tis all I crave—and

if our piety have earned requital, grant us thy 15

succour, father, and ratify the omen we now see.’ Scarce

had the old man spoken, when there came a sudden peal

of thunder on the left, and a star fell from heaven and

swept through the gloom with a torchlike train and a

blaze of light. Over the top of the house we see it pass, 20

and mark its course along the sky till it buries itself lustrously

in Ida’s wood—then comes a long furrowed line

of light, and a sulphurous smoke fills the space all about.

Then at length overcome, my father raises himself towards

the sky, addresses the gods, and does reverence to the 25

sacred meteor: ‘No more, no more delay from me. I

follow your guidance, and am already in the way by which

you would lead me. Gods of my country! preserve my

house, preserve my grandchild. Yours in this augury—your

shield is stretched over Troy. Yes, my son, I 30

give way, and shrink not from accompanying your flight.’

He said—and by this the blaze is heard louder and louder

through the streets, and the flames roll their hot volumes

nearer. ‘Come then, dear father, take your seat on my

back, my shoulders shall support you, nor shall I feel the 35

task a burden. Fall things as they may, we twain will

share the peril, share the deliverance. Let my little Iulus

walk by my side, while my wife follows our steps at a

distance. You, our servants, attend to what I now say.

As you leave the city there is a mound, where stands an

ancient temple of Ceres all alone, and by it an old cypress,

observed these many years by the reverence of our sires.

This shall be our point of meeting in one place from 5

many quarters. You, my father, take in your hand these

sacred things, our country’s household gods. For me, just

emerged from this mighty war, with the stains of carnage

fresh upon me, it were sacrilege to touch them, till I

have cleansed me in the running stream.’ 10

“So saying, I spread out my shoulders, bow my neck,

cover them with a robe, a lion’s tawny hide, and take up

the precious burden. My little Iulus has fastened his

hand in mine, and is following his father with ill-matched

steps, my wife comes on behind. On we go, keeping in the 15

shade—and I, who erewhile quailed not for a moment at

the darts that rained upon me or at the masses of Greeks

that barred my path, now am scared by every breath of air,

startled by every sound, fluttered as I am, and fearing alike

for him who holds my hand and him I carry. And now I 20

was nearing the gates, and the whole journey seemed accomplished,

when suddenly the noise of thick trampling

feet came to my ear, and my father looks onward through

the darkness. ‘Son, son,’ he cries, ‘fly: they are upon

us. I distinguish the flashing of their shields and the 25

gleam of their steel.’ In this alarm some unfriendly

power perplexed and took away my judgment. For,

while I was tracking places where no track was, and

swerving from the wonted line of road, woe is me! destiny

tore from me my wife Creusa. Whether she stopped, 30

or strayed from the road, or sat down fatigued, I never

knew—nor was she ever restored to my eyes in life.

Nay, I did not look back to discover my loss, or turn my

thoughts that way till we had come to the mound and

temple of ancient Ceres; then at last, when all were 35

mustered, she alone was missing, and failed those who

should have travelled with her, her son and husband both.

Whom of gods or men did my upbraiding voice spare?

what sight in all the ruin of the city made my heart bleed

more? Ascanius and Anchises my father and the Teucrian

household gods I give to my comrades’ care, and lodge

them in the winding glade. I repair again to the city

and don my shining armour. My mind is set to try every 5

hazard again, and retrace my path through the whole of

Troy, and expose my life to peril once more. First

I repair again to the city walls, and the gate’s dark entry

by which I had passed out. I track and follow my footsteps

back through the night, and traverse the ground 10

with my eye. Everywhere my sense is scared by the

horror, scared by the very stillness. Next I betake me

home, in the hope, the faint hope that she may have turned

her steps thither. The Danaans had broken in and were

lodged in every chamber. All is over—the greedy flame 15

is wafted by the wind to the roof, the fire towers triumphant—the

glow streams madly heavenwards. I pass

on, and look again at Priam’s palace and the citadel. There

already in the empty cloisters, yes, in Juno’s sanctuary,

chosen guards, Phœnix and Ulysses the terrible, were 20

watching the spoil. Here are gathered the treasures of

Troy torn from blazing shrines, tables of gods, bowls of

solid gold, and captive vestments in one great heap. Boys

and mothers stand trembling all about in long array.

“Nay, I was emboldened even to fling random cries 25

through the darkness. I filled the streets with shouts, and

in my agony called again and again on my Creusa with unavailing

iteration. As I was thus making my search and

raving unceasingly the whole city through, the hapless

shade, the spectre of my own Creusa appeared in my 30

presence—a likeness larger than the life. I was aghast,

my hair stood erect, my tongue clove to my mouth, while

she began to address me thus, and relieve my trouble

with words like these: ‘Whence this strange pleasure

in indulging frantic grief, my darling husband? It is 35

not without Heaven’s will that these things are happening:

that you should carry your Creusa with you on your journey

is forbidden by fate, forbidden by the mighty ruler

of heaven above. You have long years of exile, a vast

expanse of ocean to traverse—and then you will arrive

at the land of Hesperia, where Tiber, Lydia’s river, rolls

his gentle volumes through rich and cultured plains.

There you have a smiling future, a kingdom and a royal 5

bride waiting your coming. Dry your tears for Creusa,

your heart’s choice though she be. I am not to see the

face of Myrmidons or Dolopes in their haughty homes,

or to enter the service of some Grecian matron—I, a

Dardan princess, daughter by marriage of Venus the immortal. 10

No, I am kept in this country by heaven’s

mighty mother. And now farewell, and continue to love

your son and mine. Thus having spoken, spite of my

tears, spite of the thousand things I longed to say, she left

me and vanished into unsubstantial air. Thrice, as I 15

stood, I essayed to fling my arms round her neck—thrice

the phantom escaped the hands that caught at it in vain—impalpable

as the wind, fleeting as the wings of sleep.

“So passed my night, and such was my return to my

comrades. Arrived there, I find with wonder their band 20

swelled by a vast multitude of new companions, matrons

and warriors both, an army mustered for exile, a crowd

of the wretched. From every side they were met, prepared

in heart as in fortune to follow me over the sea to

any land where I might take them to settle. And now 25

the morning star was rising over Ida’s loftiest ridge

with the day in its train—Danaan sentinels were blocking

up the entry of the gates, and no hope of succour appeared.

I retired at last, took up my father, and made for the

mountains. 30

BOOK III

“After that it had seemed well to the powers above to

overthrow Asia’s fortunes and Priam’s guiltless nation;

after that Ilion fell headlong from its pride, and Troy,

which Neptune reared, became one levelled smoking ruin,

we are driven by auguries from heaven to look elsewhere 5

for the exile’s home in lands yet unpeopled. We build us

a fleet under the shadow of Antandros,[140] and the range of

our own Phrygian Ida, all uncertain whither fate may

carry us, where it may be our lot to settle, and muster

men for sailing. Scarcely had summer set in, when my 10

father, Anchises, was bidding us spread our sails to destiny.

Then I give my last tearful look to my country’s shores

and her harbours, and those plains where Troy once stood

but stands no longer. A banished man, I am wafted into

the deep with my comrades and my son, my household 15

gods and their mighty brethren.

“In the distance lies the land of the war-god, inhabited,

in vast extent—the Thracians are its tillers—subject

erewhile to Lycurgus’[141] savage sway, bound by old hospitality

to Troy, their household gods friends of ours, while 20

our star yet shone. Hither I am wafted, and on the

bending line of coast trace the outline of a city, a commencement

made in an evil hour, and call the new nation

Æneadæ,[142] after my own name.

“I was sacrificing to my parent, Dione’s[143] daughter, and 25

the rest of the gods, that they might bless the work I

had begun, and was slaying to the heavenly monarch of the

powers above a bull of shining whiteness on the shore.

It happened that there was a mound near, on whose top

were plants of cornel, and a myrtle bristling thick with 30

spearlike wands. I drew near, and essayed to pull up

from the ground the green forest growth, that I might

have leafy boughs wherewith to shadow the altar, when I

see a portent dreadful and marvellous to tell. For the

first tree that I pull up from the soil, severing its roots, 5

from that tree trickle drops of black blood, staining the

earth with gore. For me, a freezing shudder palsies my

frame, and my chilled blood curdles with affright. Again

I go on to pluck the reluctant fibres of a second tree, and

thus probe the hidden cause to the bottom; as surely 10

from the bark of that second tree the black blood follows.

Much musing in my mind, I began to call on the nymphs

of the wood, and Gradivus,[144] our father, patron of the land

of Thrace, that they might duly turn the appearance to

good, and make the heavy omen light. But when I come 15

to tear up a third spear-shaft with a still greater effort,

straining with my knees against the sand which pressed on

them—ought I to tell the tale or hold my peace?—a lamentable

groan is heard from the bottom of the mound, and

the utterance of a human voice reaches my ear: ‘Why, 20

Æneas, mangle a wretch like me? Spare me at length in

my grave—spare those pious hands the stain of guilt.

It was not an alien to you that Troy bore in bearing me—it

is no alien’s blood that is trickling from the stem. Ah!

fly from this land of cruelty, fly from this shore of greed, 25

for I am Polydorus. Here I lie, pierced and buried by a

growing crop of spears that has shot into sharp javelins.’

“Then, indeed, terror, blank and irresolute, came over

me—I was aghast—my hair stood erect, my tongue

clove to my mouth. Yes, this Polydorus had long ago 30

been sent secretly by Priam, unhappy then as ever, with

a vast weight of gold, to be brought up by the king of

Thrace, when he had already come to despair of the arms

of Dardania, and saw the siege folding closer round his

city. When the power of the Trojans had been broken, 35

and their star set, the Thracian followed Agamemnon’s

fortunes, and joined the standard of the conqueror—every

tie of duty is snapped—he murders Polydorus, and

by violence possesses himself of the gold. Cursed lust of

gold, to what dost thou not force the heart of man? After

the cold shuddering had ceased to tingle in my marrow,

I lay this portent from heaven before the select senate

of our nation, and my father as their chief, and ask them 5

what they think. All are of the same mind, to depart from

the land of crime, to leave the home of violated friendship,

and indulge our fleet with the gales that wooed it. So we

give Polydorus a solemn funeral: earth is heaped high

upon his mound; there stand the altars reared to his 10

manes,[145] in all the woe of dark fillets and sad-coloured

cypress: and round them are daughters of Ilion, their

hair unbound in mourner fashion: we offer bowls of new

milk warm and frothing, and dishes of consecrated blood:

so we lay the spirit to rest in its grave, and with a loud 15

voice give the farewell call.[146]

“Then, when the deep first looks friendly, and the

winds offer a smooth sea, and the south’s gentle whisper invites

us to the main, our crews haul down their ships and

crowd the shore. We sail out of the harbour, land and 20

town leaving us fast. There is a sacred country with

water all round it, chief favourite of the mother of the

Nereids and the god of the Ægean. Once it drifted among

the coasts and seaboards round about, till the heavenly

archer in filial gratitude moored it to the rock of Myconos 25

and to Gyaros, and gave it to be a fixed dwelling-place

henceforth, and to laugh at the winds. Hither I sail:

here it is that in a sheltered harbour our weary crews

find gentlest welcome. We land, and worship the city of

Apollo. King Anius, king of men at once and priest of 30

Phœbus, his temples wreathed with fillets and hallowed

bay, comes running up; in Anchises he owns an old friend,

we knit hand to hand in hospitality and enter his roof.

“Behold me now worshipping the temple of the god,

built of ancient stone. ‘Give us, god of Thymbra,[147] a home 35

that we can call our own: give us weary men a walled

habitation, a posterity, a city that will last: keep from

ruin Troy’s second Pergamus, all that was left by the

Danaans and their ruthless Achilles! Who is our guide?

Whither wouldst thou have us go? where set up our

roof-tree? Vouchsafe us a response, great father, and

steal with power upon our souls!’

“Scarce had I spoken, when methought suddenly came 5

a trembling on the whole place, temple-gate and hallowed

bay, a stir in the mountain from height to depth, a muttering

from the tripod as the door of the shrine flew open.

We fall low on earth, and a voice is wafted to our ears:

‘Sons of Dardanus, strong to endure, the land which first 10

gave you birth from your ancestral tree, the same land

shall welcome you back, restored to its fruitful bosom:

seek for your old mother till you find her. There it is

that the house of Æneas shall set up a throne over all

nations, they, and their children’s children, and those 15

that shall yet come after.’ Thus Phœbus; and a mighty

burst succeeds of wild multitudinous joy, all asking as one

man what that city is—whither is Phœbus calling the

wanderers, and bidding them return. Then my father,

revolving the traditions of men of old: ‘Listen,’ he cries, 20

‘lords of Troy, and learn where your hopes are. Crete

lies in the midst of the deep, the island of mighty Jove.

There is Mount Ida, and there the cradle of our race.

It has a hundred peopled cities, a realm of richest plenty.

Thence it was that our first father, Teucer, if I rightly 25

recall what I have heard, came in the beginning to the

Rhœtean coast, and fixed on the site of empire: Ilion and

the towers of Pergamus had not yet been reared: the

people dwelt low in the valley. Hence came our mighty

mother, the dweller on Mount Cybele, and the symbols 30

of the Corybants, and the forest of Ida: hence the inviolate

mystery of her worship, and the lions harnessed

to the car of their queen. Come, then, and let us follow

where the ordinance of heaven points the way: let us

propitiate the winds, and make for the realm of Gnossus[148]—the 35

voyage is no long one—let but Jupiter go with us,

and the third day will land our fleet on the Cretan shore.’

He said, and offered on the altar the sacrifice that was

meet—a bull to Neptune, a bull to thee, beauteous

Apollo—a black lamb to the storm-wind, to the favouring

Zephyrs a white one.

“Fame flies abroad that King Idomeneus[149] has been

driven to quit his paternal realm, that the shores of Crete 5

are abandoned, houses cleared of the enemy, dwellings

standing empty to receive us. So we leave Ortygia’s

harbour, and fly along the deep, past Naxos’ bacchant

mountains, and green Donysa, Olearos, and snowy Paros,

and the Cyclades sprinkled over the waves, and seas thick 10

sown with islands. Up rises the seaman’s shout amid

strain and struggle—each encourages his comrades,

‘For Crete and our forefathers, ho!’ A wind gets up

from the stern and escorts us on our way, and at length we

are wafted to the Curetes’ time-honoured shore. 15

“And now the site is chosen, and I am rearing a city’s

walls and calling it Pergamia: the new nation is proud

to bear the name of the old: I bid them love hearth and

home, and raise and roof the citadel. Already the ships

had been hauled up high and dry on the shore, the crews 20

were busied with marriage and tilling the new country, and

I was appointing laws to live by, and houses to dwell in—when

suddenly there came on the human frame a wasting

sickness, shed from the whole tainted expanse of the sky,

a piteous blight on trees and crops, a year charged with 25

death. There were men leaving the lives they loved, or

dragging with them the bodies that burdened them,

while Sirius baked the fields into barrenness, the herbage

was parching, the corn was sickening, and would not

yield its food. Back again to Phœbus and his Ortygian 30

oracle over the sea my father bids us go, and there sue for

grace, asking the god to what haven he means to bring our

overtoiled fortunes, whence he orders us to seek for help

in our sufferings—whither to direct our course.

“It was night and all living things on earth were in the 35

power of sleep, when methought the sacred images of the

gods, the Phrygian household deities, whom I had borne

away with me from Troy, even from the midst of the blazing

town, stood before my eyes as I lay in slumber, clear in

a flood of light, where the full moon was streaming through

the windows of the house. Then they began to address

me thus, and relieve my trouble with words like these:

‘The answer which Apollo has ready to give you when you 5

reach Ortygia, he delivers here, sending us, see, of his own

motion to your very door. We, the followers of you and

your fortune since Dardanland sunk in flame—we,

the comrades of the fleet which you have been guiding over

the swollen main—we it is that will raise to the stars the 10

posterity that shall come after you, and crown your city

with imperial sway. Be it yours to build mighty walls

for mighty dwellers, and not abandon the task of flight for

its tedious length. Change your settlement: it is not this

coast that the Delian god moved you to accept—not in 15

Crete that Apollo bade you sit down. No, there is a

place—the Greeks call it Hesperia[150]—a land old in

story, strong in arms and in the fruitfulness of its soil—the

Œnotrians were its settlers. Now report says that

later generations have called the nation Italian from the 20

name of their leader. That is our true home: thence

sprung Dardanus and father Iasius, the first founder of our

line. Quick! rise, and tell the glad tale, which brooks no

question, to your aged sire; tell him that he is to look for

Corythus[151] and the country of Ausonia. Jupiter bars you 25

from the fields of Dicte.’[152] Thus astonished by visions

and voices of heaven—for sleep it was not: no—methought

I saw them face to face, their wreathed locks and

their features all in full view; and a cold sweat, too,

trickled down my whole frame. I leap from the bed, and 30

direct upturned hand and voice to heaven, and pour on the

hearth the undefiled libation. The sacrifice paid, with

joy I inform Anchises, and expound the whole from first to

last. He owns the double pedigree and the rival ancestors,

and his own new mistake about the two old countries. 35

Then he says: ‘My son, trained in the school of Troy’s

destiny, Cassandra’s was the one voice which used to

chant to me of this chance. Now I recollect, this was the

fortune she presaged as appointed for our line, calling often

for Hesperia, often for the land of Italy. But could anyone

think that Teucrians would ever reach the Hesperian

shore? Could Cassandra’s prophesying in those days gain

any one’s credence? Let us give way to Phœbus, and 5

follow the better course enjoined.’ He said, and with one

consent we gladly obey. So we quit this settlement as we

quitted the last, and leaving a few behind, set sail, and

make our hollow barque fly over the vast world of waters.

“Soon as the ships had gained the mid-sea, and land was 10

no more to be seen, sky on every side, on every side ocean,

then came a murky storm-cloud and stood over my head,

charged with night and winter tempest, and darkness

ruffled the billow’s crest. At once the winds lay the sea in

heaps, and the waters rise mountains high: a scattered 15

fleet, we are tossed upon the vast abyss: clouds enshrouded

the day, and dank night robbed us of the sky, while fire

flashes momently from the bursting clouds. We are

dashed out of our track, and wander blindly over the blind

waters. Nay, even Palinurus owns he cannot tell day 20

from night in a heaven like this, or recollect the footpath

in the watery wilderness. Three dreary suns, blotted by

blinding darkness, we wander on the deep: three nights

with never a star. On the fourth day, at last, land was

first seen to rise, and mountains with curling smoke 25

wreaths to dawn in distant prospect. Down drop the

sails: we rise on our oars: incessantly the crews, straining

every nerve, toss the foam and sweep the blue.

“Escaped from the sea, I am first welcomed by the coast

of the Strophades—the Strophades are known by the 30

name Greece gave them, islands in the great Ionian, which

fell Celæno[153] and the rest of the Harpies have made their

home, ever since Phineus’[154] doors were closed against

them, and fear drove them from the board which once fed

them. A more baleful portent than this—a fiercer plague 35

of heaven’s vengeance never crawled out of the Stygian

flood. Birds with maiden’s faces, a foul discharge, crooked

talons, and on their cheeks the pallor of eternal famine.

“On our arrival here, and entering the harbour, see! we

behold luxuriant herds of oxen grazing dispersedly in the

fields, and goats all along the grass, with none to tend them.

On we rush, sword in hand, inviting the gods and Jove

himself to share the spoil with us: and then on the winding 5

shore pile up couches for the banquet, and regale on the

dainty fare. But on a sudden, with an appalling swoop

from the hills, the Harpies are upon us, flapping their

wings with a mighty noise—they tear the food in pieces,

and spoil all with their filthy touch, while fearful screeches 10

blend with foul smells. Again, in a deep retreat under a

hollow rock, with trees and crisp foliage all about us, we set

out the board and put new fire on new altars. Again,

from another quarter of the sky, out of their hidden lair,

comes the troop, all rush and sound, flying about the prey 15

with their hooked talons, tainting the food with their

loathsome mouths. I give the word to my comrades to

seize their arms and wage war with the fell tribe. As I

ordered they do—they arrange their swords in hiding

about the grass, and cover and conceal their shields. So 20

soon as the noise of their swoop was heard along the winding

shore, Misenus, from his lofty watch-tower, makes the

hollow brass sound the alarm. On rush my comrades, and

essay a combat of a new sort, to spoil with their swords the

plumage of these foul sea-birds. But no violence will 25

ruffle their feathers, no wounds pierce their skin: they are

off in rapid flight high in the air, leaving their half-eaten

prey and their filthy trail behind them. One of them,

Celæno, perches on a rock of vast height—ill-boding

prophetess—and gives vent to words like these: ‘What, 30

is it war, for the oxen you have slain and the bullocks

you have felled, true sons of Laomedon? is it war that

you are going to make on us, to expel us, blameless Harpies,

from our ancestral realm? Take then into your minds

these my words, and print them there. The prophecy 35

which the Almighty Sire imparted to Phœbus, Phœbus

Apollo to me, I, the chief of the Furies, make known to you.

For Italy, I know, you are crowding all sail: well, the winds

shall be at your call as you go to Italy, and you shall be

free to enter its harbours: but you shall not build walls

round your fated city, before fell hunger and your murderous

wrong against us drive you to gnaw and eat up your

very tables.’[155] She said, and her wings carried her swiftly 5

into the wood. But for my friends, a sudden terror curdled

their blood, their hearts died within them; no more arms—no,

we must sue for grace, with vows and prayers, be

the creatures goddesses or fell and loathsome birds. And

my father Anchises, spreading his hands from the shore, 10

invokes the mighty powers, and ordains meet sacrifice—‘Great

gods, forefend these menaces! Great gods, avert a

chance like this, and let your blessing shield your worshippers!’

Then he bids us tear our moorings from the shore,

and uncoil and stretch our ropes. 15

“The winds swell our sails, we scud over the foaming

surge, where gale and pilot bid us go. Now rising from

the wave are seen the woods of Zacynthos,[156] and Dulichium,

and Samos, and the tall cliffs of Neritos: we fly

past the rocks of Ithaca, Laertes’ realm, breathing a curse 20

for the land that nursed the hard heart of Ulysses. Soon,

too, the storm-capped peaks of Leucata dawn on the

view, and their Apollo, the terror of sailors. In our

weariness we make for him, and enter the little town:

our anchors are thrown from the prow, our sterns ranged 25

on the coast.

“So now, masters of the land beyond our hope, we perform

lustrations to Jove, and set the altars ablaze with

our vows, and solemnize the shores of Actium[157] with the

native games of Troy. My comrades strip, and practise 30

the wrestle of the old country, all slippery with oil: what

joy to have passed in safety by all those Argive cities,

and held on our flight through the heart of the foe!

Meanwhile the sun rolls round the mighty year, and the

north winds of icy winter roughen the sea. A shield of 35

hollow brass, once borne by the great Abas, I fasten up

full on the temple gate, and signalize the deed with a

verse: ‘These arms are the offering of Æneas, won from

his Danaan conquerors.’ Then I give the word to leave

the haven and take seat on the benches. Each vying with

each, the crews strike the water and sweep the marble

surface. In due course we hide from view the airy summits 5

of Phæacian[158] land, coast the shore of Epirus, enter

the Chaonian haven, and approach Buthrotum’s lofty

tower.

“Here a rumour of events past belief takes hold of our

ears—that Helenus, son of Priam, is reigning among

Grecian cities, lord of the wife and crown of Pyrrhus, 10

Achilles’ very son, and that Andromache had again been

given to a husband of her own nation. I was astounded:

my heart kindled with a strange longing to have speech

of my old friend, and learn all about this wondrous stroke

of fortune. So I advance into the country from the haven, 15

leaving fleet and coast behind, at the very time when

Andromache, before the city, in a grove, by the wave of

a mock Simois, was celebrating a yearly banquet, the

offering of sorrow, to the dead, and invoking her Hector’s

shade at a tomb called by his name, an empty mound of 20

green turf which she had consecrated to him with two

altars, that she might have the privilege of weeping.

Soon as her wild eye saw me coming with the arms of

Troy all about me, scared out of herself by the portentous

sight, she stood chained to earth while yet gazing—life’s 25

warmth left her frame—she faints, and after long time

scarce finds her speech:—‘Is it a real face that I see?

are those real lips that bring me news? Goddess-born,

are you among the living? or, if the blessed light has left

you, where is my Hector?’ She spoke—her tears flowed 30

freely, and the whole place was filled with her shrieks.

Few, and formed with labour, are the words I address to

her frenzied ear, broken and confused the accents I utter:—‘Aye,

I live, sure enough, and through the worst of

fortunes am dragging on life still. Doubt it not, your eye 35

tells you true. Alas! on what chance have you alit,

fallen from the height where your first husband throned

you? What smile has Fortune bright enough to throw

back on Hector’s Andromache? is it Pyrrhus’ bed you

are still tending?’ She dropped her eyes, and spoke with

bated breath:—‘O blest pre-eminently over all, Priam’s

virgin daughter,[159] bidden to die at the grave of her foe,

under Troy’s lofty walls! she that had not to brook the 5

chance of the lot, or, a slave and a captive, to touch the

bed of her lord and conqueror! While we, after the burning

of our city, carried over this sea and that, have stooped

to the scorn, the youthful insolence of Achilles’ heir, the

slave-mother of his child; he, after this, goes in quest of 10

Leda’s Hermione[160] and her Spartan alliance, and gives me

over to Helenus, the bondwoman to be the bondman’s

mate! Him, however, Orestes, fired by desperate passion

for a ravished bride, and maddened by the frenzy-fiend of

crime, surprises at unawares, and slays at his sire’s own 15

altar. At Neoptolemus’ death a portion of this kingdom

passed to Helenus, who called the fields Chaonian, and

the land itself Chaonia, from Chaon, their Trojan namesake,

and crowned, as you see, these heights with a new

Pergamus, the citadel of Ilion. But you—what wind, 20

what destiny has shaped your voyage? What god has

driven you on a coast which you know not to be ours?

What of the boy Ascanius? is he alive and breathing

upper air? he, whom you on that night at Troy—say,

can his boyish mind feel yet for the mother he has lost? 25

Is he enkindled at all to the valour of old days, the prowess

of a grown man, by a father like Æneas, an uncle like

Hector?’

“Such were the sorrows she kept pouring out, weeping

long and fruitlessly, when Priam’s noble son, Helenus, 30

presents himself from the city, with a train of followers,

and knows his friends again, and joyfully leads them to

his home, many a tear interrupting his utterance. As I

go on, I recognize a miniature Troy, a Pergamus copied

from the great one, a dry rivulet the namesake of Zanthus, 35

and throw my arms round a Scæan[161] gate. My

Trojan comrades, too, are made free of the friendly town.

The king made entertainment for them in spacious cloisters.

There, in the midst of the hall, they were pouring libations

from cups of wine, their meat served on gold, and

goblets in their hands.

“And now suppose a day past, and yet another day:

the breeze is inviting the sail, the swelling south inflating 5

the canvas, when I accost the prophet with these words,

and put to him the question I tell you:—‘True Trojan

born, heaven’s interpreter,[B] whose senses inform you of

the stars, and of the tongue of birds, and of the omens of

the flying wing, tell me now—for revelation has spoken 10

in auspicious words of the whole of my voyage, and all

the gods have urged me with one voice of power to make

for Italy, and explore that hidden clime. One alone, the

Harpy Celæno, forebodes a strange portent, too horrible

to tell, denouncing fierce vengeance and unnatural hunger. 15

Tell me then, what perils do I shun first, or what must

I observe to surmount the tremendous hardships before

me?’ Then Helenus first implores the favour of Heaven

by a solemn sacrifice of bullocks, and unbinds the fillet

from his consecrated brow, and with his own hand leads 20

me to thy temple, Phœbus, my mind lifted from its place

by the effluence of divine power; which done, that priestly

mouth chants these words from its prophetic lips:—

“‘Goddess-born—for that presages of mighty blessing

are attending you over the deep is clear beyond doubt—such 25

is the casting of the lot of fate by heaven’s king as

he rolls event after event—such the ordained succession—a

few things out of many, to make your voyage through

strange waters safer, your settlement in Ausonia’s haven

more assured. My speech shall unfold to you but a few—for 30

the rest the fatal sisters keep from Helenus’ knowledge,

and Saturnian Juno seals his lips. First then for

Italy, which you think close at hand, ready in your blindness

to rush into the harbours that neighbour us, the

length of a way where no way is severs you from its length 35

of territory. First must the oar be suppled in Trinacrian

waters, and your ships must traverse the expanse

of the Ausonian brine, and the spectral lake, and the isle

of Ææan Circe,[162] ere you can find a safe spot to build a

peaceful city. I will tell you the tokens, be it yours to 5

keep them lodged in your mind. When on an anxious

day, by the side of a sequestered river, you shall find an

enormous swine lying under the oaks on the bank with a

litter of thirty head just born, white herself through all

her lazy length, her children round her breasts as white 10

as she—that shall be the site of your city—that your

assured rest from toil and trouble. Nor need you shudder

beforehand at the prospect of gnawing your tables—the

fates will find you a path, and a prayer will bring you

Apollo. But as for these lands, and this line of the 15

Italian coast, which lies close at hand, and is washed by

the spray of our waters, this you must fly: the cities, one

and all, are peopled by enemies from Greece. Here the

Narycian Locrians have built them cities, and the Sallentine

fields have been occupied with an army by Lyctian 20

Idomeneus: here is the Melibœan chief Philoctetes’ tiny

town Patelia, with a strong wall to prop it. Further,

when your fleet stands moored on the other side the

water, and you build altars and pay vows on the coast,

shroud your head with the covering of a purple robe, lest, 25

while the hallowed fires are blazing, and the worship of

the gods is yet unfinished, some enemy’s eye should meet

yours, and make the omens void. Be this ritual custom

maintained by your comrades as by yourself: let the piety

of generations to come abide in this observance. But 30

when leaving Italy you are carried by the wind near the

Sicilian coast, and Pelorus’ narrow bars dimly open, make

for the left shore, for the left water, long as the circuit

round may be; avoid the right, its land and its seas.

This whole region by the forceful throes of a mighty convulsion—such 35

power of change is there in long centuries

of olden time—was rent in twain, so runs the story, the

two countries before having been one and unbroken; at

last the sea poured in violently between, and with its

waters cut off the Hesperian from the Sicilian side, washing

between fields and cities, their seaboards now parted,

with the waves of its narrow channel. There the right-hand

coast is held by Scylla,[163] the left by Charybdis, ever 5

hungering, who, at the bottom of the whirling abyss,

thrice a day draws the huge waves down her precipitous

throat, and in turn upheaves them to the sky, and lashes

the stars with their spray. But Scylla is confined in the

deep recesses of a cave, whence she thrusts out her mouths, 10

and drags vessels on to her rocks. At top, a human face,

a maiden with beauteous bosom; at bottom an enormous

sea-monster—dolphins’ tails attached to a belly all of

wolves’ heads. Better far wearily to round the goal of

Trinacrian[164] Pachynus and fetch about a tedious compass, 15

than once to have looked on the monster Scylla in her

enormous cave, and the rocks that echo with her sea-coloured

dogs. Moreover, if there be any foresight in

Helenus, if you give any credence to his prophetic tongue,

if his mind be a fountain of Apollo’s truth, one thing 20

there is, goddess-born, one thing outweighing all beside

which I will foreshow you, reiterating the warning again

and again—be Juno, great Juno, the first whose deity

you worship—to Juno chant your willing prayers: subdue

that mighty empress by suppliant offerings: thus at 25

last victorious you will leave Trinacria behind, and be

sped to the borders of Italy. When you are there at

length, and have come to the city of Cumæ, and the

haunted lake, and the woods that rustle over Avernus, you

will have sight of the frenzied prophetess, who, in the 30

cavern under the rock, chants her fateful strain, and commits

characters and words to the leaves of trees. All the

strains that the maid has written on these leaves she

arranges in order, shuts them up in her cave, and leaves

them there. They remain as she has left them, their 35

disposition unchanged. But, strange to say, when the

hinge is turned, and a breath of air moves the leaves,

and the opened door throws their light ranks into confusion,

henceforth she never troubles herself for a moment

to catch them as they fly about the cavern, to restore

them to their places, or to fit each strain to each. The

inquirers retire with their doubts unsolved, and a hatred

of the sibyl’s seat. Arrived here, let no cost of time or 5

delay weigh with you so much—though your comrades

should chide, and the voyage loudly call your sails

to sea, and a sheet-full of fair wind be there at your choice—but

that you visit the prophetess, and beg and pray

her herself to chant the oracle, loosing speech and tongue 10

with a ready will. She shall tell you of the nations of

Italy, and the wars of the future, and the way to shun or

stand the shock of every peril, and shall vouchsafe to

your prayer the boon of a prosperous voyage. Such are

the counsels which it is given you to receive from my 15

lips. Go on your way, and by your own actions lift to

heaven the greatness of Troy.’

“Soon as the seer had thus uttered these words of kindness,

he next orders massy gifts of gold and carved ivory

to be carried on shipboard, and stores in the keels, a 20

weight of silver and caldrons of Dodona, a cuirass of

chain-mail, three-threaded in gold, and a splendid helmet

with cone and flowing crest, the armour of Neoptolemus.

My father, too, has presents of his own. Horses, too, he

gives, and guides too; makes up the complement of oars, 25

and arms the crews. Meanwhile Anchises was giving the

word to rig the fleet, not to wear out the patience of a

fair wind. Him the interpreter of Phœbus addresses with

much pomp of courtesy: ‘Anchises, graced with the

proud privilege of Venus’ wedded love, the special care 30

of the gods, whom they twice interposed to save from the

fall of Pergamus, lo! there lies Ausonia’s land; for this

make all sail. Yet what have I said? This coast you

must needs sail past; far away yonder lies that part of

Ausonia which Apollo reveals to you. Go on your way,’ 35

cries he, ‘blessed in a son so duteous! Why proceed

further, and make the rising gales wait while I talk?’

As freely, too, Andromache, saddened with the grief of

parting, presents Ascanius with robes pictured with gold

embroidery, and a Phrygian scarf. She tires not in her

bounty, but loads him with gifts of needlework, and bespeaks

him thus: ‘Take, too, these, dear boy, to be a

memorial of what my hands can do—a token for long 5

years of the affection of Andromache, Hector’s wife. Yes,

take the last presents your kin can bestow, O sole surviving

image of my own Astyanax[165]! Those eyes are his

eyes, those hands his hands, that face his face, and he

would now be growing to manhood by your side, in bloom 10

like yours!’ Tears started forth, as I addressed my parting

words to the royal pair: ‘Live long and happily, as

those should for whom the book of Fortune is closed.

We, alas! are still called to turn page after page. You

have won your rest: you have no expanse of sea to 15

plough, no Ausonian fields to chase, still retiring as

you advance. Your eyes look upon a copy of the old

Xanthus, upon a Troy which your own hands have made—made,

I would hope and pray, with happier auspices, and

with less peril of a visit from Greece. If the day ever 20

arrive when I shall enter Tiber and the fields that neighbour

Tiber, and look on the walls which Fate has made

over to my people, then we will have our two kindred

cities, our two fraternal nations—the one in Epirus, the

other in Hesperia, with a common founder, Dardanus, 25

and a common history—animated by one heart, till they

come to be one Troy. Be this the destined care of our

posterity!’

“We push on over the sea under Ceraunia’s neighbouring

range, whence there is a way to Italy, the shortest 30

course through the water. Meantime the sun drops, and

the mountains are veiled in shadow. We stretch ourselves

gladly on the lap of earth by the water’s side, having cast

lots for the oars, and take our ease dispersedly along the

dry beach. Sleep’s dew sprinkles our wearied limbs. Not 35

yet was night’s car entering the middle of its circle, drawn

by the unflagging hours, when Palinurus, with no thought

of sloth, springs from his bed, explores every wind, and

catches with his ears the voices of the air. All the stars

he notes, as they swim through the silent sky, looking

round on Arcturus, and the showery Hyades, and the

twin Bears, and Orion in his panoply of gold. Soon as

he sees them all set in a heaven of calm, he gives a clear 5

signal from the stern. We break up our quarters, essay

our flight, and spread the wings of our sails. And now

the stars were fled, and Aurora[166] was just reddening in the

sky, when in the distance we see the dim hills and low

plains of Italy. ‘Italy!’ Achates was the first to cry. 10

Italy our crews welcome with a shout of rapture. Then

my father, Anchises, wreathed a mighty bowl with a garland,

and filled it with wine, and called on the gods, standing

upon the tall stern: ‘Ye powers that rule sea and

land and weather, waft us a fair wind and a smooth passage, 15

and breathe auspiciously!’ The breeze we wished

for freshens; the harbour opens as we near it, and the

temple of Minerva is seen crowning the height. The crews

furl the sails, and turn their prows coastward. The harbour

is curved into an arch by the easterly waves; a 20

barrier of cliffs on each side foams again with the briny

spray; between them the haven lies concealed; the towery

rocks let down their arms like two walls, and the temple

retires from the shore. Here on the grass I saw four

horses, the first token of heaven’s will, browsing the 25

meadow at large, of snowy whiteness. And Anchises, my

father, breaks forth: ‘War is on thy front, land of the

stranger; for war thy horses are prepared; war is threatened

by the cattle we see. Still, these beasts no less are trained

one day to stoop to the car, and carry harness and curb 30

in harmony with the yoke; yes,’ cries he, ‘there is hope

of peace, too.’ With that we make our prayers to the

sacred majesty of Pallas, queen of clanging arms, the first

to welcome us in the hour of our joy; and, according to

Helenus’ order, that order which he gave so earnestly, we 35

duly solemnize to Juno of Argos the prescribed honours.

Then, without dallying, soon as our vows were paid in

course, we turn landward the horns of our covered sail-yards,

and leave the homes of the sons of Greece, and

the fields we could not trust. Next we sight the bay of

Tarentum, the city, if legend say true, of Hercules; right

against us rises the goddess of Lacinium, and the towers

of Caulon, and Scylaceum, wrecker of ships. Then, in 5

the distance, from the surge is seen Trinacrian Ætna;

and the heavy groaning of the sea and the beating of the

rocks is heard from afar, and broken voices on the beach,

and the depths leap up to sight, and the sands are in a

turmoil with the surge. Then, my father, Anchises: ‘No 10

doubt this is that Charybdis; these the cliffs, these the

frightful rocks of Helenus’ song. Snatch us from them,

comrades; rise on your oars as one man.’ They do no

less than bidden; first of all Palinurus turned the plashing

prow to the waters on the left; for the left makes the 15

whole fleet, oars, winds, and all. Up we go to heaven on

the arched back of the wave; down again, as the water

gives way under us, we sink to the place of death below.

Thrice the rocks shouted in our ears deep in their stony

hollows; twice we saw the foam dashed up, and the stars 20

all dripping. Meanwhile, tired and spent, we lose wind

and sunlight at once, and, in our ignorance of the way,

float to the land of the Cyclops.

“There is a haven, sheltered from the approach of the

winds, and spacious, were that all; but Ætna is near, 25

thundering with appalling crashes; at one time it hurls

to the sky a black cloud, a smoky whirlwind of soot and

glowing ashes, and upheaves balls of fire, and licks the

stars; at another it raises rocks, torn from the mountain’s

bowels, and whirls heaps of molten stones into the air 30

with a groan, and boils up from its very foundations.

The legend is, that the body of Enceladus,[167] blasted by

lightning, is kept down by this mighty weight, and that

the giant bulk of Ætna, piled on him, breathes forth penal

fire through passages which that fire has burst; and ever, 35

as he shifts his side from weariness, all Trinacria quakes

and groans, and draws up a curtain of smoke over the

sky. That night, in the shelter of the woods, we endure

the visitation of monstrous portents, yet see not what

cause produces the sound. For there was no starlight,

no sky, bright with a heaven of constellations, but the

firmament was dim and murky, and dead night was keeping

the moon in a prison of storm-clouds. 5

“And now the next day was breaking in early dawn,

and Aurora had drawn off the dewy shadow from the

sky, when suddenly from the woods comes forth the

strange figure of a man unknown, in piteous trim—a

picture completed by Famine’s master-stroke, and 10

stretches his hands in supplication to the shore. We

look back: there was filth to make us shudder, a length

of beard, a covering fastened with thorns; yet the rest

betokened a Greek, who had once been sent to Troy in

the army of his nation. As for him, when he saw from 15

afar the dress of Dardan land and the arms of Troy, for

a moment he faltered, scared by the sight, and checked

his steps; soon he ran headlong to the shore, crying and

praying: ‘By the stars I adjure you, by the powers

above, by this blessed light of heaven we breathe, take 20

me with you, Teucrians; carry me off to any land you

will; this will be enough. I know I am one of the Danaan

crews; I own that I carried war into your Trojan homes;

for which, if the guilt of my crime is so black, fling me

piecemeal to the waves, drown me deep in the great sea. 25

If I am to die, there will be pleasure in dying by the hands

of men.’ His speech was over, and he was clinging about

us, clasping our knees, and writhing round them. We

encourage him to tell us who he is, of what race sprung,

to reveal what fortune has since made him its sport. My 30

father, Anchises, after no long pause, himself gives his

hand to the youth, and reassures him by the powerful

pledge. He at length lays aside his fear, and speaks as

follows:—

“‘I come from Ithaca, a comrade of the ill-starred 35

Ulysses, my name Achemenides. I went to Troy, leaving

my father, Adamastus, who was poor. Would that his

lot had remained mine! Here, in their hurry to leave

the door of the slaughterhouse, my comrades forgot me

and so left me behind in the Cyclops’ enormous den. It

is a house of gore and bloody feasting, deep, and dark,

and huge; its master towers aloft, and strikes the stars

on high (ye gods, remove from the earth a plague like 5

this!), whom no eye rests on with pleasure, no tongue dare

accost. The flesh of wretched men and their black blood

are the food he feeds on. These eyes saw, when two

bodies from our company, caught by his huge hand, as

he threw back his head in the midst of the den, were 10

being brained against the rock, and the floor was plashed

and swimming with blood—they saw, when he was

crunching their limbs, dripping with black gore, and the

warm joints were quivering under his teeth. He did it,

but not unpunished. Ulysses was not the man to brook 15

a deed like this; the brain of Ithaca was not wanting to

itself when the need was so great. For soon as, gorged

with his food and buried in wine, he bent and dropped

his neck, and lay all along the den in unmeasured length,

belching out gore in his sleep, and gobbets mixed with 20

bloody wine; then we, having made our prayer to the

great gods and drawn our places by lot, surround him on

all sides as one man, and with a sharp weapon bore out

his eye, that vast eye, which used to lie single and sunk

under his grim brow,[C] and thus at last take triumphant 25

vengeance for our comrades’ shades. But fly, unhappy

men, fly, and tear your cable from the shore. For hideous

and huge as is Polyphemus, folding in his den his woolly

flocks and pressing their udders, as hideous and huge are

a hundred others that dwell everywhere along this coast, 30

monster Cyclops, and stalk over the tall mountains. It

is now the third moon, whose horns are filling out with

light, that I am dragging along my life in the woods;

among the lonely lairs where wild beasts dwell, and looking

forth on the huge Cyclops as they stalk from rock to 35

rock, and trembling at their tread and at the sound of

their voices. My wretched fare, berries and stony cornels,

is supplied by the boughs, and herbage uprooted yields

me food. As I turned my eyes all about, this fleet of

yours at last I saw advancing to the shore; with this, 5

prove it what might, I cast in my lot; it is enough to

have escaped this race of monsters. Sooner do you destroy

this life by any death you please.’

“Scarce had he ended, when on the mountain-top we

see the giant himself, moving along with his enormous 10

bulk among his cattle, and making for the well-known

shore—a monster dreadful, hideous, huge, with his eye

extinguished. A pine, lopped by his own hand, guides

him and steadies his footsteps. His woolly sheep accompany

him—there is his sole pleasure, the solace of his 15

suffering. After he had touched the waves of the deep

and come to the sea, he washes with its water the gore

that trickles from his scooped-out eye, gnashing his teeth

with a groan; and he steps through the sea, now at main

height, while the wave has not yet wetted his tall sides. 20

We, in alarm, hasten our flight from the place, taking on

board the suppliant, who had thus made good his claim,

and silently cut the cable; then throw ourselves forward,

and with emulous oars sweep along the sea. He perceived

it, and turned his steps towards the noise he heard. 25

But when he finds he has no means of grasping at us with

his hand, no power of keeping pace with the Ionian waves

in pursuit, he raises a gigantic roar, at which the sea and

all its waters trembled inwardly, and the land of Italy

shuddered to its core, and Ætna bellowed through her 30

winding caverns. But the tribe of the Cyclops, startled

from wood and lofty mountain, rush to the haven and

fill the shore. There we see them standing, each with

the empty menace of his grim eye, the brethren of Ætna,

lifting their tall heads to heaven, a dire assemblage—like 35

as on some tall peak, skyey oaks or cone-bearing cypresses

stand together, a lofty forest of Jupiter, or a grove of

Diana. Headlong our crews are driven by keen terror to

fling out the ropes anywhither, and stretch their sails to

the winds that would catch them. On the other hand,

Helenus’ warning bids them not to hold on their way

between Scylla and Charybdis, a passage on either side

removed but a hair’s breadth from death; so our purpose 5

stands to spread our sails backward. When lo! the north

wind is upon us, sped from Pelorus’ narrow strait. On I

fly past Pantagia’s mouth of living rock, and the bay of

Megara, and low-lying Thapsus. Such were the coasts

named to us by Achemenides, as he retraced his former 10

wanderings—Achemenides, comrade of the ill-starred

Ulysses.

“Stretched before the Sicanian bay lies an island, over

against Plemyrium the billowy—former ages named it

Ortygia. Hither, the legend is, Alpheus, the river of 15

Elis, made himself a secret passage under the sea; and

he now, through thy mouth, Arethusa,[168] blends with the

waters of Sicily. Obedient to command, we worship

the mighty gods of the place; and from thence I pass the

over-rich soil of Helorus the marshy. Hence we skirt the 20

tall crags and jutting rocks of Pachynus, and Camarina is

seen in the distance,—Camarina, which the oracle gave

no man leave to disturb, and the plains of Gela, and Gela

itself, mighty city, called from the stream that laves it.

Next Acragas the craggy displays from afar its lofty 25

walls, one day the breeder of generous steeds. Thee,

too, I leave, by favour of the winds, palmy Selinus, and

pick my way through the sunk rocks that make Lilybæum’s

waters perilous. Hence Drepanum receives me,

with its haven and its joyless coast. Here, after so many 30

storms on the sea had done their worst, woe is me! I

lose him that had made every care and danger light, my

father, Anchises. Here, best of sires, you leave your son,

lone and weary, you, who had been snatched from those

fearful dangers, alas! in vain. Helenus, the seer, among 35

the thousand horrors he foretold, warned me not of

this agony; no, nor dread Celæno. This was my last

suffering, this the goal of my long journeyings. It

was on parting hence that Heaven drove me on your

coast.”

Thus father Æneas, alone, amid the hush of all around,

was recounting Heaven’s destined dealings, and telling of

his voyages; and now, at length, he was silent, made an 5

end, and took his rest.

BOOK IV

But the queen, pierced long since by love’s cruel shaft,

is feeding the wound with her life-blood, and wasting under

a hidden fire. Many times the hero’s own worth comes

back to her mind, many times the glory of his race; his

every look remains imprinted on her breast, and his every 5

word, nor will trouble let soothing sleep have access to

her frame.

The dawn-goddess[169] of the morrow was surveying the

earth with Phœbus’ torch in her hand, and had already

withdrawn the dewy shadow from the sky, when she, 10

sick of soul, thus bespoke the sister whose heart was one

with hers:—“Anna, my sister, what dreams are these

that confound and appal me! Who is this new guest

that has entered our door! What a face and carriage!

What strength of breast and shoulders! I do believe—it 15

is no mere fancy—that he has the blood of gods in his

veins. An ignoble soul is known by the coward’s brand.

Ah! by what fates he has been tossed! What wars he

was recounting, every pang of them borne by himself!

Were it not the fixed, immovable purpose of my mind 20

never to consent to join myself with any in wedlock’s

bands, since my first love played me false and made me

the dupe of death—had I not been weary of bridal bed

and nuptial torch, perchance I might have stooped to

this one reproach. Anna—for I will own the truth—since 25

the fate of Sychæus, my poor husband—since the

sprinkling of the gods of my home with the blood my

brother shed, he and he only has touched my heart and

shaken my resolution till it totters. I recognize the

traces of the old flame. But first I would pray that earth 30

may yawn for me from her foundations, or the all-powerful

sire hurl me thunder-stricken to the shades, to the wan

shades of Erebus[170] and abysmal night, ere I violate thee,

my woman’s honour, or unknit the bonds thou tiest.

He who first wedded me, he has carried off my heart—let 5

him keep it all his own, and retain it in his grave.”

Thus having said, she deluged her bosom with a burst of

tears.

Anna replies:—“Sweet love, dearer than the light to

your sister’s eye, are you to pine and grieve in loneliness 10

through life’s long spring, nor know aught of a mother’s

joy in her children, nor of the prizes Venus gives? Think

you that dead ashes and ghosts low in the grave take this

to heart? Grant that no husbands have touched your

bleeding heart in times gone by, none now in Libya, none 15

before in Tyre; yes, Iarbas has been slighted, and the

other chieftains whom Afric, rich in triumphs, rears as

its own—will you fight against a welcome, no less than

an unwelcome passion? Nor does it cross your mind in

whose territories you are settled? On one side the cities 20

of the Gætulians, a race invincible in war, and the Numidians

environ you, unbridled as their steeds, and the

inhospitable Syrtis; on another, a region unpeopled by

drought, and the widespread barbarism of the nation of

Barce. What need to talk of the war-cloud threatening 25

from Tyre, and the menaces of our brother? It is under

Heaven’s auspices, I deem, and by Juno’s blessing, that

the vessels of Ilion have made this voyage hither. What

a city, my sister, will ours become before your eyes!

what an empire will grow out of a marriage like this! 30

With the arms of the Teucrians at its back, to what a

height will the glory of Carthage soar! Only be it yours

to implore the favour of Heaven, and having won its

acceptance, give free course to hospitality and weave a

chain of pleas for delay, while the tempest is raging its 35

full on the sea, and Orion, the star of rain, while his ships

are still battered, and the rigour of the sky still unyielding.”

By these words she added fresh fuel to the fire of

love, gave confidence to her wavering mind, and loosed

the ties of woman’s honour.

First they approach the temples and inquire for pardon

from altar to altar; duly they slaughter chosen sheep to

Ceres the lawgiver, to Phœbus, and to father Lyæus[171]—above 5

all to Juno, who makes marriage bonds her care.

Dido herself, in all her beauty, takes a goblet in her

hand, and pours it out full between the horns of a heifer

of gleaming white, or moves majestic in the presence of

the gods towards the richly-laden altars, and solemnizes 10

the day with offerings, and gazing greedily on the victims’

opened breasts, consults the entrails yet quivering with

life. Alas! how blind are the eyes of seers! What can

vows, what can temples do for the madness of love? All

the while a flame is preying on the very marrow of her 15

bones, and deep in her breast a wound keeps noiselessly

alive. She is on fire, the ill-fated Dido, and in her madness

ranges the whole city through, like a doe from an

arrow-shot, whom, unguarded in the thick of the Cretan

woods, a shepherd, chasing her with his darts, has pierced 20

from a distance, and left the flying steel in the wound,

unknowing of his prize; she at full speed scours the

forests and lawns of Dicte; the deadly reed still sticks

in her side. Now she leads Æneas with her through the

heart of the town, and displays the wealth of Sidon, and 25

the city built to dwell in. She begins to speak, and stops

midway in the utterance. Now, as the day fades, she

seeks again the banquet of yesterday, and once more in

frenzy asks to hear of the agonies of Troy, and hangs

once more on his lips as he tells the tale. Afterwards, 30

when the guests are gone, and the dim moon in turn is

hiding her light, and the setting stars invite to slumber,

alone she mourns in the empty hall, and presses the

couch he has just left; him far away she sees and hears,

herself far away; or holds Ascanius long in her lap, spellbound 35

by his father’s image, to cheat, if she can, her ungovernable

passion. The towers that were rising rise no

longer; the youth ceases to practise arms, or to make

ready havens and bulwarks for safety in war; the works

are broken and suspended, the giant frowning of the

walls, and the engine level with the sky.

Soon as Jove’s loved wife saw that she was so mastered

by the plague, and that good name could not stand in 5

the face of passion, she, the daughter of Saturn, bespeaks

Venus thus:—“Brilliant truly is the praise, ample the

spoils you are carrying off, you and your boy—great and

memorable the fame, if the plots of two gods have really

conquered one woman. No; I am not so blind either 10

to your fears of my city, to your suspicions of the open

doors of my stately Carthage. But when is this to end?

or what calls now for such terrible contention? Suppose

for a change we establish perpetual peace and a firm marriage

bond. You have gained what your whole heart 15

went to seek. Dido is ablaze with love, and the madness

is coursing through her frame. Jointly then let us rule

this nation, each with full sovereignty; let her stoop to

be the slave of a Phrygian husband, and make over her

Tyrians in place of dowry to your control.” 20

To her—for she saw that she had spoken with a feigned

intent, meaning to divert the Italian empire to the coast of

Libya—Venus thus replied:—“Who would be so mad

as to spurn offers like these, and prefer your enmity to your

friendship, were it but certain that the issue you name 25

would bring good fortune in its train? But I am groping

blindly after destiny—whether it be Jupiter’s will that

the Tyrians and the voyagers from Troy should have one

city—whether he would have the two nations blended

and a league made between them. You are his wife; it 30

is your place to approach him by entreaty. Go on, I

will follow.” Imperial Juno rejoined thus:—“That task

shall rest with me. Now, in what way our present purpose

can be contrived, lend me your attention, and I will explain

in brief. Æneas and Dido, poor sufferer! are 35

proposing to go hunting in the forest, when first to-morrow’s

sun displays his rising, and with his beams uncurtains

the globe. On them I will pour from above a black

storm of mingled rain and hail, just when the horsemen

are all astir, and spreading their toils before the wood-walks,

and the whole heaven shall be convulsed with

thunder. The train shall fly here and there, and be lost

in the thick darkness. Dido and the Trojan chief shall 5

find themselves in the same cave. I will be there, and,

if I may count on your sanction, will unite her to him in

lasting wedlock, and consecrate her his for life. Thus

shall Hymen[172] give us his presence.” The Queen of

Cythera makes no demur, but nods assent, smiling at the 10

trick she has found out.

Meanwhile Aurora has risen, and left the ocean. Rising

with the day-star, the chivalry of Carthage streams

through the gates, their woven toils, and nets, and hunting-spears

tipped with broad iron, and Massylian horsemen 15

hurry along, and a force of keen-scented hounds.

There are the Punic princes, waiting for the queen, who

still lingers in her chamber; there stands her palfrey,

conspicuous in purple and gold, fiercely champing the

foaming bit. At length she comes forth, with a mighty 20

train attending, a Tyrian scarf round her, itself surrounded

by an embroidered border; her quiver of gold, her hair

knotted up with gold, her purple robe fastened with a

golden clasp. The Phrygian train, too, are in motion,

and Iulus, all exultation. Æneas himself, comely beyond 25

all the rest, adds his presence to theirs, and joins the procession;

like Apollo, when he leaves his Lycian winter-seat

and the stream of Xanthus, and visits Delos, his

mother’s isle, and renews the dance; while with mingled

voices round the altar shout Cretans and Dryopians, and 30

tattooed Agathyrsians. The god in majesty walks on

the heights of Cynthus, training his luxuriant hair with the

soft pressure of a wreath of leaves, and twining it with

gold; his arrows rattle on his shoulders. Not with less

ease than he moved Æneas; such the beauty that sparkles 35

in that peerless countenance. When they reach the high

mountains and the pathless coverts, see! the wild goats,

dropping from the tops of the crags, have run down the

slopes; in another quarter the deer are scouring the open

plains, massing their herds as they fly in a whirlwind of

dust, and leaving the mountains. But young Ascanius

is in the heart of the glens, exulting in his fiery courser.

Now he passes one, now another of his comrades at full 5

speed, and prays that in the midst of such spiritless game

he may be blest with the sight of a foaming boar, or that

a tawny lion may come down the hill. Meantime the sky

begins to be convulsed with a mighty turmoil; a storm-cloud

follows of mingled rain and hail. The Tyrian train, 10

all in confusion, and the chivalry of Troy, and the hope

of Dardania, Venus’ grandson, have sought shelter in

their terror up and down the country, some here, some

there. The streams run in torrents down the hills. Dido

and the Trojan chief find themselves in the same cave. 15

Earth, the mother of all, and Juno give the sign.

Lightnings blaze, and heaven flashes in sympathy with

the bridal; and from mountain-tops the nymphs give the

nuptial shout. That day was the birthday of death, the

birthday of woe. Henceforth she has no thought for the 20

common eye or the common tongue; it is not a stolen passion

that Dido has now in her mind—no, she calls it

marriage; that name is the screen of her sin.

Instantly Fame[173] takes her journey through Libya’s great

cities—Fame, a monster surpassed in speed by none; her 25

nimbleness lends her life, and she gains strength as she

goes. At first fear keeps her low; soon she rears herself

skyward, and treads on the ground, while her head is

hidden among the clouds. Earth, her parent, provoked to

anger against the gods, brought her forth, they say, the 30

youngest of the family of Cœus[174] and Enceladus—swift

of foot and untiring of wing, a portent terrible and vast—who,

for every feather on her body has an ever-wakeful

eye beneath, marvellous to tell, for every eye a loud tongue

and mouth, and a pricked-up ear. At night she flies midway 35

between heaven and earth, hissing through the darkness,

nor ever yields her eyes to the sweets of sleep. In

the daylight she sits sentinel on a high house-top, or on a

lofty turret, and makes great cities afraid; as apt to cling

to falsehood and wrong as to proclaim the truth. So

then she was filling the public ear with a thousand tales—things

done and things never done alike the burden of

her song—how that Æneas, a prince of Trojan blood, had 5

arrived at Carthage, a hero whom lovely Dido deigned to

make her husband, and now in luxurious ease they were

wearing away the length of winter together, forgetful of

the crowns they wore or hoped to wear, and enthralled by

unworthy passion. Such are the tales the fiendlike goddess 10

spreads from tongue to tongue. Then, in due course, she

turns her steps to King Iarbas, and inflames him with her

rumours, and piles his indignation high. He, the son of

Ammon, from the ravished embrace of a Garamantian

nymph, built within his broad realms a hundred temples 15

to Jove, and in each temple an altar; there he had consecrated

an ever-wakeful fire, the god’s unsleeping sentry,

a floor thick with victims’ blood, and doors wreathed with

particoloured garlands. And he, frenzied in soul, and

stung by the bitter tidings, is said, as he stood before the 20

altars, with the majesty of Heaven all around him, to have

prayed long and earnestly to Jove with upturned hands:—“Jove,

the Almighty, to whom in this my reign the

Moorish race, feasting on embroidered couches, pour out

the offering of the vintage, seest thou this? or is our dread 25

of thee, Father, when thou hurlest thy lightnings, an idle

panic? are those aimless fires in the clouds that appal us?

have their confused rumblings no meaning? See here:

a woman, who, wandering in our territories, bought leave

to build a petty town, to whom we made over a strip of 30

land for tillage, with its rights of lordship, she has rejected

an alliance with us, and received Æneas into her kingdom,

to be its lord and hers. And now that second Paris, with

his emasculate following, a Mæonian[175] cap supporting his

chin and his essenced hair, is enjoying his prize, while we, 35

forsooth, are making offerings to temples of thine, and

keeping alive an idle rumour.”

Thus as he prayed, his hands grasping the altar, the

almighty one heard him, and turned his eyes to the queenly

city and the guilty pair, lost to their better fame. Then

thus he bespeaks Mercury, and gives him a charge like this:—“Go,

haste, my son, summon the Zephyrs, and float on

thy wings; address the Dardan chief, who is now dallying 5

in Tyrian Carthage, and giving no thought to the city

which Destiny makes his own; carry him my commands

through the flying air. It was not a man like that whom

his beauteous mother promised us in him, and on the

strength of her word twice rescued him from the sword of 10

Greece. No, he was to be one who should govern Italy—Italy,

with its brood of unborn empires, and the war-cry

bursting from its heart—who should carry down a line

sprung from the grand fountain-head of Teucer’s blood,

and should force the whole world to bow to the laws[176] he 15

makes. If he is fired by no spark of ambition for greatness

like this, and will not rear a toilsome fabric for his own

praise, is it a father’s heart that grudges Ascanius the hills

of Rome? What is he building? What does he look to

in lingering on among a nation of enemies, with no thought 20

for the great Ausonian family, or for the fields of Lavinium?

Away with him to sea! This is our sentence;

thus far be our messenger.”

Jove had spoken, and Mercury was preparing to execute

the great sire’s command: first he binds to his feet his 25

sandals, all of gold, which carry him, uplifted by their

pinions, over sea no less than land, with the swiftness of

the wind that wafts him. Then he takes his rod—the

rod with which he is wont to call up pale spectres from the

place of death, to send others on their melancholy way to 30

Tartarus, to give sleep or take it away, and to open the

eyes when death is past. With this in hand, he drives the

winds before him, and makes a path through the sea of

clouds. And now in his flight he espies the crest and the

tall sides of Atlas the rugged, who with his top supports 35

the sky—Atlas, whose pine-crowned dead, ever wreathed

with dark clouds, is buffeted by wind and rain. A mantle

of snow wraps his shoulders; rivers tumble from his hoary

chin, and his grisly beard is stiff with ice. Here first

Cyllene’s god poised himself on his wings and rested; then

from his stand stooping his whole body, he sent himself

headlong to the sea, like a bird which haunting the coast and

the fishy rocks flies low, close to the water. Even so was 5

he flying between earth and heaven, between Libya’s

sandy coast and the winds that swept it, leaving his

mother’s father behind, himself Cyllene’s progeny.

Soon as his winged feet alit among the huts of Carthage,

he sees Æneas founding towers and making houses new. 10

A sword was at his side, starred with yellow jaspers, and

a mantle drooped from his shoulders, ablaze with Tyrian

purple—a costly gift which Dido had made, varying the

web with threads of gold. Instantly he assails him:—“And

are you at a time like this laying the foundations of 15

stately Carthage, and building, like a fond husband, your

wife’s goodly city, forgetting, alas! your own kingdom

and the cares that should be yours? It is no less than the

ruler of the gods who sends me down to you from his

bright Olympus—he whose nod sways heaven and earth; 20

it is he that bids me carry his commands through the flying

air. What are you building? what do you look to in

squandering your leisure in Libyan land? If you are fired

by no spark of ambition for the greatness in your view,

and will not rear a toilsome fabric for your own praise, 25

think of Ascanius rising into youth, think of Iulus, your

heir and your hope, to whom you owe the crown of Italy

and the realm of Rome.” With these words Cyllene’s

god quitted mortal sight ere he had well ceased to speak,

and vanished away from the eye into unsubstantial air. 30

The sight left Æneas dumb and aghast indeed; his hair

stood shudderingly erect; his speech clave to his throat.

He burns to take flight and leave the land of pleasure, as

his ears ring with the thunder of Heaven’s imperious warning.

What—ah! what is he to do? with what address 35

can he now dare to approach the impassioned queen?

what first advances can he employ? And thus he despatches

his rapid thought hither and thither hurrying

it east and west, and sweeping every corner of the field.

So balancing, at last he thought this judgment the best.

He calls Mnestheus and Sergestus and brave Serestus;

bids them quietly get ready the fleet, muster the crews on

the shore, with their arms in their hands, hiding the reason 5

for so sudden a change. Meantime he, while Dido, kindest

of friends, is in ignorance, deeming love’s chain too strong

to be snapped, will feel his way, and find what are the

happiest moments for speech, what the right hold to take

of circumstance. At once all gladly obey his command, 10

and are busy on the tasks enjoined.

But the queen (who can cheat a lover’s senses?) scented

the plot, and caught the first sound of the coming stir, alive

to fear in the midst of safety. Fame, as before, the same

baleful fiend, whispered in her frenzied ear that the fleet 15

was being equipped and the voyage got ready. She

storms in impotence of soul, and, all on fire, goes raving

through the city, like a Mænad[177] starting up at the rattle

of the sacred emblems, when the triennial orgies lash her

with the cry of Bacchus, and Cithæron’s yell calls her into 20

the night. At length she thus bespeaks Æneas, unaddressed

by him:—

“To hide, yes, hide your enormous crime, perfidious

wretch, did you hope that might be done—to steal away

in silence from my realm? Has our love no power to keep 25

you? has our troth, once, plighted, none, nor she whom

you doom to a cruel death, your Dido? Nay, are you

fitting out your fleet with winter’s sky overhead, and hastening

to cross the deep in the face of all the northern winds,

hard-hearted as you are? Why, suppose you were not 30

seeking a strange clime and a home you know not—suppose

old Troy were still standing—would even Troy draw

you to seek her across a billowy sea? Flying, and from

me! By the tears I shed, and by your plighted hand,

since my own act, alas! has left me nought else to plead—by 35

our union—by the nuptial rites thus prefaced—if

I have ever deserved well of you, or aught of mine ever

gave you pleasure—have pity on a falling house, and strip

off, I conjure you, if prayer be not too late, the mind that

clothes you. It is owing to you that the Libyan tribes and

the Nomad chiefs hate me, that my own Tyrians are estranged;

owing to you, yes, you, that my woman’s honour

has been put out, and that which was my one passport 5

to immortality, my former fame. To whom are you abandoning

a dying woman, my guest?—since the name of

husband has dwindled to that. Why do I live any longer?—to

give my brother Pygmalion time to batter down

my walls, or Iarbas the Moor to carry me away captive? 10

Had I but borne any offspring of you before your flight,

were there some tiny Æneas to play in my hall, and remind

me of you, though but in look, I should not then feel utterly

captive and forlorn.”

She ceased. He all the while, at Jove’s command, was 15

keeping his eyes unmoved, and shutting up in his heart his

great love. At length he answers in brief:—“Fair queen,

name all the claims to gratitude you can, I shall never

gainsay one, nor will the thought of Elissa[178] ever be unwelcome

while memory lasts, while breath animates this 20

frame. A few words I will say, as the case admits. I

never counted—do not dream it—on stealthily concealing

my flight. I never came with a bridegroom’s torch

in my hand, nor was this the alliance to which I agreed.

For me, were the Fates to suffer me to live under a star 25

of my own choosing, and to make with care the terms I

would, the city of Troy, first of all the dear remains of what

was mine, would claim my tendance. Priam’s tall roof-tree

would still be standing, and my hand would have

built a restored Pergamus, to solace the vanquished. But 30

now to princely Italy Grynean[179] Apollo, to Italy his Lycian

oracles bid me repair. There is my heart, there my fatherland.

If you are riveted here by the sight of your stately

Carthage, a daughter of Phœnicia by a Libyan town,

why, I would ask, should jealousy forbid Teucrians to 35

settle in Ausonian land? We, like you, have the right of

looking for a foreign realm. There is my father Anchises,

oft as night’s dewy shades invest the earth, oft as the fiery

stars arise, warning me in dreams and appalling me by his

troubled presence. There is my son Ascanius, and the

wrongs heaped on his dear head every day that I rob him

of the crown of Hesperia, and of the land that fate makes

his. Now, too, the messenger of the gods, sent down from 5

Jove himself (I swear by both our lives) has brought me

orders through the flying air. With my own eyes I saw

the god in clear daylight entering the walls, and took in his

words with the ears that hear you now. Cease then to

harrow up both our souls by your reproaches: my quest 10

of Italy is not of my own motion.”

Long ere he had done this speech she was glaring at him

askance, rolling her eyes this way and that, and scanning

the whole man with her silent glances, and thus she bursts

forth all ablaze:—“No goddess was mother of yours, no 15

Dardanus the head of your line, perfidious wretch!—no,

your parent was Caucasus, rugged and craggy, and

Hyrcanian tigresses put their breasts to your lips. For

why should I suppress aught? or for what worse evil hold

myself in reserve? Did he groan when I wept? did he 20

move those hard eyes? did he yield and shed tears, or

pity her that loved him? What first? what last? Now,

neither Juno, queen of all, nor Jove, the almighty Father,

eyes us with impartial regard. Nowhere is there aught

to trust—nowhere. A shipwrecked beggar, I welcomed 25

him, and madly gave him a share of my realm; his lost

fleet, his crews, I brought back from death’s door. Ah!

Fury sets me on fire, and whirls me round! Now, prophet

Apollo, now the Lycian oracles. Now the messenger of

the gods, sent down by Jove himself, bears his grim bidding 30

through the air! Aye, of course, that is the employment

of the powers above, those the cares that break their

repose! I retain not your person, nor refute your talk.

Go, chase Italy with the winds at your back; look for

realms with the whole sea between you. I have hope that 35

on the rocks midway, if the gods are as powerful as they

are good, you will drain the cup of punishment, with Dido’s

name ever on your lips. I will follow you with murky

fires when I am far away: and when cold death shall have

parted soul and body, my shade shall haunt you everywhere.

Yes, wretch, you shall suffer, I shall hear it—the

news will reach me down among the dead.” So saying,

she snaps short her speech, and flies with loathing 5

from the daylight, and breaks and rushes from his sight,

leaving him hesitating, and fearing, and thinking of a

thousand things to say. Her maidens support her, and

carry her sinking frame into her marble chamber, and

lay her on her bed. 10

But good Æneas, though yearning to solace and soothe

her agonized spirit, and by his words to check the onset of

sorrow, with many a groan, his whole soul upheaved by

the force of love, goes nevertheless about the commands

of Heaven, and repairs to his fleet. The Teucrians redouble 15

their efforts, and along the whole range of the shore

drag their tall ships down. The keels are careened and

floated. They carry oars with their leaves still on, and

timber unfashioned as it stood in the woods, so strong their

eagerness to fly. You may see them all in motion, streaming 20

from every part of the city. Even as ants when they

are sacking a huge heap of wheat, provident of winter

days, and laying up the plunder in their stores; a black

column is seen moving through the plain, and they convey

their booty along the grass in a narrow path: some are 25

putting their shoulders to the big grains, and pushing them

along; others are rallying the force and punishing the

stragglers; the whole track is in a glow of work. What

were your feelings then, poor Dido, at a sight like this!

How deep the groans you heaved, when you looked out 30

from your lofty tower on a beach all seething and swarming,

and saw the whole sea before you deafened with that

hubbub of voices! Tyrant love! what force dost thou not

put on human hearts? Again she has to condescend to

tears, again to use the weapons of entreaty, and bow her 35

spirit in suppliance under love’s yoke, lest she should have

left aught untried, and be rushing on a needless death.

“Anna, you see there is hurrying all over the shore—they

are met from every side; the canvas is already wooing

the gale, and the joyful sailors have wreathed the sterns.

If I have had the foresight to anticipate so heavy a blow,

I shall have the power to bear it too, my sister. Yet,

Anna, in my misery, perform me this one service. You, 5

and you only, the perfidious man was wont to make his

friend—aye, even to trust you with his secret thoughts.

You, and you only, know the subtle approaches to his

heart, and the times of essaying them. Go, then, my

sister, and supplicate our haughty foe. Tell him I was 10

no party to the Danaan league at Aulis to destroy the

Trojan nation; I sent no ships to Pergamus; I never

disinterred his father Anchises, his dust or his spirit. Why

will he not let my words sink down into his obdurate ears?

Whither is he hurrying? Let him grant this last boon to 15

her who loves him so wildly; let him wait till the way is

smoothed for his flight, and there are winds to waft him.

I am not asking him now to renew our old vows which he

has forsworn. I am not asking him to forego his fair

Latium, and resign his crown. I entreat but a few vacant 20

hours, a respite and breathing-space for my passion, till

my fortune shall have taught baffled love how to grieve.

This is my last request of you—Oh, pity your poor sister!—a

request which when granted shall be returned with

interest in death.” 25

Such was her appeal—such the wailing which her

afflicted sister bears to him, and bears again; but no wailing

moves him, no words find him a gentle listener. Fate

bars the way, and Heaven closes the hero’s relenting ears.

Even as an aged oak, still hale and strong, which Alpine 30

winds, blowing now here, now there, strive emulously to

uproot—a loud noise is heard, and, as the stem rocks,

heaps of leaves pile the ground; but the tree cleaves

firmly to the cliff; high as its head strikes into the air,

so deep its root strikes down to the abyss—even thus the 35

hero is assailed on all sides by a storm of words: his mighty

breast thrills through and through with agony; but his

mind is unshaken, and tears are showered in vain.

Then at last, maddened by her destiny, poor Dido prays

for death: heaven’s vault is a weariness to look on. To

confirm her in pursuing her intent, and closing her eyes on

the sun, she saw, as she was laying her offerings on the

incense-steaming altars—horrible to tell—the sacred 5

liquor turn black, and the streams of wine curdle into

loathly gore. This appearance she told to none, not even

to her sister. Moreover, there was in her palace a marble

chapel to her former husband, to which she used to pay

singular honours, wreathing it with snowy fillets and festal 10

boughs; from it she thought she heard a voice, the accents

of the dead man calling her, when the darkness of night

was shrouding the earth: and on the roof a lonely owl in

funereal tones kept complaining again and again, and

drawing out wailingly its protracted notes; and a thousand 15

predictions of seers of other days come back on her,

terrifying her with their awful warnings. When she

dreams, there is Æneas himself driving her in furious chase:

she seems always being left alone to herself, always pacing

companionless on a never-ending road, and looking for her 20

Tyrians in a realm without inhabitants—like Pentheus,[o]

when in frenzy he sees troops of Furies, and two suns, and

a double Thebes rising around him; or Agamemnon’s[o]

Orestes rushing over the stage, as he flies from his mother,

who is armed with torches and deadly snakes, while the 25

avenging fiends sit crouched on the threshold.

So when, spent with agony, she gave conception to the

demon, and resolved on death, she settled with herself

time and means, and thus bespoke her grieving sister, her

face disguising her intent, and hope smiling on her brow:— 30

“Dearest, I have found a way—wish me joy, as a sister

should—to bring him back to me, or to loose me from the

love which binds me to him. Hard by the bound of ocean

and the setting sun lies the extreme Ethiopian clime, where

mighty Atlas turns round on his shoulders the pole, studded 35

with burning stars. From that clime, I have heard of a

priestess of the Massylian race, once guardian of the

temple of the Hesperides, who used to give the dragon his

food, and so preserve the sacred boughs on the tree, sprinkling

for him moist honey and drowsy poppy-seed. She,

by her spells, undertakes to release souls at her pleasure,

while into others she shoots cruel pangs; she stops the

water in the river-bed, and turns back the stars in their 5

courses, and calls ghosts from realms of night. You will

see the earth bellowing under you, and the ashes coming

down from the mountain-top. By the gods I swear,

dearest sister, by you and your dear life, that unwillingly

I gird on the weapons of magic. Do you, in the privacy 10

of the inner court, build a pile to the open sky; lay on it

the arms which that godless man left hanging in the

chamber, and all his doffed apparel, and the nuptial bed

which was my undoing. To destroy every memorial of

the hateful wretch is my pleasure, and the priestess’ bidding.” 15

This said, she is silent—paleness overspreads her

face. Yet Anna does not dream that these strange rites

are a veil to hide her sister’s death: she cannot grasp

frenzy like that; she fears no darker day than that of their

mourning for Sychæus, and so she does her bidding. 20

But the queen, when the pile had been built in the heart

of the palace to the open sky, a giant mass of pine-wood and

hewn oak, spans the place with garlands, and crowns it

with funeral boughs. High above it on the couch she sets

the doffed apparel, and the sword that had been left, and 25

the image of the false lover, knowing too well what was

to come. Altars rise here and there; the priestess, with

hair dishevelled, thunders out the roll of three hundred

gods, Erebus and Chaos, and Hecate[180] with her triple form—the

three faces borne by maiden Dian. See! she has 30

sprinkled water, brought, so she feigns, from Avernus’

spring, and she is getting green downy herbs, cropped by

moonlight with brazen shears, whose sap is the milk of

deadly poison, and the love-charm, torn from the brow

of the new-born foal, ere the mother could snatch it. 35

Dido herself, with salted cake and pure hands at the altars,

one foot unshod, her vest ungirdled, makes her dying

appeal to the gods and to the stars who share Fate’s

counsels, begging the powers, if any there be, that watch,

righteous and unforgetting, over ill-yoked lovers, to hear

her prayer.

It was night, and overtoiled mortality throughout the

earth was enjoying peaceful slumber; the woods were at 5

rest, and the raging waves—the hour when the stars are

rolling midway in their smooth courses, when all the land is

hushed, cattle, and gay-plumed birds, haunters far and wide

of clear waters and rough forest-ground, lapped in sleep

with stilly night overhead, their troubles assuaged, their 10

hearts dead to care. Not so the vexed spirit of Phœnicia’s

daughter; she never relaxes into slumber, or

welcomes the night to eye or bosom; sorrow doubles peal

on peal; once more love swells, and storms, and surges,

with a mighty tempest of passion. Thus, then, she 15

plunges into speech, and whirls her thoughts about thus

in the depth of her soul:—“What am I about? Am I

to make fresh proof of my former suitors, with scorn before

me? Must I stoop to court Nomad bridegrooms, whose

offered hand I have spurned so often? Well, then, shall 20

I follow the fleet of Ilion, and be at the beck and call of

Teucrian masters? Is it that they think with pleasure

on the succour once rendered them? that gratitude for

past kindness yet lives in their memory? But even if I

wished it, who will give me leave, or admit the unwelcome 25

guest to his haughty ships? Are you so ignorant, poor

wretch? Do you not yet understand the perjury of the

race of Laomedon[181]? What then? Shall I fly alone, and

swell the triumph of their crews? or shall I put to sea, with

the Tyrians and the whole force of my people at my back, 30

dragging those whom it was so hard to uproot from their

Sidonian home again into the deep, and bidding them

spread sail to the winds? No!—die the death you have

merited, and let the sword put your sorrow to flight.

You, sister, are the cause; overmastered by my tears, 35

you heap this deadly fuel on my flame, and fling me upon

nay enemy. Why could I not forswear wedlock, and live

an unblamed life in savage freedom, nor meddle with

troubles like these? Why did I not keep the faith I

vowed to the ashes of Sychæus?” Such were the reproaches

that broke from that bursting heart.

Meanwhile Æneas, resolved on his journey, was slumbering

in his vessel’s tall stern, all being now in readiness. 5

To him a vision of the god, appearing again with the same

countenance, presented itself as he slept, and seemed to

give this second warning—the perfect picture of Mercury,

his voice, his blooming hue, his yellow locks, and the youthful

grace of his frame:—“Goddess-born, at a crisis like 10

this can you slumber on? Do you not see the wall of

danger which is fast rising round you, infatuate that you

are, nor hear the favouring whisper of the western gale?

She is revolving in her bosom thoughts of craft and cruelty,

resolved on death, and surging with a changeful tempest 15

of passion. Will you not haste away while haste is in your

power? You will look on a sea convulsed with ships, an

array of fierce torch-fires, a coast glowing with flame, if

the dawn-goddess shall have found you loitering here on

land. Quick!—burst through delay. A thing of moods 20

and changes is woman ever.” He said, and was lost in the

darkness of night.

At once Æneas, scared by the sudden apparition, springs

up from sleep, and rouses his comrades. “Wake in a moment,

my friends, and seat you on the benches. Unfurl 25

the sails with all speed. See! here is a god sent down

from heaven on high, urging us again to hasten our flight,

and cut the twisted cables. Yes! sacred power, we follow

thee, whoever thou art, and a second time with joy obey

thy behest. Be thou with us, and graciously aid us, and 30

let propitious stars be ascendant in the sky.” So saying,

he snatches from the scabbard his flashing sword, and with

the drawn blade cuts the hawsers. The spark flies from

man to man; they scour, they scud, they have left the

shore behind; you cannot see the water for ships. With 35

strong strokes they dash the foam, and sweep the blue.

And now Aurora was beginning to sprinkle the earth

with fresh light, rising from Tithonus’[182] saffron couch.

Soon as the queen from her watch-tower saw the gray

dawn brighten, and the fleet moving on with even canvas,

and coast and haven forsaken, with never an oar left,

thrice and again smiting her beauteous breast with her

hands, and rending her golden locks, “Great Jupiter!” 5

cries she, “shall he go? Shall a chance-comer boast of

having flouted our realm? Will they not get their arms

at once, and give chase from all the town, and pull, some

of them, the ships from the docks? Away! bring fire;

quick! get darts, ply oars! What am I saying? Where 10

am I? What madness turns my brain? Wretched Dido!

do your sins sting you now? They should have done so

then, when you were giving your crown away. What

truth! what fealty!—the man who, they say, carries

about with him the gods of his country, and took up on 15

his shoulders his old worn-out father! Might I not have

caught and torn him piecemeal, and scattered him to the

waves?—destroyed his friends, aye, and his own Ascanius,

and served up the boy for his father’s meal? But the

chance of a battle would have been doubtful. Let it have 20

been. I was to die, and whom had I to fear? I would

have flung torches into his camp, filled his decks with flame,

consumed son and sire and the whole line, and leapt myself

upon the pile. Sun, whose torch shows thee all that is

done on earth, and thou, Juno, revealer and witness 25

these stirrings of the heart, and Hecate, whose name is

yelled in civic crossways by night, avenging fiends, and

gods of dying Elissa, listen to this! Let your power stoop

to ills that call for it, and hear what I now pray! If

it must needs be that the accursed wretch gain the haven 30

and float to shore—if such the requirement of Jove’s

destiny, such the fixed goal—yet grant that, harassed

by the sword and battle of a warlike nation, a wanderer

from his own confines, torn from his Iulus’ arms, he may

pray for succour, and see his friends dying miserably round 35

him! Nor when he has yielded to the terms of an unjust

peace, may he enjoy his crown, or the life he loves; but

may he fall before his time, and lie unburied in the midst

of the plain! This is my prayer—these the last accents

that flow from me with my life-blood. And you, my

Tyrians, let your hatred persecute the race and people for

all time to come. Be this the offering you send down to

my ashes: never be there love or league between nation 5

and nation. Arise from my bones, my unknown avenger,

destined with fire and sword to pursue the Dardanian

settlers, now or in after-days, whenever strength shall be

given! Let coast be at war with coast, water with wave,

army with army; fight they, and their sons, and their 10

sons’ sons!”

Thus she said, as she whirled her thought to this side

and that, seeking at once to cut short the life she now abhorred.

Then briefly she spoke to Barce, Sychæus’ nurse,

for her own was left in her old country, in the black 15

ashes of the grave: “Fetch me here, dear nurse, my sister

Anna. Bid her hasten to sprinkle herself with water

from the stream, and bring with her the cattle and the

atoning offerings prescribed. Let her come with these;

and do you cover your brow with the holy fillet. The 20

sacrifice to Stygian Jove, which I have duly commenced

and made ready, I wish now to accomplish, and with it

the end of my sorrows, giving to the flame the pile that

pillows the Dardan head!” She said: the nurse began

to quicken her pace with an old wife’s zeal. 25

But Dido, wildered and maddened by her enormous

resolve, rolling her bloodshot eye, her quivering cheeks

stained with fiery streaks, and pale with the shadow of

death, bursts the door of the inner palace, and frantically

climbs the tall pile, and unsheathes the Dardan sword, a 30

gift procured for a far different end. Then, after surveying

the Trojan garments and the bed, too well known,

and pausing awhile to weep and think, she pressed her

bosom to the couch, and uttered her last words:

“Relics, once darlings of mine, while Fate and Heaven 35

gave leave, receive this my soul, and release me from these

my sorrows. I have lived my life—the course assigned

me by Fortune is run, and now the august phantom of

Dido shall pass underground. I have built a splendid

city. I have seen my walls completed. In vengeance for

a husband, I have punished a brother that hated me—blest,

ah! blest beyond human bliss, if only Dardan ships

had never touched coast of ours!” She spoke—and kissing 5

the couch: “Is it to be death without revenge? But

be it death,” she cries—“this, this is the road by which

I love to pass to the shades. Let the heartless Dardanian’s

eyes drink in this flame from the deep, and let him

carry with him the presage of my death.” 10

She spoke, and even while she was yet speaking, her

attendants see her fallen on the sword, the blade spouting

blood, and her hands dabbled in it. Their shrieks rise to

the lofty roof; Fame runs wild through the convulsed city.

With wailing and groaning, and screams of women, the 15

palace rings; the sky resounds with mighty cries and beating

of breasts—even as if the foe were to burst the gates

and topple down Carthage or ancient Tyre, and the infuriate

flame were leaping from roof to roof among the

dwellings of men and gods. 20

Her sister heard it. Breathless and frantic, with wild

speed, disfiguring her cheeks with her nails, her bosom

with her fists, she bursts through the press, and calls

by name on the dying queen: “Was this your secret,

sister? Were you plotting to cheat me? Was this what 25

your pile was preparing for me, your fires, and your altars?

What should a lone heart grieve for first? Did you disdain

your sister’s company in death? You should have

called me to share your fate—the same keen sword-pang,

the same hour, should have been the end of both. And 30

did these hands build the pile, this voice call on the gods

of our house, that you might lie there, while I, hard-hearted

wretch, was away? Yes, sister, you have destroyed

yourself and me, the people and the elders of Sidon,

and your own fair city. Let in the water to the wounds; 35

let me cleanse them, and if any remains of breath be

still flickering, catch them in my mouth!” As she thus

spoke, she was at the top of the lofty steps, and was embracing

and fondling in her bosom her dying sister, and

stanching with her robe the black streams of blood.

Dido strives to raise her heavy eyes, and sinks down

again, the deep stab gurgles in her breast. Thrice, with

an effort, she lifted and reared herself up on her elbow; 5

thrice, she fell back on the couch, and with helpless

wandering eyes aloft in the sky, sought for the light and

groaned when she found it.

Then Juno almighty, in compassion for her lengthened

agony and her trouble in dying, sent down Iris[183] from 10

Olympus to part the struggling soul and its prison of flesh.

For, as she was dying, not in the course of fate, nor for

any crime of hers, but in mere misery, before her time, the

victim of sudden frenzy, not yet had Proserpine[184] carried

off a lock of her yellow hair, and thus doomed her head to 15

Styx and the place of death. So then Iris glides down

the sky with saffron wings dew-besprent, trailing a thousand

various colours in the face of the sun, and alights

above her head. “This I am bidden to bear away as an

offering to Pluto, and hereby set you free from the body.” 20

So saying, she stretches her hand and cuts the lock: at

once all heat parts from the frame, and the life has passed

into air.

BOOK V

Æneas, meantime, was well on his road, holding with set

purpose on the watery way, and cutting through billows

gloomed by the North wind, with eyes ever and anon

turned back to the city, which poor Elissa’s funeral flame

now began to illumine. What cause has lit up a blaze so 5

mighty they cannot tell; but as they think of the cruel

pangs which follow outrage done on great love, and remember

what a frantic woman can do, the Teucrian hearts

are swept through a train of dismal presage.

Soon as the ships gained the mid-ocean, and no land met 10

the view any more—waters everywhere and everywhere

skies—a dark rain-cloud arose and stood over the hero’s

head, charged with night and winter tempest, and darkness

ruffled the billow’s crest. Palinurus himself, the pilot,

was heard from the lofty stern:—“Ah! why has such an 15

army of storms encompassed the heaven? What hast

thou for us now, old Father Neptune?” No sooner said

than he bids them gather up the tackle and ply the lusty

oar, and shifts the sheet to the wind, and speaks thus:—“Noble

Æneas, though Jove himself were to pledge me 20

his faith, I could not hope to reach Italy with a sky like

this. The winds shift and storm crosswise, ever rising

from the blackening West, and the mist is being massed

into clouds. We cannot make head against them, or

struggle as we should. Well, since Fortune exerts her 25

tyranny, let us follow, and turn our faces as she pulls the

rein. I take it, too, we are not far from the friendly

brother-coast of your Eryx, and the havens of Sicania,

if my memory serves me as I retrace the stars I watched

long ago.” To him good Æneas:—“I have seen myself 30

this long time that such is the winds’ will, and all your

counter-efforts vain. Turn sail and ship. Could any

land indeed be welcomer, any that I would sooner choose

to harbour my weary ships, than the land which keeps for

me above ground the Darden Acestes, and laps in its breast 5

the bones of my sire Anchises?” This said, they make

for the haven; favouring zephyrs swell their sail, the fleet

rides swiftly over the flood, and at last they touch with

joy the strand they know so well.

From a hill’s tall top Acestes had marked with wonder 10

afar off the new arrival, and the friendly vessels; up he

runs, all in the savage trim of hunting-spear and Libyan

bearskin—Acestes, son of a Trojan mother by the river

Crimisus. The ancestral blood quickens in his veins as

he gives them joy of their safe arrival, welcomes them 15

with the plenty of rustic royalty, and soothes their weariness

with every kind appliance.

On the morrow, when the first dawn of the bright dayspring

had put the stars to flight, Æneas calls his comrades

to a gathering from all the shore, and standing on a heaped 20

mound bespeaks them thus:—“Mighty sons of Dardanus,

race of Heaven’s high parentage, the months are

all past and the year has fulfilled its cycle, since we gave

to the earth the earthly relics, the ashes of my deified sire,

and consecrated the altars of mourning. And now, if I 25

err not, the very day is here—that day which for me shall

ever be a day of weeping, ever a day of honour, since you,

ye gods, have willed it so. Though this day were to find

me among the Gætulian Syrtes a homeless wanderer—were

it to surprise me in the Argive main or in the streets 30

of Mycenæ—still would I pay my yearly vows and the

pomp of solemn observance, and would pile the altars with

their proper gifts. And now, behold, by an unsought

chance we are standing—not in truth I deem without the

providence, the beckoning hand of Heaven—at the very 35

grave, the buried ashes of my sire, driven as we are into

this friendly haven. Come, then, solemnize we all the

glad celebration; pray we for winds, and may He be

pleased that I should offer these rites yearly in a city of

my own building, in a temple dedicated to himself. Two

heads of oxen Acestes, like a true son of Troy, gives you

for each ship; call to the feasts the gods of the hearth,

both those of our fathers and those worshipped by Acestes 5

our host. Furthermore, if the ninth day hence the dawn-goddess

restore to mortals the genial light, and make the

world visible with sunshine, I will set up, first of all, for

all Teucrian comers, a match among our swift fleet; then

let him that is light of foot, and him that, glorying in his 10

strength, bears himself more proudly with the dart and the

flying arrow, or has confidence to join battle in gauntlets

of raw hide, let one and all be here, and look for the prizes

that victory earns. Give me your auspicious voices, and

bind your brows with green.” 15

This spoken, he shrouds his own brows with his mother’s

myrtle. So does Helymus, so does veteran Acestes, so

young Ascanius—so the whole multitude of warriors.

He was already on his way from the council to the tomb

with many thousands round him, the centre of a great 20

company. Here in due libation he pours on the ground

two bowls of the wine-god’s pure juice, two of new milk,

two of sacrificial blood; he flings bright flowers, and makes

this utterance:—“Hail to thee, blessed sire, once more!

hail to you, ashes of one rescued in vain, spirit and shade 25

of my father! It was not in Fate that thou shouldst

journey with me to the Italian frontier and the fields of

Destiny, or see the Ausonian Tiber, whatever that name

may import.” He had said this, when from the depth

of the grave a smooth shining serpent trailed along seven 30

spires, seven volumes of giant length, coiling peacefully

round the tomb and gliding between the altars: dark

green flecks were on its back; its scales were all ablaze

with spots of golden lustre, even as the bow in the clouds

showers a thousand various colours in the face of the sun. 35

Æneas stood wonder-struck: the creature, winding its

long column among the dishes and the polished goblets,

tasted of the viands, and then, innocent of harm, reëntered

the tomb at its base, leaving the altars where its mouth

had been. Quickened by this, the hero resumes the work

of homage to his sire, not knowing whether to think this

the genius of the spot or his father’s menial spirit: duly

he slays two young sheep, two swine, two black-skinned 5

bullocks; again and again he pours goblets of wine, again

and again he calls on the soul of great Anchises and the

shade loosed from Acheron’s[185] prison. His comrades, too,

each according to his means, give glad offerings—they

pile the altars, they slay the bullocks; others in their function 10

set on the cauldrons, and, stretched along the grass,

hold the spits over the embers and roast the flesh.

And now the expected day was come; the steeds of

Phaethon[186] were ushering in the goddess of the ninth

dawn through a heaven of clear light; the rumoured spectacle 15

and the great name of Acestes had brought the

neighbouring people from their homes; the holiday crowd

was flooding the shore, to gaze on the family of Æneas,

and some, too, ready to dispute the prizes. First, in sight

of all, the gifts are bestowed in the midst of the ring—hallowed 20

tripods and verdant chaplets, and palms, the

conquerors’ special guerdon—armour and raiment of

purple dye—a talent’s[187] weight of silver and gold; and

from a mound in the centre the shrill trumpet proclaims

the sports begun. The first contest, waged with labouring 25

oars, is entered by four ships, the flower of the entire

fleet. There is Mnestheus, with his fiery crew, speeding

along the swift Shark—Mnestheus, hereafter a prince of

Italy, who gives his name to the Memmian line; there is

Gyas with his monster Chimæra, that monster mass[D] 30

which three tiers of stout Dardans are pulling on, the oars

rising in a triple bank; Sergestus, from whom the Sergian

house gains the name it keeps, sails in the mighty Centaur;

and in the sea-green Scylla Cloanthus, your great forefather,

Cluentius of Rome. 35

At a distance in the sea is a rock, over against the spray-washed

shore—sometimes covered by the swelling waves

that beat on it, when the wintry north winds hide the stars

from view—in a calm it rests in peace, and rises over the

unruffled waters, a broad table-land, a welcome basking-ground 5

for the sea-bird. Here Æneas set up a green stem

of leafy oak with his own royal hand—a sign for the sailors,

that they might know whence to begin their return, and

where to double round their long voyage. Then they choose

their places by lot: there are the captains on the sterns, 10

a glorious sight, gleaming far with gold and purple; the

crews are crowned with thick poplar leaves, and their bare

shoulders shine with the oil that has rubbed them. They

seat them on the benches, every arm is strained on the

oar—straining they expect the signal, and their beating 15

hearts are drained at each stroke by panting fear and high-strung

ambition. Then, when the shrill trumpet has uttered

its voice, all in a moment dart forward from their

bounds, the seaman’s shout pierces the sky; the upturned

seas foam as the arm is drawn back to the chest. With 20

measured strokes they plough their furrows; the water

is one yawning chasm, rent asunder by the oar and the

pointed beak. Not such the headlong speed when in two-horse

race the chariots dash into the plain and pour along

from their floodgates, or when the drivers shake the streaming 25

reins over their flying steeds, and hang floating over

the lash. Then plaudits, and shouts of manly voices,

and the clamorous fervour of the backers, make the whole

woodland ring; the pent-up shores keep the sound rolling;

the hills send back the blows of the noise. See! flying 30

ahead of the rest, gliding over the first water in the midst

of crowd and hubbub, is Gyas; next him comes Cloanthus,

with better oars, but the slow pinewood’s weight keeps

him back. After them at equal distance the Shark and

the Centaur strive to win precedence. And now the Shark 35

has it. Now she is beaten and passed by the Centaur.

Now the two ride abreast stem to stem, cutting with their

long keels the salt waves. And now they were nearing the

rock, and the goal was just in their grasp, when Gyas, the

leader, the victor of the halfway-passage, calls aloud to his

ship’s pilot Menœtes:—“Whither away so far to my right?

Steer us hither; hug the shore; let the oar-blade graze

the cliffs on the left; leave the deep to others.” Thus he; 5

but Menœtes, afraid of hidden rocks, keeps turning the

prow well towards the sea. “Whither away from the right

course? Make for the rocks, Menœtes!” shouted Gyas

again; and see! looking back, he perceives Cloanthus

gaining on him close behind. Between Gyas’ ship and 10

the sounding rocks he threads his way to the left, steering

inward, and in an instant passes the winner, leaves the

goal behind, and gains the smooth open sea. Grief turned

the youth’s very marrow to flame, nor were his cheeks

free from tears; he seizes the slow Menœtes, forgetting 15

at once his own decency and his crew’s safety, and flings

him headlong from the lofty stern into the sea. Himself

becomes their guide at the helm, himself their pilot, cheering

on the rowers, and turning the rudder to the shore.

But Menœtes, when at last disgorged from the bottom of 20

the sea, heavy with age, and with his dripping clothes all

hanging about him, climbs the cliff-top, and seats himself

on a dry rock. The Teucrians laughed as he was falling,

laughed as he was swimming, and now they laugh as he

discharges from his chest the draught of brine. Then 25

sprung up an ecstatic hope in the two last, Sergestus and

Mnestheus, of passing the lagging Gyas. Sergestus gets

the choice of water and comes nearer the rock—not first,

however, he by a whole vessel’s length—half his ship is

ahead, half is overlapped by the beak of his rival, the 30

Shark. Mnestheus walks through the ship among the

crew and cheers them on. “Now, now, rise to your oars,

old Hector’s men, whom I chose to follow me at Troy’s last

gasp; now put out the strength, the spirit I saw you exert

in the Gætulian Syrtes, the Ionian Sea, the entangling 35

waves of Malea. It is not the first place I look for. I

am not the man; this is no struggle for victory—yet

might it be!—but conquest is for them, Neptune, to

whom thou givest it. Let our shame be to come in last;

be this your victory, friends, to keep off disgrace.” Straining

every nerve, they threw themselves forward; their

mighty strokes make the brazen keel quiver, the ground

flies from under them; thick panting shakes their limbs, 5

their parched throats; sweat flows down in streams.

A mere chance gave them the wished preëminence; for

while Sergestus, blind with passion, keeps driving his prow

towards the rock nearer and nearer, and pressing through

the narrow passage, his ill star entangled him with a projecting 10

crag. The cliffs were jarred, the oars cracked as

they met the sharp flint, and the prow hung where it had

lodged. Up spring the sailors with loud shout, while the

ship stands still. They bring out their iron-shod poles

and pointed boat-hooks, and pick up the broken oars in 15

the water. But Mnestheus, rejoicing, and keener for success,

with quick plashing oars, and the winds at his call,

makes for the seas that shelve to the coast and speeds along

the clear expanse. Like as a dove suddenly startled in a

cave, where in the hollow of the rock are her home and her 20

loved nestlings, issues out to fly over the plain, clapping

loud her pinions in terror in the cell—then, gliding smooth

through the tranquil air, she winnows her liquid way without

a motion of her rapid wings—so with Mnestheus,

so the Shark, flying of herself, cuts through the last water 25

of the course, so the mere impulse bears her speeding on.

First he takes leave of Sergestus, struggling with the tall

rock and the shallow water, and in vain calling for help, and

learning to run along with broken oars. Then he comes

up with Gyas and the great monster Chimæra itself; she 30

yields, because deprived of her pilot. And now there

remains Cloanthus alone, just at the very end of the race;

him he makes for, and presses on him with all the force of

effort. Then, indeed, the shouting redoubles—all lend

their good-will to spur on the second man, and the sky 35

echoes with the din. These think it shame to lose the

glory that they have won, the prize that is already their

own, and would fain barter life for renown; these are feeding

on success, they feel strong because they feel that they

are thought[188] strong. And perhaps their beaks would have

been even and the prize divided, had not Cloanthus,

stretching out both hands over the deep, breathed a

prayer and called the gods to hear his vow:—“Powers 5

whose is the rule of ocean, whose waters I ride, for you with

glad heart will I lead to your altars on this shore a snow-white

bull, as a debtor should; I will throw the entrails

afar into the salt waves, and pour out a clear stream of

wine.” He said, and deep down among the billows there 10

heard him all the Nereids and Phorcus’ train, and maiden

Panopea, and father Portunus[189] himself, with his own great

hand, pushed the ship as she moved; fleeter than south-wind

or winged arrow she flies to the land and is lodged

already deep in the haven. 15

Then Anchises’ son, duly summoning the whole company,

proclaims by a loud-voiced herald Cloanthus conqueror,

and drapes his brow with green bay; he gives each

crew a gift at its choice, three bullocks, and wine, and the

present of a great talent of silver. To the captains themselves 20

he further gives especial honours, to the conqueror

a gold-broidered scarf, round which runs a length of Melibœan

purple with a double Mæander; enwoven therein is the

royal boy[190] on leafy Ida, plying the swift stag with the javelin

and the chase, keen of eye, his chest seeming to heave; 25

then, swooping down from Ida, the bearer of Jove’s armour

has snatched him up aloft in his crooked talons, while his

aged guardians are stretching in vain their hands to heaven,

and the barking of the hounds streams furious to the sky.

But for him whose prowess gained him the second place 30

there is a cuirass of linked chain mail, three-threaded with

gold, which the hero himself had stripped with a conqueror’s

hand from Demoleos on swift Simois’ bank under

the shadow of Troy; this he gives the warrior for his own, 35

a glory and a defence in the battle. Scarce could the two

servants, Phegeus and Sagaris, support its many folds,

pushing shoulder to shoulder; yet Demoleos, in his day,

with it on his breast, used to drive the Trojans in flight

before him. The third present he makes a pair of brazen

cauldrons, and two cups of wrought silver, rough with

fretwork.

And now all had received their presents, and each, glorying

in his treasure, was walking along with purple festooning 5

round his brows, when Sergestus, at last with great pain

dislodged from the cruel rock, his oars lost and one whole

side crippled, was seen propelling among jeers his inglorious

vessel. Like as a serpent surprised on the highway,

whom a brazen wheel has driven across, or a traveller, 10

heavy of hand, has left half dead and mangled by a stone,

writhes its long body in ineffectual flight, its upper part

all fury, its eyes blazing, its hissing throat reared aloft, the

lower part, disabled by the wound, clogs it as it wreathes

its spires and doubles upon its own joints. Such was the 15

oarage with which the ship pushed herself slowly along:

she makes sail, however, and enters the haven with canvas

flying. To Sergestus Æneas gives the present he had

promised, delighted to see the ship rescued and the crew

brought back. His prize is a slave, not unversed in Pallas’ 20

labours, Pholoë, Cretan born, with twin sons at her

breast.

This match dismissed, good Æneas takes his way to a

grassy plain, surrounded on all sides with woods and sloping

hills: in the middle of the valley was a circle, as of a 25

theatre; thither it was that the hero repaired with many

thousands, the centre of a vast assembly, and sat on a

raised throne. Then he invites, with hope of reward, the

bold spirits who may wish to contend in the swift foot-race,

and sets up the prizes. Candidates flock from all 30

sides, Teucrian and Sicanian mixed. Nisus and Euryalus

the foremost. Euryalus conspicuous for beauty and blooming

youth, Nisus for the pure love he bore the boy; following

them came Diores, a royal scion of Priam’s illustrious

stock; then Salius and Patron together, one from 35

Acarnania, the other from Tegea, an Arcadian by blood;

next two Trinacrian youths, Helymus and Panopes, trained

foresters, comrades of their elder friend, Acestes, and many

others, whom dim tradition leaves in darkness. As they

crowd round him, Æneas bespeaks them thus:—“Hear

what I have to say, and give the heed of a glad heart. No

one of this company shall go away unguerdoned by me.

I will give a pair of Gnossian darts, shining with polished 5

steel, and an axe chased with silver for the hand to wield.

This honour all shall obtain alike. The three first shall

receive prizes, and shall wear also wreaths of yellow-green

olive. Let the first, as conqueror, have a horse, full

decorated with trappings; the second an Amazonian 10

quiver, full of Thracian shafts, with a belt of broad gold

to encompass it, and a buckle of a polished jewel to fasten

it; let the third go away content with this Argive helmet.”

This said, they take their places, and suddenly, on hearing

the signal, dash into the course, and leave the barrier 15

behind, pouring on like a burst of rain, their eyes fixed on

the goal. First of all, away goes Nisus, his limbs flying

far before all the rest, swifter than wind and winged

thunderbolt; next to him, but next at a long distance

follows Salius; then, at a shorter space, Euryalus third. 20

After Euryalus comes Helymus; close on him, see! flies

Diores, heel touching heel and shoulder shoulder: were the

course but longer, he would be shooting on and darting

beyond him, and turning a doubtful race to a victory.

Now they were just at the end of the course, all panting 25

as they reached the goal, when Nisus, the ill-starred, slides

in a puddle of blood, which lay there just as it had been

spilt after a sacrifice of bullocks, soaking the ground and

the growing grass. Poor youth! just in the moment of

triumph, he could not keep his sliddery footing on the soil 30

he trod, but fell flat in the very middle of unclean ordure

and sacrificial gore. But he forgot not Euryalus—forgot

not his love—no! he threw himself in Salius’ way, rising

in that slippery place—and Salius lay there too, flung

on the puddled floor. Forth darts Euryalus, and gains 35

the first place, a winner, thanks to his friend, cheered in

his flight by plaudit and shouting. Next comes in Helymus

and Diores, thus made the third prize. But now

Salius is heard, deafening with his clamour the whole

company in the ring and the seniors in the first rank, and

insisting that the prize, which he had lost by a trick, be

restored him. Euryalus is supported by the popular voice,

by the tears he sheds so gracefully, and the greater loveliness 5

of worth when seen in a beauteous form. Diores

backs his claim with loud appealing shouts; he had just

won the prize, and his attainment of the third place was all

for nothing if the first reward were to be given to Salius.

To whom father Æneas:—“Your rewards, boys, remain 10

fixed as they ever were; no one disturbs the palm once

arranged: suffer me to show pity to a friend’s undeserved

misfortune.” So saying, he gives Salius the enormous

hide of a Gætulian lion, loaded with shaggy hair and talons

of gold. On which Nisus:—“If the vanquished are 15

rewarded so largely—if you can feel for tumblers—what

prize will be great enough for Nisus’ claims? My

prowess had earned me the first chaplet, had not unkind

Fortune played me foul, as she played Salius;” and with

these words he displayed his features and his limbs, all 20

dishonoured by slime and ordure. The gracious prince

smiled at him, and bade them bring out a shield of Didymaon’s

workmanship, once wrested by the Danaans from

Neptune’s hallowed gate, and with this signal present he

endows the illustrious youth. 25

Next, when the race was finished, and the prizes duly

given:—“Now, whoever has courage, and a vigorous

collected mind in his breast, let him come forward, bind on

the gloves, and lift his arms.” Thus speaks Æneas, and

sets forth two prizes for the contest: for the conqueror, 30

a bullock with gilded horns and fillet festoons; a sword

and a splendid helmet, as a consolation to the vanquished.

In a moment, with all the thews of a giant, rises Dares,

uprearing himself amid a loud hum of applause—the

sole champion who used to enter the lists with Paris: 35

once, at the tomb where mighty Hector lies buried, he

encountered the great conqueror Butes, who carried his

enormous bulk to the field with all the pride of Amycus’[191]

Bebrycian blood—struck him down, and stretched him

in death on the yellow sand. Such are Dares’ powers,

as he lifts high his crest for the battle, displays his broad

shoulders, throws out his arms alternately, and strikes the

air with his blows. How to find his match is the cry; 5

no one of all that company dares to confront such a champion,

and draw on the gauntlets. So, with confident

action, thinking that all were retiring from the prize, he

stands before Æneas, and without further prelude grasps

with his left hand the bull by the horn, and bespeaks him 10

thus:—“Goddess-born, if no one dares to take the risk

of the fight, how long are we to stand still? How long is

it seemly to keep me waiting? Give the word for me to

carry off the prize.” A simultaneous shout broke from

the sons of Dardanus, all voting that their champion should 15

have the promised gift made good.

On this Acestes, with grave severity of speech, rebukes

Entellus, just as he chanced to be seated next him on the

verdant grassy couch. “Entellus, once known as the

bravest of heroes, and all for nought, will you brook so 20

calmly that a prize so great be carried off without a blow?

Where are we now to look for that mighty deity your

master, Eryx, vaunted so often and so idly? Where is

that glory which spread all Trinacria through, and those

spoils that hang from your roof?” He replied: “It is 25

not the love of praise, not ambition, that has died out,

extinguished by fear. No, indeed; but my blood is dulled

and chilled by the frost of age, and the strength in my

limbs withered and ice-bound. Had I now what I once

had, what is now the glory and the boast of that loud braggart 30

there; had I but the treasure of youth, I should not

have needed the reward and the goodly bullock to bring

me into the field; nor are gifts what I care for.” So saying,

he flung into the midst a pair of gauntlets of enormous

weight, with which the fiery Eryx[192] was wont to 35

deal his blows in combat, stringing his arms with the tough

hide. Every heart was amazed, so vast were the seven

huge bull-hides, hardened with patches of lead and iron.

More than all the rest Dares is astonished, and recoils

many paces; and the hero himself, Anchises’ son, stands

turning in his hands the massive weight and the enormous

wrappers of twisted thong. Then the old man fetched

from his heart words like these:—“What if any one here 5

had seen those mightier weapons, Hercules’ own gauntlets,

and the fatal combat on this very strand? These are the

arms that Eryx, your brother, once wielded; you see on

them still the stains of blood and sprinkled brains. With

these he stood up against the great Alcides. These I 10

was trained to use while fresher blood inspired me with

strength, and the snows of age, my jealous rival, were not

yet sprinkled on my brows. But if Dares the Trojan

refuses our Sicilian weapons, and that is good Æneas’ fixed

wish, approved by Acestes, my backer in the fight, make 15

we the contest even. I spare you the bull-hides of Eryx—never

fear—and do you put off your Trojan gauntlets.”

So saying, he flung off from his shoulders his double garment,

and displays the giant joints of his limbs, the giant

bone-work of his arms, and stands, a mighty frame, in 20

the midst of the sand.

Then Anchises’ son brought out with his royal hand two

pairs of equal gauntlets, and bound round the fists of the

twain weapons of even force. At once each rose on tiptoe,

and raised his arms undaunted to the air of heaven. They 25

draw back their towering heads out of the reach of blows,

and make their fists meet in the melée, and provoke the

battle. The one is better in quick movement of the foot,

and youth lends him confidence; the other’s strength is in

brawny limbs and giant bulk, but his knees are heavy and 30

unstable, and a troubled panting shakes that vast frame.

Many the blows that the champions hail on each other in

vain; many are showered on the hollow side, and draw

loud echoes from the chest. The fist keeps playing round

ear and temple; the teeth chatter under the cruel blow. 35

Heavily stands Entellus, unmoved, in the same strained

posture; his bending body and watchful eye alone withdraw

him from the volley. His rival, like a general who

throws up mounds round a high-walled town, or sits down

with his army before a mountain fort, tries now this approach,

now that, reconnoitres the whole stronghold, and

plies him with manifold assaults, baffled in each. Rising

to the stroke, Entellus put forth his right hand, and raised 5

it aloft; the other’s quick eye foresaw the downcoming

blow, and his lithe frame darts beyond its range. Entellus

has flung his whole force on air; at once, untouched by his

foe, the heavy giant, with heavy giant weight, falls to

earth, even as one day falls hollow-hearted with hollow 10

crash on Erymanthus or lofty Ida, uptorn by the roots, a

mighty pine. Eagerly start up at once the Teucrian and

Trinacrian chivalry; up soars a shout to heaven; and first

runs up Acestes, and soothingly raises from the ground

his friend, aged as he. But not slackened by his overthrow, 15

nor daunted, the hero comes back fiercer to the

field, with anger goading force; that mass of strength is

enkindled at last by shame and conscious prowess. All on

fire, he drives Dares headlong over the whole plain, now

with his right hand showering blows, now with his giant 20

left. No stint, no stay; thick as the hail with which the

storm-clouds rattle on the roof, so thick the blows with

which the hero, crowding on with both hands, is battering

and whirling Dares. Then father Æneas thought fit to

stem the tide of fury, nor suffered Entellus’ wounded spirit 25

to glut its rage further, but put an end to the fray, and

rescued the gasping Dares with soothing words, and bespeaks

him thus:—“My poor friend! what monstrous

madness has seized you? See you not that strength has

passed over—that the gods have changed their sides? 30

Give way to Heaven.” He said, and his word closed the

fight. But Dares is in the hands of his faithful comrades,

dragging after him his feeble knees, dropping his head on

this side and on that, discharging from his mouth clotted

gore, teeth and blood together. Thus they lead him to 35

the ships; summoned, they receive for him the helmet and

the sword; the palm and the bull they leave to Entellus.

Hereon the conqueror, towering in pride of soul, and

exulting in his prize, the bull: “Goddess-born,” cries he,

“and you, Teucrians, take measure at once of the strength

which dwelt in my frame, while that frame was young,

and the death from whose door you have called back,

and are still keeping, your Dares.” So saying, he took his 5

stand full before the face of the bullock, which was there

as the prize of the fray, and with arm drawn back, swung

the iron gauntlet right between the horns, rising to his

full height, crashed it down on the bone, and shattered the

brain. Prostrated, breathless, and quivering, on earth lies 10

the bull. He from his bosom’s depth speaks thus over

the dead:—“This life, Eryx, I render to thee—a better

substitute for Dares’ death; here, as a conqueror may,

I resign the gauntlets and the game.”

Next Æneas invites those who may care to vie in shooting 15

the fleet arrow, and sets forth the prizes. With his

own giant hand he rears upright the mast from Serestus’

ship, and from its lofty summit ties a fluttering dove with

a cord passed round the mast—a mark for aiming the

steel. The archers are met; the lot has been thrown 20

and received by the brazen helmet. See! first, among the

shouts of his friends, comes out before all the place of

Hyrtacus’ son, Hippocoon, who is followed by Mnestheus,

late conqueror in the ship-race—Mnestheus, crowned

with the green olive-wreath. Third comes Eurytion, thy 25

brother, thrice glorious Pandarus, who in elder days,

bidden to destroy the truce, wast the first to wing thy

weapon into the Achæan ranks. Last is Acestes, sank at

the bottom of the helm, the old man’s spirit nerving his

arm to essay the task of the young. And now, with stern 30

strength, they bend and arch their bows, each hero his

own, and draw forth the shaft from the quiver. First

through heaven from the twanging string the arrow of

Hyrtacus’ youthful son pierces sharp and shrill the flying

air: it hits—it is lodged full in the mast-tree. After 35

him stood keen Mnestheus, his bowstring drawn to his

breast, his bow pointing upwards, eye and shaft levelled

at once. But the bird itself, hapless man! his arrow had

not power to touch that: it cut the knot and the hempen

fastening by which she hung, tied by the foot, from the

mast’s top. Away she flew, all among the south-winds

and their murky clouds. Then, quick as thought, his

bow long since ready, and his shaft poised on the string, 5

Eurytion breathed a vow to his brother, fixing his eye on

her in the moment of her triumph high up in the open sky,

and as she claps her wings, pierces the dark cloudy covert,

and strikes the dove. Down she drops unnerved, leaving

her life among the stars of ether, and as she tumbles to 10

earth, brings back the arrow in her breast. Acestes remained

alone, a champion with no prize to gain; yet he

shot his weapon into the air aloft, displaying at once his

veteran skill and the force of his twanging bow. And now

their eyes are met by a sudden portent, drawing a mighty 15

augury in its train. In after days the vast issue told the

tale, and terror-striking seers shrieked their omens too late.

For as it flew in the clouds of heaven, the reed took fire,

and marked its way with a trail of flame, and wasted and

vanished wholly into unsubstantial air; even as stars unfastened 20

from the firmament oft sweep across and drag

their blazing hair as they fly. Fixed aghast to the spot,

in prayer to Heaven, hung the stout sons of Trinacria and

Troy; nor does Æneas’ sovran judgment reject the omen.

He clasps the glad Acestes to his heart, loads him with 25

costly gifts, and bespeaks him thus:—“Take them, my

father; for Olympus’ mighty monarch has said by the

voice of these omens that yours is to be a prize drawn without

a lot. From Anchises the aged himself comes the

present I now bestow—a bowl embossed with figures, 30

which in old days Cisseus[o] gave to my sire Anchises in

royal bounty, a standing remembrance of himself and a

testimony of his love.” So saying, he crowns his brow

with verdant bays, and proclaims, first of all, the conquering

name of Acestes. Nor did good Eurytion grudge the 35

preëminence, though he and none but he brought down

the bird from the sky. Next steps into the prize he who cut

the cord; last, he whose quivering arrow nailed the mast

But father Æneas, ere the match was over, calls to his

side the guardian and companion of Iulus’ tender years,

Epytides, and thus speaks into his ear in secret:—“Go

now and tell Ascanius, if his company of boys is ready,

and the movements of his young cavalry duly marshalled, 5

to bring them into the field in his grandsire’s honour, and

show himself in arms.” He, by his own voice, bids the

whole surging crowd retire from the length of the circus,

and leave the field clear. The boys come prancing in on

well-reined steeds, in even lines of light brightening their 10

parents’ eyes; and as they pass, an admiring shout, breaks

from the gathered chivalry of Sicily and Troy. All alike

have their flowing hair duly cinctured with stripped leaves;

each bears two cornel javelins tipped with steel; some have

polished quivers at their backs; round the top of the chest 15

goes a pliant chain of twisted gold circling the neck.

Three are the companies of horse, three the leaders that

scour the plain; twelve boys follow each, a glittering show,

in equal divisions and commanded alike. The first of the

youthful bands is led as to victory by a young Priam, 20

who revives his grandsire’s name, thy princely offspring,

Polites, destined to people Italy; him a Thracian steed

carries, dappled with spots of white, with white on the

extremes of his prancing feet, and white on his towering

brow. Next is Atys, whence comes the house of Roman 25

Atii—Atys the young, the boyish friend of the boy Iulus.

Last of all, and excelling all in beauty, Iulus rides in on a

Sidonian steed, bestowed on him by Dido the fair, in remembrance

of herself, and in testimony of her love.

The remaining youth are borne on Trinacrian horses from 30

old Acestes’ stalls. The Dardans welcome them with

reassuring plaudits, and gaze on them with rapture, and

trace in their young faces the features of their old sires.

Soon as the riders have made their joyous survey of the

whole gazing crowd and of their friends’ loving eyes, 35

Epytides gives the expected signal with far-reaching shout

and loud cracking whip. In regular order they gallop asunder,

the three companies breaking and parting right and left;

and again, at the word of command, they wheel round, and

charge each other with levelled lances. Then they essay

other advances and other retreats in quarters still opposite,

each entangling each in circles within circles, and in their

real armour raise an image of battle. Now they expose 5

their backs in flight, now they turn their spear-points in

charge, now as in truce they ride along side by side. Even

as men tell of that old labyrinth[193] in lofty Crete, its way

cunningly woven with blind high walls, and the ambiguous

mystery of its thousand paths, winding till the pursuer’s 10

every trace was baffled by a maze without solution and

without return, not unlike are the courses in which these

sons of the Teucrians interlace their movements—a

gamesome tangle of flying and fighting, as it were dolphins

that swimming the watery seas dart through the Carpathian 15

and the Libyan, and sport along the billows. Such

was the form of exercise, and such the game that Ascanius,

when he built the cincturing walls of Alba the Long, was the

first to revive, and taught the early Latians to celebrate it

as he had done in his boyhood, he and the youth of Troy 20

with him; the men of Alba taught their sons; from them

mighty Rome received the tradition and maintained the

observance of her sires; and the boys still bear the name

of Troy, and their band is styled the band of Troy. Thus

far went the solemn[194] games in honour of the deified sire. 25

Now it was that Fortune exchanged her old faith for

new. While they are rendering to the tomb the due solemnities

of the varied games, Juno, Saturn’s daughter, has

sped down Iris from heaven to the feet of Ilion, with breath

of winds to waft her on her way—Juno, deep-brooding 30

over many thoughts, her ancient wrath yet unsated.

Speeding along her many-coloured bow, seen of none, runs

swiftly down the celestial maid. She beholds that mighty

concourse; she looks round on the coast, and sees harbour

abandoned and fleet forsaken. Far away, in the privacy 35

of a solitary beach, the Trojan dames were weeping for

lost Anchises, and, as they wept, were gazing, one and all,

wistfully on the great deep. Alas, that wearied souls

should still have those many waters to pass, and that vast

breadth of sea! Such the one cry of every heart. Oh

for a city! the toils of the main are a weariness to bear!

So, then, in the midst of them, she suddenly alights—no

novice in the ways of doing hurt—and lays by her heavenly 5

form and heavenly raiment. She takes the shape of

Beroe, the aged wife of Doryclus of Tinaros, a dame who

once had had race and name and children, and in this guise

stands in the midst of the Dardan matrons. “Wretched

women,” cries she, “not to have been dragged to the death 10

of battle by the force of Achaia under our country’s walls!

Hapless nation! What worse than death has Fortune in

store for you? Here is the seventh summer rolling on

since Troy’s overthrow, and all the while we are being

driven, land and ocean over, among all the rocks of an 15

unfriendly sea, under all the stars of heaven, as through

the great deep we follow after retreating Italy, and are

tossed from wave to wave. Here is the brother-land of

Eryx; here is Acestes, our ancient friend. Who shall gainsay

digging a foundation, and giving a people the city 20

they crave? O my country! O gods of our homes,

snatched in vain from the foe! Shall there never be walls

named with the name of Troy? Shall I never on earth

see the streams that Hector loved—his Xanthus and his

Simois? Come, join me in burning up these accursed 25

ships. For in my sleep methought the likeness of Cassandra

the seer put blazing torches into my hands. ‘Here,’

she said, ‘and here only, look for Troy: here, and here

only, is your home.’ The hour for action is come. Heaven’s

wonders brook not man’s delay. See here! four 30

altars to Neptune. The god himself gives us the fire and

the will.”

So saying, she is the first to snatch the baleful brand—swinging

back her hand on high; with strong effort she

whirls and flings it. The dames of Ilion gaze with straining 35

mind and wildered brain. Then one of the crowd, the

eldest of all, Pyrgo, the royal nurse of Priam’s many sons:

“No Beroe have you here, matrons—this is not Doryclus’

wife, of Rhoeteum—mark those signs of heavenly

beauty, those glowing eyes—what a presence is there—what

features—what a tone in her voice—what majesty

in her gait! Beroe I myself parted from but now, and

left her sick and sullen to think that she alone should fail 5

at this observance, nor pay Anchises the honour that is

his due.” Such were her words, while the matrons, doubtful

at first, were looking on the ships with evil eyes, distracted

between their fatal yearning for a country now

theirs, and the voice of destiny from realms beyond the 10

sea—when the goddess, spreading her two wings, soared

up into the sky and severed the clouds as she flew with the

giant span of her bow. Then indeed, maddened by the

portent, goaded by frenzy, they shriek one and all, and

snatch fire from house and hearth—some strip the altars, 15

and fling on the vessels leaf and bough and brand. The

fire-god revels in full career along bench and oar, and

painted pine-wood stern. The news of the fleet on fire

is carried by Eumelus to Anchises’ tomb, and the seats in

the circus. They look back, and with their own eyes see 20

sparks and smoke in a black flickering cloud. First of all

Ascanius, riding in triumph at the head of his cavalry,

spurred his horse just as he was to the wildering camp,

while his breathless guardians strive in vain to stay him.

“What strange madness this? whither now, whither 25

would ye go,” cries he, “my poor countrywomen? It is

not the Argive foe and his hated camp—it is your own

hopes that you are burning. See, I am your own Ascanius”—at

his feet he flung his empty helmet which he was

wearing in sport as he helped to raise the image of war. 30

Quick follows Æneas, quick the Teucrian host at his heels.

But the matrons are flying in panic along the coast, now

here, now there, stealing to the thickest woods and the

deepest caves. They loathe the deed and the daylight.

Sobered, they know their friends again, and Juno is exorcised 35

from their souls. But not for all this will blaze and

burning resign their unslaked powers: deep among the

moistened timber smoulders the quick tow, discharging

a slow lazy smoke: the crawling heat preys on the keels,

and the plague sinks down into the vessel’s every limb,

and strength of giant warriors and streaming water-floods

are all of no avail. Then good Æneas began to tear his

raiment from his back and call the gods for aid, and raise 5

his hands in prayer: “Jove Almighty, if thy hate would

not yet sweep off the whole Trojan race to a man, if thy

ancient goodness has yet any regard for human suffering,

grant the fleet to escape from flame now, Father, even now,

and rescue from death the shattered commonweal of Troy. 10

Or else do thou with thy wrathful bolt send down this

poor remnant to the grave, if that is my fit reward, and

here with thy own right hand overwhelm us all.” Scarce

had the words been breathed, when a black tempest is

set loose, raging with fierce bursts of rain: the thunderpeals 15

thrill through highland and lowland—down from

the whole sky pours a torrent of blinding water, thickened

to blackness by the southern winds—the ships are filled,

the smouldering timbers soaked—till every spark is

quenched at last, and all the vessels, with the loss of four, 20

rescued from the deadly plague.

But father Æneas, staggering under this cruel blow,

began to shift from side to side a vast burden of care, as

he pondered whether to settle in the plains of Sicily, shutting

his ears to Fate’s voice, or still make for the shores of 25

Italy. Then Nautes the aged—whom Tritonian Pallas

singled from his kind, to teach her lore and dower him

with the fame of abundant wisdom—hers the oracular

utterances which told what Heaven’s awful wrath portended,

or what the stern sequence of destiny required—he 30

it was that addressed Æneas thus in words of comfort:

“Goddess-born, be it ours to follow as Fate pulls us to or

fro; come what may, there is no conquering fortune but

by endurance. Here you have Acestes, the blood of Dardanus

and of gods mingling in his veins—make him the 35

partner of your thoughts, and invite the aid he will gladly

give. Consign to him the crews whom your missing ships

have left homeless, and those who are tired of high emprize

and of following your fortunes—the old, old men,

and the matrons, weary of ocean, and whatever you have

that is weak and timorsome—set these apart, and suffer

them to have in this land a city of rest. The town’s name,

with leave given, they shall call Acesta.” 5

The fire thus kindled by the words of his aged friend,

now indeed the thoughts of his mind distract him utterly.

And now black Night, car-borne, was mounting the sky,

when the semblance of his sire Anchises, gliding from

heaven, seemed to break on his musings in words like 10

these: “My son, dearer to me of old than life, while life

was yet mine—my son, trained in the school of Troy’s

destiny, I come hither at the command of Jove—of him

who chased the fire from your ships, and looked down on

your need in pity from on high. Obey the counsel which 15

Nautes the aged now so wisely gives you. The flower of

your youth, the stoutest hearts you have, let these and

these only follow you to Italy—hard and of iron grain is

the race you have to war down in Latium. Still, ere you

go there, come to the infernal halls of Dis,[195] and travel 20

through Avernus’ deep shades till you meet your father.

No, my son, godless Tartarus[196] and its spectres of sorrow

have no hold on me—the company of the good is my

loved resort and Elysium[197] my dwelling. The virgin Sibyl

shall point you the way, and the streaming blood of black 25

cattle unlock the gate. There you shall hear of your whole

posterity, and the city that Fate has in store. And now

farewell, dark Night has reached the midst of her swift

career, and the relentless Daystar has touched me with the

breath of his panting steeds.” He said, and vanished, like 30

smoke, into unsubstantial air. “Whither away now?”

cries Æneas; “whither in such haste? from whom are

you flying? what power withholds you from my embrace?”

With these words he wakes to life the embers

and their slumbering flame, and in suppliance worships the 35

god of Pergamus and hoary Vesta’s shrine with duteous

meal and a full-charged censer.

At once he calls his friends to his side, and Acestes, first

of all, shows to them the command of Jove, and his loved

father’s precept, and what is now the settled judgment of

his mind. Brief is the parley, nor does Acestes gainsay

his bidding. They remove the matrons to the new city’s

roll, and disembark a willing crew of hearts that need not 5

the stir of great renown. For themselves they repair the

benches and restore the vessels’ half-burnt timber, shape

the oars and fit the ropes, a little band, but a living wellspring

of martial worth. Æneas, meanwhile, is marking

out the city with the plough, and assigning the dwellings 10

by lot, creating an Ilium here, and there a Troy. Acestes,

true Trojan, wields with joy his new sceptre, and proclaims

a court, and gives laws to his assembled senate.[E]

And now the whole nation had enjoyed a nine days’

banquet, and the altars had received due observance; 15

the sleeping winds have lulled the waves, and the repeated

whispers of the south invite to the deep once more. Uprises

along the winding shore a mighty sound of weeping;

prolonged embraces make day and night move slow.

Even the matrons, even the weaklings, who so lately 20

shuddered at the look of the sea, and could not bear its

name, would now fain go and endure all the weariness of

the journey. Them the good Æneas cheers with words

of kindness, and tearfully commends them to Acestes, his

kinsman and theirs. Then he bids slay three calves to 25

Eryx, and a ewe-lamb to the weather gods, and in due

course has the cable cut, while he, his head wreathed with

stript olive leaves, stands aloft in the prow with a charger

in hand, and far into the briny waves flings the entrails,

and pours the sparkling wine. A wind gets up from the 30

stern, and escorts them on their way. Each vying with

each, the crews strike the water, and sweep the marble

surface.

Meanwhile Venus, harassed with care, bespeaks Neptune,

and utters from her heart plaints like these: “The

fell wrath of Juno’s bottomless heart constrains me, Neptune,

to stoop to all the abasement of prayer—wrath that no

length of time softens, no piety of man, unconquered and unsilenced

by Jove’s behest, by destiny itself. It is not enough 5

that her monstrous malice has torn the heart from the breast

of Phrygia,[o] and dragged a city through an infinity of vengeance—the

remnants of Troy, the very ashes and bones

of the slain—these she pursues; rage so fiendish let her

trace to its source. Thou thyself canst bear me witness 10

but now in the Libyan waters, what mountains she raised

all in a moment—all ocean she confounded with heaven,

blindly relying on Æolus’ storms to convulse a realm where

thou art master. See now—goading the matrons of

Troy to crime, she has basely burnt their ships, and driven 15

them in the ruins of their fleet to leave their mates to a

home on an unknown shore. These poor relics, then, let

them, I beg, spread the sail in safety along thy waters; let

them touch the mouth of Laurentian Tiber, if my prayer

is lawful, if that city is granted them of Fate.” 20

Then thus spake Saturn’s son, lord of the ocean deep:

“All right hast thou, queen of Cythera, to place thy trust

in these realms of mine, whence thou drawest thy birth.

And I have earned it too—often have I checked the madness,

the mighty raving of sky and sea; nor less on earth 25

(bear witness Xanthus and Simois!) has thy Æneas known

my care. When Achilles was chasing Troy’s gasping

bands, forcing them against their own ramparts, and offering

whole hecatombs to Death, till the choked rivers

groaned again, and Xanthus could not thread his way, 30

or roll himself into the sea—in that day, as Æneas confronted

Peleus’ mighty son with weaker arm and weaker aid

from heaven, I snatched him away in a circling cloud even

while my whole heart was bent on overthrowing from their

base the buildings of my own hand, the walls of perjured 35

Troy. As my mind was then, it abides now. Banish thy

fears; safely, according to thy prayer, he shall reach

Avernus haven. One there shall be, and one only, whom

thou shalt ask in vain from the engulfing surge—one life,

and one only, shall be given for thousands.”

With these words, having soothed to joy the goddess’

heart, the august Father yokes his steeds with a yoke of

gold, and puts to their fierce mouth the foaming bit, and 5

gives full course to his flowing reins. The azure car glides

lightly over the water’s surface—the waves sink down,

the swelling sea stills its waters under the wheels of thunder—the

storm-clouds fly away over the wide waste of

heaven. Then come the hundred shapes of attendant 10

powers: enormous whales and Glaucus’[198] aged train, and

Ino’s young Palæmon,[199] and rapid Tritons, and the whole

host that Phorcus leads; on the left are Thetis, and Melite,

and maiden Panopea, Nesæa, and Spio, and Thalia, and

Cymodoce. 15

And now father Æneas feels a soft thrill of succeeding

joy shoot through his anxious bosom; at once he bids

every mast be reared, every sail stretched on its yard-arm.

One and all strain the rope and loosen the sheet, now right,

now left—one and all turn to and fro the sailyard’s lofty 20

horns; the fleet is wafted by the gales it loves. First,

before all, Palinurus led the crowding ranks; after him the

rest, as bidden, shaped their course. And now dewy

Night had well-nigh reached the cope of heaven’s arch—in

calm repose the sailors were relaxing their limbs, 25

stretched each by his oar along the hard benches—when

Sleep’s power, dropping lightly down from the stars of

heaven, parted the dusky air, and swam through the night,

in quest of you, poor Palinurus, with a fatal freight of

dreams for your guiltless head. The god has sat down 30

high on the stern, in the likeness of Phorbas, and these are

the words he utters: “Son of Iasus, Palinurus, the sea

itself is steering the fleet; the winds breathe evenly and

fully; it is slumber’s own hour; come, relax that strained

head, and let those weary eyes play truant from their toil. 35

I myself will undertake your functions awhile in your

stead.” Hardly raising his eyes, Palinurus answered him

thus:—“I blind myself to smiling seas and sleeping

waves: is that your will? I place my faith on this fickle

monster? What? trust Æneas to lying gales and fair

skies, whose fraud I have rued so often?” So he said,

and went on cleaving and clinging, never dropping his

hand from the rudder, nor his eye from the stars. When 5

lo! the god waves over his two temples a bough dripping

with Lethe’s[200] dews, and drugged by the charms of Styx,

and in his own despite closes his swimming eyes. Scarce

had sudden slumber begun to unstring his limbs, when

the power, leaning over him, hurled him headlong into the 10

streaming waves, tearing away part of the vessel’s stern

and the rudder as he fell, with many a cry for help that

never came, while Sleep himself soared high on his wings

into the yielding air. Safely, nevertheless, rides the fleet

over the water, travelling undaunted in the strength of 15

Neptune’s royal promise. And now it was nearing the

cliffs of the Sirens’[201] isle, cliffs unfriendly in days of old, and

white with many a seaman’s bones, and the rocks were

sounding hollow from afar with the untiring surge, when

the great Father perceived the unsteady reel of the masterless 20

ship, and guided it himself through the night of waters,

groaning oft, and staggering under the loss of his friend:

“Victim of faith in the calm of sky and sea, you will lie,

Palinurus, a naked[202] corpse on a strand unknown.”

BOOK VI

So saying and weeping, he gives rope to his fleet, and in

due time is wafted smoothly to Cumæ’s shores of Eubœan

fame. They turn their prows seaward: then the anchor

with griping fang began to moor vessel after vessel, and

crooked keels fringe all the coast. With fiery zeal the 5

crews leap out on the Hesperian shore: some look for the

seed of fire where it lies deep down in the veins of flint:

some strip the woods, the wild beast’s shaggy covert, and

point with joy to the streams they find. But good Æneas

repairs to the heights on which Apollo sits exalted, and 10

the privacy of the dread Sibyl,[203] stretching far away into a

vast cavern—the Sibyl, into whose breast the prophet that

speaks at Delos breathes his own mighty mind and soul,

and opens the future to her eye. And now they are entering

the groves of the Trivian goddess and the golden 15

palace.

Dædalus, so runs the legend, flying from Minos’ sceptre,

dared to trust himself in air on swift wings of his own workmanship,

sailed to the cold north along an unwonted way,

and at last stood buoyant on the top of this Eubœan hill. 20

Grateful to the land that first received him, he dedicated

to thee, Phœbus, his feathery oarage, and raised a mighty

temple. On the doors was seen Androgeos’ death: there

too were the sons of Cecrops,[204] constrained—O cruel woe!

to pay in penalty the yearly tale of seven of their sons’ 25

lives: the urn is standing, and the lots drawn out. On the

other side, breasting the wave, the Gnossian land frowns

responsive. There is Pasiphaë’s tragic passion for the

bull, and the mingled birth, the Minotaur, half man, half

brute, a monument of monstrous love. There is the edifice,[205] 30

that marvel of toiling skill, and its inextricable maze—inextricable,

had not Dædalus in pity for the enthralling

passion of the royal princess, himself unravelled

the craft and mystery of those chambers, guiding the

lover’s dark steps with a clue of thread. You too, poor

Icarus,[206] had borne no mean part in that splendid portraiture, 5

would grief have given art its way. Twice the artist

essayed to represent the tragedy in gold: twice the father’s

hands dropped down palsied. So they would have gone on

scanning all in succession, had not Achates returned from

his errand, and with him the priestess of Phœbus and 10

Diana, Deïphobe, Glaucus’ daughter, who thus bespeaks

the king: “Not this the time for shows like these; your

present work is to sacrifice seven bullocks untouched by the

yoke, seven sheep duly chosen.”

This said to Æneas, whose followers swiftly perform the 15

prescribed rites, she summons the Teucrians into the lofty

temple, herself its priestess. One huge side of the Eubœan

cliff has been hollowed into a cave, approached by a hundred

broad avenues, a hundred mouths—from these a

hundred voices are poured, the responses of the Sibyl. 20

Just as they were on the threshold, “It is the moment

to pray for the oracle,” cries the maiden; “the god, the god

is here.” Thus as she spoke at the gate, her visage, her

hue changed suddenly—her hair started from its braid—her

bosom heaves and pants, her wild soul swells with 25

frenzy—she grows larger to the view, and her tones are

not of earth, as the breath of the divine presence comes

on her nearer and nearer. “What! a laggard at vows and

prayers? Æneas of Troy a laggard? for that is the only

spell to part asunder the great closed lips of the terror-smitten 30

shrine.” She said, and was mute. A cold

shudder runs through the Teucrians’ iron frames, and their

king pours out his very soul in prayer: “Phœbus, ever

Troy’s pitying friend in her cruel agonies—thou who

didst level Paris’ Dardan[207] bow and string his Dardan arm 35

against the vast frame of Æacides[208]—by thy guidance I

have penetrated all these unknown seas that swathe

mighty continents. The Massylian tribes, thrust away by

Nature out of view, and the quicksands that environ their

coasts—now at last our hands are on the flying skirts of

Italy. Oh, let it suffice Troy’s fortune to have followed

us thus far! Ye too may now justly spare our nation of

Pergamus, gods and goddesses all, whose eyes were 5

affronted by Troy and the great glories of Dardan land.

And thou, most holy prophetess, that canst read the future

as the present, grant me—I am asking for no crown that

Fate does not owe me—grant a settlement in Latium to the

Teucrians and their wandering gods, even the travel-tost 10

deities of Troy. Then to Phœbus and his Trivian sister

I will set up a temple of solid marble, and appoint feast-days

in Phœbus’ name. For thee too an august shrine

is in store in that our future realm. For there I will lodge

thy oracles and the secret words of destiny which thou 15

shalt speak to my nation, and consecrate chosen men to

thy gracious service. Only commit not thy strains to

leaves, lest they float all confusedly the sport of the

whirling winds. Utter them with thine own mouth, I

implore thee.” So his prayer ended. 20

But the prophetess, not yet Phœbus’ willing slave, is

storming with giant frenzy in her cavern, as though she

hoped to unseat from her bosom the mighty god. All

the more sharply he plies her mouth with his bit till its

fury flags, tames her savage soul, and moulds her to his 25

will by strong constraint. And now the hundred mighty

doors of the chamber have flown open of their own accord,

and are wafting through the air the voice of prophecy: “O

you whose vast perils by sea are over at length! but on

land there are heavier yet in store. The sons of Dardanus 30

shall come to the realm of Lavinium—from this care set

your mind at rest—but think not that they shall also

have joy of their coming. War, savage war, and the

Tiber foaming with surges of blood, is the vision I see. No

lack for you of Simois, or Xanthus, or a Dorian[209] camp. 35

Another Achilles is reserved for Latium, he too goddess-born—nor

will Juno ever be seen to quit her fastened hold

on Troy—while you, a needy suppliant—what nation,

what city in Italy will not have had you knocking at its

gates! Once more will an alien bride bring on the Teucrians

all this woe—once more a foreign bed. But you,

yield not to affliction, but go forth all the bolder to meet it,

so far as your destiny gives you leave. The first glimpse of 5

safety, little as you dream it, shall dawn on you from a

Grecian town.”

Such are the words with which Cumæ’s Sibyl from her

cell shrills forth awful mysteries and booms again from

the cavern, robing her truth in darkness—such the violence 10

with which Apollo shakes the bridle in her frenzied mouth

and plies her bosom with his goad. Soon as her frenzy

abated and the madness of her lips grew calm, Æneas the

hero began: “No feature, awful maiden, that suffering can

show rises on my sight new or unlooked-for—I have 15

foreseen all and scanned all in fancy already. I have

but one prayer to make: since here it is that Fame tells of

the gate of the infernal monarch, and the murky pool of

Acheron’s overflow, grant me to pass to the sight, to

the presence of my loved father—teach the way, and unlock 20

the sacred doors. Him I bore away through flames

and a driving tempest of darts on these my shoulders and

rescued him from the midst of the foe: he was the companion

of my journey, and encountered with me all the

waves of ocean, all the terrors of sea and sky in his own 25

feeble frame, beyond the strength and the day of old age.

Nay more—that I would kneel to thee and approach thy

dwelling—this was his charge, his oft-repeated prayer.

Oh, of thy grace, pity the son and the sire; for thou art

all-powerful, nor is it for nought that Hecate has set thee 30

over the groves of Avernus. If Orpheus had the power to

fetch back the shade of his wife, by the help of his Thracian

lyre and its sounding strings—if Pollux redeemed

his brother by dying in turn with him, and went and returned

on the path those many times—why talk of Theseus, 35

why of great Alcides[210]? my line, like theirs, is from

Jove most high.”

Such were his prayers, while his hands clasped the altar,

when thus the prophetess began: “Heir of the blood of

gods, son of Anchises of Troy, easy is the going down to

Avernus—all night and all day the gate of gloomy

Pluto stands unbarred; but to retrace your footsteps, and

win your way back to the upper air, that is the labour, that 5

the task. There have been a few, favourites of gracious

Jove, or exalted to heaven by the blaze of inborn worth,

themselves sprung from the gods, who have had the power.

The whole intervening space is possessed by woods,

and lapped round by the black windings of Cocytus’[211] 10

stream. And now, if your heart’s yearning is so great,

your passion so strong, twice to stem the Stygian pool,

twice to gaze on the night of Tartarus—if it be your joy

to give scope to a madman’s striving—hear what must

first be done. Deep in the shade of a tree lurks a branch, all 15

of gold, foliage alike and limber twig, dedicated to the

service of the Juno of the shades; it is shrouded by the

whole labyrinth of the forest, closed in by the boskage that

darkens the glens. Yet none may pierce the subterranean

mystery, till a man have gathered from the tree that leafy 20

sprout of gold, for this it is that fair Proserpine has ordained

to be brought her as her own proper tribute. Pluck

off one, another is there unfailingly, of gold as pure, a twig

burgeoning with as fine an ore. Let then your eye be

keen to explore it, your hand quick to pluck it when duly 25

found, for it will follow the touch with willingness and

ease, if you have a call from Fate; if not, no strength of

yours will overcome it, no force of steel tear it away.

But, besides this, you have the breathless corpse of a

friend lying unburied—alas! you know it not—tainting 30

your whole fleet with the air of death, while you are asking

Heaven’s will, and lingering on this our threshold. Him

first consign to his proper place, and hide him in the grave.

Lead black cattle to the altar: be this the expiation to

pave your way. Thus at last you shall look on the groves 35

of Styx and the realms untrodden of the living.” She

said, and closed her lips in silence.

Æneas, with saddened face and steadfast eye, moves on,

leaving the cave behind, and revolves in his mind the secrets

of the future. Achates, ever faithful, walks at his

side, and plants his foot with no less consciousness of

care. Many were the things exchanged in their ranging

talk—who could be the dead comrade that the priestess 5

spoke of, what the corpse that needed burial. And lo!

Misenus, soon as they came, there on the dry beach they

see him, snatched by death that should have spared him—Misenus,

son of Æolus, than whom none was mightier to

stir men’s hearts with his clarion, and kindle with music 10

the war-god’s flame. Hector the great had been his chief:

in Hector’s service he performed a warrior’s part, famous

alike with the trumpet and the spear. But after the conquering

arm of Achilles robbed his master of life, valiant

hero, he made himself the comrade of the Dardan Æneas, 15

nor found the standard he followed meaner than of old.

But in those days, as he was making his hollow shell ring

over the waters, infatuate mortal, challenging the gods to

compete, Triton, roused to jealousy, seized him, if the

story be true, and plunged him in a moment in the billow 20

that laps among the rocks. So they all stood round, uttering

loud shrieks; louder than the rest Æneas the good.

And then without delay they set about the Sibyl’s bidding,

weeping sore, and in mournful rivalry heap up the funeral

pyre with trees, and carry it into the sky. 25

Away they go to an ancient wood, the wild beast’s tall

covert—down go the pitch-trees; the holm-oak rings with

the axe’s blows, and so do the ashen beams; the wedge

cleaves through the fissile[212] oak; they roll down from the

heights huge mountain ashes. There is Æneas, in this, 30

as in other labours, the first to cheer on his comrades, and

wielding a weapon like theirs; and thus he ponders in the

sad silence of his own breast, looking at the immeasurable

wood, and thus gives utterance to his prayer: “Oh that

at this moment that golden branch on the tree would reveal 35

itself to our sight in all this depth of forest! for I see that

in all things the prophetess has told us of you, Misenus,

alas! too truly!” Scarce had he spoken, when, as by

chance, a pair of doves come flying along the sky, under the

hero’s very eyes, and settle on the turf at his feet. At once

the mighty chief recognizes his mother’s birds, and gladly

breathes a second prayer: “Oh guide us on our way, wherever

it be, and as ye fly direct our steps into the grove 5

where the precious branch casts its shade on the rich

ground! Thou too forsake not our perplexity, O goddess

mother!” Thus much he said, and checked his advancing

foot, watching to see what prognostics they bring, whither

they aim their onward course. They, as they graze, go 10

ever forward on the wing, as far as the eyes of the travellers

can keep them in view. Then when they come to Avernus’

noisome jaws, swiftly they soar aloft, and gliding through

the clear sky, settle twain on the same tree, their chosen

seat, whence there flashed through the branches the contrasted 15

gleam of gold. Even as in the woods, in the cold of

midwinter, the mistletoe is wont to put forth new leaves, a

vegetable growth, but of no parent tree, and with its

yellow produce to surround the tapering boles, so looked

the leafy gold among the holm-oak’s dark shade—so in the 20

light breeze tinkled the foil. Æneas snatches it at once,

plucks it off with eagerness overpowering its delay, and

carries it to the home of the prophetic Sibyl.

Meantime, with not less zeal, the Teucrians on the

shore were mourning for Misenus, and paying the last 25

honour to the thankless ashes. First they raised a pile,

unctuous with pine-wood, and high-heaped with planks of

oak: they wreath its sides with gloomy foliage, and set

up before it funeral cypresses, and adorn it with a covering

of refulgent armour. Some make ready heated water and 30

cauldrons bubbling over the fire, and wash and anoint the

cold corpse. Loud rings the wail: then, the dirge over,

they place the limbs on the couch that claims them,

and fling over them purple garments, the dead men’s

usual covering. Some put their shoulders to the heavy 35

bier in melancholy service, and after ancestral fashion,

with averted eyes, apply the torch from under. The rich

heap is ablaze—offerings of incense, sacrificial viands, oil

streaming from the bowl. After that the ashes were fallen

in and the blaze was lulled, they drenched with wine the

relics and the thirsty embers on the pyre, and Corynæus

gathered up the bones, and stored them in a brazen urn.

He, too, carried round pure water, and sprinkled thrice 5

the comrades of the dead, scattering the thin drops with

a branch of fruitful olive—so he expiated the company,

and spoke the last solemn words. But good Æneas raises

over the dead a monument of massive size, setting up for

the hero his own proper arms, the oar and the trumpet, 10

under a skyey mountain, which is now from him called

Misenus, and retains from age to age the everlasting name.

This done, he hastens to execute the Sibyl’s bidding.

A deep cave there was, yawning wide with giant throat,

rough and shingly, shadowed by the black pool and the 15

gloom of the forest—a cave, over whose mouth no winged

thing could fly unharmed, so poisonous the breath that

exhaling from its pitchy jaws steamed up to the sky—whence

Greece has given the spot the name Aornos.[213]

Here first the priestess places in sacrificial station four 20

black-skinned bullocks, and empties wine over their

brows, and plucking from between their horns the hairs of

the crown, throws them into the hallowed flame, as the

firstfruits of worship, with loud cries on Hecate, queen in

heaven and Erebus both. Others put the knife to the 25

throat, and catch in chargers the steaming blood. With

his own sword Æneas strikes down a lamb of sable fleece,

for the Furies’[214] mother and her mighty sister, and a

barren heifer for thee, dread Proserpine. Then to the

Stygian monarch he rears altars, blazing through the 30

darkness, and piles on the flame the bulls’ carcases

entire, pouring fat oil on the entrails all aglow. When,

hark! as the sun began to glimmer and dawn, the ground

is bellowing under their feet, and the wood-crowned heights

are nodding, and the baying of dogs sounds through the 35

gloom, for the goddess is at hand. “Hence, hence with

your unhallowed feet!” clamours the prophetess, “and rid

the whole grove of your presence. And you—strike into

the road, and pluck your sword from his scabbard—now

is the hour for courage, Æneas, now for a stout heart.”

No more she said, but flung herself wildly into the cavern’s

mouth; and he, with no faltering step, keeps pace with his

guide. 5

Ye gods, whose empire is the shades—spirits of silence,

Chaos and Phlegethon, stretching wide in the stillness of

night, suffer me to tell what has reached my ears; grant

me your aid to reveal things buried underground, deep and

dark. 10

On they went, darkling in solitary night, far into the

gloom, through Pluto’s void halls and ghostly realms—like

a journey in a wood under the niggard beams of a

doubtful moon, when Jupiter has shrouded heaven in

shadow, and black Night has stolen the colour from 15

Nature’s face. There before the threshold, in the very

mouth of Hell, Agony and the fiends of Remorse have made

their lair: there dwell wan Diseases, and woful Age, and

Terror, and Hunger that prompts to Sin, and loathly

Want—shapes of hideous view—and Death, and Suffering; 20

then comes Sleep, Death’s blood-brother, and the

soul’s guilty joys, and deadly War couched in the gate,

and the Furies’ iron chambers, and frantic Strife, with

bloody fillets wreathed in her snaky hair.

In the midst there stands, with boughs and aged arms 25

outspread, a massive elm, of broad shade, the chosen

seat, so Rumour tells, of bodiless dreams, which cling

close to its every leaf. There, too, are a hundred monstrous

shapes of wild beasts of divers kinds, Centaurs

stalled in the entrance and two-formed Scyllas, and 30

Briareus,[215] the hundred-handed, and the portent of Lerna,[216]

hissing fearfully, and Chimæra[217] in her panoply of flames,

Gorgons,[218] and Harpies, and the semblance of the three-bodied

spectre. At once Æneas grasps his sword, in the

haste of sudden alarm, and meets their advance with its 35

drawn blade; and did not his companion warn him, of

her own knowledge, that they are but thin unbodied

spirits flitting in a hollow mask of substance, he would

be rushing among them, and slashing shadows asunder

with the steel’s unavailing blows.

Hence runs the road that leads to the waters of Tartarean

Acheron, whose gulfy stream, churning mud in its

monstrous depths, is all aglow, and disgorges into Cocytus 5

the whole of its sand. These waters are guarded by a

grisly ferryman, frightful and foul—Charon; his chin an

uncleared forest of hoary hair; his eyes a mass of flame;

while his uncleanly garb hangs from his shoulders, gathered

into a knot. With his own hand he pushes on the craft 10

with a pole, and trims the sails, and moves the dead

heavily along in his boat of iron-gray, himself already in

years; but a god’s old age is green and vigorous. Towards

him the whole crowd was pouring to the bank: matrons

and warriors, and bodies of mighty heroes discharged of 15

life, boys and unwedded maidens, and youths laid on the

pile of death in their parents’ eyes—many as are the

leaves that drop and fall in the woods in autumn’s early

cold, or many as are the birds that flock massed together

from the deep to the land, when the wintry year drives 20

them over sea to tenant a sunnier clime. There they

stood, each praying that he might be the first to cross,

with hands yearningly outstretched towards the further

shore; but the grim boatman takes on board now these,

now those, while others he drives away, and bars them 25

from the river’s brink. Æneas cries as a man perplexed

and startled by the tumult: “Tell me, dread maiden,

what means this concourse to the stream? Of what are

these spirits in quest? What choice decides that these

shall retire from the shore, while those are rowing through 30

that leaden pool?” To him in brief returned the aged

priestess: “Son of Anchises, Heaven’s undoubted offspring,

before you are Cocytus’ depths and the marshy

flood of Styx, that power by whose name the gods fear

to swear in vain. The whole multitude you see here is 35

helpless and tombless; Charon is the ferryman; those

who ride the wave are the buried. He may not ferry

them from the dreadful banks across that noisy current

till their bones have found a place of rest. A hundred

years they wander hovering about these shores; then at

last they embark, and see again the flood of their longing.”

Anchises’ son stood and paused, musing deeply, and pitying

at his heart a lot so unkind. Yes, there he sees, sadly 5

wandering without death’s last tribute, Leucaspis and

Orontes, the captain of Lycia’s fleet: both had sailed

with him from Troy over the stormy water, and the south

wind whelmed them both, engulfing the vessel and its

crew. 10

Lo! he sees his pilot, Palinurus, moving along—Palinurus,

who but now, while voyaging from Libya, his eyes

bent on the stars, had fallen’ from the stern, flung out

into the wide waste of waters. So when he had at last

taken knowledge of his features, now saddened, in the 15

deep gloom, he thus accosts him first: “Who was it,

Palinurus, of all the gods, that tore you from us, and

whelmed you in the wide sea? Tell me who. Till now

I never found him false; but in this one response Apollo

has proved a cheat, foretelling that you would be unharmed 20

on the deep, and win your way to the Ausonian

frontier, and thus it is that he keeps his word!” “Nay,”

returned he, “my chief, Anchises’ son, Phœbus’ tripod has

told you no lie, nor did any god whelm me in the sea.

No, I chanced to fall, tearing away by main force the 25

rudder, to which I was clinging like sentry to his post,

as I guided your course, and dragging it with me in my

headlong whirl. Witness those cruel waters, I felt no

fear for my own life like that which seized me for your

ship, lest, disarmed and disabled, shaken loose from her 30

ruler’s hand, she should give way under the great sea that

was rising then. Three long nights of storm the south

wind swept me over the vast wilderness of convulsed

ocean. Hardly at last, at the fourth dawn, I looked out

aloft upon Italy from the crest of the wave. Stroke by 35

stroke I was swimming to shore; and now I was just

laying hold on safety, had not the savage natives come

on me, sword in hand, clogged as I was with my dripping

clothes, and clutching with talon fingers the steep mountain-top,

and deemed blindly they had found a prize.

Now the wave is my home, and the winds keep tossing

me on the beach. Oh, by heaven’s pleasant sunshine

and bright sky; by your father, I adjure you; by the 5

promise growing up with your Iulus, rescue me with that

unconquered arm from this cruel fate: be yourself, and

either spread earth upon me, for that you can surely do,

and put back to Velia’s haven; or, if any way there be,

any that your goddess mother can reveal—for well I 10

ween it is not without Heaven’s leave that you purpose

to stem these fearful tides and the reluctant pool of Styx—stretch

your hand to your poor friend, and take me

with you over the water, that at least I may find in death

a place of rest and peace.” So had he spoken, when thus 15

the priestess begins: “What demon, Palinurus, has set

on you so monstrous a desire? You, unburied, look on

the Stygian water, and the dread river of the furies?

You set foot on the bank unbidden? Cease to dream

that Heaven’s destiny can be swayed by prayer. Yet 20

hear and retain a word which may console your hard lot.

For know that the dwellers in that fatal border, goaded

far and wide through their cities by prodigies from heaven,

shall propitiate your dust: they shall erect a tomb, and

through that tomb send down your funeral dues, and the 25

spot shall bear forever the name of Palinurus.” These

words allayed his cares, and banished for a while grief

from that sad bosom: his heart leaps to the land that is

called by his name.

They accordingly continue their journey, and approach 30

the river. Soon as the boatman saw them, at the moment,

from the wave of Styx, moving through the stilly forest,

and turning their steps to the bank, he first bespeaks

them thus, and assails them unaccosted: “You, whoever

you are, that are making for these waters of ours in warlike 35

trim, speak your errand from the spot where you

are, and come no nearer. This is the place for the shadows,

for Sleep and slumberous Night. The bodies of the living

may not be ferried in my Stygian barque. Nay, it was

not to my joy that I gave Alcides a passage over the lake,

nor Theseus and Pirithous, born of gods though they

were, and of strength unsubdued. The one laid a jailer’s

hand on the warder of Tartarus, even at the foot of the 5

king’s own throne, and dragged him trembling along:

the others essayed to carry off the queen from Pluto’s

bridal chamber.” To which the Amphrysian priestess

replied in brief: “Here there are no stratagems like those;

be not discomposed; these weapons are not borne for 10

violence; the monstrous guardian of your gate is free to

terrify the bloodless spectres from his den with his unending

bark; Proserpine is free to keep her uncle’s home

as faithful wife should. This is Æneas of Troy, renowned

for piety and arms alike: it is to see his father that he 15

is going down to Erebus’ lowest depth of gloom. If thou

art moved in nought by the spectacle of piety so signal,

yet let this branch”—she uncovered the branch which

was concealed in her robe—‘claim recognition.’ At

once the angry swell subsides, and the breast is calm. 20

No further parley. Gazing in wonder at the sacred offering

of the fated bough, last seen so long ago, he turns to

them the sea-green boat, and draws near the bank.

Then he dislodges other ghostly passengers who were sitting

along the benches, and clears the gangways, while 25

he takes into the vessel’s hollow the mighty Æneas. The

sutures of the boat cracked beneath the weight, as through

its rents it drew in large draughts of marsh-water. At

length priestess and prince are safe across the flood, set

down amid featureless mud and blue-green rushes. 30

Cerberus,[219] the monster, makes the whole realm ring

with his three barking throats, as he lies in giant length

fronting them in his den’s mouth. The priestess, seeing

the snakes already bristling on his neck, throws him a

morsel steeped in the slumber of honey and medicated 35

meal. He, in the frenzy of hunger, opens his triple jaws

to catch it as it comes, and stretches his enormous back at

length on the ground, till his huge bulk covers the den.

Æneas masters the approach while the warder sleeps, and

swiftly passes from the bank of the river without return.

At once there breaks on his ear a voice of mighty wailing,

infant spirits sobbing and crying on the threshold,

babes that, portionless of the sweets of life, were snatched 5

from the breast by the black death-day’s tyranny, and

whelmed in untimely night. Next to them are those

who were done to death by false accusation. Yet let

none think that the lot of award or the judge’s sentence

are wanting here. There sits Minos,[220] the president, urn 10

in hand: he summons an assembly of the speechless, and

takes cognizance of earthly lives and earthly sins.

Next to them comes the dwelling-place of the sons of

sorrow, who, though guiltless, procured their own death by

violence, and, for mere hatred of the sunshine, flung their 15

lives away. Oh, how gladly would they now, in the air

above, bear to the end the load of poverty and the full

extremity of toil! But Fate bars the way: the unlovely

pool swathes them round in her doleful waters, and Styx,

with her ninefold windings, keeps them fast. 20

Not far hence the traveller’s eye sees stretching on every

side the Mourning Fields: such the name they bear.

Here dwell those whom cruel Love’s consuming tooth

has eaten to the heart, in the privacy of hidden walks

and an enshrouding myrtle wood: their tender sorrows 25

quit them not even in death. In this region he sees

Phædra and Procris, and sad Eriphyle, pointing to the

wounds of her ruthless son, and Evadne, and Pasiphaë:

along with them moves Laodamia, and Cæneus, once a

man, now a woman, brought back by the turn of fate to 30

her former self. Among these was Phœnicia’s daughter,

Dido, fresh from her death-wound, wandering in that

mighty wood: soon as the Trojan hero stood at her side,

and knew her, looming dimly through the dusk—as a

man sees or thinks he sees through the clouds, when the 35

month is young, the rising moon—his tears broke forth,

and he addressed her tenderly and lovingly. “Unhappy

Dido! and was it then a true messenger that reached

me with the tale that you were dead: that the sword

had done its worst? Was it, alas, to a grave that I

brought you? By the stars of heaven I swear, by the

powers above, by all that is most sacred here underground,

against my will, fair queen, I quitted your coast. 5

No; it was the command of the gods; the same stern

force which compels me now to pass through this realm

of shade, this wilderness of squalor and abysmal night;

it was that which drove me by its uttered will: nor could

I have thought that my departure would bring on you 10

such violence of grief. Stay your step, and withdraw not

from the look I bend on you. Whom would you shun?

the last word which fate suffers me to address you is this.”

With words like these, Æneas kept soothing the soul that

blazed forth through those scowling eyes, and moving 15

himself to tears. She stood with averted head and eyes

on the ground, her features as little moved by the speech

he essayed as if she held the station of a stubborn flint,

or a crag of Marpessa.[221] At length she flung herself

away, and, unforgiving still, fled into the shadow of the 20

wood, where her former lord, Sychæus, answers her sorrows

with his, and gives her full measure for her love.

Yet, none the less, Æneas, thrilled through and through

by her cruel fate, follows far on her track with tears, and

sends his pity along with her. 25

Thence he turns, to encounter the appointed way.

And now they were already in the furthest region, the

separate place tenanted by the great heroes of war.

Here there meets him Tydeus, here Parthenopæus, illustrious

in arms, and the spectre of pale Adrastus. Here 30

are chiefs of Dardan line, wailed long and loudly in the

upper air as they lay low in fight: as he saw them all in

long array, he groaned heavily. Glaucus and Medon, and

Thersilochus, the three sons of Antenor, and Polyphœtes,

Ceres’ priest, and Idæus, with his hand still on the car, 35

still on the armour. They surround him, right and left,

the ghostly crowd; one look is not sufficient: they would

fain linger on and on, and step side by side with him,

and learn the cause of his coming. But the nobles of the

Danaans, and the flower of Agamemnon’s bands, when

they saw the hero and his armour gleaming through the

shade, were smitten with strange alarm: some turn their

backs in flight, as erst they fled to the ships: others raise 5

a feeble war-shout. The cry they essay mocks their

straining throats.

Here it is that he sees Priam’s son, mangled all over,

Deiphobus, his face cruelly marred—face and both

hands—his temples despoiled of his ears, and his nose 10

lopped by unseemly carnage. Scarce, in truth, he recognized

him, trembling as he was, and trying to hide the

terrible vengeance wreaked on him: unaccosted, he addresses

him in the tones he knew of old: “Deiphobus,

mighty warrior, scion of Teucer’s illustrious stock, who 15

has had the ambition to avenge himself so cruelly? who

has had his will of you thus? For me, Rumour told me

on that fatal night that you had sunk down, tired with

the work of slaughtering the Greeks, on a heap of undistinguished

carnage. Then with my own hand, I set up 20

an empty tomb on the Rhœtean shore, and thrice with a

loud voice invoked your spirit. There are your name and

your arms to keep the spot in memory: your self, dear

friend, I could not see, so as to give you repose in the

fatherland I was leaving.” To whom the son of Priam: 25

“Dear friend, you have failed in nought: all that Deiphobus

could claim has been paid by you to him and to his

shade. No; it was my own destiny and the deadly

wickedness of the Spartan woman that plunged me thus

deep in ill: these tokens are of her leaving. How we 30

spent that fatal night in treacherous joyance you know

well: too good cause is there to bear it in mind. When

the fateful horse at one bound surmounted the height of

Pergamus, and brought a mailclad infantry in its laden

womb, she feigned a solemn dance, and led round the 35

city Phrygian dames in Bacchic ecstasy; herself in their

midst raising a mighty torch aloft, and calling to the

Danaans from the top of the citadel. That hour I, spent

with care and overborne with sleep, was in the hold of

our ill-starred bridal chamber, weighed down as I lay, by

slumber sweet and sound, the very image of the deep

calm of death. Meantime, my peerless helpmate removes

from the house arms of every sort: yes, my trusty sword 5

she had withdrawn from my pillow, and now she calls

Menelaus to come in, and throws wide the door, hoping,

I doubt not, that the greatness of the boon would soften

her lover’s heart, and that the memory of her crime of

old could thus be wiped from men’s minds. Why make 10

the story long? They burst into the chamber, along with

them that child of Æolus,[222] then as ever the counsellor

of evil. Recompense, ye gods, the Greeks in kind, if

these lips, that ask for retribution, are pure and loyal.

But you; what chance has brought you here in your lifetime, 15

let me ask in turn? Are you come under the spell

of ocean-wandering, or by the command of heaven? or

what tyranny of fortune constrains you to visit these

sad, sunless dwellings, the abode of confusion?”

In this interchange of talk, the Dawn-goddess in her 20

flushing car, careering through the sky, had well passed

the summit of the arch; and perchance they had spent

all their allotted time in converse like this, had not the

Sibyl warned her companion with brief address: “Night

is hastening, Æneas; and we, as we weep, are making 25

hours pass. This is the spot where the road parts in

twain. The right, which goes under the palace-wall of

mighty Dis—there lies our way to Elysium; the left

puts in motion the tortures of the wicked, and sends

them to Tartarus, the home of crime.” Deiphobus replied: 30

“Frown not, dread priestess; I depart, to make

the ghostly number complete, and plunge again in darkness.

Go on your way, our nation’s glory, go: may your

experience of fate be more blest.” He said, and, while

yet speaking, turned away. 35

Suddenly, Æneas looks back, and, under a rock on the

left, sees a broad stronghold, girt by a triple wall; a fierce

stream surrounds it with surges of fire, Tartarean Phlegethon,

and tosses craggy fragments in thunder. Full in

front is a vast gate, its pillars of solid adamant. No force

of man, not even the embattled powers of heaven, could

break it down. Rising in air is a turret of iron, and Tisiphone,

with a gory robe girt round her, sits at the vestibule 5

with sleepless vigilance night and day. Hence

sounds of wailing meet the ear, and the crack of remorseless

whips; the clank of steel follows, and the trailing of

the chain. Æneas stood still, riveted by the terror of

the noise. “What shapes is guilt wearing now? tell me, 10

dread maiden. What are the torments that lie on it so

hard? what mean these loud upsoaring shrieks?” The

priestess returned: “Noble leader of the Teucrians, no

innocent foot may tread that guilty threshold; but the

day when Hecate set me over the groves of Avernus, she 15

taught me from her own lips the punishments of Heaven,

and led me through from end to end. Here rules Gnosian

Rhadamanthus, a reign of iron—avenger, at once, and

judge of cowering guilt, he compels a confession of what

crimes soever men in upper air, blindly rejoicing in the 20

cheat, have kept secret till the hour of death, to be expiated

then. In a moment, Tisiphone the torturer, with

uplifted scourge, lashes from side to side the spurned

and guilty soul; and brandishing in her left hand knots

of serpents, summons her unpitying sisterhood. Then at 25

last, grating on their dread-sounding hinge, the awful

gates are opened. See you what manner of sentry is

seated at the entrance? what a presence is guarding the

threshold? Know that a Hydra fiercer yet with fifty

monstrous throats, each a yawning pit, holds her seat 30

within. Then there is the abyss of Tartarus in sheer

descent, extending under the shades, twice as far as

man’s skyward gaze from earth to the heaven of Olympus.

Here are earth’s ancient progeny, the Titan brood,

hurled down by the thunderbolt to wallow in the depths 35

of the gulf. Here too saw I the twin sons of Aloeus,

frames of giant bulk, who essayed by force of hand to

pluck down the mighty heavens, and dislodge Jove from

his realm in the sky. I saw too Salmoneus, smitten with

cruel vengeance, while mimicking the fires of Jove and

the rumblings of Olympus. Borne in a four-horse car, a

flaring torch in hand, he was making his triumphal progress 5

through the tribes of Greece, and the midst of Elis’

city, and bidding men accord him a god’s homage. Madman!

to counterfeit the storm-cloud and the unrivalled

thunderbolt with the rattle of brass and the beat of

horses’ horny hoofs. But the almighty sire from the

depth of his cloudy dwelling hurled his weapon—no 10

futile firebrand his, no pinewood’s smoky glare—and

dashed him headlong down with that tremendous blast.

Tityos, too, the foster-child of Earth’s common breast, it

was mine to see: his body lies extended over nine whole

acres, and there is a monstrous vulture with hooked beak 15

shearing away his imperishable liver, and reaping a harvest

of suffering from his vitals, as it digs deep for its meal,

and burrows in the cavern of his breast, nor gives the

new-growing filaments rest or respite. What need to tell

of the Lapithæ, of Ixion[223] and Pirithous—men who live 20

under a black crag, ever falling, and just in act to drop?

The lofty couch is spread for the banquet, and the pillar

of gold gleams underneath: the feast is before them,

served in kingly luxury; but the eldest of the Furies is

couched at their side: she will not let them stretch a hand 25

to the board: she starts up with torch uplifted and

thunder in her tones. Here are they who lived in hatred

with their brethren while life yet was; who smote a

parent or wove for a client the web of fraud; who gained

a treasure and brooded over it alone, and never shared it 30

with their kin—a mighty number these—adulterers,

who were slain for their crime; citizens who followed

the standard of treason; slaves who shrunk not from

breaking their troth to their lords: all in prison awaiting

their doom. Ask not what doom is theirs, what 35

phase, what fate has whelmed them so deep. Others roll

the huge stone up the hill, or hang dispread from the

spokes of the wheel: there sits, as he will sit for evermore,

unhappy Theseus: and Phlegyas, from the depth

of his agony, keeps warning all, and proclaiming with a

voice of terror through the shades: ‘Learn hereby to be

righteous, and not to scorn the gods.’ This sold his country

for gold, and saddled her with a tyrant; for gain he 5

made and unmade laws: this assailed his daughter’s bed,

and essayed a forbidden union: all dared some monstrous

crime, and enjoyed their daring. No; had I even a hundred

tongues, and a hundred mouths, and lungs of iron,

not then could I embrace all the types of crime, or rehearse 10

the whole muster-roll of vengeance.”

So spoke Apollo’s aged priestess; and then resuming:

“But come,” she cries, “speed on your way, and fulfil

the duty you have essayed: quicken we our pace. I see

the walls which the Cyclopian forge raised in air, and the 15

arched gates confronting us, where sacred rule bids us

set down our offering.” As she spoke, they step side by

side through the dusky ways, despatch the interval of

distance, and draw near the gate. Æneas masters the

approach, sprinkles his body with pure spring water, and 20

fixes the branch on the portal’s front.

And now these things done at length, and the offering

to the goddess accomplished, they have reached the

regions of bliss, green pleasaunces of happy groves, and the

abodes of the blest. Here ether clothes the plains with 25

an ampler plenitude and a dazzling lustre; and the eye

beholds a sun and stars of its own. There are some,

plying their limbs on the grassy wrestling-ground, conflicting

in sport, and grappling each other on the yellow

sand: some are beating their feet in the dance, and chanting 30

songs. There, too, is the Thracian priest[224] in his flowing

robe, singing the seven notes in unison with the

dancer’s measure, and striking them now with his fingers,

now with the quill of ivory. Here are the old race of

Teucer, a goodly family, heroes of lofty soul, born in 35

earth’s better days, Ilus and Assaracus, and Dardanus,

founder of Troy. From afar he gazes wonderingly on

their warrior arms and their ghostly chariots. Their spears

stand rooted in the ground, and their unyoked steeds

graze dispersedly over the meadow. All the delight they

took when alive in chariots and armour, all their pride in

grooming and feeding their horses, goes with them underground,

and animates them there. See, too, his eye rests 5

on others regaling on either hand upon the grass, and

singing in chorus a joyous pæan, all in a fragrant grove

of bay, the source whence, welling forth into the upper

world, Eridanus[225] flows in broad current between his

wooded banks. Here is a noble company who braved 10

wounds in fight for fatherland; all the priests who kept

their purity while life was; all the poets whose hearts

were clean, and their songs worthy Phœbus’ ear; all who

by cunning inventions gave a grace to life, and whose

worthy deeds made their fellows think of them with love: 15

each has his brow cinctured with a snow-white fillet.

Looking on the multitude as it streamed around, the

Sibyl bespoke them thus—Musæus before all; for he

stands the centre of that vast crowd, which looks up to

him, as with rising shoulders he towers above them: 20

“Tell us, happy spirits, and you, best of bards, which is

Anchises’ haunt? which his home? for it is to see him

that we have come hither, and won our way over the

mighty river of Erebus.” Instant the hero replied in brief:

“Here there are no fixed abodes: our dwellings are in 25

shadowy groves: our settlements on the velvet slope of

banks and meadows fresh with running streams. But

come, if you will, climb this hill with me, and I will set

your feet at once on a road that will lead you.” So saying,

he moves on before, and from the top of the ridge 30

points to broad fields of light, while they descend from

the summit.

But father Anchises, down in the depth of the green

dell, was surveying with fond observance the spirits now

confined there, but hereafter to pass into the light of day, 35

and scanning, as chance would have it, the whole multitude

of his people, even his loved posterity, their destinies,

their warrior deeds, their ways and their works.

Soon as he saw Æneas advancing through the grass to

meet him, he stretched out both his hands with eager

movement, tears gushed over his cheeks, and words escaped

his lips: “And are you come at last? has love fulfilled

a father’s hopes and surmounted the perils of the 5

way? is it mine to look on your face, my son, and listen

and reply as we talked of old? Yes; I was even thinking

so in my own mind. I was reckoning that it would

be, counting over the days. Nor has my longing played

me false. Oh, the lands and the mighty seas from which 10

you have come to my presence! the dangers, my son,

that have tossed and smitten you! Oh, how I have feared

lest you should come to harm in that realm of Libya!”

The son replied: “Your shade it was, father, your melancholy

shade, that, coming to me oft and oft, constrained 15

me to knock at these doors: here, in the Tyrrhene deep

my ships are riding at anchor. Let us grasp hand in

hand: let us, my father! Oh, withdraw not from my

embrace!” As he spoke, the streaming tears rolled down

his face. Thrice, as he stood, he essayed to fling his 20

arms round that dear neck: thrice the phantom escaped

the hands that caught at it in vain, impalpable as the

wind, fleeting as the wings of sleep.

Meanwhile Æneas sees in the retired vale a secluded

grove with brakes and rustling woods, and the river of 25

Lethe,[226] which floats along by those abodes of peace.

Round it were flying races and tribes untold: even as

in the meadows when bees in calm summer-tide settle on

flower after flower, and stream over the milk-white lilies,

the humming fills the plain. Startled at the sudden 30

sight, Æneas wonderingly inquires what it means, what

are those waters in the distance, or who the men that are

thronging the banks in crowds so vast. To him his father

Anchises: “They are spirits to whom Destiny has promised

new bodies, there at the side of Lethe’s water, drinking 35

the wave of carelessness, and the long draught of oblivion.

In truth I have long wished to tell you of them and show

them before you, to recount the long line of my kindred,

that you may rejoice with me now that Italy is found.”

“Oh, my father! and must we think that there are souls

that fly hence aloft into the upper air, and thus return

to the sluggish fellowship of the body? can their longing

for light be so mad, as this?” “I will tell you, my son, 5

nor hold you longer in doubt.” So replies Anchises, and

unfolds the story in order.

“Know, first, that heaven and earth, and the watery

plains, and the Moon’s lucid ball, and Titan’s starry fires

are kept alive by a spirit within: a mind pervading each 10

limb stirs the whole frame and mingles with the mighty

mass. Hence spring the races of men and beasts, and

living things with wings, and the strange forms that

Ocean carries beneath his marble surface. These particles

have a fiery glow, a heavenly nature, struggling against 15

the clogs of corrupting flesh, the dulness of limbs of clay

and bodies ready to die. Hence come their fears and

lusts, their joys and griefs: nor can they discern the

heavenly light, prisoned as they are in night and blind

dungeon walls. Nay, when life’s last ray has faded from 20

them, not even, then, poor wretches, are they wholly freed

from ill, freed from every plague of the flesh: those many

taints must needs be ingrained strangely in the being, so

long as they have grown with it. So they are schooled

with punishment, and pay in suffering for ancient ill: 25

some are hung up and dispread to the piercing winds:

others have the stain of wickedness washed out under the

whelming gulf, or burnt out with fire: each is chastised

in his own spirit: then we are sped through the breadth

of Elysium, while some few remain to inhabit these happy 30

plains, till the lapse of ages, when time’s cycle is complete,

has cleansed the ingrained blot and left a pure

residue of heavenly intelligence, the flame of essential

ether. All of these, when they have rounded the circle

of a thousand years, Heaven summons to the stream of 35

Lethe, a mighty concourse, to the end that with memory

effaced they may return to the vault of the sky, and learn

to wish for a new union with the body.”

Anchises ended: he draws his son and the Sibyl with

him into the midst of the assemblage, the heart of that

buzzing crowd, and mounts an eminence, whence he

might see face to face the whole of the long procession,

and learn each comer’s looks. 5

“Now, then, for the glories of the Dardan race from

this time onward, the posterity reserved for you in the

Italian line, noble spirits, the ordained heirs of our proud

name: of these I will tell you, and inform you of your

destiny. 10

“He whom you see there, the youth leaning on the

pointless spear, his lot is to fill the next place in light:

he will be first to rise to upper day, born from the admixture

of Italian blood, Silvius, that great Alban name,

your latest offspring, whom in your old age at set of life 15

your spouse Lavinia will bear you in the woods, himself

a king and the father of kings to be: from him it is that

our race shall rule over Alba the Long. Next comes

mighty Procas, the pride of the people of Troy, and

Capys, and Numitor, and a second bearer of your name, 20

Silvius Æneas, himself renowned alike for piety and for

valour, if ever he should come to the throne of Alba.

What glorious youths! look what strength they carry in

their port, while their brows are shaded by the civic oak!

These shall uprear for you, high on the mountains, Nomentum, 25

and Gabii, and Fidenæ’s town, and the towers

of Collatia, Pometii and Inuus’ camp, and Bola, and

Cora; names which shall one day be named: now they

are mere nameless lands. Romulus, too, the child of

Mars, shall come along with his grandsire. Romulus, 30

whom a mother, bearing Ilium’s name, shall produce

from the blood of Assaracus. See you the two plumes

standing on his crest, how his sire marks him even now

for the upper world by his own token of honour? Yes,

my son, it is by his auspices that our glorious Rome shall 35

extend her empire to earth’s end, her ambition to the

skies, and embrace seven hills with the wall of a single

city, blest parent of a warrior brood: even as the mighty

Berecyntian[227] mother rides tower-crowned through the

towns of Phrygia, proud of the gods that have sprung

from her, a hundred grand-children at her knee, all dwellers

in heaven, all lords of the lofty sky. Hither now turn

your two rays of vision: look at this family, at Romans 5

of your own. Here is Cæsar: here the whole progeny of

Iulus, as it will pass one day under heaven’s mighty cope.

This, this is he, the man promised to you so often, Augustus

Cæsar, true child of a god, who shall establish again

for Latium a golden age in that very region where Saturn 10

once reigned, while he stretches his sway alike beyond

Garamantian and Indian. See, the land is lying outside

the stars, outside the sun’s yearly path, where heaven-carrier

Atlas turns round on his shoulder the pole, studded

with burning constellations. In view of his approach, a 15

shiver runs already by oracular warning through Caspian

realms and Mæotian land, and there is stir and confusion

at the mouths of seven-fold Nile. Nay, even Alcides

traversed no such length of earth, though he stalked the

brazen-footed deer, or tamed Erymanthus’ savage wilds, 20

and appalled Lerna with his arrows: no, nor he who

guides his triumphal car with reins of ivy-leaf, Bacchus,

driving his tigers down from Nysa’s lofty top. And do

we still hesitate to let prowess give scope to power, or

does fear prevent our setting foot on Ausonian soil? 25

But who is he in the distance, conspicuous with a wreath

of olive, with sacred vessels in his hand? Ah! I know

the hoary hair and beard of the king of Rome, who shall

give the infant city the support of law, sent from his

homely Cures and a land of poverty into a mighty empire. 30

Next shall come one doomed to break his country’s peace,

and stir up with the war-cry of his name, Tullus, warriors

rusting in ease and squadrons that have forgotten their

triumphs. Ancus follows, a greater boaster, even now

too ready to catch the breath of a popular cheer. Would 35

you look too at the kings of Tarquin’s house, at the

haughty spirit of Brutus the avenger, and the fasces[228] retrieved?

He shall be the first to take the consul’s power

and the axes of doom: the father will bring his rebel sons

to death, all for fair freedom’s sake. Unhappy man! let

after ages speak of that deed as they will, strong over all

will be patriot passion and unmeasured thirst of praise.

Look, there are the Drusi[229] and the Decii,[230] and Torquatus[231] 5

with his unpitying axe, and Camillus[232] the restorer of the

standards. But those whom you see there, dressed alike

in gleaming armour—spirits at harmony now and so

long as they are confined in darkness—alas! how vast

a war will they wage, each with each, if they shall attain 10

the light of day, what arraying of hosts, what carnage

will there be! Father-in-law and son-in-law,[233] the one

coming down from Alpine ramparts and the stronghold

of Monœcus: the other drawn up against him with the

forces of the east. Do not, do not, my children, make 15

wars like these familiar to your spirits: turn not your

country’s valour against your country’s vitals: and you,

restrain yourself the first: you, whose lineage is from

heaven, drop the steel from your grasp, heir of Anchises’

blood. See here, a conqueror who shall drive to the lofty 20

Capitol the car of triumph over Corinth, glorious from

Achæan slaughter: here one who shall lay Argos in dust,

and Agamemnon’s own Mycenæ, ay, and the heir of Æacus,

with Achilles’ martial blood in his veins: a Roman’s

vengeance for his Trojan grandsires, and for Pallas’ insulted 25

fame. What tongue would leave you unpraised,

great Cato, or Cossus, you? or the race of the Gracchi,

or those twin thunderbolts of war, the Scipios, Libya’s

ruin, or Fabricius, princely in his poverty, or you, Serranus,

sowing your own ploughed fields? When, ye Fabii,[234] 30

will panting praise overtake you? You are in truth our

greatest, the single saviour of our state by delay. Others,

I doubt not, will mould the breathing brass to more flesh-like

softness, and spread over marble the look of life.

Others will plead better at the bar, will trace with the 35

rod the courses of heaven, and foretell the risings of the

stars. Yours, Roman, be the lesson to govern the nations

as their lord: this is your destined culture, to impose the

settled rule of peace, to spare the humbled, and to crush

the proud.”

Father Anchises paused; and, as they wondered, went

on to say: “See how Marcellus advances in the glory of

the general’s spoils, towering with conqueror’s majesty 5

over all the warriors near! When the state of Rome

reels under the invader’s shock, he shall stay it; his horse’s

hoofs shall trample the Carthaginian and the revolted

Gaul; and he shall dedicate the third suit of armour to

Quirinus[235] the sire.” Hereupon Æneas, for he saw walking 10

at Marcellus’ side a youth of goodly presence and in

gleaming armour, but with little joy on his brow and

downcast eyes: “Who, my father, is he that thus attends

the warrior’s march? his son, or one of the glorious line

of his posterity? What a hum runs through the attendant 15

train! how lofty his own mien! but the shadow of gloomy

night hovers saddening round his head.” Father Anchises

began, tears gushing forth the while: “Alas, my son!

ask not of the heavy grief that those of your blood must

bear. Of him the fates shall give but a glimpse to earth, 20

nor suffer him to continue longer. Yes, powers of the

sky! Rome’s race would have been in your eyes too

strong, had a boon like this been its own forever. What

groanings of the brave shall be wafted from Mars’ broad

field to Mars’ mighty town! What a funeral, father 25

Tiber, shall thine eyes behold, as thou flowest past that

new-built sepulchre! No child of the stock of Ilion shall

raise his Latian ancestors to such heights of hope: never

while time lasts shall the land of Romulus take such pride

in any that she has reared. Woe for the piety, for the 30

ancient faith, for the arm unconquered in battle! Never

would foeman have met that armed presence unscathed,

marched he on foot into the field or tore with bloody spur

the flank of his foaming steed. Child of a nation’s sorrow!

were there hope of thy breaking the tyranny of fate, thou 35

shalt be Marcellus. Bring me handfuls of lilies, that I

may strew the grave with their dazzling hues, and crown,

if only with these gifts, my young descendant’s shade, and

perform the vain service of sorrow.” Thus they wander

here and there through the whole expanse in the broad

fields of shadow and take note of all. Soon as Anchises

had taken his son from end to end, and fired his mind

with the prospect of that glorious history, he then tells 5

the warrior of the battles that he must fight at once, and

informs him of the Laurentian[236] tribes and Latinus’ town,

and how to shun or stand the shock of every peril.

There are two gates of Sleep: the one, as story tells,

of horn, supplying a ready exit for true spirits: the other 10

gleaming with the polish of dazzling ivory, but through

it the powers below send false dreams to the world above.

Thither Anchises, talking thus, conducts his son and the

Sibyl, and dismisses them by the gate of ivory.[237] Æneas

traces his way to the fleet and returns to his comrades; 15

then sails along the shore for Caieta’s haven. The anchor

is cast from the prow: the keels are ranged on the beach.

BOOK VII

And thou, too, in thy death, Caieta,[238] nurse of Æneas, hast

left to our coast the heritage of an ever-living fame; still in

this later day thy glory hovers over thy resting-place, and

a name on Hesperia’s mighty seaboard is thy monument,

if that be renown. So when good Æneas had paid the last 5

dues and raised a funeral mound, and had waited for the

calming of the deep, he spreads sail and leaves the harbour.

Nightward the breezes blow, nor does the fair Moon scorn

to show the way: her rippling light makes the sea shine

again. The next land they skirt is the coast of Circe’s 10

realm, where in queenly state the daughter of the Sun

thrills her forest fastness with never-ending song, and in

her haughty mansion burns fragrant cedar to give light by

night, as she draws her shrill comb over the delicate warp.

From the shore they heard the growling noise of lions in 15

wrath, disdaining their bonds and roaring in midnight

hour, bristly boars and caged bears venting their rage, and

shapes of huge wolves fiercely howling: things which

Circe, fell goddess, had transformed by her magic drugs

from the mien of man to a beast’s visage and a beast’s hide. 20

So, lest the pious race of Troy should suffer such monstrous

change, were they to seek harbour there or approach the

perilous shore, Neptune filled their sails with favouring

breezes, sped their flight along, and wafted them past the

seething waters. 25

The sea was just reddening in the dawn, and Aurora was

shining down from heaven’s height in saffron robe and rosy

car, when all at once the winds were laid, and every breath

sank in sudden sleep, and the oars pull slowly against the

smooth unmoving wave. In the same moment Æneas, 30

looking out from the sea, beholds a mighty forest. Among

the trees Tiber, that beauteous river, with his gulfy rapids

and the burden of his yellow sand, breaks into the main.

Around and above, birds of all plumes, the constant tenants

of bank and stream, were lulling the air with their notes and

flying among the woods. He bids his comrades turn aside 5

and set their prows landward, and enters with joy the

river’s shadowed bed.

Now be with me Erato,[239] and I will unfold who were the

kings, what the stage of circumstance, what the condition

of ancient Latium, when the stranger host first landed on 10

Ausonian shores, and will recall how the first blood was

drawn. Thou, goddess, thou prompt thy poet’s memory.

Mine is a tale of grisly war, of battle array, and princes in

their fury rushing on carnage—of Tyrrhenian[240] ranks, and

all Hesperia mustered in arms. Grander is the pile of 15

events that rises on my view, grander the task I essay.

It was the time when king Latinus, now stricken in age, was

ruling country and city in the calm of years of peace. He,

as story tells us, was the son of Faunus and a Laurentine

nymph, Marica. Faunus’ father was Picus, who owes his 20

birth to thee, great Saturn: thou art the first founder of the

line. No son, no male progeny, so Heaven willed, had

Latinus now; just as it was budding into youth, the branch

was cut off. The sole maintainer of the race, the sole

guardian of that princely house, was a daughter, already 25

ripe for wedlock, already arrived at full-blown womanhood.

Many were her wooers from mighty Latium, nay, from all

Ausonia. One wooer there was in beauty passing others,

Turnus,[241] strong in the glory of sires and grandsires: his alliance

the queen with intense yearning was seeking to compass; 30

but heavenly portents bar the way with manifold

alarm. There was a laurel in the middle of the palace, in the

very heart of royal privacy, sacred in its every leaf, cherished

by the awful observance of many years; men said that

father Latinus himself found it there when he first laid the 35

foundation of the tower, dedicated it to Phœbus, and thence

gave his new people the name of Laurentines. On the

top of this tree lodged a dense swarm of bees, marvellous

to tell, sailing thither with loud humming noise across the

liquid air, and twining their legs together, the cluster in a

moment was seen to hang from the leafy bough. At once

spoke a prophet: “There is a stranger approaching: I

see him now; along this self-same path a troop is moving 5

hitherward, and commanding the height of the citadel.”

Moreover, while Lavinia is applying the hallowed torch to

the altars, as she stands in maiden purity at her father’s

side, she was seen, oh, monstrous sight! to catch the fire

with her long tresses, all her headgear consuming in the 10

crackling flame, her queenly hair, her jewelled coronal all

ablaze, till at last she was wrapt in smoke and yellow

glare, and scattered the fire-god’s sparks the whole palace

through. There indeed was a tale of horror, a marvel and

a portent; for, said the wise men, she will herself be illustrious 15

in fame and fortune, but to the nation she bodes

tremendous war. Troubled by these prodigies, the king

repairs to the oracle of Faunus, his prophetic sire, to

question at the groves beneath Albunea’s shade—that

queen of forests, ever vocal with the sacred waters, ever 20

breathing from its dark heart deadly vaporous steam.

It is here that the tribes of Italy and all Œnotrian land

seek answers in their perplexity; hither the priestess

brings the inquirer’s offering, lies in the still of night on a

couch of slaughtered sheep’s skins, and turns to sleep, when 25

she sees many phantoms flitting in marvellous fashion,

and hears divers voices, and enjoys communion with the

gods, and holds converse with Acheron down in Avernus’

deep. Here also king Latinus, in quest of an answer, was

sacrificing duly a hundred sheep of the second year, and 30

was lying on their skins, a fleecy bed, when sudden from the

depth of the grove an utterance was heard: “Look not to

ally your daughter in wedlock of Latium, O my son;

put not faith in marriage chambers dressed and ready;

there are sons-in-law from a far country now on their way, 35

men destined by mixing their blood with ours to exalt our

name to the spheres—men whose lineal posterity shall

one day look down and see under their feet the whole

world, far as the two oceans which the sun surveys in his

daily round, revolving beneath them and wielded by their

control.” Such was the response of father Faunus,

the counsel given at still of night: nor does Latinus hold

it shut in the prison of his own lips; but Fame had flown 5

with the rumour through Ausonia far and wide from city

to city, when the young chivalry of old Laomedon anchored

their ships on the river’s grassy bank.

Æneas and his chief captains, and Iulus young and fair,

lay their limbs to rest under the boughs of a lofty tree; 10

there they spread the banquet, putting cakes of flour along

the sward to support the food—such was Jove’s high inspiration—and

rearing on the wheaten foundation a pile

of wilding fruits. It chanced that when the rest was eaten,

the want of meat forced them to ply their tooth on those 15

scanty gifts of Ceres—to profane with venturous hand and

mouth the sanctity of the cake’s fated circle, nor respect

the square impressed on its surface. “What! eating our

tables[242] as well?” cries Iulus, in his merry vein; that and no

more. That utterance first told the hearers that their 20

toils were over: even as it fell from the boy’s mouth his

father caught it up and broke it short, wondering in himself

at the power of Heaven. Then anon: “Hail to thee,

promised land of my destiny! hail to you,” he cries, “Troy’s

faithful gods! Yes, here is our home—this our country. 25

It was my father—these, I remember, were the mystic

words of fate he left me: ‘My son, whenever you are wafted

to an unknown coast, and hunger drives you, failing food,

to eat your tables, then remember my saying, there look

for a home of rest, set up your first roof-tree and strengthen 30

it with mound and rampart.’ This was the hunger he

meant. This was the last strait in store for us, not the

beginning but the end of death. Come then, take heart,

and with the morrow’s earliest light explore we what is

the place, who its dwellers, where the city of the nation, 35

making from the haven in different ways. Meanwhile

pour libations to Jove, invoke in prayer my sire Anchises,

and set again the wine on the board.” So having said, he

wreathes his brow with the leafy spray, and offers prayer

to the genius of the spot; to Earth the eldest of the gods;

to the nymphs and the streams yet unknown by name:

after that, to Night and Night’s new-born stars and

Ida’s Jove, and Phrygia’s mighty mother, invoking each 5

in turn, and his own two parents in the upper and the

nether world. Just then the Almighty Father thundered

thrice aloft in a clear sky, and with his own right hand

flashed in open view from on high a cloud ablaze with rays

of golden light. At once the news spreads among the Trojan 10

ranks that the day has arrived when they are to build

their promised city. With emulous haste they celebrate

the banquet, and in the power of the august presage set on

the bowls exultingly, and wreathe the wine.

Soon as on the morrow the risen day began to illumine 15

the earth with the first sparkle of her torch, some here,

some there, they set about exploring the city, the frontiers,

the seaboard of the country. This, they learn, is the spring

of Numicius, this the river Tiber, this the home of the brave

Latian race. Thereupon Anchises’ son commands an 20

embassy of a hundred, chosen from all classes alike, to go to

the monarch’s royal city, all of them with wreathed boughs

from Pallas’ tree, to carry presents for his honoured hand,

and entreat his friendship for the Teucrians. They delay

not, but hasten at his bidding, moving with rapid pace, 25

while he is marking out the city with a shallow trench,

preparing the ground, and surrounding this their first

settlement on the coast, camp-fashion, with battlements

and earthworks. Meanwhile the missioned band had performed

their journey, and were in sight of the towers and 30

stately homes of Latium, and passing under the city wall.

In a space before the town, boys and youths in their prime

are exercising on horseback, and breaking in their harnessed

cars among clouds of dust, or bending the sharp-springing

bow, or hurling from the arm the quivering javelin, 35

or vying on foot or with the gloves, when galloping up,

a messenger announces, in the aged monarch’s ears, that

mighty men have arrived in strange attire. The king bids

him summon them into the presence-hall, and takes his

seat in the midst on his ancestral throne. It was a reverend

pile, of vast proportions, raised high upon a hundred

pillars, on the city’s topmost ground, the palace of Picus

the Laurentine, clothed in the terror of waving woods and 5

hereditary awe. Here it was held to be of auspicious presage

that kings should first take in hand the sceptre, and

lift up the fasces: this temple was their senate-house,

the hall for their sacrificial feasts: here, when a ram was

slain, the seniors were wont to banquet down long lines 10

of tables. Here, too, in succession were the effigies of

past generations, carved from ancient cedar—Italus and

father Sabinus, planter of the vine, preserving in that

mimic form his curved hook, and hoary Saturn, and the

image of two-faced Janus, all standing in the vestibule, 15

and other kings from the earliest days, and heroes who had

sustained the war-god’s wounds in fighting for their

country. Moreover, there was hanging on the sacred

doors abundance of armour, captive chariots, crooked

axe-heads, helmet-crests, ponderous gates, javelins, and 20

shields, and beaks torn from vessels. There, as in life,

was sitting, decked with Quirinal staff and robe of scanty

border, in his left hand the sacred shield, Picus, tamer of

the steed, he whom, in her bridal jealousy, Circe, by a stroke

of her golden rod and the witchery of her drugs, transformed 25

to a bird, and scattered spots over his wings. Such was

the temple where Latinus, seated on his ancestral throne,

summoned the Teucrians to his presence within, and on

their entry with placid mien bespoke them thus:—

“Tell me, sons of Dardanus—for we know your city and 30

your race, and your coming over the deep has reached our

ears—what is your errand? what cause or what necessity

has wafted your ships to our Ausonian coast through

those many leagues of blue water? Be it from ignorance of

the way or stress of weather, or any of the thousand chances 35

that happen to seamen on the main, that you have passed

between our river’s banks, and are resting in the haven,

shrink not from our welcome, but know in the Latian

race the true people of Saturn, kept in righteousness by no

band of law, but by our own instinct and the rule of our

parent-god. And now I remember, though years have

dulled the freshness of the tale, that aged Auruncans used

to tell how in this land Dardanus saw the light, and hence 5

he won his way to the towns of Phrygian Ida and Thracian

Samos, which men now call Samothrace. Ay, it was from

the house of Tuscan Corythus he went, and now the golden

palace of starry heaven seats him on a throne, and among

the altars of the gods makes room for him.” 10

He ended; and Ilioneus followed thus: “Great king,

illustrious son of Faunus, no stress of gloomy storm has

made us the sport of the waves and driven us on your

coast, no sky or land misread has beguiled us of our

track: of set purpose, with full intent, we are arrived one 15

and all at your city, driven from a realm once the greatest

which the sun surveyed in his course from end to end of

heaven. From Jove is the origin of our race; in Jove, as

their ancestor, the sons of Dardanus glory; our monarch

himself, sprung of Jove’s own pure blood, Æneas of Troy, 20

has sent us to your doors. How dire a hurricane, launched

from fell Mycenæ, swept over Ida’s plains—how the two

worlds of Europe and Asia, fate driving each, met and

crashed together—has reached the ears of the man, if

such there be, whom earth’s last corner withdraws from 25

the wash of ocean, and his too who is parted from his fellows

by the zone that lies midmost among the four, the zone of

the tyrannous sun. From the jaws of that deluge flying

over many and mighty waters, we ask of you for our

country’s gods a narrow resting-place—the harmless 30

privilege of the coast, and the common liberty of water and

air. We shall be no disgrace to your kingdom, nor light

shall be the fame that men will blaze of you, nor shall

gratitude for your great bounty grow old, nor shall

Ausonia mourn the day when she welcomed Troy to her 35

heart. I swear by Æneas’ star, by his strong right hand,

known as such by all who have proved it in friendship or

in war, many have been the peoples, many the nations—nay,

scorn us not for that we accost you with fillets of suppliance

and words of prayer—who have sued for our company

and wished to make us one with them. But the

oracles of heaven, speaking as they only can, have driven

us to search out your realms. Hence sprang Dardanus; 5

hither Apollo bids us return, with the instance of high

command, even to Tuscan Tiber and the sacred waters of

Numicius’ spring. Moreover, here are presents from Æneas,

the scanty offerings of past prosperity, relics snatched from

the flames of Troy. From this gold his father, Anchises, 10

poured libations at the altar; this was Priam’s royal

accoutrement, when he gave laws in kingly fashion to the

assembled people; this sceptre, this sacred diadem, these

robes, the work of Trojan dames.”

Thus, as Ilioneus is speaking, Latinus holds his countenance 15

in set downcast gaze, and sits rooted to his throne,

turning his eyes in intense thought. Nor does the

broidered purple stir his princely mind; no, nor the sceptre

of Priam, so deeply as he ponders on the wedlock, the

bridal bed of his daughter, revolving in his breast old 20

Faunus’ oracle. This must be that predicted son-in-law,

arrived from a foreign home, destined to reign in joint

sovereignty with himself; thence must be born that glorious

progeny, whose prowess is to master the world. At

length he breaks out in glad tones: “May the gods prosper 25

our intent and ratify their own presage! Yes, Trojan,

you shall have your prayer, nor do I reject your presents.

Long as Latinus shall reign, you shall not lack the bounty of

a fruitful soil, nor miss the wealth of Troy. Let but Æneas

himself, if his desire of us is so great, if he covets the tie of 30

hospitality and the style of alliance, come to our presence,

nor shrink from eyes that will view him kindly. Peace

will be incomplete till I have touched your monarch’s

hand. And now do you take back to your king this my

message: I have a daughter, whose marriage with a husband 35

of our nation is forbidden by voices from my father’s

shrine, by countless prodigies from heaven; sons-in-law

are to arrive from foreign climes—such, they say, is

Fate’s will for Latium—who by mixing their blood with

ours are to exalt our name to the spheres. That he is this

chosen one of destiny is my belief, and, if my mind reads

the future true, my award.” With these words the old

king makes choice of horses from the multitude he possessed. 5

Three hundred there were, sleek-coated, standing

in their lofty stalls. At once he bids his servants

bring for each of the Teucrians a fleet-foot with housings

of embroidered purple; golden poitrels hang down to the

chest of each; there is gold on their coverings; yellow 10

gold under their champing teeth. For the absent Æneas

he orders a car and two coursers of ethereal seed, snorting

fire from their nostrils, sprung of that brood which artful

Circe raised up fraudfully to her father the Sun, a spurious

race, from the womb of a mortal dam. Thus graced with 15

gifts and kind speeches, the children of Æneas journey

homeward on their tall steeds, and carry tidings of peace.

Meanwhile, there was Jove’s relentless spouse travelling

back from her own Argos, city of Inachus, and already

launched on mid air; looking from the sky over Sicilian 20

Pachynus, she beheld in distant prospect Æneas in his

hour of joy and the Dardan fleet. Already she sees him

building his home; already he has made the soil his friend,

and has parted from his ships. Pierced with bitter grief,

she stayed her course, and then, shaking her head, pours 25

from her heart words like these: “Ah, that hated stock!

those destinies of Phrygia that hold my destinies in check!

Did the dead really fall on the plains of Sigeum? were the

captives captured in truth? did the flames of Troy burn

the men of Troy? Through the heart of the battle, 30

through the heart of the fire they have found a way.

Ay, belike, my power at last lies gasping and spent; my

hatred is slaked and I am at peace. I, who followed them

with a foe’s zeal over the water even when tossed from

their country’s arms, and met the exiles front to front on 35

every sea! Spent on these Teucrians is all that sky and

surge can do. Have Syrtes, has Scylla, has Charybdis’

yawning gulf stood me aught in stead? They have

gained the channel of Tiber, the haven of their wishes,

and may laugh at ocean and at me. Mars had strength to

destroy the Lapithan nation, huge as they were; the father

of the gods gave up the honoured land of Calydon to Diana’s

vengeance; and what had Lapithans or Calydon done 5

to earn such penal ruin? But I, Jove’s great consort,

who have stooped, miserably stooped, to leave nothing

untried, who have assumed every form by turns, am vanquished

by Æneas. Well, if my power be not august

enough, I would not shrink from suing for other aid, be it 10

found where it may; if I cannot prevail above, I will stir

up the fiends of the deep. It will not be mine to keep him

from the crown of Latium—be it so; fixed for him by fate

unalterably is his bride Lavinia; but delays and impediments

may well be where the matter is so great; but to 15

cut off the subjects of our two monarchs—this may be

done. So let father and son-in-law embrace, at the cost

of their people’s lives. The blood of Trojan and Rutulian

shall be your dower, fair lady; Bellona[243] is waiting to lead

you to your chamber. Nor is Hecuba the only mother that 20

has teemed with a fire-brand and given birth to a nuptial

blaze; Venus sees the tale repeated in her own offspring—a

second Paris—a funeral torch rekindled for reviving

Troy.”

Having vented words like these, she flew down in black 25

rage to the earth; and now she summons Allecto[244] the baleful

from the dwelling of the dread goddesses and the darkness

of the pit—Allecto, whom bitter wars, and strifes,

and stratagems, and injurious crimes cheer like a cordial.

Hateful even to Pluto her sire is the fiend, hateful to her 30

Tartarean sisters, so many the forms she puts on, so terrible

the mien of each, so countless the vipers that burgeon

blackly from her head. Her, thus dreadful, Juno lashes

to fiercer fury, speaking on this wise: “Grant me, maiden

daughter of Night, a boon all my own—thine undivided 35

aid, that my praise and renown may not be dashed from

their pedestal—that the children of Æneas may not be

able to ensnare Latinus in a bridal alliance or beset the

Italian frontier. Thou canst make brothers of one soul

take arms and fight; canst make peaceful homes dens of

strife; thou canst gain entrance for the scourge and the

funeral torch: thou hast a thousand names, a thousand

means of ill. Stir up that prolific bosom, snap the formed 5

bands of peace, scatter the incentives of war, let the nation

in the same moment desire, demand, and seize the sword.”

So then Allecto, empoisoned with Gorgon venom, first

repairs to Latium and the lofty halls of the Laurentine

monarch, and sits down before the hushed chamber of 10

queen Amata,[245] who, as she mused on the arrival of the

Trojans and Turnus’ bridal hopes, was glowing and seething

with all a woman’s passion, a woman’s spleen. Snatching

a snake from her dark venomed locks, she hurls it at

her, and lodges it in the bosom close to the very heart, that, 15

maddened by the pest, she may drive the whole house wild.

In glides the reptile unfelt, winding between the robe and

the marble breast, and beguiles her into frenzy, breathing

into her lungs its viperous breath; the linked gold round

her neck turns to the monstrous serpent; so does the festoon 20

of her long fillet; it twines her hair, it slides smoothly

from limb to limb. And while the first access of contagion,

stealing in with clammy poison, is pervading her senses

and threading her bones with flame, ere yet the soul has

caught fire through the whole compass of the bosom, she 25

speaks with gentle plaint, as mothers wont, shedding

many tears over her child and the Phrygian alliance: “And

are fugitives from Troy to take Lavinia in marriage, good

father? have you no compassion for your daughter and

yourself? none for her mother, whom with the first fair 30

gale the faithless pirate will leave and make for the deep,

carrying off his maiden prey? Ay, things were not so

when the Phrygian shepherd stole into Lacedæmon, and

bore away Leda’s Helen to Troy town. Where is your

pledged faith? where your old tenderness for your own 35

blood, and your hand plighted so oft to your kinsman

Turnus? If Latian folk must have a son-in-law fetched

from a foreign stock, and this is unalterably fixed, and

your father Faunus’ command sits heavy on your soul, I

hold that every nation is foreign whose independence

severs it from our rule, and that such is Heaven’s intent.

Turnus, too, if you go back to the first foundation of his

house, has Inachus and Acrisius for his ancestors, and the 5

heart of Mycenæ for his home.” But when, having tried

in vain what these words can do, she sees Latinus obstinately

bent, and meantime the serpent’s fiendish mischief

has sunk deep into her vitals, and is thrilling every

vein, then at last the miserable queen, unsexed by the 10

portentous enormity, raves in ungoverned frenzy through

the city’s length and breadth; as oft you may see a top

spinning under the lash, which boys are flogging round

and round in a great ring in an empty courtyard, with

every thought on their game: driven by the whip it 15

keeps making circle after circle: the beardless faces

hang over it in puzzled wonder, marvelling how the box-wood

can fly, as though the blows made it a living thing.

With motion as furious she courses through crowded

streets and unruly peoples. Nay, more than this, she 20

feigns the inspiration of Bacchus, nerving herself to more

atrocious deeds, and climbing new heights of madness—flies

into the woods, and hides her daughter among the

leafy hills, all to snatch from the Teucrians the bridal

bed and delay the kindling of Hymen’s torch. “Evoe 25

Bacchus!” is her cry; “thou, and none but thou art

fit mate for a maid like this. See! for thee she takes up

the sacred wand, for thee she leads the dance, for thee she

grows her dedicated hair.” Fame flies abroad; other

mothers are instinct with frenzy, and all have the same 30

mad passion driving them to seek a new home. They

have left their houses, and are spreading hair and shoulders

to the wind; while some are filling the sky with quivering

shrieks, clad in fawn-skins, and carrying vine-branch

spears. There in the middle is the queen all aglow, lifting 35

high a blazing pine, and singing the bridal song of Turnus

and her daughter, her eye red and glaring; and sudden she

shouts like a savage: “Ho! mothers of Latium all, where’er

ye be, if ye have human hearts and kindness left there for

poor Amata, if ye are stung to think of a mother’s rights,

off with the fillets from your hair, and join the orgie with

me.” Such is the queen, driven among the woods, among

the wild beasts’ lairs far and wide, by Bacchus’ goad in 5

Allecto’s hand.

And now, judging that she had barbed enough the

young fangs of frenzy, upheaving from their bases the

royal purpose and the royal house, the grim goddess next

soars in air on her murky wings on to the walls of the bold 10

Rutulian, the city which they say Danae built for her Argive

settlers, landing there under stress of wind. Ardea

was the name which past generations gave the place, and

Ardea still keeps her august title; but her star is set,

Here, in his lofty palace, Turnus at deep of night was in 15

the midst of his sleep. Allecto puts off her hideous features

and her fiendish shape, transforms herself to an old

woman’s countenance and furrows her loathly brow

with wrinkles, assumes hoary locks and woollen fillet,

lastly twines them with an olive spray, and so becomes 20

Calybe, the aged priestess of Juno’s temple; and presents

herself to the young warrior’s eyes with such words as

these: “And can Turnus calmly see all his toils poured out

in vain, and the crown that is his own transferred to settlers

from Dardania? See, the king is refusing you your bride 25

and your blood-bought dowry, and search is being made for

a foreign heir to fill the throne. Go on now, confront ungracious

perils, and earn derision; go, mow down the

Tuscan ranks, and spread over Latium the shield of peace.

These very words Saturn’s almighty daughter with her 30

own lips bade me say to you when you should be slumbering

in the still of night. Rise, then, bid your soldiery arm

and move from city to camp, set fire to the Phrygian

chiefs who have anchored in our fair river and to their

painted ships. The dread voice of heaven speaks by me, 35

Nay, let king Latinus, unless he consent to give you your

bride and respect his promise, feel at last and find what

it is to have Turnus for a foe.”

Laughing scornfully at the old seer, the youth thus spoke

in reply: “The news that a fleet has arrived in the Tiber

has not, as you imagine, escaped my ear. Conjure me

no such mighty terrors, nor think that queen Juno has forgotten

me. No, it is you, good mother, whom mouldering 5

dotage, drained dry of truth, is vexing to no end, mocking

your prophetic soul with false alarms in an atmosphere of

royal armaments. You are in your place watching over

statues and temples; but war and peace must be wielded

by men, whose work war is.” 10

At these words Allecto kindled into wrath. Even in

the act of speaking a shudder seized the youth’s frame and

his eyes grew stiff and stony, so fierce the hissing of the

Fury’s thousand snakes, so monstrous the features that

rose on his view. Instant with a roll of her fiery orbs she 15

thrust him back as he faltered and tried to speak further;

on either brow she upreared a serpent lock, and cracked her

whip, and with infuriate lips followed thus: “Here is the

mouldering mother, whom dotage, drained dry of truth, is

mocking with false alarms in an atmosphere of royal armaments. 20

Turn your eyes hither; I am come from the dwelling

of the Dread Sisters: war and death are wielded by

this hand.”

Saying thus, she hurled a torch full at the youth, and

lodged in his breast the pine-wood with its lurid smoke and 25

glare. The bonds of sleep are broken by the giant terror,

and a burst of sweat all over bathes the whole man, bone

and limb. “My sword!” he screams in frenzy; for his

sword he searches pillow and palace: the fever of the steel,

the guilty madness of bloodshed rage within him, and angry 30

pride tops all: even as when loud-crackling a fire of sticks

is heaped round the sides of a waving caldron, and the

heat makes the water start; there within is the flood,

steaming and storming, and bubbling high in froth, till at

last the wave cannot contain itself, and the black vapour 35

flies up into the air. So then, trampling on treaties, he

gives the word to the chiefs of his soldiery for a march

upon King Latinus, and bids arms be got ready. Italy

must be protected, the foe must be driven from the frontier;

he and his men will be enough for both, Teucrians and

Latians. So he says and appeals to Heaven: and the

Rutulians with emulous zeal encourage each other to

the fight. This one is fired by his leader’s peerless beauty 5

and youth; this by the kings in his pedigree; this by the

glorious deeds of his hand.

While Turnus is filling the Rutulians with the spirit of

daring, Allecto is putting her infernal wings in motion

against the Teucrians. A new device working in her 10

mind, she fixed her eye on the spot where on the winding

coast Iulus was hunting game with the snare and the

course. Hereon the maiden of Cocytus suddenly presents

to the hounds a maddening lure, and touches their nostrils

with the scent they know so well, making them chase a 15

stag in full cry; which was the first origin of the trouble,

and put the spark of war to the spirit of the countryside.

There was a stag of beauteous form and lofty horns,

taken by the sons of Tyrrheus from its mother’s breast,

and brought up by them and their father Tyrrheus, 20

who had the control of the royal herds and the charge of

the whole range of lawn. Trained to obey, it was the

chief care of their sister Silvia; she would deck and

wreathe its horns with delicate festoons, and comb its

rough coat, and wash it in the clear stream. Grown tame 25

to the hand, and accustomed to its master’s table, it would

run free in the forest and take itself back home to the

well-known door, however late the night. Now, in one

of its wanderings the maddened hounds of Iulus started

it in the hunt, as it happened to be floating down the 30

stream or allaying its heat on the verdant bank. Ascanius

himself, fired with a proud ambition, bent his bow and

levelled a shaft: nor did his hand err for want of heavenly

aid: the reed sped with a loud hurtling sound and pierced

the belly and the flank. The wounded creature took refuge 35

under the roof it knew, and moaning crept into its

stall, and bleeding all over filled, like a human suppliant,

the house with its piteous plaints. Sister Silvia first,

smiting on her arms with her flat hands, calls for help and

summons the rough country folk. They—for the fell

fiend is lurking in the silence of the forest—are at her

side ere she looks for them, armed one with a seared brand,

one with a heavy knotted stock: what each first finds as he 5

gropes about, anger makes do weapon’s service. Tyrrheus

musters the company, just as the news found him, splitting

an oak in four with convergent wedges, catching up an

axe and breathing savage rage. But the cruel goddess,

seizing from her watch-tower the moment of mischief, 10

makes for the stall’s lofty roof, and from its summit

shrills forth the shepherd’s clarion, pitching high on the

wreathen horn her Tartarean note; at the sound the

whole line of forest was convulsed, and the woods echoed

to their depths: it was heard far off by Trivia’s[246] lake, 15

heard by river Nar[246] with his whitening sulphurous waters,

and by the springs of the Veline[246]: and terror-stricken

mothers clasped their children to their breasts.

At once running to the sound with which the dread

clarion gave the signal, the untamed rustics snatch up 20

their weapons and gather from all sides; while the forces

of Troy, on their part, pour through the camp’s open gates

their succour for Ascanius. It is no longer a woodman’s

quarrel waged with heavy clubs or seared stakes; they try

the issue with two-edged steel; a dark harvest of drawn 25

swords bristles over the field; the brass shines responsive

to the sun’s challenge, and flings its radiance skyward; as

when the wave has begun to whiten under the rising wind,

the ocean gradually upheaves itself, and raises its billows

higher and higher, till at last, from its lowest depths, it 30

mounts up to heaven. See! as the arrow whizzes, a young

warrior in the first rank, once Tyrrheus’ eldest born, Almo,

is laid low in death; for the wound has lodged in his

throat, and has cut off, with the rush of blood, the passage

of the liquid voice and the vital breath. Round him lie 35

many gallant frames, and among them old Galæsus, while

throwing himself between the armies and pleading for

peace; none so just as he, none so wealthy before to-day in

Ausonian land; five flocks of sheep had he, five herds of

oxen went to and fro from his stalls, and his land was

furrowed by a hundred ploughs.

While thus on the plains the impartial war-god deals out

fortune, the goddess, having achieved her promise, soon 5

as she had inaugurated the war with blood, and brought

the battle to its first murderous shock, flies from Hesperia,

and rounding the cope of heaven, addresses Juno in the

haughty tones of triumph: “See here the work of discord

complete in the horrors of war! Now bid them come together 10

in friendship and strike truce. Thou hast seen that

I can sprinkle the Trojans with Ausonian blood; let me

but be assured of thy wish, I will give thee a further boon:

I will sew rumours and bring the neighbouring cities into

the war, and inflame their souls with mad martial passion 15

to crowd from all sides with succour; I will scatter arms

broadcast.” Juno returns: “There is panic and treachery

enough; the seeds of war are sown deep; men are fighting

hand to hand; the weapons which chance first supplied

are being seasoned with new-spilt blood. Such be the 20

alliance, such the nuptial rites solemnized by Venus’

virtuous son and good king Latinus. For thee to walk the

upper air with larger freedom would displease the great

Father, the monarch of high Olympus. Give place; should

any chance emerge in the struggle, myself will deal with it.” 25

So spoke Saturn’s daughter: the Fury lifts her wings that

hurtle with serpent plumage, and seeks her home in Cocytus,

leaving the altitudes above. There is a place in the

bosom of Italy, under the shadow of lofty hills, known to

fame and celebrated in far-off lands, the vale of Amsanctus; 30

pent between two woody slopes, dark with dense foliage,

while at the bottom a broken torrent makes a roaring

among the rocks along its winding bed. Here men show

an awful cavern, the very gorge of the fell infernal god, and

a deep gulf through which Acheron breaks open its baleful 35

mouth: there dived the Fury, and relieved of her loathed

presence earth and heaven.

Meanwhile, for her part, Saturn’s royal daughter gives

the last touch that brings down the war. From the battle-field

there pours into the city the whole company of shepherds,

with their slain in their arms, young Almo and

Galæsus’ disfigured countenance, calling on the gods and

adjuring Latinus. Turnus is on the spot, and, in the fury 5

and fire of the blood-cry, sounds again and again the note

of terror: “The Teucrians are invited to reign in Latium;

a Phrygian shoot is to be grafted on the royal tree; the

palace-gate is closed on himself.” Moreover, the kinsmen

of the matrons, who in Bacchic madness are footing the 10

pathless woods—for Amata’s name weighs not lightly—muster

from all sides, and strain the throat of Mars to

hoarseness. All at once, defying omens and oracles,

under the spell of a cursed deity, they clamour for an

atrocious war. With emulous zeal they swarm round 15

Latinus’ palace; he, like a rock in the sea, stands unshaken;

like a rock in the sea before the rush and crash of waters,

which, amid, thousands of barking waves, is fixed by its

own weight; the crags and the spray-foamed stones

roar about it in vain, and the lashed seaweed falls idly 20

from its side. But when he finds no power given him to

counterwork the secret agency, and all is moving at relentless

Juno’s beck, then with many an appeal to the gods

and the soulless skies, “Alas!” exclaims the good sire,

“shattered are we by destiny and whirled before the storm! 25

On you will come the reckoning, and your impious blood

will pay it, my wretched children! You, Turnus, you will

be met by your crime and its fearful vengeance, in a day

when it will be too late to pray to Heaven. For me, my

rest is assured; my ship is just dropping into port; it is 30

but of a happy departure that I am robbed.” No more

he spoke, but shut himself in an inner chamber, and let

the reins of empire go.

A custom there was in the Hesperian days of Latium,

observed as sacred in succession by the Alban cities, and 35

now honoured by the observance of Rome, the greatest

power on earth, when men first stir up the war-god to

battle, whether their purpose be to carry piteous war

among the Getæ, the Hyrcanians, or the Arabs, or to

march as far as India, track the Morning-star to its home,

and wrest the standards from the grasp of Parthia.

There are two folding-gates of War—such the title they

bear—clothed with religious awe and with the terrors of 5

Mars the cruel: they are closed by a hundred brazen bars

and by the everlasting strength of iron, and Janus[247] never

quits his guard on the threshold. When the fathers finally

conclude for battle, the consul himself, in the pride of

Quirinus’ striped robe and the Gabine[248] cincture, unbars the 10

grating portals, and with his own voice invokes battle;

the rest of the warriors take up the cry, and brazen horns

blare out in unison their hoarse assent. Thus it was that

then, too, Latinus was urged to declare war against the

family of Æneas and to unclose the grim gates. The good 15

old king recoiled from the touch, turned with averted eyes

from the service he loathed, and shrouded himself in impenetrable

gloom. Then darted down from the sky the

queen of heaven, smote with her own royal hand the unwilling

portals, and from their bursten fastenings, as Saturn’s 20

daughter might, flung back the valves on their hinges.

All Ausonia, sluggish and moveless till then, blazes into

fury; some commence their footmarch over the plain,

some from the height of their steeds storm through the

dust; one and all cry out for arms. Some are rubbing their 25

shields smooth and their javelins bright with unctuous

lard, and putting their axes under the grindstone; there

is joy in the carrying of the standard, joy in the hearing

of the trumpet’s sound. And now there are five great

cities with anvils everywhere set up, giving a new edge to 30

their weapons: Atina the mighty and Tibur the proud,

Ardea, and they of Crustumium, and tower-crowned

Antemnæ. Helmets are hollowed to guard the head;

willows are twisted into wicker frames for shields; others

are beating out brass into breastplates, or stretching ductile 35

silver into polished greaves. All the pride of sickle

and share, all the passion for the plough are swallowed

up in this; they bring out their father’s swords, and smelt

them anew in the furnace. Here, in wild haste, is one

snatching his helm from the chamber-wall; there is another

bringing his snorting steeds to the yoke, clothing

himself with shield and corslet of three-plied gold, and

girding to his side his trusty sword. 5

[F][249]Now, Muses, ope your Helicon,

The gates of song unfold,

What chiefs, what tribes to war came on

In those dim days of old,

What sons were then Italia’s pride, 10

And what the arms that blazed so wide:

For ye are goddesses: full well

Your mind takes note, your tongue can tell:

The far-off whisper of the years

Scarce reaches our bewildered ears. 15

Mezentius first from Tyrrhene coast,

Who mocks at heaven, arrays his host,

And braves the battle’s storm:

His son, young Lausus, at his side,

Excelled by none in beauty’s pride, 20

Save Turnus’ comely form:

Lausus, the tamer of the steed,

The conqueror of the silvan breed,

Leads from Agylla’s towers in vain

A thousand youths, a valiant train: 25

Ah happy, had the son been blest

In harkening to his sire’s behest,

Or had the sire from whom he came

Had other nature, other name!

Next drives along the grassy meads 30

His palm-crowned car and conquering steeds

Fair Aventinus, princely heir

Of Hercules the brave and fair,

And for his proud escutcheon takes

His father’s Hydra and her snakes. 35

’Twas he that priestess Rhea bare,

A stealthy birth, to upper air,

’Mid shades of woody Aventine

Mingling her own with heavenly blood,

When triumph-flushed from Geryon slain

Aleides touched the Latian plain,

And bathed Iberia’s distant kine

In Tuscan Tiber’s flood. 5

Long pikes and poles his bands uprear,

The shapely blade, the Sabine spear.

Himself on foot, with lion’s skin,

Whose long white teeth with ghastly grin

Clasp like a helmet brow and chin, 10

Joins the proud chiefs in rude attire,

And flaunts the emblem of his sire.

From Tiber’s walls twin brothers came,

The town that bears Tiburtus’ name,

Bold Coras and Catillus strong: 15

Through the thick-rained darts they storm along,

And foremost in the fray:

As when two cloud-born Centaurs leap

Down Homole or Othrys’ steep,

The forest parts before their sweep, 20

And crashing trees give way.

Nor lacked there to the embattled power

The founder of Præneste’s tower,

Brave Cæculus, by all renowned

As Vulcan’s son, ’mid embers found 25

And monarch of the rustics crowned.

Beneath him march his rural train,

Whom high Præneste’s walls contain,

Who dwell in Gabian Juno’s plain,

Whose haunt is Anio’s chilly flood 30

And Hernic rocks, by streams bedewed,

Who till Anagnia’s bosom green

Or drink of father Amasene.

Not all are furnished for the war

With ample shield or sounding car. 35

Some sling lead bullets o’er the field,

Some javelins twain in combat wield.

A cap of fur protects their head

By spoil of tawny wolf supplied;

Their left foot bare, on earth they tread, 40

The right is cased in raw bull-hide.

Messapus, tamer of the steed,

The Ocean-monarch’s mighty seed,

Whom none might harm, so willed his sire,

With force of iron or of fire,

Awakes his people’s slumbering zeal 5

Long time unused to war’s appeal,

And from the scabbard bares the steel.

With him Fescennia’s armed train,

The dwellers in Falerii’s plain,

Who hold Soracte’s lofty hill 10

Or fair Flavinia’s cornland till,

Capena’s woods their dwelling make

Or Ciminus, its mount and lake.

With measured pace they march along,

And make their monarch’s deeds their song; 15

Like snow-white swans in liquid air,

When homeward from their food they fare,

And far and wide melodious notes

Come rippling from their slender throats,

While the broad stream and Asia’s fen 20

Reverberate to the sound again.

Sure none had thought that countless crowd

A mail-clad company;

It rather seemed a dusky cloud

Of migrant fowl, that, hoarse and loud, 25

Press landward from the sea.

Lo! Clausus there, the Sabines’ boast,

Leads a great host, himself a host;

Whence spreads the Claudian race, since Rome

With Sabine burghers shared her home. 30

With him the Amiternians came

And Cures’ sons of ancient name,

The squadron that Eretum guards

And green Mutusca’s olive-yards.

Those whom Nomentum’s city yields, 35

Who till Velinus’ Rosean fields,

Who Tetrica’s rude summit climb

Or on Severus sits sublime,

Or dwell where runs Hemella by

Casperia’s walls and Foruli, 40

Who Tiber haunt and Fabaris’ banks,

Whom Nursia sends to battle down

From her cold home, Hortinian ranks

And Latian tribes of old renown,

With those whom Allia’s stream ill-starred

Flows through, dividing sward from sward: 5

Thick as the Libyan billows swarm

When fell Orion sets in storm,

Or as the sun-baked ears of grain

In Hæmus’ field or Lycia’s plain;

Their bucklers rattle, and the ground 10

Quakes, startled by their footfall’s sound.

Halæsus, Agamemnon’s mate,

Who hates all Troy with liegeman’s hate,

Yokes his swift horses to the car,

And brings his hosts to Turnus’ war, 15

The rustic tribes whose ploughshare tills

The vine-clad slopes of Massic hills,

Sent from Auruncan heights, or bound

From Sidicinian champaign-ground,

Who fertile Cales leave behind 20

Or where Vulturnian waters wind,

Saticule’s tenants, rough and rude,

And all the hardy Oscan brood.

Spiked truncheons they are wont to fling,

But fit them with a leathern string: 25

A target shields the good left hand,

And curved like primer’s hook the brand

They wield when foot to foot they stand.

Nor, Œbalus, shalt thou pass by

Unnamed in this our minstrelsy, 30

Born to old Telon, Capreæ’s king,

By Naiad of Sebethus’ spring;

The son contemned his sire’s domain,

And stretched o’er neighbouring lands his reign.

Sarrastes’ tribes his rule obey, 35

And fields where Sarnus’ waters play,

Who Batulum and Rufræ hold

Or till Celennæ’s fruitful mould,

Or those whom fair Abella sees

Down-looking through her apple-trees, 40

All wont in Teuton sort to throw

Nail-studded maces ’gainst the foe;

Their helm of bark from cork-tree peeled,

Of brass their sword, of brass their shield.

Thee too steep Nersæ sends to war 5

Brave Ufens, born ’neath happy star:

Hard as their clods the Æquian race,

Inured to labour in the chase;

In armour sheathed, they till their soil,

Heap foray up, and live by spoil. 10

Came too from old Marruvia’s realm,

An olive-garland round his helm,

Bold Umbro, priest at once and knight,

By king Archippus sent to fight;

Who baleful serpents knew to steep 15

By hand and voice in charmed sleep,

Soothed their fierce wrath with subtlest skill,

And from their bite drew off the ill.

But ah! his medicines could not heal

The death-wound dealt by Dardan steel; 20

His slumberous charms availed him nought,

Nor herbs on Marsian mountains sought

And cropped with magic shears;

For thee Anguitia’s woody cave,

For thee the glassy Fucine wave, 25

For thee the lake shed tears.

From green Aricia, bent on fame,

Hippolytus’ fair offspring came,

In lone Egeria’s forest reared,

Where Dian’s shrine is loved and feared. 30

For lost Hippolytus,’tis said,

By cruel stepdame’s cunning dead,

Dragged by his frightened steeds, to sate

His angry sire’s vindictive hate,

Was called once more to realms above, 35

By Pæon’s skill and Dian’s love.

Then Jove incensed that man should rise

From darkness to the upper skies,

The leech that wrought such healing hurled

With lightening down to Pluto’s world. 40

But Trivia kind her favourite hides

And to Egeria’s care confides,

To live in woods obscure and lone,

And lose in Virbius’ name his own.

’Tis thence e’en now from Trivia’s shrine 5

The horn-hoofed steeds are chased,

Since, scared by monsters of the brine,

The chariot and the youth divine

They tumbled on the waste,

Yet ne’ertheless with horse and car 10

His dauntless son essays the war.

In foremost rank see Turnus move,

His comely head the rest above:

On his tall helm the triple cone

Chimæra in relief is shown; 15

The monster’s gaping jaws expire

Hot volumes of Ætnæan fire:

And still she flames and raves the more

The deeper floats the field with gore.

With bristling hide and lifted horns 20

So, all gold, his shield adorns,

E’en as in life she stood;

There too is Argus, warder stern,

And Inachus from graven urn,

Her father, pours his flood. 25

A cloud of footmen at his back

And shielded hosts the plain made black;

Auruncans, Argives, brave and bold,

Rutulians and Sicanians old,

Sacranians thirsting for the field, 30

Labici with enamelled shield;

Who Tiber’s lawns with furrow score

And pure Numicius’ sacred shore,

Subdue Rutulian slopes, and plough

Circeius’ steep reluctant brow: 35

Where Anxur boasts her guardian Jove

And greenly blooms Feronia’s grove;

Where Satura’s unlovely mere

In sullen quiet sleeps,

And Ufens gropes through marshland drear 40

And hides him in the deeps.

Last marches forth for Latium’s sake

Camilla fair, the Volscian maid,

A troop of horsemen in her wake

In pomp of gleaming steel arrayed;

Stern warrior queen! those tender hands 5

Ne’er plied Minerva’s ministries:

A virgin in the fight she stands,

Or winged winds in speed outvies.

Nay, she might fly o’er fields of grain

Nor crush in flight the tapering wheat, 10

Or skim the surface of the main,

Nor let the billows touch her feet.

Where’er she moves, from house and land

The youths and ancient matrons throng,

And fixed in greedy wonder stand 15

Beholding as she speeds along:

In kingly dye that scarf was dipped:

’Tis gold confines those tresses’ flow:

Her pastoral wand with steel is tipped,

And Lycian are her shafts and bow. 20

BOOK VIII

Soon as Turnus set high on Laurentum’s tower the

ensign of war, and the horns clanged forth their harsh

music, soon as he shook the reins in the mouth of his

fiery steeds, and clashed his armour, at once came a stirring

of men’s souls: all Latium conspires in tumultuous rising, 5

and the warrior bands are inflamed to madness. The

generals, Messapus and Ufens and Mezentius, scorner of

the gods, assume the lead, mustering succour from all

sides and unpeopling the fields of their tillers far and

wide. Venulus too is sent to the town of mighty Diomede 10

to entreat help, and set forth that the Teucrians are

planting foot in Latium: that Æneas is arrived by sea

and intruding his vanquished home-gods, and announcing

himself as the Latians’ destined king; that many tribes

are flocking to the standard of the Dardan chief, and the 15

contagion of his name is spreading over Latium’s length

and breadth. What is to be the end of such a beginning,

what, should fortune favour him, he promises to himself

as the issue of the battle, Diomede will know better than

king Turnus or king Latinus. 20

So go things in Latium. The chief of Laomedon’s line

sees it all, and is tossed on a sea of cares; now on this

point, now on that, he throws in a moment the forces of

his mind, hurrying it into all quarters and sweeping the

whole range of thought: as in water a flickering beam 25

on a brazen vat, darted back by the sun or the bright

moon’s image, flits far and wide over the whole place,

now at last mounting to the sky and striking the ceiling

of the roof. Night came, and tired life the earth over,

bird and beast alike, were lapped deep in slumber, when 30

Æneas, good king, troubled at heart by the anxious war,

stretched himself on the bank under heaven’s chilly cope,

and let repose at last steal over his frame. Before him

appeared in person the god of the place, old Tiber of the

pleasant stream, rising among the poplar foliage: a gray

mantle of transparent linen floated about him, and his 5

hair was shaded with bushy reeds: and thus he began to

address the chief and relieve his care: “O offspring of

heaven’s stock, who are bringing back to us safe from

the foe the city of Troy, and preserving Pergamus in enduring

life, yourself looked for long on the Laurentian 10

soil and in the fields of Latium, here is your abiding place

of rest, here, distrust it not, permanence for your home-gods:

let not war’s threatenings make you afraid, the

swellings of the anger of heaven have all given way.

Even now, that you may not think this the idle coinage 15

of sleep, under the oaks on the bank you shall find an

enormous swine lying with a litter of thirty head just

born, white herself throughout her lazy length, her children

round her breasts as white as she: a sign that when

thirty years have made their circuit, Ascanius shall found 20

that city known by the illustrious name of the White.

Of no doubtful issue are these words of mine. Now for

the way in which you may triumphantly unravel the

present knot, grant me your attention, and I will show

you in brief. On this my coast, Arcadians, a race sprung 25

from Pallas, who have followed king Evander and his

banner, have chosen themselves a site and built a city

on the hills, called from the name of their ancestor Pallas,

Pallanteum. These are forever engaged in war with the

Latian nation: let them join your camp as allies, and 30

make league with them. I myself will lead you between

the banks, straight along my stream, that as you journey

up your oars may surmount the adverse current. Up

then, goddess-born, and ere the stars have well set, offer

prayer in due course to Juno, and overbear with suppliant 35

vows her anger and her menace. Once triumphant,

you shall pay your worship to me. I am he whom you

see here with brimming flood grazing the banks and

threading rich cultured lands, sea-green Tiber, the river

whom gods love best. Here rises my royal palace, the

crown of lofty cities.” The river-god said, and plunged

into his deep pool, down to the bottom; night and sleep

at once fled from Æneas. He rises, and with his eyes 5

fixed on the sun’s rays just dawning on the sky, he lifts

up in due form water from the river in the hollow of

his hands, and pours forth to heaven words like these:

“Nymphs, Laurentian nymphs, whence rivers derive their

birth, and thou, father Tiber, with thy hallowed flood, 10

take Æneas to your bosom, and at last relieve him from

perils. Whatever the spring of the pool where thou

dwellest in thy pity for our troubles, whatever the soil

whence thy goodly stream arises, ever shalt thou be

honoured by me with sacrifice, ever with offerings, the 15

river with the crescent horn, the monarch of Hesperian

waters. Be but thou present, and confirm by thy deed

thy heavenly tokens.” So saying, he chooses two biremes

from the fleet and fits them with rowers, while he gives

his comrades arms to wear. 20

When lo, a sudden portent marvellous to view—stretched

in milk-white length along the sward, herself of

one hue with her white litter, conspicuous on the verdant

bank is seen a sow, whom pious Æneas to thee, even to

thee, mightiest Juno, immolates in sacrifice, and sets her 25

with all her brood before the altar. That whole night

long Tiber smoothed his brimming stream, and so stood

with hushed waves, half recoiling, as to lay down a watery

floor as of some gentle lake or peaceful pool, that the oar

might have nought to struggle with. So they begin their 30

voyage and speed with auspicious cheers. Smooth along

the surface floats the anointed pine: marvelling stand

the waters, marvelling the unwonted wood, to see the

warriors’ shields gleaming far along the stream, and the

painted vessels gliding between the banks. The rowers 35

give no rest to night or day, as they surmount the long

meanders, sweep under the fringe of diverse trees, and

cut through the woods that look green in the still expanse.

The sun had climbed in full blaze the central cope of

heaven, when from afar they see walls, and a citadel,

and the roofs of straggling habitations—the place which

the power of Rome has now made to mate the skies:

then it was but Evander’s poor domain. At once they 5

turn their prows to land and approach the town.

It happened that on that day the Arcadian monarch

was performing a yearly sacrifice to Amphitryon’s mighty

child[250] and the heavenly brotherhood in a grove before the

city. With him his son Pallas, with him all the prime of 10

his warriors and his unambitious senate were offering incense,

and the new-shed blood was steaming warm on the

altar. Soon as they saw tall ships gliding toward them

through the shadowy trees, and plying the oar in silence,

alarmed by the sudden apparition, each and all start up 15

from the sacrificial board. Pallas, bolder than the rest,

bids them not break the sacred observance, and snatching

up a weapon flies himself to meet the strangers, and

from a height at distance, “Warriors,” he cries, “what

cause has led you to venture on a path you know not? 20

whither are you bound? what is your nation, your family?

is it peace you bring us or war?” Then father Æneas

bespeaks him thus from the lofty stern, stretching forth

in his hand a branch of peaceful olive: “These are Trojans

you see. These weapons mean hostility to the 25

Latins, who have driven us from their land by a tyrannous

war. Our errand is to Evander. Take back our message,

and say that chosen chiefs of Dardany are at his gate,

praying for an armed alliance.” That mighty name

struck awe into Pallas. “Disembark,” he cries, “whoever 30

you be, and speak to my sire in person, and come

beneath our home-gods’ hospitable shelter,” and gave his

hand in welcome, and clung to the hand he clasped.

They advance under the shade of the grove, and leave

the river behind. 35

Then Æneas addresses the king with friendly courtesy:

“Best of the sons of Greece, to whom it has pleased Fortune

that I should make my prayer and stretch out boughs

wreathed with fillets, I felt no fear for that you were a

Danaan leader, an Arcadian, allied by lineage with the

two sons of Atreus: I felt that my own worth, and the

gods’ hallowed oracles, and the old connection of our

ancestry, and your world-wide fame, had linked me to 5

you, and brought me before you at once by destiny and

of my own will. Dardanus, first father and founder of the

town of Ilion, born, as Greeks tell, of Electra, daughter of

Atlas, came among Teucer’s people: Electra’s father was

mighty Atlas, he that bears up on his shoulders the 10

spheres of heaven. Your progenitor is Mercury, whom

beauteous Maia[251] conceived and brought forth on Cyllene’s

chill summit; but Maia, if tradition be credited, is the

child of Atlas, the same Atlas who lifts up the stars of

the firmament. Thus our two races part off from one 15

and the same stock. Trusting to this, I sent no embassy,

nor contrived the first approaches to you by rule

and method: in myself, in my own person, I have made

the experiment, and come to your gate as a suppliant.

The same tribe which persecutes you, the Daunians, is 20

now persecuting us with cruel war: should they drive us

away, they foresee nought to hinder their subduing all

Hesperia utterly to their yoke, and mastering either sea,

that washes it above or below. Take our friendship and

give us yours. On our side are hearts valiant in war, 25

and a gallant youth approved by adventure.”

Æneas ended. Long ere this the other’s eye was scanning

the speaker’s countenance and eyes, and surveying

his whole frame. Then he returns in brief: “With what

joy, bravest of the Teucrians, do I welcome and acknowledge 30

ye! how well I call to mind the words, the voice,

the look of your sire, the great Anchises! For I remember

how Priam, son of Laomedon, journeying to Salamis,

to see the kingdom of his sister Hesione, went on to visit

the chill frontier of Arcadia. In those days the first 35

bloom of youth was clothing my cheeks. I admired the

Teucrian leaders, I admired Laomedon’s royal son; but

Anchises’ port was nobler than all. My mind kindled

with a youth’s ardour to accost one so great, and exchange

the grasp of the hand. I made my approach, and eagerly

conducted him to the walls of Pheneus.[252] On leaving he

gave me a beauteous quiver with Lycian arrows, and a

scarf embroidered with gold, and two bridles which my 5

Pallas has now, all golden. So now I both plight you

here with the hand you ask, and soon as to-morrow’s light

shall restore to the earth its blessing, I will send you back

rejoicing in an armed succour, and reënforced with stores.

Meanwhile, since you are arrived here as my friends, join 10

in gladly solemnizing with us this our yearly celebration,

which it were sin to postpone, and accustom yourselves

thus early to the hospitalities of your new allies.”

This said, he bids set on again the viands and the cups,

erewhile removed, and himself places the warriors on a 15

seat of turf, welcoming Æneas in especial grace with the

heaped cushion of a shaggy lion’s hide, and bidding him

occupy a throne of maple wood. Then chosen youths

and the priest of the altar with emulous zeal bring in the

roasted carcases of bulls, pile up in baskets the gifts of 20

the corn-goddess prepared by art, and serve the wine-god

round. Æneas and the warriors of Troy with him

regale themselves on a bull’s long chine[o] and on sacrificial

entrails.

When hunger had been quenched and appetite allayed, 25

king Evander begins: “Think not that these solemnities

of ours, these ritual feastings, this altar so blest in divine

presence, have been riveted on us by idle superstition,

unknowing of the gods of old; no, guest of Troy, it is

deliverance from cruel dangers that makes us sacrifice 30

and pay again and again worship where worship is due.

First of all cast your eyes on this rock-hung crag: observe

how the masses of stone are flung here and there, how

desolate and exposed stands the mountain’s recess, and

how the rocks have left the trail of a giant downfall. 35

Here once was a cave, retiring in enormous depth, tenanted

by a terrible shape, Cacus, half man, half brute: the sun’s

rays could never pierce it; the ground was always steaming

with fresh carnage; fixed to its imperious portals

were hanging human countenances ghastly with hideous

gore. This monster’s father was Vulcan: Vulcan’s were

the murky fires that he disgorged from his mouth as he

towered along in enormous bulk. To us also at length 5

in our yearning need time brought the arrival of a divine

helper. For the mightiest of avengers, Alcides, triumphing

in the slaughter and the spoils of the triple Geryon,[253]

was in our land, and was driving by this road as a conqueror

those giant oxen, and the cattle were filling valley 10

and river-side. But Cacus, infatuated by fiendish frenzy,

not to leave aught of crime or craft undared or unessayed,

carries off from the stalls four bulls of goodly form, and

heifers no fewer of surpassing beauty. And these, that

they might leave no traces by their forward motion, he 15

dragged by the tail to his cave, haled them with reversed

footprints to tell the story, and so concealed them in the

dark rocky den. Thus the seeker found no traces to lead

him to the cavern. Meantime, when Amphitryon’s son

was at last removing from their stalls his feasted herds 20

and preparing to quit the country, the oxen gave a farewell

low, filling the whole woodland with their plainings,

and taking clamorous leave of the hills. One of the

heifers returned the sound, lowing from the depth of the

vast cavern, and thus baffled the hopes of her jealous 25

guardian. Now, if ever, Alcides’ wrath blazed up from

the black choler of his heart: he snatches up his weapons

and his club with all its weight of knots, and makes at

full speed for the skyey mountain’s height. Then first the

men of our country saw Cacus’ limbs tremble and his 30

eyes quail: away he flies swifter than the wind, and seeks

his den; fear has winged his feet. Scarce had he shut

himself in, and let down from its burst fastenings the

huge stone, suspended there by his father’s workmanship

in iron, and with that barrier fortified his straining doorway, 35

when lo! the hero of Tiryns[254] was there in the fury

of his soul: scanning every inlet he turns his face hither

and thither, gnashing with his teeth. Thrice in white

heat of wrath he surveys the whole mass of Aventine;

thrice he attempts in vain the stony portal; thrice,

staggering from the effort, he sits down in the hollow.

Before him stood a pointed crag with abrupt rocky sides

rising over the cave behind, high as the eye can reach, a 5

fitting home for the nests of unclean and hateful birds.

This, as sloping down it inclined towards the river on the

left, pushing it full on the right he upheaved and tore it

loose from its seat, then suddenly sent it down, with a

shock at which high heaven thunders, the banks start 10

apart, and the river runs back in terror. Then the cave

and the vast halls of Cacus were seen unroofed, and the

dark recesses lay open to their depths—even as if earth,

by some mighty force laid open to her depths, should

burst the doors of the mansions below, and expose the 15

realms of ghastly gloom which the gods hate, and from

above the vast abyss were to be seen, and the spectres

dazzled by the influx of day. So as Cacus stares surprised

by the sudden burst of light, pent by the walls of

his cave, and roars in strange and hideous sort, Alcides 20

from above showers down his darts, and calls every

weapon to his aid, and rains a tempest of boughs and

huge millstones. But he, seeing that no hope of flight

remains, vomits from his throat huge volumes of smoke,

marvellous to tell, and wraps the whole place in pitchy 25

darkness, blotting out all prospect from the eyes, and in

the depth of the cave masses a smothering night of blended

blackness and fire. The rage of Alcides brooked not this:

headlong he dashed through the flame, where the smoke

surges thickest and the vast cavern seethes with billows 30

of black vapour. Here while Cacus in the heart of the

gloom is vomiting his helpless fires he seizes him, twines

his limbs with his own, and in fierce embrace compresses

his strangled eyeballs and his throat now bloodless and

dry. At once the doors are burst and the black den laid 35

bare, and the plundered oxen, the spoil that his oath had

disclaimed, are exposed to light, and the hideous carcase

is dragged out by the heels. The gazers look unsatisfied

on those dreadful eyes, those grim features, the shaggy

breast of the half bestial monster, and the extinguished

furnace of his throat. Since then grateful acknowledgments

have been paid, and the men of younger time have

joyfully observed the day: foremost among them Potitius, 5

founder of the ceremony, and the Pinarian house, custodian

of the worship of Hercules. He himself set up in

the grove this altar, which shall ever be named by us

the greatest, and shall ever be the greatest in truth.

Come then, warriors, and in honour of worth so glorious 10

wreathe your locks with leaves, and present in your hands

brimming cups, and invoke our common deity, and pour

libations with gladness of heart.” As he ended, the white-green

poplar cast its Herculean shade over his locks and

hung down with a festoon of leaves, and the sacred goblet 15

charged his hand. At once all with glad hearts pour

libations on the board and make prayers to heaven.

Meantime evening is approaching nearer the slope of

heaven, and already the priests and their chief Potitius

were in procession, clad in skins in ritual sort, and bearing 20

fire in their hands. They renew the solemn feast,

and bring delicious offerings for a fresh repast, and pile

the altars with loaded chargers. Then come the Salii to

sing round about the blazing altars, their temples wreathed

with boughs of poplar, a company of youths and another 25

of old men; and these extol in song the glories and deeds

of Hercules: how in his cradle, by the pressure of his

young hand he strangled his stepmother’s monstrous

messengers, the two serpents; how in war that same

hand dashed to pieces mighty cities, Troy and Œchalia; 30

how he endured those thousand heavy labours, a slave to

king Eurystheus, by ungentle Juno’s fateful will. “Yes,

thou, unconquered hero, thou slayest the two-formed

children of the cloud, Hylæus and Pholus, thou slayest

the portent of Crete, and the enormous lion that dwelt 35

’neath Nemea’s rock. Thou never quailedst at aught in

bodily shape, no, nor at Typhœus himself, towering high,

weapons in hand; thy reason failed thee not when Lerna’s

serpent stood round thee with all her throng of heads.

Hail to thee, authentic offspring of Jove, fresh ornament

of the sky! come to us, come to these thine own rites

with favouring smile and auspicious gait.” Such things

their songs commemorate; and they crown all with Cacus’ 5

cave and the fiend himself, the fire panting from his lungs.

The entire grove echoes with their voices, and the hills

rebound.

The sacrifice over, the whole concourse returns to the

city. There walked the king, mossed over with years, 10

keeping at his side Æneas and his son as he moved along,

and lightening the way with various speech. Æneas admires,

and turns his quick glance from sight to sight:

each scene enthralls him; and with eager zest he inquires

and learns one by one the records of men of old. Then 15

spoke king Evander, the builder of Rome’s tower-crowned

hill: “These woodlands were first inhabited by native

Fauns and Nymphs, and by a race of men that sprung

from trunks of trees and hard oaken core; no rule of life,

no culture had they: they never learnt to yoke the ox, 20

nor to hive their stores, nor to husband what they got;

the boughs and the chase supplied their savage sustenance.

The first change came from Saturn, who arrived from

skyey Olympus, flying from the arms of Jove, a realmless

exile. He brought together the race, untamed as they 25

were and scattered over mountain heights, and gave them

laws, and chose for the country the name of Latium,

because he had found it a safe hiding-place. The golden

age of story was when he was king, so calm and peaceful

his rule over his people; till gradually there crept in a 30

race of worse grain and duller hue, and the frenzy of war,

and the greed of having. Then came the host of Ausonia

and the Sicanian tribes, and again and again Saturn’s

land changed its name; then came king after king, savage

Thybris with his giant bulk, from whom in after days we 35

Italians called the river Tiber: the authentic name of

ancient Albula was lost. Myself, an exile from my country,

while voyaging to the ends of the sea, all-powerful

Fortune and inevitable Destiny planted here; at my back

were the awful hests[255] of my mother, the nymph Carmentis,

and the divine sanction of Apollo.” Scarce had he

finished, when moving on he points out the altar and

the Carmental gate, as the Romans call it, their ancient 5

tribute to the nymph Carmentis, the soothsaying seer, who

first told of the future greatness of Æneas’ sons and of

the glories of Pallanteum. Next he points out a mighty

grove, which fiery Romulus made the Asylum of a later

day, and embowered by the chill dank rock, the Lupercal, 10

bearing after Arcadian wont the name of Lycæan Pan.

He shows, moreover, the forest of hallowed Argiletum,

and appeals to the spot, and recounts the death of Argus,

once his guest. Thence he leads the way to the Tarpeian

temple, even the Capitol, now gay with gold, then rough 15

with untrimmed brushwood. Even in that day the sacred

terrors of the spot awed the trembling rustics; even then

they shuddered at the forest and the rock. “This wood,”

he says, “this hill with the shaggy brow, is the home of

a god of whom we know not; my Arcadians believe that 20

they have seen there great Jove himself, oft and oft,

shaking with his right hand the shadowy Ægis[256] and calling

up the storm. Here, too, in these two towns, with

their ramparts overthrown, you see the relics and the

chronicles of bygone ages. This tower was built by father 25

Janus, that by Saturn; the one’s name Janiculum, the

other’s Saturnia.” So talking together they came nigh

the palace where Evander dwells in poverty, and saw

cattle all about lowing in the Roman forum and Carinæ’s

luxurious precinct. When they reached the gate, “This 30

door,” said the host, “Alcides in his triumph stooped to

enter; this mansion contained his presence. Nerve yourself,

my guest, to look down on riches, and make your

own soul, like his, such as a god would not disdain, and

take in no churlish sort the welcome of poverty.” He 35

said, and beneath the slope of his narrow roof ushered in

the great Æneas, and laid him to rest on a couch of leaves

and the skin of a Libyan bear.

Down comes the night, and flaps her sable wings over

the earth. But Venus, distracted, and not idly, with a

mother’s cares, disturbed by the menaces of the Laurentines

and the violence of the gathering storm, addresses

Vulcan, and in the nuptial privacy of their golden chamber 5

begins her speech, breathing in every tone the love

that gods feel: “In old days of war, while the Argive

kings were desolating Pergamus, their destined prey, and

ravaging the towers which were doomed to hostile fire,

no help for the sufferers, no arms of thy resourceful workmanship 10

did I ask; no, my dearest lord, I chose not to

task thee and thy efforts to no end, large as was my debt

to the sons of Priam, and many the tears that I shed for

Æneas’ cruel agony. Now, by Jove’s commands, he has

set his foot on Rutulian soil; so, with the past in my 15

mind, I appear as a suppliant, to ask of his power whom

I honour most, as a mother may, armour for my son.

Thee the daughter of Nereus, thee the spouse of Tithonus,

found accessible to tears. See but what nations are

mustering, what cities are closing the gate and pointing 20

the steel against me and the lives I love.” The speech

was ended, and the goddess is fondling her undecided

lord on all sides in the soft embrace of her snowy arms.

Suddenly he caught the wonted fire, the well-known heat

shot to his vitals and threaded his melting frame, even as 25

on a day when the fiery rent burst by the thunderclaps

runs with gleaming flash along the veil of cloud. His

spouse saw the triumph of her art and felt what beauty

can do. Then spoke the stern old god, subdued by everlasting

love: “Why fetch your excuses from so far? 30

whither, my queen, has fled your old affiance in me? had

you then been as anxious, even in those old days it had

been allowed to give arms to the Trojans; nor was the

almighty sire nor the destinies unwilling that Troy should

stand and Priam remain in life for ten years more. And 35

now, if war is your object and so your purpose holds, all

the care that it lies within my art to promise, what can

be wrought out of iron and molten electrum, as far as

fire can burn and wind blow—cease to show by entreaty

that you mistrust your power.” This said, he gave the

embrace she longed for, and falling on the bosom of his

spouse wooed the calm of slumber in every limb.

Then, soon as rest, first indulged, had driven sleep 5

away, when flying night had run half her course; just

when a woman, compelled to support life by spinning,

even by Pallas’ slender craft, wakes to light the fire that

slumbered in the embers, adding night to her day’s work,

and keeps her handmaids labouring long by the blaze, all 10

that she may preserve her husband’s bed unsullied, and

bring up his infant sons; even so the lord of fire, at an

hour not less slothful, rises from his couch of down to

the toils of the artisan. There rises an island hard by

the Sicanian coast and Æolian Lipari, towering with fiery 15

mountains; beneath it thunders a cavern, the den of

Ætna, blasted out by Cyclop forges; the sound of mighty

blows echoes on anvils: the smeltings of the Chalybes

hiss through its depths, and the fire pants from the jaws

of the furnace; it is the abode of Vulcan, and the land 20

bears Vulcan’s name. Hither, then, the lord of fire

descends from heaven’s height. There, in the enormous

den, the Cyclops were forging the iron, Brontes, and

Steropes, and Pyracmon, the naked giant. In their hands

was the rough cast of the thunder-bolt, one of those many 25

which the great Father showers down on earth from all

quarters of heaven—part was polished for use, part still

incomplete. Three spokes of frozen rain, three of watery

cloud had they put together, three of ruddy flame and

winged southern wind; and now they were blending with 30

what they had done the fearful flash, and the noise, and

the terror, and the fury of untiring fire. In another part

they were hurrying on for Mars the car and the flying

wheels, with which he rouses warriors to madness, aye,

and whole cities; and with emulous zeal were making 35

bright with golden serpent scales the terrible Ægis, the

armour of angry Pallas, snakes wreathed together, and

full on the breast of the goddess the Gorgon herself, her

neck severed and her eyes rolling. “Away with all this,”

cries the god; “take your unfinished tasks elsewhere, you

Cyclops of Ætna, and give your attention here. Arms

are wanted for a fiery warrior. Now is the call for power,

now for swiftness of hand, now for all that art can teach. 5

Turn delay into despatch.” No more he said; but they

with speed put their shoulder to the work, sharing it in

equal parts. Copper flows in streams and golden ore, and

steel, that knows how to wound, is molten in the huge

furnace. They set up in outline a mighty shield, itself 10

singly matched against all the Latian weapons, and tangle

together seven plates, circle and circle. Some with their

gasping bellows are taking in and giving out the wind;

others are dipping the hissing copper in the lake. The

cave groans under the anvil’s weight. They, one with 15

another, with all a giant’s strength, are lifting their arms

in measured cadence, and turning with their griping

tongs the ore on this side and on that.

While the father of Lemnos[257] makes this despatch on

the Æolian shores, Evander is roused from his lowly 20

dwelling by the genial light and the morning songs of

birds under the eaves. Up rises the old man, and draws

a tunic over his frame, and puts Tyrrhenian sandals

round his feet; next he fastens from below to side and

shoulder a sword from Tegea, flinging back over him a 25

panther’s hide that drooped from the left. Moreover, two

guardian dogs go before him from his palace door, and

attend their master’s steps. So he made his way to the

lodging of his guest, and sought Æneas’ privacy, their

discourse of yesterday and the gift then promised fresh 30

in his heroic soul. Æneas likewise was astir not less early.

This had his son Pallas, that had Achates walking by his

side. They meet, and join hand in hand, and sit them

down in the midst of the mansion, and at last enjoy the

privilege of mutual talk. The king begins as follows:— 35

“Mightiest leader of the Teucrians, whom while heaven

preserves I shall never own that Troy’s powers are vanquished

or her realm overturned, we ourselves have but

small means of martial aid to back our great name; on

this side we are bounded by the Tuscan river: on that

our Rutulian foe beleaguers us, and thunders in arms

around our walls. But I have a mighty nation, a host

with an imperial heritage, which I am ready to unite with 5

you—a gleam of safety revealed by unexpected chance.

It is at the summons of destiny that you bend your steps

thither. Not far hence, built of ancient stone, is the inhabited

city of Agylla, where of old the Lydian nation,

renowned in war, took its seat on Etruscan mountains. 10

This city, after long and prosperous years, was held by

king Mezentius, by stress of tyrant rule and the terror of

the sword. Why should I recount the despot’s dreadful

murders and all his savage crimes? may the gods preserve 15

them in mind, and bring them on his own head and

his family’s! Nay, he would even link together the dead

and the living, coupling hand with hand and face with

face—so inventive is the lust of torture—and in the

slime and poison of that sickening embrace would destroy

them thus by a lingering dissolution. At last, wearied 20

by oppression, his subjects in arms besiege the frantic

monster himself and his palace, slay his retainers, shower

firebrands on his roof. He, mid the carnage, escapes to

Rutulian territory, and shelters himself under Turnus’

friendly power. So all Etruria has risen in righteous 25

wrath; at once, at the sword’s point, they demand that

the king be surrendered to their vengeance. Of these

thousands, Æneas, I will make you general. For along

the seaboard’s length their ships are swarming and panting

for the fray, and calling on the trumpet to sound, 30

while an aged soothsayer is holding them back by his

fateful utterance: ‘Chosen warriors of Mæonian land, the

power and soul of an ancient nation, whom just resentment

launches against the foe and Mezentius inflames with

righteous fury, no Italian may take the reins of a race so 35

proud: choose foreigners to lead you.’ At this the Etruscan

army settled down on yonder plain, awed by the

heavenly warning. Tarchon[o] himself has sent me ambassadors

with the royal crown and sceptre, and given to

my hands the ensigns of power, bidding me join the camp,

and assume the Tyrrhene throne. But age, with its enfeebling

chill and the exhaustion of its long term of years,

grudges me the honour of command; my day of martial 5

prowess is past. Fain would I encourage my son to the

task, but that the blood of a Sabine mother blending with

mine makes his race half Italian. You, in years and in

race alike the object of Fate’s indulgence—you, the

chosen one of Heaven—assume the place that waits 10

you, gallant general of Teucrians and Italians both. Nay,

I will give you, too, Pallas here, the hope and solace of

my age; under your tutelage let him learn to endure

military service and the war-god’s strenuous labours; let

your actions be his pattern, and his young admiration be 15

centred on you. To him I will give two hundred Arcadian

horsemen, the flower of my chivalry, and Pallas in his

own name shall give you as many more.”

Scarce had his words been uttered—and the twain

were holding their eyes in downcast thought, Æneas 20

Anchises’ son and true Achates, brooding each with his

own sad heart on many a peril, had not Cythera’s goddess

sent a sign from the clear sky. For unforeseen, flashed

from the heaven, comes a glare and a peal, and all around

seemed crashing down at once, and the clang of the 25

Tyrrhene trumpet appeared to blare through ether. They

look up: a second and a third time cracks the enormous

sound. Armour enveloped in a cloud in a clear quarter

of the firmament is seen to flash redly in the sunlight and

to ring as clashed together. The rest were all amazement; 30

but the Trojan hero recognized the sound, and in

it the promise of his goddess mother. Then he cries:

“Nay, my host, nay, ask not in sooth what chance these

wonders portend; it is I that have a call from on high.

This was the sign that the goddess who gave me birth 35

foreshowed me that she would send, should the attack of

war come, while she would bring through the air armour

from Vulcan for my help. Alas! how vast the carnage

ready to burst on Laurentum’s wretched sons! what

vengeance, Turnus, shall be mine from thee! how many

a warrior’s shield and helm and stalwart frame shalt thou

toss beneath thy waters, father Tiber! Aye, clamour for

battle, and break your plighted word!” 5

Thus having said, he rises from his lofty seat, and first

of all quickens the altars where the Herculean fires were

smouldering, and with glad heart approaches the hearth-god

of yesterday, and the small household powers; duly

they sacrifice chosen sheep, Evander for his part and the 10

Trojan youth for theirs. Next he moves on to the ships

and revisits his crew: from whose number he chooses men

to follow him to the war, eminent in valour: the rest are

wafted down the stream and float lazily along with the

current at their back, to bring Ascanius news of his father 15

and his fortunes. Horses are given to the Teucrians who

are seeking the Tyrrhene territory, and one is led along,

reserved for Æneas; a tawny lion’s hide covers it wholly,

gleaming forth with talons of gold.

At once flies rumour, blazed through the little city, 20

that the horsemen are marching with speed to the gates

of the Tyrrhene king. In alarm the matrons redouble

their vows; fear treads on the heels of danger, and the

features of the war-god loom larger on the view. Then

Evander, clasping the hand of his departing son, hangs 25

about him with tears that never have their fill, and speaks

like this: “Ah! would but Jupiter bring back my bygone

years, and make me what I was when under Præneste’s

very walls I struck down the first rank and set a

conqueror’s torch to piles of shields, and with this my 30

hand sent down to Tartarus king Erulus, whom at his

birth his mother Feronia endowed with three lives—fearful

to tell—and a frame that could thrice bear arms:

thrice had he to be struck down in death: yet from him

on that day this hand took all those three lives, and 35

thrice stripped that armour—never should I, as now, be

torn, my son, from your loved embrace. Never would

Mezentius have laid dishonour on a neighbour’s crest,

dealt with his sword that repeated havoc, and bereaved

my city of so many of her sons. But you, great powers

above, and thou, Jupiter, mightiest ruler of the gods,

have pity, I implore you, on an Arcadian monarch, and

give ear to a father’s prayer; if your august will, if destiny 5

has in store for me the safe return of my Pallas, if life

will make me see him and meet him once more, then I

pray that I may live; there is no trial I cannot bear to

outlast. But if thou, dark Fortune, threatenest any unnamed

calamity, now, oh, now, be it granted me to snap 10

life’s ruthless thread, while care wears a double face,

while hope cannot spell the future, while you, darling boy,

my love and late delight, are still in my arms: nor let

my ears be pierced by tidings more terrible.” So was the

father heard to speak at their last parting; his servants 15

were seen carrying within doors their fallen lord.

And now the cavalry had passed the city’s open gates,

Æneas among the first and true Achates, and after them

the other Trojan nobles; Pallas himself the centre of the

column, conspicuous with gay scarf and figured armour; 20

even as the morning-star just bathed in the waves of the

ocean, Venus’ favourite above all the stellar fires, sets in

a moment on the sky his heavenly countenance, and

melts the darkness. There are the trembling matrons

standing on the walls, following with their eyes the cloud 25

of dust and the gleam of the brass-clad companies. They

in their armour are moving through the underwood, their

eye on the nearest path: hark! a shout mounts up, a

column is formed, and the four-foot beat of the hoof shakes

the crumbling plain. Near the cool stream of Cære stands 30

a vast grove, clothed by hereditary reverence with wide-spread

sanctity; on all sides it is shut in by the hollows

of hills, which encompass its dark pine-wood shades.

Rumour says that the old Pelasgians dedicated it to Silvanus,

god of the country and the cattle, a grove with a 35

holiday—the people who once in early times dwelt on

the Latian frontier. Not far from this Tarchon and the

Tyrrhenians were encamped in a sheltered place, and from

the height of the hill their whole army spread already to

the view, as they pitched at large over the plain. Hither

come father Æneas and the chosen company of warriors,

and refresh the weariness of themselves and their steeds.

But Venus had come in her divine beauty through the 5

dark clouds of heaven with the gifts in her hand, and soon

as she saw her son far retired in the vale in the privacy of

the cool stream, she thus accosted him, appearing suddenly

before him: “See, here is the present completed by my

lord’s promised skill: now you will not need to hesitate 10

to-morrow about daring to the combat the haughty

Laurentians or fiery Turnus’ self.” So said the lady of

Cythera, and sought her son’s embrace: the arms she set

up to glitter under an oak that faced his view. He,

exulting in the goddess’ gifts, and charmed with their 15

dazzling beauty, cannot feast his eyes enough as he rolls

them from point to point, admiring and turning over in

his hands and arms the helmet with its dread crest, vomiting

flame, the fateful sword, the stiff brazen corslet, blood-red

and huge, in hue as when a dark cloud kindles with 20

sunlight and gleams afar; the polished cuishes,[258] too, of

electrum and gold smelted oft and oft, and the spear,

and the shield’s ineffable frame-work. On this was the

story of Italy and the triumphs of the Romans wrought

by the Lord of the fire; no stranger he to prophecy nor 25

ignorant of the time to come: on it was the whole royal

line of the future from Ascanius onward, and their foughten

fields in long succession. There, too, he had portrayed

the mother-wolf stretched in Mars’ green cavern; around

her teats were the twin boys in play climbing and clinging, 30

and licking their dam without dread; while she, her lithe

neck bent back, was caressing them by turns and with her

tongue shaping their young limbs. Near this he had inserted

Rome and the lawless rape of the Sabine maidens

amid the crowded circus, while the great games were in 35

course, and the sudden rise of a new war between the sons

of Romulus and ancient Tatius with his austere Cures.

Afterwards were seen the two kings, the conflict set at rest,

standing in arms before the altar of Jove with goblets in

their hands and cementing a treaty with swine’s blood.

Not far off Mettus had already been torn asunder by the

chariots driven apart—ah! false Alban, were you but a

keeper of your word!—and Tullus was dragging the 5

traitor’s flesh through the woodland, while the bushes were

sprinkled with the bloody rain. There, too, was Porsenna

insisting that exiled Tarquin should be taken back and

leaguering the city with a mighty siege: Æneas’ sons were

flinging themselves on the sword in freedom’s cause. In 10

his face might be seen the likeness of wrath, and the likeness

of menace, that Cocles[259] should have the courage

to tear down the bridge, that Cloelia should break her

prison and swim the river. There was Manlius standing

sentinel on the summit of the Tarpeian fortress in the 15

temple’s front, holding the height of the Capitol, while

the Romulean thatch looked fresh and sharp on the palace-roof.

And there was the silver goose fluttering its wings

in the gilded cloister, and shrieking that the Gauls were

at the door. The Gauls were at hand marching among 20

the brushwood, and had gained the summit sheltered

by the darkness and the kindly grace of dusky night.

Golden is their hair and golden their raiment; striped

cloaks gleam on their shoulders; their milk-white necks

are twined with gold; each brandishes two Alpine javelins, 25

his body guarded by the long oval of his shield. There

he had shown in relief the Salii in their dances and the

naked Luperci, and the woolly peaks of their caps, and

the sacred shields which fell from heaven: chaste matrons

were making solemn progress through the city in their 30

soft-cushioned cars. At distance from these he introduces

too the mansions of Tartarus, Pluto’s yawning portals,

and the torments of crime, and thee, Catiline, poised on

the beetling rock and quailing at grim Fury-faces: and

the good in their privacy, with Cato as their lawgiver. 35

Stretching in its breadth among these swept the semblance

of the swelling sea, all of gold, but the blue was made to

foam with whitening billows; and all about it dolphins

of bright silver in joyous circles were lashing the surface

with their tails and cutting the tide. In the midst might

be seen fleets of brazen ships, the naval war of Actium;

you might remark the whole of Leucate aglow with the

war-god’s array, and the waves one blaze of gold. On this 5

side is Augustus Cæsar leading the Italians to conflict,

with the senate and the people, the home-gods and their

mighty brethren, standing aloft on the stern: his auspicious

brows emit twin-born flames, and his ancestral

star dawns over his head. Elsewhere is Agrippa with the 10

winds and the gods at his back, towering high as he leads

his column; his brows gleam with the beaked circle of a

naval crown, the glorious ornament of war. On that side

is Antonius with his barbaric powers and the arms of divers

lands, triumphant from the nations of the dawn-goddess 15

and the red ocean’s coast, carrying with him Egypt

and the strength of the East and the utmost parts of Bactria,

and at his side—shame on the profanation!—his

Egyptian spouse.[260] All are seen at once in fierce onward

motion: the whole sea-floor foams up, torn by the backward 20

pull of the oars and by the three-fanged beaks.

On to the deep! you would deem that uprooted Cyclades

were swimming the sea, or that tall hills were meeting hills

in battle; such the giant effort, with which the warriors

urge on their tower-crowned ships. From the hand is 25

scattered a shower of flaming tow and flying steel: the

plains of Neptune redden with unwonted carnage. In the

midst of them the queen is cheering on her forces with

the timbrel of her native land; casting as yet no glance on

the twin-born snakes that threaten her rear. There are 30

the portentous gods of all the nations, and Anubis[261] the

barking monster, brandishing their weapons in the face

of Neptune and Venus and in the face of Pallas. Midmost

in the fray storms Mavors,[262] relieved in iron, and fell

Fury-fiends swooping from the sky; and Discord sweeps 35

along in the glory of her rent mantle, and at her back

Bellona with blood-dropping scourge. There was Actium’s

Apollo, with his eye on the fray, bending his bow from

above; at whose terror all Egypt and Ind, all Arabia, all

the sons of Saba[263] were turning the back in flight. The

queen herself was shown spreading her sails to friendly

breezes, and just loosing the sheets. On her face the Lord

of the Fire had written the paleness of foreshadowed 5

death, as she drove on among corpses before the tide and

the zephyr; over against her was Nile, his vast body writhing

in woe, throwing open his bosom, and with his whole

flowing raiment inviting the vanquished to his green lap

and his sheltering flood. But Cæsar, entering the walls 10

of Rome in threefold triumph, was consecrating to the

gods of Italy a votive tribute of deathless gratitude, three

hundred mighty fanes the whole city through. The ways

were ringing with gladness and with games and with plausive

peal; in every temple thronged a matron company, 15

in every temple an altar blazed; in front of the altars

slaughtered bullocks strewed the floor. The hero himself,

throned on dazzling Phœbus’ snow-white threshold, is

telling over the offerings of all the nations and hanging

them up on the proud temple gates; there in long procession 20

move the conquered peoples, diverse in tongue, diverse

no less in garb and in armour. Here had Mulciber portrayed

the Nomad race and the zoneless sons of Afric:

here, too, Leleges and Carians and quivered Gelonians:

Euphrates was flowing with waves subdued already; and 25

the Morini, furthest of mankind, and Rhine with his crescent

horn, and tameless Dahæ, and Araxes chafing to be

bridged. Such sights Æneas scans with wonder on Vulcan’s

shield, his mother’s gift, and joys in the portraiture

of things he knows not, as he heaves on his shoulder the 30

fame and the fate of grandsons yet to be.

BOOK IX

While these things are in progress far away, Juno,

Saturn’s daughter, has sent down Iris from above on an

errand to Turnus the bold. It chanced that then Turnus

was sitting in the grove of his sire Pilumnus, deep in the

hallowed dell. Him then the child[264] of Thaumas bespoke 5

thus from her rosy lips: “Turnus, what no god would have

dared to promise to your prayers, lo! the mere lapse of

time has brought to you unasked. Æneas, leaving behind

town, comrades, and fleet, is gone to seek the realm of the

Palatine, the settlement of Evander. Nor is that all: 10

he has won his way to Corythus’ farthest towns, and is

arming the Lydian bands, the crowds of country folk. Why

hesitate? now, now is the moment to call for horse and

car; fling delay to the winds, and come down on the bewildered

camp.” So saying, she raised herself aloft on the 15

poise of her wings, and drew as she fled along the clouds her

mighty bow. The warrior knew his visitant, lifted his

two hands to heaven, and pursued her flight with words

like these: “Iris, fair glory of the sky, who has sent thee

down from heaven to earth on an errand to me? I see 20

the firmament parting asunder, and the stars reeling about

the poles. Yes! I follow thy mighty presage, whoe’er

thou art thus calling me to arms.” With these words he

went to the river-side, and took up water from the brimming

flood, calling oft on the gods and burdening heaven 25

with a multitude of vows.

And now his whole army was in motion along the open

plain, richly dowered with horses, richly dowered with

gold and broidered raiment. Messapus[265] marshals the van,

Tyrrheus’ warrior-sons the rear: Turnus himself, the 30

general, is in the centre—like Ganges with his seven calm

streams proudly rising through the silence, or Nile when

he withdraws from the plain his fertilizing waters and has

at last subsided into his bed. Suddenly the Teucrians

look forth on a cloud massed with murky dust, and see

darkness gathering over the plain. First cries Caicus from 5

the rampart’s front: “What mass have we here, my

countrymen, rolling towards us, black as night? Quick

with the steel, bring weapons, man the walls, the enemy

is upon us, ho!” With loud shouts the Teucrians pour

themselves through all the gates and through the bulwarks. 10

For such had been the charge of Æneas, that best of soldiers,

when going on his way; should aught fall out meantime,

let them not venture to draw out their lines or try

the fortune of the field: enough for them to guard camp

and wall safe behind their earthworks. So now, though 15

shame and anger prompt to an engagement, they shield

themselves nevertheless with closed gates in pursuance of

his bidding, and armed, within the covert of their towers,

await the foe. Turnus, just as he had galloped on in advance

of his tardy column, appears unforeseen before the 20

gate with a chosen following of twenty horse: with a

Thracian steed to carry him, spotted with white, and a

golden helm with scarlet crest to guard his head. “Now,

gallants, which of you will venture with me first against

the foe? Look there!” he cries, and with a whirl sends 25

his javelin into the air, the overture of battle, and proudly

prances over the plain. His friends second him with a

shout and follow with dreadful cries; they wonder at the

Teucrians’ sluggish hearts—men-at-arms, not to trust

themselves to a fair field or fight face to face, but keep 30

nursing their camp. Enraged, he rides round and round

the walls, and looks out for an opening where way is none.

Even as a wolf, lying in wait to surprise a crowded fold,

whines about the enclosure, exposed to wind and rain, at

mid of night; the lambs, nestling safe under their mothers, 35

keep bleating loudly; he, maddened and reckless, gnashes

his teeth at the prey beyond his reach, tormented by the

long-gathered rage of hunger and his dry bloodless jaws:

just so the Rutulian scans wall and camp with kindling

wrath; grief fires the marrow of his iron bones—how to

essay an entrance? what way to dash the prisoned Trojans

from the rampart and fling them forth on level

ground? Close to the camp’s side was lying the fleet, 5

shored round by earthworks and by the river; this he

assails, calling for fire to his exulting mates, and filling his

hand with a blazing pine, himself all aglow. Driven on

by Turnus’ presence, they double their efforts: each soldier

of the band equips himself with his murky torch. See, 10

they have stripped the hearths: the smoking brand sends

up a pitchy glare, and the Fire-god wafts clouds of soot

and flame heaven-high.

What god, ye Muses, shielded the Teucrians from a fire

so terrible? who warded off from the ships so vast a conflagration? 15

Tell me; the faith in the tale is old, but its

fame is evergreen.

In early days, when Æneas in Phrygian Ida was first

fashioning his fleet and making ready for the high seas,

the great mother of the gods, they say, the Berecyntian 20

queen, thus addressed almighty Jove: “Grant, my son,

to thy mother’s prayer the boon she asks thee on thy conquest

of Olympus. A pine-forest is mine, endeared by the

love of many years, a sacred grove on the mountain’s

height, whither worshippers brought their offerings, bedarkened 25

with black pitch-trees and trunks of maple:

these I was fain to give to the youth of Dardany when he

needed a fleet; now my anxious heart is wrung by disturbing

fears. Release me from my dread, and let a

mother’s prayer avail thus much: let them be overcome 30

by no strain of voyage, no violence of wind; give them

good of their birth on my sacred hill.” To her replied her

son, who wields the starry sphere: “O mother, whither

wouldst thou wrest the course of fate? what askest thou

for these thy favourites? should vessels framed by mortal 35

hand have charter of immortality? should Æneas, himself

assured, meet perils all unsure? What god had ever

privilege so great? Nay, rather, when their service is

over and they gain one day the haven of Ausonia, from

all such as escape the waves and convoy the Dardan chief

safe to Laurentian soil, I will take away their perishable

shape, and summon them to the state of goddesses of the

mighty ocean, in form like Nereus’ children, Doto and 5

Galatea, when they breast the foaming deep.” He said;

and by the river of his Stygian brother, by the banks that

seethe with pitch and are washed by the murky torrent, he

nodded confirmation, and with his nod made all Olympus

tremble. 10

So now the promised day was come, and the Destinies

had fulfilled the time appointed, when Turnus’ lawless

violence gave warning to the mighty mother to ward off

the firebrand from her consecrated ships. Now in a moment

a strange light flashed on the eyes of all, and a great 15

cloud was seen from the quarter of the dawn-goddess

running athwart the sky, with the choirs of Ida in its

train; then came darting through the air a voice of terror,

thrilling the ranks of Trojan and Rutulian from end to

end: “Busy not yourselves, ye Teucrians, to defend my 20

ships, nor take weapons into your hands: Turnus shall

have leave to burn up the ocean sooner than to consume

my sacred pines. Go free, my favourites: go and be

goddesses of the sea: it is the mother’s voice that bids

you.” And at once each ship snaps her cable from the 25

bank, and like a dolphin dips her beak and makes for the

bottom. Then all emerge in maiden forms, a marvel to

behold, and breast the main, as many as stood a moment

ago with their brazen prows to the shore.

Amazement seized the Rutulians; terror came on Messapus 30

himself, confusion on his steeds; even Tiber, the

river, pauses, murmuring hoarsely, and retraces his seaward

course. But bold Turnus’ confidence felt no check;

no, his words are ready to encourage and upbraid: “It

is at the Trojans that these portents point: Jove himself 35

has robbed them of their wonted resource; they wait not

for Rutulian fire and sword to do the work. Yes, the sea

is impassable to the Teucrians; hope of flight have they

none; one half of nature is taken from them; as for earth,

it is in our hands, thanks to the thousands here standing in

arms, the tribes of Italy. I care not for the fateful utterances

of heaven that these Phrygians vaunt, be they

what they may: fate and Venus have had license enough, 5

in that the Trojans have set foot on the soil of our rich

Ausonia. I, too, have a fate of my own, to mow down

with the sword the guilty nation that has stolen my bride;

that wrong of theirs comes not home to the Atridæ alone,

nor has Mycenæ alone the privilege of going to war. But 10

one destruction is enough for them—aye, had one transgression

been enough, so that they had henceforth loathed

the sex well-nigh to a woman. Men who trust in their intervening

rampart, whom the pause at the trench, those few

feet of distance from death, inspires with courage. Why, 15

did they not see their city of Troy sink into the fire, though

built by the hand of Neptune? But you, my chosen

mates, who is there ready to hew down the rampart and

rush with me on their bewildered camp? I need not the

arms of Vulcan nor a thousand sail for my Trojan war. 20

Let all Etruria join them in a body. Night alarms, cowardly

thefts of their guardian image, slaughterings of the

sentry on the height, they need fear none of these; we will

not skulk in a horse’s murky womb: in broad day, in the

sight of all, I stand pledged to put a ring of fire round their 25

walls. I will not let them fancy they are dealing with

the Danaans and the Pelasgian chivalry, whom Hector

kept ten years waiting for their due. Now, since the better

part of the day is spent, for what remains, gallants, refresh

yourselves after your good service, and be assured that 30

battle is getting ready.”

Meantime the charge is given to Messapus to leaguer the

gates with relays of watchmen, and throw a girdle of fire

round the ramparts. Twice seven Rutulian chiefs are

chosen to keep armed observation of the walls: a hundred 35

warriors attend on each, red with scarlet crests and gleaming

with gold. They move from place to place and relieve

one another, and stretched on the grass give wine its fling

and tilt the brazen bowl. Bright shine the fires: the

warders speed the wakeful night with sport and game.

The Trojans look forth on the scene from their earthworks,

as in arms they man the summit; with anxious

fear they test the gates, and link bridge and bulwark, 5

their weapons in their hands. First in the work are Mnestheus

and keen Serestus, whom father Æneas, should

adverse crisis call for action, left to command the warriors

and govern affairs at home. The whole army along the

wall, dividing the danger, keeps guard, each relieving 10

each at the post assigned.

The warder of the gate was Nisus, a soldier of keenest

mettle, Hyrtacus’ son, whom Ida the huntress sent to

attend Æneas, quick with the dart and the flying arrow:

and at his side Euryalus, than who was none fairer among 15

Æneas’ children, none that ever donned the arms of Troy,

a stripling whose unrazored cheeks just showed the first

bloom of youth. Theirs was a common love: side by side

they wont[266] to rush into the battle: and even then they were

keeping watch at the gate in joint duty. Nisus exclaims: 20

“Is it the gods, Euryalus, that make men’s hearts glow

thus? or does each one’s ungoverned yearning become his

god? My heart has long been astir to rush on war or

other mighty deed, nor will peaceful quiet content it.

You see the Rutulians there, delivered up to confidence 25

in the future: their line of lights gleams brokenly: unnerved

with sleep and wine, yonder they lie: all around is

still. Listen on, and learn on what I am brooding, and

what thought is this moment uppermost. ‘Æneas should

be recalled’—so cry people and leaders as one man; 30

‘messengers should be sent to tell him the truth.’ If they

pledge themselves to what I ask for you—for me the fame

of the deed is sufficient—methinks under the mound

yonder I could find a way to the city walls of Pallanteum.”

A thrill of generous ambition struck wonder into Euryalus, 35

as thus he addressed his glowing friend: “And would you

shrink from taking me with you, Nisus, on this high occasion?

Am I to send you out alone on such perilous

errand? It was not thus that my father, the veteran

Opheltes, reared and bred me among Argive terrors and

Trojan agonies, nor have such been my doings at your side,

since I followed our hero Æneas and his desperate fate.

Here, here, within me is a soul that thinks scorn of happy 5

sunshine, and deems that the glory at which you aim were

cheaply bought with life.” “Nay,” returns Nisus, “trust

me, I had no such fear of you—none such had been just:

so may I return to you in triumph, by grace of mighty Jove,

or whosoever now looks down on us with righteous eyes. 10

But should aught—and a venture like this, you see, has

a thousand such—should aught sway things amiss, be it

chance or heaven’s will, I would fain have you spared:

yours is the meeter age for life. Let me have one to rescue

me in fight, or redeem me by ransom paid, and so consign 15

me to the burial all receive: or should Fortune grudge

even that, to pay me the rites of the absent, and give

me the adornment of a tomb. Nor let me be the cause of

grief so terrible to that unhappy parent, who alone of

many matrons has had a heart to follow you, dear boy, 20

nor cares for the city of great Acestes.” He replied:

“Spinning empty pretexts is idle work: there is no change

or faltering in my resolve. Up and despatch!” At once

he rouses the guard, who take his place and fulfil their

time, while he, departing from the post, walks side by side 25

with Nisus, and they seek the prince together.

All else that breathed on earth were asleep, their load of

care unbound, their hearts oblivious of toil; the chief

leaders of the Teucrians, the flower of the host, were holding

council on the crisis in their realm’s fortune, what they 30

should do, or who should at length be sent with the news

to Æneas. There they stand propped on their long spears,

their shields still in their hands, in the midst of camp and

plain. At this moment Nisus and Euryalus eagerly crave

instant admission—the affair is great, say they, and well 35

worth the pause it claims. Iulus was the first to welcome

and reassure them, and bid Nisus speak. Then began the

son of Hyrtacus: “Listen, ye sons of Troy, with kindly

heed, nor let these our proffers be judged by our years.

The Rutulians, unnerved by sleep and wine, are hushed

in silence: we have ourselves observed a place for a

stealthy move, open through the passage of the gate which

abuts on the sea. The line of fires is broken, and only 5

dusky smoke rises to the sky: give us but leave to make

use of fortune, and go in quest of Æneas and the walls of

Pallanteum, soon shall you see us here again after a mighty

carnage, laden with spoils. Nor can the way mislead us

as we go: we have seen in the dimness of the vale the outskirts 10

of the city while persevering in our hunting, and

have made acquaintance with the whole river’s course.”

Then spoke Aletes, weighty with years and ripe of understanding:

“Gods of our fathers, whose constant presence

watches over Troy, not yet in spite of all do ye purpose to 15

make an utter end of us Teucrians, when such are the

spirits and so steadfast the hearts ye breed in our youth.”

As he said this, he kept embracing the necks and hands of

both, and bathing his cheeks in floods of tears. “What

guerdons, gallant men, what can I fancy of worth enough 20

to pay you for glories like these? First and richest of all

will be the praise of heaven and your own hearts: next

to these you will receive the rest without fail from good

Æneas and young Ascanius, who will never forget a service

so great.” “Nay,” cries Ascanius, “let me speak, me, 25

whose safety is bound up with my sire’s return: by our

great household gods I adjure you, Nisus, by the deity of

Assaracus’ house and the shrine of reverend Vesta—all

my fortune, all my trust, I place in your hands: bring

back my father, let me see him again; he once restored, 30

all grief is over. I will give you a pair of goblets wrought

with silver and rough from the chasing-tool, which my

father took when he conquered Arisba, a couple of tripods,

two great talents of gold, and an ancient bowl, Sidonian

Dido its donor. But if it be our victorious fortune to 35

conquer Italy and attain the crown, and appoint the lot

for the booty—you saw the horse which Turnus rode, the

arms in which he moved all golden—that horse, that

shield, and the scarlet crest I will set apart from the lot,

and count it, Nisus, yours already. Moreover, my sire

shall give you twelve matron captives of choicest beauty,

male prisoners too, each with his armour, and, to

crown all, the portion of domain held by king Latinus 5

himself. But you, whose years are followed at nearer

distance by my own, revered youth, I take at once to my

heart, and fold you there, my comrade for whatever betides.

Never will I seek glory for my own estate apart

from you: whether I have peace or war on hand, yours 10

shall be my utmost confidence in deed and in word.”

To him spoke Euryalus in reply: “No length of time shall

find me false to the promise of my bold essay: let but

fortune speed and not thwart us. But one boon I would

ask of you beyond all others: I have a mother of Priam’s 15

ancient house, whom not the land of Ilium, not the city

of king Acestes, could keep, poor soul, from going with me.

Her I am now leaving, ignorant of this peril, be it what it

may, with no word of greeting—Night and your right

hand are my witnesses—because I could not bear a parent’s 20

tears. But you, I pray, comfort her need and support

her lonely age. With this trust in you to bear along

with me, I shall meet all that happens with a bolder

spirit.” Touched to the heart, the children of Dardanus

broke into tears—chief of all the fair Iulus, as the picture 25

of his own filial love flashed upon his soul. Thus he

speaks: “Assure yourself that all shall be done that your

mighty deeds deserve. Yes, she shall be my own mother,

nought wanting but the name to make her Creusa’s self;

to have borne you lays up no mean store of gratitude. 30

Whatever the fortune that attends your endeavour, I

swear by this my head, by which my father has been wont

to swear, all that I promise to you in the event of your

prosperous return, shall remain in its fulness assured to

your mother and your house.” This he says weeping, and 35

unbelts from his shoulder a gilded sword wrought with

rare art by Lycaon of Crete, and fitted for use with a scabbard

of ivory. To Nisus Mnestheus gives a skin, a lion’s

shaggy spoils: Aletes, true of heart, makes an exchange

of helmets. Their arming done they march along; and

as they go, the whole band of nobles, young and old, escorts

them to the gate with prayers for their safety. There too

was fair Iulus, in heart and forethought manlier than his 5

years, giving them many a charge to carry to his father.

But the winds scatter all alike, and deliver them cancelled

to the clouds.

Passing through the gate, they cross the trenches, and

through the midnight shade make for the hostile camp—destined, 10

though, first to be the death of many. All about

the grass they see bodies stretched at length by sleep and

wine, cars tilted up on the shore, men lying among wheels

and harness, with armour and pools of wine about them.

First spoke the son of Hyrtacus: “Euryalus, daring hands 15

are wanted; the occasion now calls for action; here lies

our way. Do you keep watch and wide look-out, lest any

hand be lifted against us from behind; I will lay these

ranks waste, and give you a broad path to walk in.” So

saying, he checks his voice, and at once with his tyrannous 20

sword assails Rhamnes, who, pillowed on a vast pile of

rugs, was breathing from all his breast the breath of sleep—a

king himself, and king Turnus’ favourite augur;

but his augury availed him not to ward off death. Close

by he surprises three attendants, stretched carelessly 25

among their weapons, and Remus’ armour-bearer and

charioteer, catching him as he lay at the horses’ side:

the steel shears through their drooping necks; then he

lops the head of their lord, and leaves the trunk gurgling

and spouting blood, while ground and couch are reeking 30

with black streams of gore. Lamyrus too, and Lamus,

and young Serranus, who had played long that night in the

pride of his beauty, and was lying with the dream-god’s

hand heavy upon him; happy, had he made his play as

long as the night, and pushed it into morning. Like a 35

hungry lion making havoc through a teeming fold—for

the madness of famine constrains him—he goes mangling

and dragging along the feeble cattle, dumb with terror,

and gnashing his bloody teeth. Nor less the carnage

of Euryalus: he, too, all on fire, storms along, and slays

on his road a vast and nameless crowd, Fadus and Herbesus,

and Rhœtus and Abaris—unconscious these:

Rhœtus was awake and saw it all, but in his fear he 5

crouched behind a massive bowl; whence, as he rose, the

conqueror plunged into his fronting breast the length of

his sword, and drew it back with a torrent of death. The

dying man vomits forth his crimson life, and disgorges

mingled wine and blood: the foe pursues his stealthy work. 10

And now he was making for Messapus’ followers, for there

he saw the flicker of dying fires, and horses tied and browsing

at their ease; when thus spoke Nisus in brief, seeing

him hurried on by passion and excess of slaughter: “Forbear

we now; the daylight, our enemy, is at hand; we 15

have supped on vengeance to the full; a highway is open

through the foe.” Many warriors’ arms they leave,

wrought of solid silver, many bowls and gorgeous coverlets.

Euryalus lays hand on Rhamnes’ trappings and his belt

with golden studs, sent by wealthy Cædicus of old as a 20

present to Remulus of Tiber, when he fain would make

him his friend from a distance; he, dying, leaves them to

his grandson, after whose death the Rutulians won them

in battle; these he strips off, and fits them to his valiant

breast, all for nought. Then he puts on Messapus’ shapely 25

helm, with its graceful crest. They leave the camp, and

pass into safety.

Meanwhile a troop of horse, sent on from the town of

Latium, while the rest of the force abides drawn up on the

field, was on its way with a message to king Turnus, three 30

hundred, shield-bearers all, with Volscens, their chief.

They were just nearing the camp, and passing under the

wall, when at distance they spy the two bending to the

left, and the helmet, seen in the glimmering twilight,

betrayed the heedless Euryalus, as the moonbeam flashed 35

full upon it. The sight fell not on idle eyes. Volscens

shouts from his band: “Halt, gallants; tell your errand,

who you are thus armed, and whither you are going.”

They venture no reply, but hasten the faster to the woods,

and make the night their friend. The horsemen bar each

well-known passage right and left and set a guard on every

outlet. The wood was shagged with thickets and dark

ilex boughs; impenetrable briars filled it on every side; 5

through the concealed tracks just gleamed a narrow path.

Euryalus is hampered by the darkness of the branches,

and the encumbrance of his booty, and fear makes him miss

the right line of road. Nisus shoots away: and now in

his forgetfulness he had escaped the foe, and gained the 10

region afterwards called Alban from Alba’s name; in

that day king Latinus had there his stately stalls; when he

halted, and looked back in vain for the friend he could not

see. “My poor Euryalus! where have I left you? what

way shall I trace you, unthreading all the tangled path of 15

that treacherous wood?” As he speaks, he scans and

retraces each step, and wanders through the stillness of

the brakes. He hears the horses, hears the noise and the

tokens of pursuit. Pass a few moments, and a shout

strikes on his ear, and he sees Euryalus, who is in the hands 20

of the whole crew, the victim of the ground and the night,

bewildered by the sudden onslaught, hurried along, and

making a thousand fruitless efforts. What should he do?

with what force, what arms, can he attempt a rescue?

should he dash through the thick of their swords with 25

death before his eyes, and hurry to a glorious end in a shower

of wounds? Soon, with his arm drawn back, he poises his

spear-shaft, looking up to the moon in the sky, and thus

prays aloud: “Thou, goddess, be thou present, and befriend

my endeavour, Latona’s daughter, glory of the 30

heavens and guardian of the woods: if ever my father

Hyrtacus brought gift for me to thine altar, if ever my own

hunting swelled the tribute, if ever I hung an offering from

thy dome or fastened it on thy hallowed summit, suffer

me to confound this mass, and guide my weapons through 35

the air.” This said, with an effort of his whole frame he

hurled the steel. The flying spear strikes through the

shades of night, reaches the turned back of Sulmo, there

snaps short, and pierces the midriff with the broken

wood. Down he tumbles, disgorging from his breast the

warm life-torrent that leaves him cold, and long choking

gasps smite on his sides. They look round this way and

that: while the same fell arm, nerved by success, is levelling, 5

see! another weapon from the ear-tip. While all

is confusion, the spear has passed through Tagus’ two

temples with whizzing sound, and lies warmly lodged in his

cloven brain. Volscens storms with fury, yet sees nowhere

the author of the wound, nor on whom to vent his 10

rage; “You, however, shall pay both debts meanwhile

with your heart’s blood,” cries he; and speaking, rushes

with drawn sword on Euryalus. Then, indeed, in frantic

agony, Nisus shouts aloud; no more care had he to hide

himself in darkness, no more strength to bear grief so 15

terrible: “Me, me! behold the doer! make me your mark,

O Rutulians! mine is all the blame; he had no heart, no

hand for such deeds; this heaven, these stars know that

it is true; it was but that he loved his unhappy friend too

well.” Thus he was pleading; but the sword, driven with 20

the arm’s full force, has pierced the ribs and is rending the

snowy breast. Down falls Euryalus in death; over his

beauteous limbs gushes the blood, and his powerless neck

sinks on his shoulders; as when a purple flower, severed by

the plough, pines in death, or poppies with faint necks 25

droop the head, when rain has chanced to weigh them

down. But Nisus rushes full on the foe, Volscens his one

object among them all; he cares for none but Volscens:

the enemy cluster round, and assail him on all sides; none

the less he holds on his way, whirling his lightning blade, 30

till at last he lodges it full in the Rutulian’s face, as he

shrieks for aid, and dying robs his foe of life. Then he

flung himself on his breathless friend, pierced through

and through, and there at length slept away in peaceful

death. 35

Happy pair! if this my song has aught of potency, no

lapse of days shall efface your names from the memory of

time, so long as the house of Æneas shall dwell on the

Capitol’s moveless rock, and a Roman father shall be the

world’s lord.

The Rutulian conquerors, enriched with spoil and booty,

were bearing Volscens’ body to the camp with tears in their

eyes. Nor less loud is the wailing in the camp, when they 5

find Rhamnes drained of life, and those many chiefs slain

by a single carnage—Serranus, Numa, and the rest.

They flock in crowds to the bodies, the warriors yet breathing,

the place fresh and reeking with slaughter, and the

streams of gore full and foaming. They pass the spoils 10

from hand to hand, and recognize Messapus’ gleaming

helm, and the trappings which it cost such sweat to recover.

Now at last the goddess of the dawn was sprinkling the

world with new-born light, as she rose from Tithonus’ 15

saffron couch: the sun had streamed in and all was revealed

by daybreak, when Turnus summons his men to

arms, himself sheathed in armour; each general musters

in battle array his brass-mailed bands, and, scattering

divers speeches, stings them to fury. Nay, more, on 20

uplifted spears, most piteous sight, they set up the heads,

and follow them with deafening shouts—the heads of

Euryalus and Nisus. Æneas’ sturdy family, on the rampart’s

left side, set the fight in array—for the right is

flanked by the river—guard the broad trenches and stand 25

on the lofty towers, deep in sorrow—touched to see those

lifted human countenances, which to their grief they knew

so well, dripping with black corrupted gore.

Meantime, Fame spreads her wings and flies with the

news through the wildered settlement, and reaches the 30

ears of Euryalus’ mother. At once the vital heat left her

wretched frame: the shuttle was dashed from her hands,

and the thread ran back. Forth flies the unhappy dame,

and with a woman’s piercing shriek, her tresses rent, makes

madly for the walls and the van of battle, heeding not the 35

eyes of men, heeding not the peril and the shower of javelins,

while she fills the heaven with her plaints: “Is it thus,

Euryalus, that I see you again? have you, the late solace

of my waning years, had the heart to leave me alone, unpitying?

nor, when you ventured on such dangerous errand,

might your wretched mother speak her farewell?

Alas! on an unknown land you are lying, exposed to the

ravin[267] of Latium’s dogs and birds; nor have I, your 5

mother, followed your corpse to the tomb, or closed your

eyes, or bathed your wounds, shrouding you with the

robe which I worked so hard to finish day and night, and

made the loom the medicine of an old wife’s sorrow!

Where shall I seek you? what land now contains those 10

severed limbs, that mutilated corpse? is this the sole relic

of yourself that you bring back to me, my son? is this

what I followed over land and sea? Pierce me, if you have

aught of human feeling—shower on me all your darts, ye

Rutulians, let the sword make me its first meal; or do 15

thou, great sire of the gods, have mercy, and with thy

lightning-bolt strike down to Tartarus this hated life,

since I cannot otherwise end the cruel pain of being.”

Her wail shook every heart to its centre; a groan of sorrow

passed through the ranks; their martial prowess flags 20

and faints. At last, as her agony flames higher, Idæus

and Actor, bidden by Ilioneus and the tearful Iulus, lay

hold of her, and carry in their arms within.

But the trumpet from its brazen throat uttered afar a

tremendous blare; a shout ensues, and heaven returns the 25

roar. Quick speed the Volscians, carrying in level line

their penthouse of shields, and strive to fill the moat and

pluck down the palisade. Some look about for an access,

and fain would scale the walls with ladders, where the line

of defence is thin, and the ring of men, not too closely set, 30

shows a gleaming interval. The Teucrians, on their part,

shower missiles of every sort, and repulse the assailants

with strong poles, taught by a long war’s experience how

to guard their walls. Stones, too, they kept rolling of fatal

bulk, in hope to break through the foe’s sheltered ranks, 35

though beneath so firm a penthouse a soldier may well

smile at all that can betide. Ay, and it ceases to avail

them: for where a mighty mass threatens the rampart, the

Teucrians push forward and roll down an enormous

weight, which made wide havoc among the Rutulians, and

burst the joints of their harness. And now the bold

Rutulians care no longer to wage war in the dark, but aim

at driving them from the ramparts with a storm of missiles. 5

In another quarter, terrible to look upon, Mezentius waves

an Etruscan pine and hurls fire and smoke, while Messapus,

tamer of the steed, of the race of Neptune, plucks

down the palisade, and calls for ladders to the

battlement. 10

Vouchsafe, Calliope and thy heavenly sisterhood, to aid

me while I sing, what slaughter, what deaths were dealt

that day in that place by Turnus’ sword, what foes each

warrior sent down to the grave, and help me to unfold the

length and breadth of the mighty war. 15

A tower there was, vast to look on from below, with

lofty bridges, placed on a vantage-ground, which all the

Italians, with utmost force and utmost strain of might,

were essaying to storm, while the Trojans, on their side,

were defending it with stones, and hurling showers of 20

darts through its narrow eyelets. Turnus the first flung

a blazing torch and fastened fire on its side; fanned by

the wind, the flame seized the planks and lodged in the

consuming doors. The inmates are all in confusion, and

in vain seek to escape the mischief. While they huddle 25

together and retire upon the part which the plague has

spared, in an instant the tower falls heavily down, and the

firmament thunders with the crash. Half dead they come

to the ground, the huge fabric following on their backs,

pierced by their own weapons, their breasts impaled by the 30

cruel wood. Barely two escaped, Helenor and Lycus—Helenor

in prime of youth, whom Licymnia the slave had

borne secretly to the Mæonian king, and had sent to Troy

in forbidden arms, with the light accoutrement of a

naked sword, and a shield uncharged by an escutcheon. 35

Soon as he saw himself with Turnus’ thousands round him,

the armies of Latium standing on this side and on that,

like a beast that, hemmed in by the hunters’ close-set ring,

vents her rage on the darts and flings herself deliberately

on death, and springs from high on the line of spears, even

thus the doomed youth rushes on the midst of the foe,

making for where he sees the darts are thickest. But

Lycus, far swifter of foot, winds among ranks of foes and 5

showers of steel and gains the wall, and strives to clutch

the fabric’s summit and reach the hands of his friends.

Whom Turnus, following him at once with foot and javelin,

taunts in victorious tone: “Dreamed you, poor fool, that

you could escape my hands?” and with that he seizes him 10

as he hangs in air, and pulls him down with a great fragment

of the wall; just as the bearer of Jove’s thunder

trusses in his hooked talons a hare or a snow-white swan

and soars into the sky, or one of Mars’ wolves snatches

from the fold a lamb which its mother’s bleatings reclaim 15

in vain. On all sides rises the war-shout. They rush on

the trenches and fill them with shattered earthworks,

while others fling brazen firebrands to the roofs. Ilioneus

with a rock, broken from a mighty mountain, brings

down Lucetius as he assails the gates and waves his torch. 20

Liger kills Emathion, Asilas Corynæus, one skilled with the

javelin, one with the arrow that surprises from a distance.

Cæneus slays Ortygius, Turnus the conqueror Cæneus,

Turnus Itys and Clonius, Dioxippus and Promolus, and

Sagaris, and Idas, who was standing on the turret’s top. 25

Capys kills Privernus: Themilla’s flying spear had grazed

him first; he, poor fool, dropped his buckler and clapped

his hand to the wound, so the arrow came on stealthy

wing, and the hand was pinned to the left side, and the

inmost seat of breath is rent asunder by the deadly wound. 30

There stood the son of Arcens in conspicuous armour,

his scarf embroidered with needlework, in the glory of

Hiberian purple, fair of form, sent to war by his father

Arcens, who had reared him in his mother’s grove by the

streams of Symæthus, where stands Palicus’ rich and 35

gracious altar: flinging his spears aside, Mezentius

whirled the strained thong of the whizzing sling thrice

round his head, and with the molten bullet burst in twain

the forehead of the fronting foe, and stretched him at

full length on the expanse of sand.

Then first, they say, Ascanius levelled in war his winged

arrow, used till then to terrify the beasts of chase, and

laid low by strength of hand the brave Numanus, Remulus 5

by surname, who had lately won and wedded Turnus’

younger sister. He was stalking in front of the host,

vaunting aloud things meet and unmeet to tell, in the

insolence of new-blown royalty, and venting his pride in

clamorous tones: “Are ye not ashamed to be imprisoned 10

yet again in leaguer and rampart, twice-captured Phrygians,

and to put your walls between you and death? Lo, these

are the men who demand our wives at the sword’s edge!

What god, what madness, has driven you to Italy? You

will not find the Atridæ here, nor Ulysses the forger of 15

speech. A hardy race even from the stock, we bring our

sons soon as born to the river’s side, and harden them with

the water’s cruel cold. Our boys spend long days in the

chase, and weary out the forest; their sport is to rein the

steed, and level shafts from the bow. Our youth, strong 20

to labour and schooled by want, subdues the earth with

the rake, or shakes the city’s walls with battle. All our

life we ply the steel; with the butt of our spears we belabour

our cattle; old age, which dulls all else, impairs

not the force of our hearts or changes our fresh vigour; 25

the hoary head is clasped by the helmet; our constant

joy is to bring home new booty and live by rapine. Yours

are embroidered garments of saffron and gleaming purple;

sauntering and sloth are your delight; your pleasure is to

indulge the dance; your tunics have sleeves and your turbans 30

strings. Phrygian dames in sooth—for Phrygian

men ye are not—get you to the heights of Dindymus,

where the pipe utters its two-doored note to your accustomed

ears. The Idæan mother’s cymbals, the Berecyntian

flute, are calling you to the revel; leave arms to 35

men, and meddle no more with steel.”

Such boasting and such ill-omened talk Ascanius could

bear no longer; setting his breast to the bow-string of

horsehair he levelled his dart, and drawing his arms wide

apart he stood, having first invoked Jove thus in suppliant

prayer: “Jove Almighty, smile on my bold essay; with

my own hand I will bring to thy temple yearly offerings,

and will set before thine altar a bullock with gilded brow, 5

snowy white, rearing his head to the height of his mother’s,

fit to butt with the horn and spurn up sand with the hoof.”

The father heard and from a cloudless quarter of the sky

thundered on the left; at the same instant twanged the

deadly bow. Forth flies the arrow from the string, whizzing 10

fearfully, passes through the head of Remulus, and cleaves

with its point his hollow temples. “Go, make valour the

sport of your boasting; the twice-captured Phrygians

answer the Rutulians thus.” So far Ascanius: the Teucrians

second him with a cry, shout for joy, and mount 15

heavenward in their exultation. It chanced that then

in the realm of sky long-haired Apollo was surveying the

armies of Ausonia and the city, seated on a cloud; and

thus addressed Iulus in the moment of triumph: “Rejoice,

brave youth, in your new-won laurels; ’tis thus 20

men climb the stars; son of gods that are, sire of gods that

shall be! Well has Fate ordered that beneath the house

of Assaracus the wars of the future shall find their end;

nor can Troy contain your prowess.” So saying he shoots

down from heaven, parts before him the breathing gales, 25

and makes for Ascanius. He changes his features to those

of ancient Butes, who had once been armour-bearer to

Dardanian Anchises and trusty watcher at the gate;

thence Ascanius’ sire made him his son’s guardian. Apollo

moved along, in all things like the aged veteran, the voice, 30

the colour, the white locks, the fiercely clanking armour;

and thus he spoke to Iulus’ glowing heart: “Suffice it,

child of Æneas, that Numanus has met from your darts an

unrequited death: this your maiden glory great Apollo

vouchsafes you freely, nor looks with jealousy on weapons 35

like his own; for the rest abstain from war, as stripling

should.” So Apollo began, and ere his speech was well

done parted from mortal eyes, and vanished from sight

into unsubstantial air. The Dardan chiefs knew the god

and his divine artillery, and heard his quiver hurtle as he

fled. So now at Phœbus’ present instance they check

Ascanius’ ardour for battle; themselves take their place

in the combat once more, and fling their lives into the 5

jaws of danger. All over the walls passes the shout from

rampart to rampart; they bend their sharp-springing

bows and hurl their lashed javelins—the ground is all

strewn with darts; shields and hollow helms ring with

blow on blow; a savage combat is aroused; fierce as the 10

rain coming from the west at the setting of the showery

kid-stars[268] scourges the earth, plenteous as the hail which

the stormclouds discharge into the sea, when Jove in the

sullenness of southern blasts whirls the watery tempest and

bursts the misty chambers of the sky. 15

Pandarus and Bitias, sons of Idæan Alcanor, brought up

by Iæra the wood-nymph in the grove of Jupiter, youths

tall as the pines and peaks of their birthplace, throw open

the gate, which the general’s order placed in their charge,

relying on their good steel, and invite the foe to enter the 20

town. Themselves within right and left stand before the

bulwarks, sheathed in iron, the crest waving on their lofty

heads: even as high in air beside the flowing streams,

on Padus’[269] banks it may be or by pleasant Athesis,[270] uptower

two oaks, raising to heaven their unshorn summits 25

and nodding their lofty crowns. In rush the Rutulians

when they see the entry clear. In a moment Quercens and

Aquicolus in his brilliant armour and headlong Tmarus

and Hæmon, scion of Mars, with all their followers, are

routed and turned to flight, or on the threshold of the gate 30

have resigned their lives. At this the wrath of the combatants

flames yet higher, and the Trojans rally and muster

in one spot and venture to engage hand to hand and to

advance farther into the plain.

Turnus, the chief, while venting his rage elsewhere and 35

scattering ranks of warriors, hears tidings that the foe,

fevered by the taste of blood, has thrown the gates open.

He leaves the work he had begun, and stirred with giant

fury hastens to the Dardan gate and the two haughty

brethren. Hurling his dart, he first slays Antiphates, who

happened first to meet him, bastard son of great Sarpedon

by a Theban mother; the shaft of Italian cornel flies

through the yielding air, and lodging in the throat goes 5

deep down into the chest; the wound’s dark pit spouts

forth a foaming torrent, and the cold steel grows warm

in the lungs it pierces. Then with strong hand he slays

Merops and Erymas and then Aphidnus, then Bitias

with his blazing eyes and his boiling valour—not with a 10

dart, for to a dart he would not have surrendered his life—no;

it was a whirled phalaric lance that came hurtling

fiercely, shot like a thunderbolt, which neither two bulls’

hides nor a trusty corselet with double golden plait could

withstand: the massive limbs sink and fall: earth groans, 15

and the vast buckler thunders on the body. Even thus

sometimes on Baiæ’s Eubœan coast falls a pile of stone,

which men compact with mighty blocks and then fling

into the sea; thus it comes down with protracted headlong

ruin, and dashing on the shallows settles into its 20

place; the sea is all disturbed, and the murky sand rises

to the surface; the crash shakes Prochyta[271] to her depths,

and Inarime’s[272] rugged bed, laid by Jove’s command upon

Typhœus.

Now Mars, the lord of arms, inspires the Latians with 25

strength and courage, and plants his stings deep in their

bosoms, while among the Teucrians, he sends Flight and

grisly Terror. They flock from this side and from that,

now that scope for battle is given, and the warrior-god

comes down on their souls. When Pandarus saw his 30

brother’s corpse laid low, and knew the posture of fortune

and the chance that was swaying the day, with a mighty

effort he turns the gate on its hinge, pushing with his broad

shoulders, and leaves outside many of his comrades shut out

from the camp all in the cruel battle, while others he shuts 35

in with himself, admitting them as they stream onward—madman,

to have failed to see the king of the Rutulians in

the middle of the company storming in, and to have shut

him wantonly within the walls, like monstrous tiger

among a herd of helpless cattle! On the instant a strange

light flashed from the eyes of the foe, and his arms gave a

fearful clang; on his helm quivers his crest, red as blood,

and from his shield he darts gleaming lightnings. With 5

sudden confusion the children of Æneas recognize that

hated form and those giant limbs. Then forth springs

mighty Pandarus, and with all the glow of wrath for his

brother’s death bespeaks him thus: “This is not the

bridal palace of Amata, nor is it Ardea that embraces 10

Turnus in the walls of his fathers; the enemy’s camp is

before you; all escape is barred.” To him Turnus, smiling

in quiet mood: “Begin, if you have courage, and engage in

combat. Priam shall learn from you that here too you

have found an Achilles.” Thus he: Pandarus, with the 15

full strain of his power, hurls his spear, rugged with knots

and unpeeled bark. It was launched on the air; but Saturnian

Juno turned aside the coming wound, and the

spear lodged in the gate. “But this my weapon you

shall not escape, swayed as it is by my hand’s full force; 20

he from whom wound and weapon come is too strong for

that.” So cries Turnus, and rises high upon his lifted

sword, and cleaves with the steel the forehead in twain full

between the temples, parting beardless cheek from cheek

with a ghastly wound. A crash is heard: earth is shaken 25

by the enormous weight: the unnerved limbs, the arms

splashed with gore and brain are stretched in death on the

ground; and the head, shared in equal parts, hangs right

and left from either shoulder. The routed Trojans fly

here and there in wildering terror; and had the thought at 30

once seized the conqueror, to burst the gates by main

force and give entrance to his friends, that day would have

ended a war and a nation both. But rage and mad thirst

for blood drove him in fury on the foe before him. First

he surprises Phalaris and hamstrings Gyges; plucks forth 35

spears and hurls them on the backs of the fliers; Juno

gives supplies of strength and courage. He sends Halys to

join them and Phegeus, pierced through the shield, and

cuts down others as they stand unconscious on the walls

and stir up the battle, Alcander and Halius, and Noëmon

and Prytanis. As Lynceus moved to meet him and calls

on his comrades, with a sweep of his arm from the rampart

on his right he catches him with his whirling sword; swept 5

off by a single blow hand to hand, the head with the helmet

on it lay yards away. Next falls Amycus, the ravager of

the forest brood, than who was never man more skilled

to anoint the dart and arm the steel with venom, and

Clytius, son of Æolus, and Cretheus, darling of the Muses, 10

Cretheus the Muses’ playmate, whose delight was ever in

minstrelsy and harp, and in stringing notes on the chord;

songs of chargers and warrior arms and battles were ever on

his lips.

At last the Teucrian leaders, hearing of the slaughter of 15

their men, come together to the spot, Mnestheus and keen

Serestus, when they see their comrades flying in confusion,

and the foe lodged in the camp. Out cries Mnestheus:

“Whither now, whither are ye making in flight? what

further city have ye, what walls beyond? Shall it be said 20

that a single man, and he too, my countrymen, hemmed in

on all hands by your ramparts, has spread unavenged

such havoc through your streets, has sent down to death so

many of your bravest? As ye think of your unhappy

country, your ancient gods, your great Æneas, is there no 25

pity, no shame in your sluggish hearts?” Roused by these

words they rally and halt in close array. Turnus step by

step withdraws from the fight, making for the river and

the part round which the water runs. All the more keenly

the Teucrians press on him with loud shouts and close their 30

ranks: as when a company of hunters bears down on a

savage lion javelin in hand: he, struck with fear, yet fierce

and glaring angrily, gives ground; wrath and courage

suffer him not to turn his back, nor yet may he charge,

though he fain would do so, through the huntsmen and the 35

spears. Not unlike to him Turnus in doubt retraces his

lingering footsteps, while his heart boils with rage. Even

then twice had he dashed on the thick of the foe, twice he

drives their ranks in huddled flight round the walls; but

the whole army musters in a body from the camp, nor dares

Saturnian Juno supply him with strength to oppose them;

for Jove sent down from the sky celestial Iris, with no

gentle message for his sister’s ear, if Turnus retire not from 5

the Teucrians’ lofty ramparts. So now the warrior cannot

hold his own with shield or sword; such a deluge of darts

overwhelms him. Round his hollow temples the helmet

echoes with ceaseless ringing; the solid plates of brass

give way beneath the stones; the horsehair crest is struck 10

from his head; his shield’s boss cannot stand the blows;

faster and faster they hail their spears, the Trojans and

fiery Mnestheus. Over all his frame flows the sweat and

trickles in a murky stream, while breathe he cannot; his

sinking limbs are shaken with feeble panting. At last 15

with headlong leap he plunged arms and all into the river.

Tiber with his yellow gulf received the guest, upbore him

on his buoyant waves, and washing off the stains of carnage,

restored him in joy to his friends.

BOOK X

Meantime the palace of strong Olympus is thrown open,

and the sire of gods and monarch of men summons a

council to the starry chamber, whence, throned on high,

he looks down on the length and breadth of earth, the

camp of the Dardans and the people of Latium. They 5

take their seats in the double-gated mansion; he himself

opens the court: “Mighty denizens of heaven, wherefore

is your judgment turned backward, and whence such discord

in your unkindly souls? I had forbidden that Italy

should meet the Teucrians in the shock of war. What 10

strife is this in defiance of my law? What terror has

prompted these or those to draw the sword and provoke

the fight? There shall come a rightful time for combat—no

need for you to hasten it—when fierce Carthage one

day shall launch on the hills of Rome mighty ruin and the 15

opening of Alpine barriers. Then will your rancours be

free to contend, your hands to plunder and ravage; for the

present let be, and cheerfully ratify the peace that I have

willed.”

Thus Jupiter in brief; but not brief was the answer 20

of golden Venus: “O Father! O eternal sovereignty of

man and nature! for what else can there be which is left

us to implore? Seest thou how the Rutulians insult? how

Turnus is whirled through the battle by his haughty

coursers, borne on the floodtide of war? No longer are 25

the Teucrians safe even in the shelter of their walls; within

the gates, amidst the very mounds of the ramparts combat

is waged, and the trenches overflow with carnage. Æneas

is away in his ignorance. Wilt thou never let us have

respite from siege? Once more the enemy is stooping over 30

the walls of our infant Troy, with a second army; once

more Tydeus’ son from his Ætolian Arpi is rising against

the Teucrians. Ay, my wounds, I ween, are yet in the

future, and I, thine own offspring, am delaying the destined

course of a mortal spear. If it is without your leave and 5

despite your will that the Trojans have won their way to

Italy, let them expiate the crime and withdraw from them

thine aid: but if they have but followed those many oracles

given by powers above and powers underground, how

can any now be able to reverse thine ordinance and write 10

anew the page of fate? Why should I remind thee of our

fleet consumed on Eryx’ shore? why of the monarch of the

storms and his raving winds stirred up from Æolia, or of

Iris sent down from the clouds? Now she is even rousing

the ghosts below—that portion of the world till then was 15

untried—and on a sudden Allecto is launched on upper

air, and rages through the Italian cities. It is not for

empire that I am disquieted; for that we hoped in the past,

while our star yet shone: let them conquer whom thou

wouldst have conquer. If there is no country on earth 20

which thy relentless spouse will allow the Teucrians, I adjure

thee, father, by the smoking ruins of Troy overthrown,

let me send away Ascanius safe from the war—let my

grandson survive in life. Æneas, indeed, may be tossed

on unknown waters, and follow such course as chance may 25

give him: him let me have the power to screen and withdraw

from the horrors of battle. Amathus is mine, and

lofty Paphos, and high Cythera, and the mansion of Idalia:

there let him pass his days unwarlike and inglorious. Let

it be thy will that Carthage shall bow Ausonia beneath 30

her tyrannous sway; the Tyrian cities need fear no resistance

from him. What has it advantaged him to have

escaped the plague of war and fled through the hottest of

the Argive fires, to have drained to the dregs all those

dangers by sea and on broad earth, while the Teucrians 35

are in quest of Latium and a restored Pergamus? Give

back, great sire, to our wretched nation their Xanthus and

their Simois, and let the Teucrians enact once more the old

tragedy of Ilium.” Then outspoke queenly Juno, goaded

by fierce passion: “Why force you me to break my deep

silence, and give forth in words my buried grief? Your

Æneas—was it any man or god that compelled him to

draw the sword, and come down as a foe on the Latian 5

king? Grant that he went to Italy at the instance of fate,

at the impulse, in truth, of mad Cassandra; was it our

counsel that he should leave his camp and place his life

at the mercy of the winds? that he should trust the control

of battle and his city to a boy—should tamper with 10

Tyrrhenian loyalty and stir up a quiet nation? What

god, what cruel tyranny of ours, drove him thither to his

hurt? is there a trace of Juno here, or of Iris sent down from

the clouds? Ay, it is foul shame that the Italians should

throw a belt of flame round the infant Troy—that Turnus 15

should plant a foot on the soil of his fathers, Turnus, whose

grandsire was Pilumnus, whose mother the goddess

Venilia. How call you it for the Trojans to invade

Latium with their smoking torches, to put their yoke on a

country that is none of theirs, and harry away its plunder—to 20

choose at will those whose daughters they would wed,

and drag the plighted bride from the bosom—to bear

suppliant tokens in the hand and arm their vessels to the

teeth? You have power to withdraw Æneas from the

hands of the Greeks, and offer them clouds and thin winds 25

for the man they seek—power to turn a fleet of ships into

a bevy of Nymphs; and is it utterly monstrous for us to

give the Rutulians a measure of aid in return? Æneas

is away in ignorance, and in ignorance let him bide away.

You have your Paphos, your Idalium, your lofty Cythera: 30

why meddle with a city brimming with war and with ungentle

hearts? Is it we that are labouring to overturn

from the foundation your feeble Phrygian fortunes?

We? or the gallant who brought Greece down on the

wretched Trojans? What reason was there that Europe 35

and Asia should stand up to fight, and a league be broken

by treachery? Did I lead your Dardan leman to take

Sparta by storm? did I put weapons in his hand, or fan the

flame of war with the gales of love? Then had there been

decency in your fears for your friends; now you are rising

too late with unjust complaints, and flinging idly the language

of quarrel.”

Such was the appeal of Juno: and the whole body of immortals 5

murmured assent on this side or on that, like new-born

gales when they murmur, caught in the forest, and

roll about mysterious sounds, disclosing to the sailor a

coming storm. Then begins the almighty sire, whose is

the chief sovereignty of the universe: at opening of his 10

mouth the lofty palace of the gods grows still, and earth

shakes to her foundations; silent is the height of ether; the

Zephyrs are sunk to rest, and Ocean subdues its waves to

repose. “Take then to your hearts and engrave there

these my words: since it may not be that Ausonian and 15

Teucrian should be united by treaty, and your wranglings

brook no conclusion, be each man’s fortune to-day what

it may, be the span of each man’s hope long or short,

Trojan or Rutulian, I will show favour to neither, whether

it be by destiny that the Italian leaguer encompasses the 20

camp, or by Troy’s baneful error and the warnings of hostile

intelligence. Nor leave I the Rutulians free. Each man’s

own endeavours shall yield him the harvest of labour or

fortune. Jove, as king, is alike to all. Destiny shall find

her own way.” By the river of his Stygian brother, by the 25

banks that seethe with pitch and are washed by the

murky torrent, he nodded confirmation, and with his nod

made all Olympus tremble. So ended their debate.

Then from his golden throne rises Jove, and the immortals

gathering round him usher him to his chamber. 30

Meantime the Rutulians press round each and all of the

gates, eager to slaughter the soldiery and belt the ramparts

with flame. But Æneas’ army is hemmed within the

leaguered encampment, without hope of escape. In unavailing

wretchedness they stand guarding the turret’s 35

height, and form a thin circle round the walls. Asius son

of Imbrasus, and Hicetaon’s child Thymœtes, and the two

Assaraci, and Castor and aged Thymbris are their front

rank, by their side the two brethren of Sarpedon, Clarus

and Themon both, come from noble Lycia. There is one

carrying with the whole strain of his body a mighty rock,

no small portion of a mountain, Acmon of Lyrnessus, a

worthy peer of his father Clytius and his brother Menestheus. 5

Some repel the foe with javelins, some with stones:

they launch the firebrand, they fit the arrow to the string.

In the midst is he, Venus’ most rightful care, the royal boy

of Dardany, his beauteous head uncovered: see him shine

like a jewel islanded in yellow gold, an ornament for neck 10

or head, or as gleams ivory set by artist skill in box-wood or

Orician terebinth[273]: his flowing hair streams over a neck of

milky white and is gathered up by a ring of ductile gold.

Thou, too, Ismarus, wast seen by tribes of warriors dealing

wounds abroad and arming thy arrows with venom, gallant 15

branch of a Lydian house, from the land whose rich

soil is broken up by the husbandmen and washed by

Pactolus’ golden stream. Mnestheus, too, was there, whom

yesterday’s triumph over Turnus repulsed from the rampart

exalts to the stars, and Capys, who gives his name to 20

Campania’s mother city.

So they on this side and on that had waged all day the

conflict of stubborn war; and now at midnight Æneas

was ploughing the main. For soon as, leaving Evander,

he entered the Etruscan camp, accosted the king, and told 25

him of his name and his race, for what he sues and what

he offers, explains what arms Mezentius musters on his

side, and what the excess of Turnus’ violence, warns him

how little faith man can place in fortune, and seconds

reasoning by entreaty, without a moment’s pause Tarchon 30

combines his forces and strikes a truce; and at once, freed

from the spell of destiny, the Lydian race embarks according

to heaven’s ordinance, under the charge of a foreign

leader. First sails the vessel of Æneas, Phrygian lions

harnessed on the prow; above them Ida spreads her shade, 35

of happiest augury to exiled Troy. There sits great Æneas

brooding over the doubtful future of the war: and Pallas,

close cleaving to his left side, keeps questioning him,

now of the stars, the road-marks of the shadowy night,

and now of all that he has borne by land and by sea.

Now, ye goddesses, open wide your Helicon,[274] and stir up

the powers of song, to tell us what the army now following

Æneas from the Tuscan shores, equipping its ships for 5

adventure, and sailing over the sea.

First comes Massicus, cleaving the waters in his brass-sheathed

Tiger: in his train a band of a thousand warriors,

who have left the walls of Clusium and the city Cosæ;

their weapons a sheaf of arrows, light quivers for the 10

shoulder, and a bow of deadly aim. With him grim

Abas: his whole band ablaze with gleaming armour,

his vessel shining with a gilded Apollo. Populonia had

sent him six hundred of her sons, all versed in war: Ilva

three hundred, an island rich in the Chalybes’ unexhausted 15

mines. Third comes Asilas, the great interpreter

’tween gods and men, at whose bidding are the

victims’ entrails, the stars of the sky, the tongues of augurial

birds, and the flame of the prophetic lightning. With

him hurry a thousand in close array, bristling with spears—subjected 20

to his command by the town of Pisa, which,

sprung from Alpheus, took root on Etruscan soil. After

these is Astur, fairest of form, Astur, proud of his steed

and his glancing armour. Three hundred follow him, all

with one loyal soul, from those who dwell in Cære and in 25

the plains of Minio, in ancient Pyrgi, and Gravisca’s

tainted air.

I would not leave thee unsung, bravest chief of the Ligurians,

Cinyras, or Cupavo with scanty retinue, whose helmet

is surmounted by plumage of the swan: love was your 30

joint crime; for love you wear the cognizance of your

father’s form. For legend tells that Cycnus, all for grief

over his darling Phaethon, while in the poplar shade and

the leafage of the brotherless sisters he keeps singing and

consoling his sad passion by the Muses’ aid, drew over his 35

form the soft plumage of downy eld, mounting up from

earth and sending his voice before him to the stars. His

son, with a band of martial peers sailing at his side,

propels with his oars the enormous Centaur: the monster

stands lowering over the water, and threatens the billows

with a huge rock from his towering eminence, as he ploughs

the deep sea with the length of his keel.

Great Ocnus too is leading an army from the coasts of his 5

fathers, Ocnus, son of Manto the prophetess and the Etruscan

river, who bestowed on thee, Mantua, thy city walls

and the name of his mother, Mantua rich in ancestral

glories: but not all her sons of the same blood; three

races are there, and under each race range four nations: 10

herself the queen of the nations, her strength from Etruscan

blood. Hence, too, Mezentius draws against his life

five hundred unfriendly swords—Mincius, child of Benacus,

with his gray covering of reeds, ushers into the deep

their hostile bark. 15

On moves strong Aulestes, lashing the water as he rises

with the stroke of a hundred oars: the sea spouts foam

from its upturned surface. His bearer is a huge Triton,

whose shell strikes terror into the green billows; his

shaggy front, breasting the water, down to the side bespeaks 20

the man: the belly ends in a sea monster: under

the half bestial bosom the wave froths and roars.

So many chosen chiefs were journeying in thirty

vessels to the succour of Troy, and ploughing with brazen

beak the expanse of brine. 25

And now the day had withdrawn from the sky, and

gracious Dian was trampling over the cope of heaven with

her night-flying steeds: Æneas the while, for care refuses

slumber to his frame, is seated at his post, himself guiding

the rudder and trimming the sail—when lo! in the middle 30

of his voyage he is met by a fair bevy of comrades of his

own: the Nymphs whom gracious Cybele had invested

with the deity of the sea, and changed from ships to goddesses,

were swimming abreast and cleaving the billow,

a Nymph for each of the brazen prows that erst had 35

lined the shore. Far off they recognize their king, and

come dancing round him in state: Cymodoce, their skilfullest

in speech, swimming up behind, lays her right hand on

the stern, herself lifted breast high above the water,

while with her left she paddles in the noiseless wave.

Then thus she breaks on his wondering ear: “Wake you,

Æneas, seed of the gods? be wakeful still, and let the sail-ropes

go. We it is you see, pines of Ida from the sacred 5

summit, Sea-nymphs now, your sometime fleet. When

the false Rutulian was hot at our backs with fire and sword,

reluctantly we burst your bonds, and are now in full quest

of you over the sea. This new shape the great mother gave

us in her pity, and granted us the state of goddesses and 10

lives to lead beneath the water. Meantime young Ascanius

is hemmed in by rampart and trench, with serried

weapons all around him, and Latians bristling with battle.

Already the Arcadian horse mixed with the brave Etruscan

has gained the appointed spot: to bar their way with an 15

intervening host and cut them off from the camp is

Turnus’ fixed intent. Rise, and with the earliest approach

of dawn bid your allies be summoned to arms, and take in

hand that shield which the Fire-god himself made to

be invincible and bordered with a marge of gold. The 20

morrow’s sun, if you will but give credence to my words,

shall survey mighty heaps of Rutulian carnage.” Her

speech was done: and as she parted she gave with her

hand an impulse to the lofty stern, well knowing the due

measure of force: on it speeds over the wave, fleeter than 25

dart and wind-swift arrow both. The rest in order mend

their speed. Wondering he pauses, the great Trojan of

Anchises’ line, yet cheers his soul with the omen. Then,

looking to the vault above, he prays in brief: “Gracious

mother of the gods, lady of Ida, whose joy is in Dindymus, 30

and in turreted cities and harnessed lions at thy

bridle-rein, be thou now to me the controller of the fight,

do thou bring the presage nigh, and walk beside the

Phrygians, mighty goddess, with favouring step.” Thus

much he said: and meanwhile day was returning at speed, 35

with its light grown to full strength, and night had vanished

before it.

First he gives orders to his comrades to obey the

heavenly token, and nerve their souls for combat, and

make ready for the fight. And now at last from his

station on the tall stern he has the Teucrians and his

camp in view, when on the instant his blazing shield is

raised high on his left arm. Up goes a shout to heaven 5

from the Dardans on their ramparts; the gleam of hope

quickens wrath to fury; they hurl a shower of javelins:

even as amid dark clouds cranes from Strymon give token,

sweeping sonorously over the sky, and flying from the

southern gale with sequacious clamour. But the Rutulian 10

king and the Ausonian generals wonder at the sight, till,

looking back, they behold the stems bearing to the shore,

and the whole water floating on with vessels. There is a

blaze on that helmet’s summit, and from the crest on

high streams the flame, and the shield’s golden boss disgorges 15

mighty fires, even as when on a clear night blood-hued

comets glare with gloomy red, or as the Sirian blaze,

that harbinger of drought and sickness to weak mortality,

breaks into birth and saddens heaven with its ill-boding

rays. 20

Yet pause was none in bold Turnus’ confidence to forestall

the landing-place, and beat off the comers from the

shore. His words are ready at the moment to encourage

and upbraid: “See here the occasion you longed for, to

break through them at the sword’s point. A brave man’s 25

hand is the War-god’s chosen seat. Now let each remember

wife and home, recall the mighty deeds that made

your fathers great. Let us meet them at once at the

water’s edge, while they are in the hurry of landing, and

the foot falters in its first tread on shore. Valour has 30

Fortune for its friend:” So saying, he ponders with himself

whom to lead to the attack, and to whom he may

trust the leaguer of the walls.

Meanwhile Æneas is landing his comrades from the tall

ship-sides by help of bridges. Many of them watch for 35

the ebb of the failing sea and venture a leap among the

shallows; others resort to the oars. Tarchon, spying out

a place on the beach where the waters seethe not nor the

broken billows roar, but ocean without let glides gently

up the shore as the tide advances, suddenly turns his

prows thither, and exhorts his crew: “Now, ye chosen

band, ply your stout oars, lift the vessels and carry them

home: cleave with your beaks this land that hates you; 5

let the keel plough its own furrow. Even from shipwreck

in a roadstead like this I would not shrink, could I once

get hold of the soil.” Tarchon having thus said, his crew

rise on their oars and bear down on the Latian plains with

vessels all foam, till the beaks have gained the dry land, 10

and every keel has come scatheless to its rest. Not so

thy ship, Tarchon: for while dashed on a sandbank it

totters on the unequal ridge, poised in suspense awhile,

and buffeting the waves, its sides give way, and its men

are set down in the midst of the water: broken oars and 15

floating benches entangle them, and their feet are carried

back by the ebb of the wave.

No sluggish delay holds Turnus from his work: with

fiery speed he sweeps his whole army against the Teucrians,

and plants them in the foe’s face on the shore. The 20

clarions sound: first dashed Æneas on the rustic ranks, a

presage of the fight’s fortune, and disarrayed the Latians,

slaying Theron, who in his giant strength is assailing

Æneas: piercing through quilted brass and tunic stiff

with gold the sword devours his unguarded side. Next 25

he strikes Lycus, who was cut from the womb of his

dead mother and consecrated to thee, Apollo, because his

baby life had been suffered to scape the peril of the steel.

Hard by, as iron Cisseus and gigantic Gyas were laying

low his host with their clubs, he casts them down in 30

death: nought availed them; the weapons of Hercules or

strong hands to wield them, or Melampus their sire,

Alicides’ constant follower, long as earth found for him

those grievous tasks. See there, as Pharus is hurling

forth words without deeds, he flings at him his javelin 35

and plants it in the bawler’s mouth. Thou, too, Cydon,

while following with ill-starred quest the blooming Clytius,

thy latest joy, hadst lain stretched on the ground by the

Dardan hand, a piteous spectacle, at rest from the passions

that were ever in thy heart; but thy brethren met

the foe in close band, the progeny of Phorcus: seven their

number, seven the darts they throw; some rebound idly

from shield and helm, some as they grazed the frame were 5

turned aside by Venus’ gentle power. Quick spoke

Æneas to true Achates: “Give me store of weapons; not

one shall my hand hurl in vain against the Rutulians, of

all that have quivered in Grecian flesh on the plains of

Troy.” With that he seizes his mighty spear and launches 10

it: flying on it crashes through the brass of Mæon’s shield

and rends breastplate and breast at once. Swift comes

his brother Alcanor and props with his hand the falling

man: piercing the arm the spear flies onward and holds

its bloody course, and the dying hand dangles by the 15

sinews from the shoulder-blade. Then Numitor, snatching

the javelin from his brother’s body, assails Æneas;

yet it might not lodge in the enemy’s front, but just

grazed the thigh of mighty Achates.

Now comes Clausus of Cures in the pride of his youthful 20

frame, and strikes Dryops from a distance under the

chin with the strong impact of his stark spear, and piercing

his throat, robs him even as he speaks of life and

breath alike: the wounded man strikes the earth with

his forehead and vomits from his lips clotted blood. 25

Three, too, from Thrace, of Boreas’ noblest lineage, and

three sent to battle by Idas their sire and Ismarus their

country, he lays low by this chance or that. To his side

runs Halesus and the Auruncan bands; comes to his aid,

too, the seed of Neptune, steed-famed Messapus. Now 30

these, now those, strain to win the ground: the struggle is

on Ausonia’s very threshold. As in the spacious heaven

jarring winds meet in battle, alike in spirit and in strength,

winds, storm-clouds, and ocean, neither yields to the

other: long doubtful hangs the fight; all stand in death 35

grips, front to front: even such the meeting of the army

of Troy and the army of Latium: foot is set close to foot,

and man massed with man.

But in another part of the field, where a torrent had

scattered wide whirling stones and trees uprooted from its

banks, soon as Pallas saw his Arcadians, unused to wage

war on foot, flying before the chase of Latium, in that the

cragginess of the soil had driven them to discard their 5

steeds, he tries the one remedy in sore distress, and now

with prayers, now with bitter speeches, inflames their

valour: “Whither fly ye, mates? By your gallant deeds

I conjure you—by your chief Evander’s name and victories

won at his bidding—by my own promise, now 10

shooting up in rivalry with my father’s glory—trust not

to your feet. It is the sword that must hew us a way

through the foe. Where yonder host of men presses in

thickest mass is the path by which our noble country is

calling you and your general Pallas back to her arms. 15

No deities sit heavy on us: by a mortal foe we are pressed,

mortals ourselves: we have as many lives, as many hands

as they. Lo there! the sea hems us in with mighty

ocean-barrier; earth is closed to our flight: shall the sea

or Troy be our goal?” This said, he dashes at the midst 20

of the hostile throng. The first that meets him is Lagus,

brought to the spot by fates unkind; him, while tugging

a stone of enormous weight, he pierces with his whirled

javelin, just where the spine running down the back was

parting the ribs, and recovers the weapon from its lodgment 25

among the bones. Nor can Hisbo surprise him in

the fact, spite of his hopes; for Pallas catches him rushing

on in blind fury for the pain of his comrade’s death,

and buries the sword in his distended lungs. Next his

blow lights on Sthenelus, and Anchemolus of Rhœtus’ 30

ancient line, who dared pollute his stepdame’s couch.

You, too, twin brethren, fell on those Rutulian plains,

Larides and Thymber, Daucus’ resemblant offspring, undistinguished

even by your kin, a sweet perplexity to

those who bore you: but now Pallas has marked you with 35

a cruel difference; for you, poor Thymber, have your

head shorn off by the Evandrian sword; your hand,

Larides, severed from the arm, is looking in vain for you

its master; the fingers, half alive, are quivering yet and

closing again on the steel.

Arcadia’s sons, stung by their chief’s rebuke and gazing

on his glorious deeds, rush on the foe, strong in the

armour of mingled rage and shame. Then Pallas strikes 5

through Rhœtus as he flies past him on his car. So

much space and respite from his end did Ilus gain; for

’twas at Ilus he had launched from the distance his stalwart

spear: Rhœtus comes between and catches it, flying

from thee, noble Teuthras, and Tyres thy brother; and 10

tumbled from his car he beats with his dying heel the

Rutulian plains. Even as when the winds have risen at

his wish on a summer’s day, a shepherd lets loose his

scattered flames among the woods, in a moment catching

all that comes between, the Fire-god’s army in one bristling 15

line stretches over the broad plains: he from his seat

beholds the triumphant blaze with a conqueror’s pride:

even so the valour of thy friends musters from all sides on

one point to aid thee, Pallas. But Halesus, that fiery

warrior, moves against their opposing ranks, gathering 20

himself up into his arms. Ladon he massacres, and

Pheres, and Demodocus: Strymonius’ right hand, raised

against his throat, he lops away with his gleaming sword;

with a stone he strikes the front of Thoas, and has crushed

the bones mixed with gory brain. Halesus had been 25

hidden in the woods by his prophetic sire; when the

old man closed his whitening eyes in death, the Fates

claimed their victim, and devoted him to Evander’s darts.

And now Pallas aims at him, after these words of prayer:

“Grant, Father Tiber, to the flying steel poised in my 30

hand a prosperous passage through Halesus’ hardy breast;

thine oak shall have his arms and his warrior spoils.”

The god gave ear: while Halesus shielded Imaon, he gives

his own breast in evil hour unarmed to the Arcadian

lance. 35

But Lausus, himself a mighty portion of the war, suffers

not his troops to be dismayed by the hero’s dreadful

carnage: first he slays Abas, who had met him front to

front, the breakwater and barrier of fight. Down go the

sons of Arcadia, down go the Etruscans, and ye, too

Teucrians, whose frames Greece could not destroy. The

armies clash, their leaders and their powers the same.

The rear ranks close up the battle; nor weapon nor hand 5

can be moved for the crowd. Here is Pallas pushing and

pressing, there Lausus over against him: their years

scarcely differ; each has a comely form; but Fortune had

already written that neither should return to his home.

Yet were they not suffered to meet man to man by great 10

Olympus’ lord: each has his fate assigned him ere long at

the hand of a mightier enemy.

Turnus meanwhile is warned by his gracious sister to

come to Lausus’ aid; and with his flying car he cleaves

the intervening ranks. Soon as he met his comrades’ 15

eye: “You may rest from battle now; I alone am coming

against Pallas. Pallas is my due, and mine alone;

would that his sire were here to see us fight.” He said;

and his friends retired from the interdicted space. But

as the Rutulians withdraw, the young warrior, marvelling 20

at the haughty command, gazes astonished on Turnus,

rolls his eyes over that giant frame, and sweeps the whole

man from afar with fiery glance, and with words like

these meets the words of the monarch: “I shall soon be

famous either for kingly trophies won or for an illustrious 25

death; my sire is equal to either event; a truce to menace.”

This said, he marches into the middle space; while the

Arcadians’ blood chills and curdles about their hearts.

Down from his car leaps Turnus, and addresses himself to

fight on foot. And as when a lion has seen from a high 30

watch-tower a bull standing at distance in the field and

meditating fight, he flies to the spot, even thus looks

Turnus as he bounds along.

Soon as he judged his foe would be within reach of his

spear-throw, Pallas begins the combat, in hope that Fortune 35

may help the venture of unequal powers, and utters

these words to the mighty heaven: “By my sire’s hospitality

and the board where thou satest as a stranger, I

pray thee, Alcides, stand by me in my great endeavour.

Let Turnus see me strip the bloody arms from his dying

frame, and may his glazing eyes endure the sight of

a conqueror.” Alcides heard the youth, and stifled a

heavy groan deep down in his breast, and shed forth unavailing 5

tears. Then the Almighty Father bespeaks

his son with kindly words: “Each has his fixed day:

short and irretrievable is the span of all men; but to propagate

glory by great deeds, this is what worth can do.

Think of those many sons of gods who fell beneath Troy’s 10

lofty walls: among whom died even Sarpedon, my own

offspring. For Turnus, too, the call of his destiny has

gone forth, and he has reached the term of his allotted

days.” So he speaks, and turns away his eyes from the

Rutulian plain. 15

But Pallas with a mighty effort sends forth his spear,

and plucks from the hollow scabbard his flashing sword.

On flies the weapon, strikes where the margin of the

harness rises toward the shoulder, and forcing its way

through the buckler’s edge, at last even grazed the mighty 20

frame of Turnus. Then Turnus, long poising his beam

with its point of sharp steel, hurls it at Pallas, with these

words: “See whether our weapon be not the keener.”

So he: while cleaving those many plates of iron and

brass, spite of the bull-hides wound oft and oft about, 25

the point strikes through the shield’s midst with quivering

impact, and pierces the corselet’s barrier and the

mighty breast beyond. In vain the youth tears the

reeking dart from the wound: as it parts, blood and life

follow on its track. He falls forward on his wound: his 30

arms resound upon him, and with his bloody jaws in death

he bites the hostile earth. Standing over him, Turnus

began: “Men of Arcady, take heed and carry my words

to Evander: I send back Pallas handled as his sire deserves.

If there be any honour in a tomb, any solace in 35

burial, let him take it freely; his welcome of Æneas will

be costly notwithstanding.” Then with his left foot as

he spoke, he trod on the dead, tearing away the belt’s

huge weight and the crime thereon engraved[o]: that band

of youths slain foully all on one wedding night, and the

chambers dabbled with blood: Clonus Eurytides had

chased it on the broad field of gold: and now Turnus

triumphs in the prize, and exults in his winning. Blind 5

are the eyes of man’s soul to destiny and doom to be, nor

knows it to respect the limit, when upborne by prosperous

fortune! Turnus shall see the day when he will fain

have paid a high price for Pallas unharmed, when he will

hate the spoils and the hour he won them! But Pallas’ 10

followers, with many a groan and tear, are bearing off

their chief on his shield in long procession. Oh, vision of

sorrow and great glory, soon to meet thy father’s eye!

this day first gave thee to battle, this day withdraws the

gift, yet vast are the heaps thou leavest of Rutulian 15

carnage!

And now not the mere rumour of a blow so dreadful,

but surer intelligence flies to Æneas, that his army is but

a hand-breadth’s remove from death—that it is high

time to succour the routed Teucrians. With his sword he 20

mows down all that crosses him, and all on fire hews a

broad pathway through the ranks with the steel, seeking

thee, Turnus, fresh flushed with slaughter. Pallas, Evander,

the whole scene stands before his eyes—the board

where he had first sate as a stranger, the outstretched 25

hands of fellowship. At once he takes alive four youths

born of Sulmo, and other four reared by Ufens, that he

may offer them as victims to the dead, and sprinkle the

funeral flame with their captive gore. Next he had

levelled his spear from afar at Magus. Magus deftly runs 30

beneath, while the quivering spear flies over his head,

and clasping the enemy’s knees, utters these words of

suppliance: “By your dead father’s soul, and the dawning

promise of Iulus, I pray you spare my poor life for

my son and my sire. I have a lofty palace: deep in its 35

vaults lie talents of chased silver; masses of gold are

mine, wrought and unwrought both. The victory of Troy

hangs not on my fortunes, nor can a single life make

difference so great.” He spoke, and Æneas thus makes

reply: “Those many talents you name of silver and gold,

keep them for your sons. Turnus was the first to put an

end to such trading usages of war at the moment when he

slew Pallas. My sire Anchises’ ghost, and my son Iulus, 5

speak their thoughts through me.” This said, with his

left hand he grasps the helmet and drives his sword hilt-deep

through the suppliant’s back-drawn neck. Hard by

was Hæmonides, priest of Phœbus and Trivia, his temples

wreathed with the fillet’s sacred band, glittering all over 10

with gay raiment and goodly armour. Him he meets,

drives over the plain, stands over him fallen, sacrifices

the victim, and whelms him in a mighty shade; the arms

are stripped and carried off on Serestus’ shoulders, a trophy

to thee, royal Gradivus. The ranks are rallied by Cæculus, 15

scion of Vulcan’s stock, and Umbro, who comes from the

Volscian hills. The Dardan chief puts forth his rage

against them. Already had he mowed down with his

sword Anxur’s left hand and the whole orb of the shield

he bore—that foe, I ween, had uttered a haughty boast, 20

and deemed that his hand would second his tongue, and

was swelling in spirit to the stars, with an assured hope

of gray hairs and length of days—when Tarquitus, in the

pride of gleaming armour, borne by the nymph Dryope

to woodland Faunus, crossed his fiery path. Drawing 25

back his spear, he hampers the corselet and the buckler’s

weighty mass; then he sweeps to the ground the head,

as the lips were vainly praying and essaying to say a

thousand things, and dashing before him the reeking trunk,

utters thus the fierceness of his heart: “Lie there, doughty 30

warrior! never shall your tender mother give you burial,

or pile your father’s tomb above your limbs; no, you

will be left to savage birds, or the river will carry you

whelmed by its eddies, and hungry fish will lick your

wounds.” Next he hunts down Antæus and Lucas, of 35

Turnus’ first rank, and gallant Numa, and yellow Camers,

son of noble Volscens, who was wealthiest in land of

Ausonia’s children, and reigned over voiceless Amyclæ.

Even as Ægæon, who, fable tells, had a hundred arms

and a hundred hands, and flashed fire through fifty mouths

from the depths of fifty bosoms, what time against Jove’s

lightning he thundered on fifty strong shields, and drew

forth fifty sharp swords, so Æneas slakes his victorious 5

fury the whole field over, when once his blade had grown

warm with blood. See! he is advancing against Niphæus’

four harnessed steeds, and setting his breast

against theirs. At once they, soon as they saw his lofty

stride and his fierce gestures, turn round affrighted, and, 10

rushing backward, unseat their master and hurry the car

to the beach. Meanwhile Lucagus forces his way into

the midst, drawn by two white horses, with Liger his

brother; but the brother guides the steeds with the rein,

while Lucagus sweeps fiercely round his naked sword. 15

Æneas brooked not the fury of their fiery onset, but

rushed against them, and stood fronting them in his giant

bulk with threatening spear. To him cried Liger: “These

are not Diomede’s steeds you see, nor this Achilles’ chariot,

nor are these the Phrygian plains; your warfare and 20

your life shall end here on Italian ground.” So fly abroad

the random words of frantic Liger. The chief of Troy

seeks not to meet him with words, but hurls his javelin

at the foe. Even as Lucagus, bending forward over the

stroke, pricked on his horses with the steel, and advancing 25

his left foot prepares himself for fight, the spear

pierces the last margin of the radiant shield and enters

the groin at the left: down he falls from the car and

wallows in death on the plain; while good Æneas bespeaks

him with words of gall: “So, Lucagus, it is no 30

craven flight of your steeds that has played your car false;

no empty shadow cast by the foe has turned them; no,

it is you that spring down from the wheels, and leave the

horses to their fate.” With these words he laid hold of

the bridles, while the wretched brother, gliding down 35

from the car, was stretching his recreant hands: “Oh, by

yourself, by the parents that gave such greatness birth,

spare this poor life, brave hero of Troy, and let prayer

find compassion.” Æneas cut short his entreaties; “Not

such were your words a moment ago; die, and forsake

not your brother, as brother should:” and cleaving the

bosom with his sword, he laid bare the seat of breath.

Such were the deaths that the Dardan leader dealt about 5

the plains, storming along like torrent wave or murky

tempest. At length the prisoners burst forth and leave

their camp, the young Ascanius and the soldiery beleaguered

in vain.

Jupiter meanwhile first addresses Juno: “Sister mine 10

and sweetest wife in one, Venus it is, even as thou didst

suppose—for thy judgment is never at fault—that upholds

the powers of the Trojans, not the warriors’ own

keen right hand and the courageous soul that braves

every peril.” Juno returned, meekly: “Why, my fairest 15

lord, dost thou vex a sick spirit that quails before thy

cruel speeches? Had my love the force it once had, and

which should still be its own, this at least thou wouldst

not deny me, almighty as thou art, the power to withdraw

Turnus from the fight and preserve him in safety 20

for Daunus his father. As it is, let him perish, and glut

the Teucrian vengeance with his righteous blood. Yet

he draws his name from our lineage, and Pilumnus is his

grandsire’s grandsire: and often has thy temple been

loaded with store of offerings from his bounteous hand.” 25

To whom, in brief reply, the lord of skyey Olympus: “If

thy prayer for the doomed youth is respite and breathing

space from present death, and so thou readest my will,

bear thou Turnus away in flight, and snatch him from

the destiny that presses on his heels. Thus far is room 30

for compliance. But if any deeper favour be hidden

under these prayers of thine, and thou deemest that the

war’s whole course can be moved or changed, thou art

nursing an empty hope.” Juno answered with tears:

“What if thy heart were to grant what thy tongue grudges, 35

and Turnus’ life were pledged to continue? As it is, a

heavy doom hangs over his guiltless head, or I am void

of truth and wandering in delusion. But oh, that I

might rather be the sport of lying terrors, and thou, who

canst, lead back thy counsels by a better road!”

This said, from the lofty sky she shot forthwith, driving

storm before her through the air and girt with the rain-cloud,

and sought the army of Ilium and the camp of 5

Laurentum. Then, as goddesses may, she fashions a

thin, strengthless shadow of hollow cloud in the likeness

of Æneas, a marvel to the eyes, accoutres it with Dardan

weapons, and counterfeits the shield and the crest of the

god-like head, gives it empty words and tones without 10

soul, and renders to the life the step and the gait: even

as the shapes that are said to flit when death is past, or

the dreams that mock the sense of slumber. So the

phantom strides triumphant in the van, goading the enemy

with brandished weapons and defiant speech. Turnus 15

comes on, and hurls from far his hurtling spear; it turns

its back and retires. Then, when Turnus thought Æneas

flying in retreat, and snatched in the vehemence of his

soul at the empty hope: “Whither so fast, Æneas?”

cries he: “nay, leave not your promised bridal; this 20

hand shall give you the soil you have sought for the

ocean over.” So with loud shouts he follows, waving his

drawn sword, nor sees that the winds are bearing off his

triumph. It chanced that a ship was standing moored to

the edge of a lofty rock, its ladder let down, its bridge 25

ready to cross—the ship which had carried king Osinius

from the borders of Clusium. Hither, as in haste, the

semblance of the flying Æneas plunged for shelter. Turnus

follows as fast, bounds over all obstacles, and springs

across the high-raised bridge. Scarce had he touched the 30

prow when Saturn’s daughter breaks the mooring and

sweeps the sundered ship along the receding flood. Æneas

meanwhile is claiming the combat with his absent foe,

and sending down to death many a warrior frame that

crosses his way. Then the airy phantom seeks shelter no 35

longer, but soaring aloft blends with the murky atmosphere,

while Turnus is borne by the wind down the middle

of the tide. Ignorant of the event, and unthankful for

escape, he looks back, his hands and his voice addressed

to the sky: “Almighty sire! hast thou judged me worthy

of an infliction like this, and sentenced me to this depth

of suffering? Whither am I bound? whence have I

come? what is this flight that is bearing me home, and 5

what does it make of me? Shall I look again on Laurentum’s

camp and city? what of that warrior troop who

followed me and my standard? Are they not those

whom I left—horror to tell—all of them in the jaws

of a cruel death—whom I now see scattered in rout, and 10

hear their groans as they fall? What can I do? what

lowest depth of earth will yawn for me? Nay, do you,

ye winds, have compassion—on reef, on rock—see, it

is I, Turnus, who am fain to plead—dash me this vessel,

and lodge it on the sandbank’s ruthless shoal, where none 15

that know my shame, Rutuli or rumour, may find me

out!” So speaking, he sways in spirit to this side and to

that: should he for disgrace so foul impale his frenzied

breast on the sword’s point, and drive the stark blade

through his ribs, or fling himself into the midst of the 20

waves, and make by swimming for the winding shore,

and place himself again among the Teucrian swords?

Thrice he essayed either way: thrice mighty Juno kept

him back, and of her great pity withheld the youth from

action. On he flies, ploughing the deep with wave and 25

tide to speed him, and is borne safely to the ancient town

of Daunus his sire.

Prompted meanwhile by Jove, Mezentius, all on fire,

takes up the war, and charges the triumphant Teucrians.

The Tyrrhene host flocks to the spot, bending all their 30

fury, all their showering darts on one, one only man.

Even as a rock which juts into the mighty deep, exposed

to the rage of the wind and braving the sea, bears all the

violence and menace of heaven and ocean, itself unshaken,

he stands unmoved; now he lays low Hebrus, Dolichaon’s 35

child, and with him Latagus and craven Palmus: Latagus

he strikes on the face and front with a stone, a hill’s

enormous fragment, Palmus he suffers to roll ham-strung

in his cowardice; their harness he gives to Lausus to

wear on his shoulders, their crests to adorn his head.

Euanthes, too, the Phrygian, and Mimas, Paris’ playmate,

borne by Theano to Amycus his sire, the self-same night

when Cisseus’ royal daughter, teeming with a firebrand, 5

gave birth to Paris; he sleeps beneath his father’s walls,

while Mimas has his rest on Laurentum’s unknown shore.

Like as the mighty boar driven by fangs of hounds from

mountain heights, the boar whom pine-crowned Vesulus

or Laurentum’s pool shelters these many years, pastured 10

on the reedy jungle, soon as he finds himself among the

nets, stands at bay, snorting with fury and bristling his

back; none has the courage to flame forth and come near

him; at safe distance they press him with their darts

and their cries; even so of them who hate Mezentius with 15

a righteous hate, none has the heart to face him with

drawn steel; with missiles and deafening shouts they

assail him from afar; while he, undaunted, is pausing

now here, now there, gnashing his teeth, and shakes off

the javelins from his buckler’s hide. There was one 20

Acron from Corythus’ ancient borders, a Grecian wight,

who had fled forth leaving his nuptials yet to celebrate;

him, when Mezentius saw at distance scattering the intervening

ranks, in pride of crimson plumage and the purple

of his plighted bride, even as oft a famished lion ranging 25

through high-built stalls—for frantic hunger is his

prompter—if he chance to mark a flying goat or towering-antlered

deer, grins with huge delight, sets up his

mane, and hangs over the rent flesh, while loathly blood

laves his insatiate jaws—so joyfully springs Mezentius 30

on the foe’s clustering mass. Down goes ill-starred Acron,

spurns the blackened ground in the pangs of death, and

dyes with blood the broken spear. Nor did the chief

deign to strike down Orodes as he fled, or deal from a

spear-throw a wound unseen; full in front he meets him, 35

and engages him as man should man, prevailing not by

guile but by sheer force of steel. Then with foot and

lance planted on the back-flung body: “See, gallants, a

bulwark of the war has fallen in tall Orodes,” and his

comrades shout in unison, taking up the triumphal pæan.

The dying man returns: “Whoever thou art, thy victorious

boasting shall not be long or unavenged; for thee,

too, a like fate is watching, and thou shalt soon lie on 5

these self-same fields.” Mezentius answers, with hate

mantling in his smile: “Die now. The sire of gods and

king of men shall make his account with me.” So saying,

he drew forth the spear from the body: the heavy rest

of iron slumber settles down on its eyes, and their beams 10

are curtained in everlasting night.

Cædicus slaughters Alcathous, Sacrator Hydaspes, Rapo

kills Parthenius and Orses of iron frame, Messapus slays

Clonius and Ericetes, Lycaon’s son, that grovelling on the

ground by a fall from his unbridled steed, this encountered 15

foot to foot. Prancing forward came Agis of Lycia; but

Valerus, no unworthy heir of his grandsire’s prowess,

hurls him down; Thronius falls by Salius, and Salius by

Nealces, hero of the javelin and the shaft that surprises

from far. 20

And now the War-god’s heavy hand was dealing out to

each equal measures of agony and carnage; alike they

were slaying, alike falling dead, victors and vanquished

by turns, flight unthought of both by these and by those.

The gods in Jove’s palace look pityingly on the idle rage 25

of the warring hosts—alas, that death-doomed men

should suffer so terribly! Here Venus sits spectator,

there over against her Saturnian Juno. Tisiphone, ashy

pale, is raving among thousands down below. But see!

Mezentius, shaking his giant spear, is striding into the 30

field, an angry presence. Think of the stature of Orion,

as he overtops the billows with his shoulders, when he

stalks on foot through the very heart of Nereus’ mighty

depths that part before him, or as carrying an aged ash

in triumph from the hill-top he plants his tread on the 35

ground, and hides his head among the clouds above:

thus it is that Mezentius in enormous bulk shoulders his

way. Æneas spies him along the length of the battle,

and makes haste to march against him. He abides undismayed,

waiting for his gallant foe, and stands like

column on its base; then, measuring with his eye the

distance that may suffice for his spear, “Now let my right

hand, the god of my worship, and the missile dart I am 5

poising, vouchsafe their aid! I vow that you, my Lausus,

clad in spoils torn from yonder robber’s carcase, shall

stand in your own person the trophy of Æneas.” He

said, and threw from far his hurtling lance: flying onward,

it glances aside from the shield, and strikes in the 10

distance noble Antores twixt side and flank, Antores,

comrade of Hercules, who, sent from Argos, had cloven to

Evander’s fortunes and sat him down in an Italian home.

Now he falls, ill-fated, by a wound meant for other, and

gazes on the sky, and dreams in death of his darling Argos. 15

Then good Æneas hurls his spear; through the hollow

disk with its triple plating of brass, through the folds of

linen and the texture wherein three bulls joined, it won

its way and lodged low down in the groin, but its force

held not on. In a moment Æneas, gladdened by the sight 20

of the Tuscan’s blood, plucks his sword from his thigh

and presses hotly on his unnerved foe.

Soon as Lausus saw, he gave a heavy groan of tenderness

for the sire he loved, and tears trickled down his

face. And here, gallant youth, neither the cruel chance 25

of thy death, nor thy glorious deeds, if antiquity may

gain credence for so great a sacrifice, nor thine own most

worthy memory shall be unsung through fault of mine.

The father, dragging back his foot, disabled and entangled,

was quitting the field, his enemy’s spearshaft trailing 30

from his buckler. Forth dashed the youth and mingled

in the duel, and even as Æneas was rising with hand and

body and bringing down a blow from above, met the

shock of the sword, and gave the swordsman pause; his

comrades second him with a mighty shout, covering the 35

father’s retreat as sheltered by his son’s shield he withdraws

from the fray, hurl a rain of darts, and strive with

distant missiles to dislodge the foe. Æneas glows with

anger, and keeps within the covert of his arms. Even as

on a time when storm-clouds sweep down in a burst of

hail, every ploughman, every husbandman has fled scattering

from the field, and the traveller lies hid in a stronghold

of safety, either some river bank or vault of lofty 5

rock, while the rain is pelting on the lands, in the hope

that with the returning sun they may task the day once

more; even so, stormed on by javelins from all sides,

Æneas endures the thunder-cloud of war till all its artillery

be spent, and keeps chiding Lausus and threatening 10

Lausus: “Whither are you rushing on your death, with

aims beyond your strength? Your duteous heart blinds

your reckless valour.” Yet he bates not a jot in his

frantic onslaught: and now the Dardan leader’s wrath

surges into fury, and the fatal sisters are gathering up 15

Lausus’ last thread, for Æneas drives his forceful blade

sheer through the youth’s body, and buries it wholly

within him. Pierced is the shield by the edge, the light

armour he carried so threateningly, and the tunic embroidered

by his mother with delicate golden thread, and 20

his bosom is deluged with blood; and anon the life flits

through the air regretfully to the shades and the body is

left tenantless. But when the son of Anchises saw the

look and countenance of the dying—the countenance

with its strange and varying hues of pallor—heavily he 25

groaned for pity and stretched forth his hand, and the

portraiture of filial love stood before his soul. “What

now, hapless boy, what shall the good Æneas give you

worthy of your merit and of a heart like yours? Let the

arms wherein you took pride be your own still; yourself 30

I restore to the company of your ancestors, their shades

and their ashes, if that be aught to you now. This at

least, ill-starred as you are, shall solace the sadness of

your death: it is great Æneas’ hand that brings you low.”

Then without more ado he chides the slackness of his 35

comrades, and lifts their young chief from the earth, as

he lay dabbling his trim locks with gore.

Meanwhile the father at the wave of Tiber’s flood was

stanching his wounds with water, and giving ease to his

frame, leaning on a tree’s trunk. His brazen helmet is hanging

from a distant bough, and his heavy arms are resting

on the mead. Round him stand his bravest warriors: he,

sick and panting, is relieving his neck, while his flowing 5

beard scatters over his bosom: many a question asks he

about Lausus, many a messenger he sends to call him off

and convey to him the charge of his grieving sire. But

Lausus the while was being carried breathless on his shield

by a train of weeping comrades, a mighty spirit quelled by 10

a mighty wound. The distant groan told its tale to that

ill-boding heart. He defiles his gray hairs with a shower

of dust, stretches his two palms to heaven, and clings to

the body. “My son! and was I enthralled by so strong a

love of life as to suffer you, mine own offspring, to meet the 15

foeman’s hand in my stead? Are these your wounds

preserving your sire? is he living through your death?

Alas! now at length I know the misery of banishment!

now the iron is driven home! Aye, it was I, my son, that

stained your name with guilt, driven by the hate I gendered 20

from the throne and realm of my father! Retribution

was due to my country and to my subjects’ wrath: would

that I had let out my forfeit life through all the death-wounds

they aimed! And now I live on, nor as yet leave

daylight and humankind—but leave them I will.” So 25

saying, he raises himself on his halting thigh, and though

the deep wound makes his strength flag, calls for his war-horse

with no downcast mien. This was ever his glory

and his solace: this still carried him victorious from every

battle-field. He addresses the grieving creature and bespeaks 30

it thus: “Long, Rhæbus, have we twain lived, if

aught be long to those who must die. To-day you shall

either bear in victory the bloody spoils and head of Æneas

yonder, and join with me to avenge my Lausus’ sufferings,

or if our force suffice not to clear the way, we will lie down 35

together in death: for never, I ween, my gallant one, will

you stoop to a stranger’s bidding and endure a Teucrian

lord.” He said, and mounting on its back settled his limbs

as he was wont, and charged his two hands with pointed

javelins, his head shining with brass and shaggy with

horse-hair crest. So he bounded into the midst—his

heart glowing at once with mighty shame, madness and

agony commingled. Then with a loud voice he thrice 5

called on Æneas: aye, and Æneas knew it, and prays in

ecstasy: “May the great father of the gods, may royal

Apollo grant that you come to the encounter!” So

much said, he marches to meet him with brandished spear.

The other replies: “Why terrify me, fellest of foes, now 10

you have robbed me of my son? this was the only way by

which you could work my ruin. I fear not death, nor give

quarter to any deity. Enough: I am coming to die, and

send you this my present first.” He said, and flung a

javelin at his enemy: then he sends another and another 15

to its mark, wheeling round in a vast ring: but the golden

shield bides the blow. Three times, wheeling from right

to left, he rode round the foe that faced him, flinging

darts from his hand: three times the hero of Troy moves

round, carrying with him a vast grove planted on his 20

brazen plate. Then, when he begins to tire of the long

delay and the incessant plucking out of darts, and feels the

unequal combat press him hard, meditating many things,

at last he springs from his covert, and hurls his spear full

between the hollow temples of the warrior-steed. The 25

gallant beast rears itself upright, lashes the air with its

heels, and, flinging the rider, falls on and encumbers him,

and itself bowed to earth presses with its shoulder the prostrate

chief. Up flies Æneas, plucks forth his sword from

its scabbard, and bespeaks the fallen: “Where now is 30

fierce Mezentius and that his savage vehemence of spirit?”

To whom the Tuscan, soon as opening his eyes on the light

he drank in the heaven and regained his sense: “Insulting

foe, why reproach me and menace me with death? You

may kill me without crime: I came not to battle to be 35

spared, nor was that the league which my Lausus ratified

with you for his father. One boon I ask, in the name of

that grace, if any there be, which is due to a vanquished

enemy: suffer my corpse to be interred. The hot hatred

of my subjects, well I know, is blazing all round me: screen

me, I pray, from their fury, and vouchsafe me a share in

the tomb of my son.” So saying, with full resolve he welcomes

the sword to his throat, and spreads his life over his 5

armour in broad streams of blood.

BOOK XI

Meanwhile, the Goddess of Dawn has risen and left the

ocean. Æneas, though duty presses to find leisure for

interring his friends, and his mind is still wildered by the

scene of blood, was paying his vows to heaven as conqueror

should at the day-star’s rise. A giant oak, lopped all 5

round of its branches, he sets up on a mound, and arrays

it in gleaming arms, the royal spoils of Mezentius, a trophy

to thee, great Lord of War: thereto he attaches the crest

yet raining blood, the warrior’s weapons notched and

broken, and the hauberk stricken and pierced by twelve 10

several wounds: to the left hand he binds the brazen shield,

and hangs to the neck the ivory-hilted sword. Then he

begins thus to give charge to his triumphant friends, for

the whole company of chiefs had gathered to his side:

“A mighty deed, gallants, is achieved already: dismiss 15

all fear for the future: see here the spoils, the tyrant’s

first-fruits: see here Mezentius as my hands have made

him. Now our march is to the king and the walls of Latium.

Set the battle in array in your hearts and let hope

forestall the fray, that no delay may check your ignorance 20

at the moment when heaven gives leave to pluck up the

standards and lead forth our chivalry from the camp, no

coward resolve palsy your steps with fear. Meanwhile,

consign we to earth the unburied carcases of our friends,

that solitary honour which is held in account in the pit 25

of Acheron. Go,” he says, “grace with the last tribute

those glorious souls, who have bought for us this our fatherland

with the price of their blood: and first to Evander’s

sorrowing town send we Pallas, who, lacking nought of

manly worth, has been reft by the evil day, and whelmed 30

in darkness before his time.”

So he says weeping, and returns to his tent-door, where

the body of breathless Pallas, duly laid out, was being

watched by Acœtes the aged, who had in old days been

armour-bearer to Evander his Arcadian lord, but then in

an hour less happy was serving as the appointed guardian 5

of the pupil he loved. Around the corpse were thronging

the retinue of menials and the Trojan train, and dames

of Ilion with their hair unbound in mourning fashion.

But soon as Æneas entered the lofty portal, a mighty

wail they raise to the stars, smiting on their breasts, and 10

the royal dwelling groans to its centre with their agony

of woe. He, when he saw the pillowed head and countenance

of Pallas in his beauty, and the deep cleft of the

Ausonian spear in his marble bosom, thus speaks, breaking

into tears: “Can it be, unhappy boy, that Fortune at the 15

moment of her triumphant flood-tide has grudged you to

me, forbidding you to look on my kingdom, and ride back

victorious to your father’s home? Not such was the parting

pledge I gave on your behalf to your sire Evander, when,

clasping me to his heart, he sent me on my way to mighty 20

empire, and anxiously warned me that the foe was fierce

and the race we should war with stubborn. And now he

belike at this very moment in the deep delusion of empty

hope is making vows to Heaven and piling the altars with

gifts, while we are following his darling, void of life, and 25

owing no dues henceforward to any power on high, with

the vain service of our sorrow. Ill-starred father! your

eyes shall see what cruel death has made of your son.

And is this the proud return, the triumph we looked for?

has my solemn pledge shrunk to this? Yet no beaten 30

coward shall you see, Evander, chastised with unseemly

wounds, nor shall the father pray for death to come in its

terror while the son survives. Ay me! how strong a defender

is lost to our Ausonian realm, and lost to you, my

own Iulus!” 35

So having wailed his fill, he gives order to lift and bear

the poor corpse, and sends a thousand men chosen from

his whole array to attend the last service of woe, and lend

their countenance to the father’s tears, a scant solace for

that mighty sorrow, yet not the less the wretched parent’s

due. Others, nothing slack, plait the framework of a

pliant bier with shoots of arbute and oaken twigs, and

shroud the heaped-up bed with a covering of leaves. 5

Here place they the youth raised high on his rustic litter,

even as a flower cropped by maiden’s finger, be it of delicate

violet or drooping hyacinth, unforsaken as yet of its

sparkling hue and its graceful outline, though its parent

earth no longer feeds it or supplies it with strength. Then 10

brought forth Æneas two garments stiff with gold and purple,

which Dido had wrought for him in other days with

her own hands, delighting in the toil, and had streaked

their webs with threads of gold. Of these the mourner

spreads one over his youthful friend as a last honour, 15

and muffles the locks on which the flame must feed: moreover

he piles in a heap many a spoil from Laurentum’s

fray, and bids the plunder be carried in long procession.

The steeds too and weapons he adds of which he had

stripped the foe. Already had he bound the victims’ 20

hands behind their backs, doomed as a sacrifice to the

dead man’s spirit, soon to spill their blood over the fire:

and now he bids the leaders in person carry tree-trunks

clad with hostile arms, and has the name of an enemy

attached to each. There is Acœtes led along, a lorn old 25

man, marring now his breast with blows, now his face with

laceration, and anon he throws himself at his full length

on the ground. They lead too the car, all spattered

with Rutulian blood. After it the warrior steed, Æthon,

his trappings laid aside, moves weeping, and bathes his 30

visage with big round drops. Others carry the spear and

the helm: for the rest of the harness is Turnus’ prize.

Then follows a mourning army, the Teucrians, and all the

Tuscans, and the sons of Arcady with weapons turned

downward. And now after all the retinue had passed on 35

in long array, Æneas stayed, and groaning deeply uttered

one word more: “We are summoned hence by the same

fearful destiny of war to shed other tears: I bid you hail

forever, mightiest Pallas, and forever farewell.” Saying

this and this only, he turned to the lofty walls again, and

bent his footsteps campward.

And now appeared the ambassadors from the town of

Latium, with the coverings of their olive boughs, entreating 5

an act of grace: the bodies which were lying over the

plains as the steel had mowed them down they pray him

to restore, and suffer them to pass under the mounded

earth: no man wars with the vanquished and with those

who have left the sun: let him show mercy to men once 10

known as his hosts and the fathers of his bride. The good

Æneas hearkens to a prayer that merits no rebuke, grants

them the boon, and withal bespeaks them thus: “What

undeserved ill chance, men of Latium, has entangled you

in a war so terrible and made you fly from us your friends? 15

Ask you peace for the dead, for those on whom the War-god’s

die has fallen? Nay, I would fain grant it to the

living too. I were not here had not fate assigned me a

portion and a home: nor wage I war against your nation:

it was the king that abandoned our alliance, and sought 20

shelter rather under Turnus’ banner. Fairer it had been

that Turnus should have met the death-stroke ye mourn.

If he seeks to end the war by strength of arm and expel the

Trojan enemy, duty bade him confront me with weapons

like mine, and that one should have lived who had earned 25

life from heaven or his own right hand. Now go and

kindle the flame beneath your ill-starred townsmen.”

Æneas’ speech was over: they stood in silent wonder, their

eyes and countenances steadfastly fixed on each other.

Then Drances, elder in birth, ever embroiled with the 30

youthful Turnus by hatred and taunting word, thus speaks

in reply: “O mighty in fame’s voice, mightier in your own

brave deeds, hero of Troy, what praise shall I utter to

match you with the stars? Shall I first admire your sacred

love of right, or the toils of your hand in war? Ours it 35

shall be gratefully to report your answer to our native

town, and should any favouring chance allow, make you

the friend of king Latinus. Let Turnus look for alliance

where he may. Nay, it will be our pride to uprear those

massive walls of destiny, and heave on our shoulders the

stones of your new Troy.” He spoke, and the rest all

murmured assent. For twelve days they make truce, and

with amity to mediate, Trojans and Latians mingled roam 5

through the forest on the mountain slopes unharming and

unharmed. The lofty ash rings with the two-edged steel:

they bring low pines erst uplifted to the sky, nor is there

pause in cleaving with wedges the oak and fragrant cedar,

or in carrying ashen trunks in the groaning wains. 10

And now flying Fame, the harbinger of that cruel agony,

is filling with her tidings the ears of Evander, his palace and

his city—Fame that but few hours back was proclaiming

Pallas the conqueror of Latium. Forth stream the Arcadians

to the gates, with funeral torches in ancient fashion, 15

snatched up hurriedly; the road gleams with the long

line of fire, which parts the breath of fields on either hand.

To meet them comes the train of Phrygians, and joins the

wailing company. Soon as the matrons saw them pass

under the shadow of the houses, they set the mourning city 20

ablaze with their shrieks. But Evander—no force can

hold him back; he rushes into the midst: there as they

lay down the bier he has flung himself upon Pallas, and is

clinging to him with tears and groans, till choking grief

at last lets speech find her way: “No, my Pallas! this was 25

not your promise to your sire, to trust yourself with caution

in the War-god’s savage hands. I knew what a spell

there lay in the young dawn of a soldier’s glory, the enrapturing

pride of the first day of battle. Alas for the

ill-starred first-fruits of youth, the cruel foretaste of the 30

coming war! alas for those my vows and prayers, that

found no audience with any of the gods! alas too for thee,

my blessed spouse, happy as thou art in the death that

spared thee not for this heavy sorrow! while I, living on,

have triumphed over my destiny, that I might survive in 35

solitary fatherhood. Had I but followed the friendly

standards of Troy, and fallen whelmed by Rutulian javelins!

had I rendered my own life up, so that this funeral

train should have borne me home, and not my Pallas!

Nor yet would I blame you, men of Troy, nor the treaty

we made, nor the hands we plighted in friendship; it is

but the portion ordained long ago as fitting for my gray

hairs. If it was written that my son should die ere his 5

time, it shall be well that he fell after slaying his Volscian

thousands, while leading a Teucrian army to the gates of

Latium. Nay, my Pallas, I would wish for you no

worthier funeral than that accorded to you by Æneas

the good and his noble Phrygians, by the Tyrrhene leaders, 10

and the whole Tyrrhene host. Each bears you a mighty

trophy whom your right hand sends down to death. And

you, too, proud Turnus, would be standing at this moment,

a giant trunk hung round with armour, had your age been

but as his, the vigour of your years the same. But why 15

should misery like mine hold back the Teucrians from the

battle? Go, and remember to bear my message to your

king. If I still drag the wheels of my hated life now my

Pallas is slain, it is because of your right hand, which owes

the debt of Turnus’ life to son and sire, yourself being witness. 20

This is the one remaining niche for your valour and

your fortune to fill. I ask not for triumph to gild my life:

that thought were crime: I ask but for tidings that I

may bear to my son down in the spectral world.”

Meantime the Goddess of Dawn had lifted on high her 25

kindly light for suffering mortality, recalling them to task

and toil. Already father Æneas, already Tarchon, have

set up their funeral piles along the winding shore. Hither

each man brings the body of friend or kinsman as the rites

of his sires command; and as the murky flames are applied 30

below, darkness veils the heights of heaven in gloom.

Thrice they ran their courses round the lighted pyres,

sheathed in shining armour; thrice they circled on their

steeds the mournful funeral flame, and uttered the voice

of wailing. Sprinkled is the earth with their tears, 35

sprinkled is the harness. Upsoars to heaven at once the

shout of warriors and the blare of trumpets. Others

fling upon the fire plunder torn from the Latian slain,

helms and shapely swords and bridle-reins and glowing

wheels; some bring in offering the things the dead men

wore, their own shields and the weapons that sped so ill.

Many carcases of oxen are sacrificed round the piles:

bristly swine and cattle harried from the country round are 5

made to bleed into the flame. Then along the whole line

of coast they gaze on their burning friends, and keep

sentry over the half-quenched fire-bed, nor let themselves

be torn away till dewy night rolls round the sky with its

garniture of blazing stars. 10

With like zeal the ill-starred Latians in a different quarter

set up countless piles; of the multitude of corpses

some they bury in the earth, some they lift up and carry

off to neighbour districts, and send them home to the city;

the rest, a mighty mass of promiscuous carnage, they burn 15

uncounted and unhonoured; and thereon the plains

through their length and breadth gleam with the thickening

rivalry of funeral fires. The third morrow had withdrawn

the chill shadows from the sky: the mourners were

levelling the piles of ashes and sweeping the mingled bones 20

from the hearths, and heaping over them mounds of earth

where the heat yet lingers. But within the walls, in the

city of Latium’s wealthy king, the wailing is preëminent,

and largest the portion of that long agony. Here are

mothers and their sons’ wretched brides, here are sisters’ 25

bosoms racked with sorrow and love, and children orphaned

of their parents, calling down curses on the terrible

war and on Turnus’ bridal rites; he, he himself, they cry,

should try the issue with arms and the cold steel, who

claims for himself the Italian crown and the honours of 30

sovereignty. Fell Drances casts his weight into the scale,

and bears witness that Turnus alone is challenged by the

foe, Turnus alone defied to combat. Against them many

a judgment is ranged in various phrase on Turnus’ side,

and the queen’s august name lends him its shadow; many 35

an applauding voice upholds the warrior by help of the

trophies he has won.

Amid all this ferment, when the blaze of popular turmoil

is at its height, see, as a crowning blow, comes back the

sorrowing embassy with tidings from Diomede’s mighty

town: the cost of all their labours has gained them nought:

gifts and gold and earnest prayers are alike in vain: the

Latians must look for arms elsewhere, or sue for peace 5

from the Trojan chief. King Latinus himself is crushed

to earth by the weight of agony. The wrath of the gods,

the fresh-made graves before his eyes, tell him plainly that

Æneas is the man of destiny, borne on by heaven’s manifest

will. So he summons by royal mandate a mighty 10

council, the chiefs of his nation, and gathers them within

his lofty doors. They have mustered from all sides, and

are streaming to the palace through the crowded streets.

In the midst Latinus takes his seat, at once eldest in years

and first in kingly state, with a brow that knows not joy. 15

Hereupon he bids the envoys returned from the Ætolian

town to report the answers they bear, and bids them repeat

each point in order. Silence is proclaimed, and Venulus,

obeying the mandate, begins to speak:

“Townsmen, we have looked on Diomede and his Argive 20

encampment: the journey is overpast, and every chance

surmounted, and we have touched the hand by which the

realm of Ilion fell. We found him raising his city of Argyripa,

the namesake of his ancestral people, in the land of

Iapygian Garganus which his sword had won. Soon as 25

the presence was gained and liberty of speech accorded, we

proffer our gifts, inform him of our name and country,

who is our invader, and what cause has led us to Arpi.[275]

He listened, and returned as follows with untroubled mien:

‘O children of fortune, subjects of Saturn’s reign, men of 30

old Ausonia, what caprice of chance disturbs you in your

repose, and bids you provoke a war ye know not? Know

that all of us, whose steel profaned the sanctity of Ilion’s

soil—I pass the hardships of war, drained to the dregs

under those lofty ramparts, the brave hearts which that 35

fatal Simois covers—yea, all of us the wide world over

have paid the dues of our trespass in agonies unutterable,

a company that might have wrung pity even from Priam:

witness Minerva’s baleful star, and the crags of Eubœa,

and Caphereus the avenger. Discharged from that warfare,

wandering outcasts on diverse shores, Menelaus,

Atreus’ son, is journeying in banishment even to the pillars

of Proteus[276]; Ulysses has looked upon Ætna and her Cyclop 5

brood. Need I tell of Neoptolemus’ portioned realms,

of Idomeneus’ dismantled home, of Locrian settlers on

a Libyan coast? Even the monarch[277] of Mycenæ, the

leader of the great Grecian name, met death on his very

threshold at the hand of his atrocious spouse; Asia fell 10

before him, but the adulterer rose in her room. Cruel gods,

that would not have me restored to the hearth-fires of my

home, to see once more the wife of my longing and my own

fair Calydon! Nay, even my flight is dogged by portents

of dreadful view; my comrades torn from me are winging 15

the air and haunting the stream as birds—alas that the

followers of my fortunes should suffer so!—and making

the rocks ring with the shrieks of their sorrow. Such was

the fate I had to look for even from that day when with

my frantic steel I assailed the flesh of immortals, and impiously 20

wounded Venus’ sacred hand. Nay, nay, urge

me no longer to a war like this. Since Pergamus fell, my

fightings with Troy are ended; I have no thought, no joy,

for the evils of the past. As for the gifts which you bring

me from your home, carry them rather to Æneas. I tell 25

you, I have stood against the fury of his weapon, and joined

hand to hand with him in battle; trust one who knows

how strong is his onset as he rises on the shield, how

fierce the whirlwind of his hurtling lance. Had Ida’s

soil borne but two other so valiant, Dardanus would have 30

marched in his turn to the gates of Inachus, and the tears

of Greece would be flowing for a destiny reversed. All

those years of lingering at the walls of stubborn Troy, it

was Hector’s and Æneas’ hand that clogged the wheels of

Grecian victory, and delayed her coming till the tenth 35

campaign had begun. High in courage were both, high

in the glory of martial prowess; but piety gave him the

preëminence. Join hand to hand in treaty, if so you may;

but see that your arms bide not the shock of his.’ Thus,

gracious sire, have you heard at once the king’s reply,

and the judgment he passed on this our mighty war.”

The envoys had scarcely finished when a diverse murmur

runs along the quivering lips of the sons of Ausonia, as, 5

when rapid streams are checked by rocks in their course,

confused sounds rise from the imprisoned torrent, and

neighbouring banks reëcho with the babbling of the waves.

Soon as their passions were allayed, and their chafed countenances

settled in calm, the monarch, first invoking 10

heaven, begins from his lofty throne:

“To have taken your judgment, Latians, ere this on the

state of the common-weal, would have been my pleasure,

and our truer interest, rather than summon a council at a

crisis like this, when the foe has sat down before our walls. 15

A grievous war, my countrymen, we are waging with the

seed of heaven, a nation unsubdued, whom no battles

overtire, nor even in defeat can they be made to drop the

sword. For any hope ye have cherished in the alliance of

Ætolian arms, resign it forever. Each is his own hope; 20

and how slender is this ye may see for yourselves. As

to all beside, with what utter ruin it is stricken is palpable

to the sight of your eyes, to the touch of your hands. I

throw the blame on none: manly worth has done the utmost

it could: all the sinews of the realm have been strained 25

in the contest. Now then I will set forth what is the judgment

of my wavering mind, and show you it in few words,

if ye will lend me your attention. There is an ancient

territory of mine bordering on the Tuscan river, extending

lengthwise to the west, even beyond the Sicanian frontier; 30

Auruncans and Rutulians are its tillers, subduing with the

ploughshare its stubborn hills, and pasturing their flocks

on the rugged slopes. Let this whole district, with the

lofty mountain and its belt of pines, be our friendly gift

to the Teucrians; let us name equal terms of alliance, and 35

invite them to share our kingdom; let them settle here, if

their passion is so strong, and build them a city. But if

they have a mind to compass other lands and another

nation, and are free to quit our soil, let us build twenty ships

of Italian timber, or more if they have men to fill them:

there is the wood ready felled by the river side; let themselves

prescribe the size and the number; let us provide

brass, and hands, and naval trim. Moreover, to convey 5

our proffers and ratify the league, I would have an embassy

of a hundred Latians of the first rank sent with peaceful

branches in their hands, carrying also presents, gold and

ivory, each a talent’s weight, and the chair and striped

robe that are badges of our royalty. Give free counsel 10

and help to support a fainting commonwealth.”

Then Drances, hostile as ever, whom the martial fame

of Turnus was ever goading with the bitter stings of sidelong

envy, rich, and prodigal of his riches, a doughty

warrior with the tongue, but a feeble hand in the heat of 15

battle, esteemed no mean adviser in debate, and powerful

in the arts of faction: his mother’s noble blood made proud

a lineage which on his father’s side was counted obscure:—he

rises, and with words like these piles and heaps anger

high: 20

“A matter obscure to none, and needing no voice of ours

to make it plain is this that you propound, gracious king.

All own that they know what is the bearing of the state’s

fortune; but their tongues can only mutter. Let him

accord freedom of speech, and bate his angry blasts, to 25

whose ill-omened leadership and inauspicious temper—aye,

I will speak, let him threaten me with duel and death

as he may—we owe it that so many of our army’s stars

have set before our eyes, and the whole city is sunk in

mourning, while he is making his essay of the Trojan camp, 30

with flight always in reserve, and scaring heaven with the

din of his arms. One gift there is over and above that

long catalogue which you would have us send and promise

to the Dardans: add but this to them, most excellent

sovereign, nor let any man’s violence prevent you from 35

bestowing your daughter in the fulness of a father’s right

on a noble son-in-law and a worthy alliance, and basing

the peace we seek on a covenant which shall last forever.

Nay, if the reign of terror is so absolute over our minds

and hearts, let us go straight to him with our adjurations

and ask for grace at his own hands—ask him to yield, and

allow king and country to exercise their rights. Why

fling your wretched countrymen again and again into 5

danger’s throat, you, the head and wellspring of the ills

which Latium has to bear? There is no hope from war;

peace we ask of you, one and all—yes, Turnus, peace,

and the one surety that can make peace sacred. See,

first of all I, whom you give out to be your enemy—and 10

I care not though I be—come and throw myself at your

feet. Pity those of your own kin, bring down your

pride, and retire as beaten man should. Routed we are;

we have looked on corpses enough, and have left leagues

enough of land unpeopled. Or if glory stirs you, if you 15

can call up into your breast the courage needed, if the

dowry of a palace lies so near your heart, be bold for once,

and advance with bosom manned to meet the foe. What!

that Turnus may have the blessing of a queenly bride, are

we, poor paltry lives, a herd unburied and unwept, to lie 20

weltering on the plain? It is your turn: if you have any

strength, any touch of the War-god of your sires, look him

in the face who sends you his challenge.”

At these words Turnus’ violence blazed out: heaving a

groan, he vents from the bottom of his heart such utterance 25

as this: “Copious, Drances, ever is your stream of

speech in the hour when war is calling for hands; when the

senate is summoned, you are first in the field. Yet we

want not men to fill our court with talk, that big talk

which you hurl from a safe vantage-ground, while the rampart 30

keeps off the foe and the moat is not foaming with

carnage. Go on pealing your eloquence, as your wont is:

let Drances brand Turnus with cowardice, for it is Drances’

hand that has piled those very heaps of Teucrian slaughter,

and is planting the fields all over with its trophies. What 35

is the power of glowing valour, experience may show

you: enemies in sooth are not far to seek: they are standing

all about the walls. Well, are we marching to the

encounter? why so slow? will you never lodge the War-god

better than in that windy tongue, those flying feet?

What? beaten? I? who, foulest of slanderers, will justly

brand me as beaten, that shall look on Tiber still swelling

with Ilion’s best blood, on Evander’s whole house prostrate 5

root and branch, and his Arcadians stripped naked of their

armour? It was no beaten arm that Bitias and giant

Pandarus found in me, or the thousand that I sent to

death in a single day with my conquering hand, shut up

within their walls, pent in by the rampart of the foe. No 10

hope from war? Croak your bodings, madman, in the

ears of the Dardan and of your own fortunes. Ay, go

on without cease, throwing all into measureless panic,

heightening the prowess of a nation twice conquered already,

and dwarfing no less the arms of your king. See, 15

now the lords of the Myrmidons[278] are quaking at the martial

deeds of Phrygia, Tydeus’ son, Thessalian Achilles,

and the rest, and river Aufidus is in full retreat from the

Hadrian sea. Or listen when the trickster in his villany

feigns himself too weak to face a quarrel with me, and 20

points his charges with the sting of terror. Never, I

promise you, shall you lose such life as yours by hand of

mine—be troubled no longer—let it dwell with you and

retain its home in that congenial breast. Now, gracious

sire, I return to you and the august matter that asks our 25

counsel. If you have no hope beyond in aught our arms

can do, if we are so wholly forlorn, destroyed root and

branch by one reverse, and our star can never rise again,

then pray we for peace and stretch craven hands in suppliance.

Yet, oh, had we but one spark of the worth that 30

once was ours, that man I would esteem blest beyond

others in his service and princely of soul, who, sooner than

look on aught like this, has lain down in death and once

for all bitten the dust. But if we have still store of power,

and a harvest of youth yet unreaped, if there are cities 35

and nations of Italy yet to come to our aid, if the Trojans

as well as we have won their glory at much bloodshed’s

cost—for they too have their deaths—the hurricane has

swept over all alike—why do we merely falter on the

threshold? why are we seized with shivering ere the

trumpet blows? Many a man’s weal has been restored

by time and the changeful struggles of shifting days: many

a man has Fortune, fair and foul by turns, made her sport 5

and then once more placed on a rock. Grant that we shall

have no help from the Ætolian and his Arpi: but we shall

from Messapus, and the blest Tolumnius, and all the

leaders that those many nations have sent us; nor small

shall be the glory which will wait on the flower of Latium 10

and the Laurentine land. Ay, and we have Camilla,[279] of

the noble Volscian race, with a band of horsemen at her

back and troops gleaming with brass. If it is I alone that

the Teucrians challenge to the fight, and such is your will,

and my life is indeed the standing obstacle to the good of 15

all, Victory has not heretofore fled with such loathing from

my hands that I should refuse to make my venture for a

hope so glorious. No, I will confront him boldly, though he

should prove great as Achilles, and don harness like his, the

work of Vulcan’s art. To you and to my royal father-in-law 20

have I here devoted this my life, I, Turnus, second in

valour to none that went before me. ‘For me alone Æneas

calls.’ Vouchsafe that he may so call! nor let Drances

in my stead, if the issue be Heaven’s vengeance, forfeit

his life, or, if it be prowess and glory, bear that prize 25

away!”

So were these contending over matters of doubtful debate:

Æneas was moving his army from camp to field.

See, there runs a messenger from end to end of the palace

amid wild confusion, and fills the town with a mighty 30

terror, how that in marching array the Trojans and the

Tuscan force are sweeping down from Tiber’s stream

over all the plain. In an instant the minds of the people

are confounded, their bosoms shaken to the core, their

passions goaded by no gentle stings. They clutch at arms, 35

clamour for arms: arms are the young men’s cry: the

weeping fathers moan and mutter. And now a mighty

din, blended of discordant voices, soars up to the skies,

even as when haply flocks of birds have settled down in a

lofty grove, or on the fishy stream of Padusa hoarse swans

make a noise along the babbling waters, “Ay, good citizens,”

cries Turnus, seizing on his moment, “assemble

your council and sit praising peace; they are rushing on 5

the realm sword in hand.” Without further speech he

dashed away and issued swiftly from the lofty gate.

“You, Volusus,” he cries, “bid the Volscian squadrons arm,

and lead out the Rutulians. You, Messapus, and you,

Coras[280] and your brother, spread the horse in battle array 10

over the breadth of the plain. Let some guard the inlets

of the city and man the towers; the rest attack with me in

the quarter for which I give the word.” At once there is

a rush to the ramparts from every part of the city: king

Latinus leaves the council and the high debate unfinished, 15

and wildered with the unhappy time, adjourns to another

day, ofttimes blaming himself that he welcomed not with

open arms Æneas the Dardan, and bestowed on the city

a husband for the daughter of Latium. Others dig

trenches before the gates or shoulder stones and stakes. 20

The hoarse trumpet gives its deathful warning for battle.

The walls are hemmed by a motley ring of matrons and

boys: the call of the last struggle rings in each one’s ear.

Moreover the queen among a vast train of Latian mothers

is drawn to the temple, even to Pallas’ tower on the height, 25

with presents in her hand, and at her side the maid Lavinia,

cause of this cruel woe, her beauteous eyes cast down.

The matrons enter the temple and make it steam with

incense, and pour from the august threshold their plaints

of sorrow: “Lady of arms, mistress of the war, Tritonian[o] 30

maiden, stretch forth thy hand and break the spear of the

Phrygian freebooter, lay him prostrate on the ground,

and leave him to grovel under our lofty portals.” Turnus

with emulous fury arms himself for the battle. And now

he has donned his ruddy corslet, and is bristling with 35

brazen scales; his calves have been sheathed in gold, his

temples yet bare, and his sword had been girded to his

side, and he shines as he runs all golden from the steep

of the citadel, bounding high with courage, and in hope

already forestalls the foe: even as when a horse, bursting

his tether, escapes from the stall, free at last and master

of the open champaign,[281] either wends where the herds of

mares pasture, or wont to bathe in the well-known river 5

darts forth and neighs with head tossed on high in wanton

frolic, while his mane plays loosely about neck and shoulders.

His path Camilla crosses, a Volscian army at her

back, and dismounts from her horse at the gate with

queenly gesture; the whole band follow her lead, quit 10

their horses, and alight to earth, while she bespeaks him

thus: “Turnus, if the brave may feel faith in themselves,

I promise boldly to confront the cavalry of Troy and

singly ride to meet the Tyrrhene horse. Let me essay

the first hazard of the combat; do you on foot remain by 15

the walls and be the city’s guard.” Turnus replies, gazing

steadfastly on the dreadful maid: “O maiden, glory

of Italy, what thanks shall I strive to speak or render?

but seeing that soul of yours soars above all, partake the

toil with me. Æneas, as rumour and missioned spies tell 20

me for truth, has cunningly sent on his light-armed cavalry

to scour the plain, while he, surmounting the lonely

steeps of the hill, is marching townward. I meditate a

stratagem of war in that woodland gorge, to beset the

narrow thoroughfare with an armed band. Do you in 25

battle array receive the Tuscan horse. With you will

be keen Messapus, and the Latian cavalry, and Tiburtus’

troop: take your share of a general’s charge.” This said,

he exhorts Messapus and the federate leaders with like

words to the fight, and advances to meet the enemy. 30

A glen there is, narrow and winding, suited for ambush

and stratagems of arms, pent in on both sides by a mountain-wall

black with dense foliage; a scant pathway leads

to it, with straitened gorge and jealous inlet. Above it

on the mountain’s watch-tower height lies a concealed 35

table-land, a post of sheltered privacy, whether one be

minded to face the battle right and left, or, standing on

the slope, to roll down enormous stones. Hither repairs

the warrior along the well-known road: he has occupied

the spot and sat him down in the treacherous forest.

Meantime, in the mansions above Latona’s daughter

was addressing Opis the swift, a maiden comrade of her

sacred train, and was uttering these words in tones of 5

sorrow: “Ah, maiden, Camilla is on her way to the ruthless

war; in vain she girds herself with the arms of our

sisterhood, dear to me that she is beyond all beside: for

no new tenderness this that has come on Diana, nor sudden

the spell wherewith it stirs her heart. When Metabus, 10

exiled for the hate which tyranny genders, was parting

from Privernum, his ancient city, as he fled from the heart

of the combat, he bore away his infant child to share his

banishment, and varying Casmilla, her mother’s name,

called her Camilla. The father, carrying her in his bosom, 15

was making for the long mountain slopes of the solitary

woods, while bitter javelins were showering all around him,

and the Volscians with circling soldiery hovering about:

when lo! intercepting his flight was Amasenus, brimming

and foaming over its banks, so vast a deluge of rain had 20

burst from the clouds. Preparing to plunge in, he is

checked by tenderness for his child, and fears for the precious

load. At last, as he pondered over every course,

he hit suddenly on this resolve. There was a huge weapon,

which he chanced to be carrying in his stalwart hand 25

as warriors use, sturdy with knots and seasoned timber:

to it he fastens his daughter, enclosed in the cork-tree’s

forest bark, and binds her neatly round the middle

of the shaft; then, poising it in a giant’s grasp, he thus

exclaims to heaven: ‘Gracious lady, dweller in the woods, 30

Latona’s maiden daughter, I vow to thy service this my

child: thine are the first weapons that she wields as she

flies from the foe through air to thy protection. Receive,

I conjure thee, as thine own her whom I now entrust to the

uncertain gale.’ He said, and, drawing back his arm, 35

hurled the javelin: loud roared the waves, while over the

furious stream fled poor Camilla on the hurtling dart.

But Metabus, pressed closer and closer by the numerous

band, leaps into the river, and in triumph plucks from the

grassy bank his offering to Trivia, the javelin and the maid.

No cities opened to him house or stronghold, for his wild

nature had never brooked submission: among the shepherds’

lonely mountains he passed his days. There in the 5

woods, among beasts’ savage lairs, he reared his daughter

on milk from the breast of an untamed mare, squeezing

the udder into her tender lips. And soon as the child

first stood on her feet, he armed her hands with a pointed

javelin, and hung from her baby shoulder a quiver and a 10

bow. For the golden brooch in her hair, for the long

sweeping mantle, there hang from her head adown her

back a tiger’s spoils. Even then she launched with tiny

hand her childish missiles, swung round her head the sling’s

well-turned thong, and brought down a crane from Strymon 15

or a snow-white swan. Many a mother in Tyrrhene

town has wooed her for her son in vain: with no thought

but for Dian, she cherishes in unsullied purity her love for

the hunter’s and the maiden’s life. Would she had never

been pressed for warfare like this, essaying to strike a blow 20

at the Teucrians: so had she still been my darling and a

sister of my train. But come, since cruel destiny is darkening

round her, glide down, fair nymph, from the sky,

and repair to the Latian frontier, where now in an evil hour

the tearful battle is joining. Take these arms, and draw 25

from the quiver an avenging shaft: therewith let the foe,

whoever he be, Trojan or Italian, that shall profane with

the stroke of death that sacred person, make to me in like

manner the atonement of his blood. Afterwards in the

hollow of a cloud I will bear off the body of my lost favourite 30

undespoiled of its arms, and lay her down in her

own land.” Thus she: and Opis hurtled downward through

the buoyant air, a black whirlwind enswathing her form.

But the Trojan band meanwhile is nearing the walls

with the Etruscan chiefs and the whole array of cavalry, 35

marshalled into companies. Steeds are prancing and

neighing the whole champaign over, and chafing against

the drawn bridle as they face hither and thither: the field,

all iron, bristles far and wide with spears, and the plains

are ablaze with arms reared on high. Likewise Messapus

on the other side and the swift-paced Latians, and Coras

and his brother, and maid Camilla’s force appear in the

plain against them, couching the lance in their backdrawn 5

hands and brandishing the javelin: and the onset of warriors

and the neighing of steeds begin to wax hot. And

now each army had halted within a spear-throw of the

other: with a sudden shout they dash forward, and put

spurs to their fiery steeds: missiles are showered from all 10

sides in a moment, thick as snow-flakes, and heaven is

curtained with the shade. Instantly Tyrrhenus and fierce

Aconteus charge each other spear in hand, and foremost

of all crash together with sound as of thunder, so that the

chest of either steed is burst against his fellow’s; Aconteus, 15

flung off like the levinbolt or a stone hurled from an engine,

tumbles headlong in the distance, and scatters his life in

air. At once the line of battle is broken, and the Latians,

turned to flight, sling their shields behind them and set

their horses’ heads cityward. The Trojans give them 20

chase: Asilas in the van leads their bands. And now

they were nearing the gates, when the Latians in turn set

up a shout, and turn their chargers’ limber necks; the

others fly, and retreat far away at full speed. As when

the sea, advancing with its tide that ebbs and flows, one 25

while sweeps towards the land, deluges the rocks with a

shower of spray, and sprinkles the sandy margin with the

contents of its bosom, one while flees in hasty retreat,

dragging back into the gulf the recaptured stones, and

with ebbing waters leaves the shore. Twice the Tuscans 30

drove the Rutulians in rout to their walls; twice, repulsed,

they look behind as they sling their shields backward.

But when in the shock of a third encounter the entire

armies grapple each other, and man has singled out man,

then in truth upsoar the groans of the dying, and arms and 35

bodies and death-stricken horses blended with human

carnage welter in pools of gore: and a savage combat is

aroused. Orsilochus hurls a spear at Remulus’ horse—for

the rider he feared to encounter—and leaves the steel

lodged under the ear. Maddened by the blow, the beast

rears erect, and, uplifting its breast, flings its legs on high

in the uncontrolled agony of the wound: Remulus unseated

rolls on earth, Catillus dismounts Iollas, and likewise 5

Herminius, giant in courage, and giant too in stature

and girth: his bare head streams with yellow locks, and

his shoulders also are bare: wounds have no terrors for

him, so vast the surface he offers to the weapon. Through

his broad shoulders comes the quivering spear, and bows 10

the impaled hero double with anguish. Black streams

of gore gush on all sides: the combatants spread slaughter

with the steel, and rush on glorious death through a storm

of wounds.

But Camilla, with a quiver at her back, and one breast 15

put forth for the combat, leaps for joy like an Amazon in

the midst of carnage: now she scatters thick volleys of

quivering javelins, now her arm whirls unwearied the

massy two-edged axe: while from her shoulder sounds the

golden bow, the artillery of Dian. Nay, if ever she be 20

beaten back and retreating rearward, she turns her bow

and aims shafts in her flight. Around her are her chosen

comrades, maid Larina, and Tulla, and Tarpeia, wielding

the brazen-helved hatchet, daughters of Italy, whom

glorious Camilla herself chose to be her joy and pride, able 25

to deal alike with peace and war: even as the Amazons

of Thrace when they thunder over the streams of Thermōdon

and battle with her blazoned arms, encompassing

Hippolyte, or when Penthesilea, the War-god’s darling,

is careering to and fro in her chariot, and the woman 30

army, amid a hubbub of shrill cries, are leaping in ecstasy

and shaking their moony shields. Who first, who last,

fierce maiden, is unhorsed by your dart? How many stalwart

bodies lay you low in death? The first was Eunēus,

Clytius’ son, whose unguarded breast as he stood fronting 35

her she pierces with her long pine-wood spear. Down he

goes, disgorging streams of blood, closes his teeth on the

gory soil, and dying writhes upon his wound. Then

Liris, and Pagasus on his body: while that, flung from

his stabbed charger, is gathering up the reins, and this is

coming to the rescue and stretching his unarmed hand to

his falling comrade, they are overthrown in one headlong

ruin. To these she adds Amastrus, son of Hippotas: 5

then, pressing on the rout, pursues with her spear-throw

Tereus, and Harpalycus, and Demophoon, and Chromis:

for every dart she launched from her maiden hand there

fell a Phrygian warrior. In the distance rides Ornytus

accoutred strangely in hunter fashion on an Iapygian 10

steed: a hide stripped from a bullock swathes his broad

shoulders in the combat, his head is sheltered by a wolf’s

huge grinning mouth and jaws with the white teeth projecting,

and a rustic pike arms his hand: he goes whirling

through the ranks, his whole head overtopping them. 15

Him she catches, an easy task when the hosts are entangled

in rout, pierces him through, and thus bespeaks the

fallen in the fierceness of her spirit: “Tuscan, you thought

yourself still chasing beasts in the forest, but the day is

come which shall refute the vaunts of your nation by a 20

woman’s weapons. Yet no slight glory shall you carry

down to your fathers’ shades, that you have fallen by the

dart of Camilla.” Next follow Orsilochus and Butes, two

of the hugest frames of Troy: Butes she speared behind

’twixt corslet and helm, where the sitter’s neck is seen 25

gleaming, and the shield is hanging from the left arm:

Orsilochus, as she pretends to fly and wheels round in a

mighty ring, she baffles by ever circling inwards, and chases

him that chases her: at last, rising to the stroke, she brings

down on the wretch again and again, spite of all his prayers, 30

her massy battle-axe that rives armour and bone: the

brain spouts over the face through the ghastly wound.

Now there stumbles upon her, and pauses in terror at the

sudden apparition, the warrior son of Aunus, dweller on

the Apennine, not the meanest of Liguria’s children while 35

Fate prospered his trickery. He, when he sees no speed

of flight can escape the combat, or avoid the onset of the

dreadful queen, essaying to gain his base end by policy

and stratagem, thus begins: “What great glory is it

after all, if you, a woman, trust your mettled steed? Put

away the chance of flight, and dare to meet me hand to

hand on equal ground, and gird you for battle on foot:

soon shall you see which of us gains honour from this 5

windy boasting.” He said: but she, all on fire, stung with

bitter grief, gives her horse to her comrade, and stands

ready to meet him in arms, fearless though on foot, with

naked sword and maiden shield. But the youth, deeming

that his wiles had sped, darts away without more ado, 10

and turning his bridle, rides off in flight, and wearies his

beast with the strokes of his iron heel. “False Ligurian,

vainly puffed up with overweening fancies, to no end have

you tried your sire’s slippery craft, nor shall your lying

bring you safe to Aunus the liar.” So cries the maiden, 15

and with lightning-like pace crosses at full speed the horse’s

path, and seizing the reins, fronts and encounters him,

and gluts her vengeance with his hated blood: easily as a

hawk, the bird of augury, darting from a lofty rock, comes

up with a dove high in the clouds, holds her in his gripe, 20

and with crooked talons tears out her heart, while gore and

plucked feathers come tumbling from the sky.

But no blind spectator of the scene is sitting throned on

high Olympus, even the father of men and gods. The sire

urges Tarchon the Tuscan to the ruthless fray, and goads 25

him to wrath by no gentle stings. So among heaps of

carnage and yielding bands Tarchon goes riding, and

rouses the cavalry with words of diverse purport, calling

each by his name, and gives the beaten new strength for

battle. “What terror, O ye Tuscan hearts that will not 30

feel, that will still be sluggish, what strange cowardice has

come on you? To what end is this steel, these idle weapons

our right hands bear? But slow ye are not to hear the

call of love, or when the wry-necked fife gives the word for

the Bacchic dance: ay, there is your passion, there your 35

delight, till the favouring seer announce the sacrificial

feast, and the fat victim invite you to the tall trees of the

grove.” So saying, he spurs his steed into the midst,

ready for the death he brings to others, and charges in

fury on Venulus, snatches the foe from his horse, folds his

arms round him, and carries him on his saddle before him

with wild and violent speed. Upsoars a shout to heaven,

and every Latian eye is turned to the scene. Over the 5

plain like lightning flies Tarchon, bearing the warrior

and his arms. Then from the top of the chiefs own spear

he breaks off the point, and feels for an unguarded part

where to plant the deadly blow: the foe, struggling, keeps

off Tarchon’s hand from his throat, and repels force with 10

force. As when the golden eagle soaring on high carries

a serpent he has caught, trussing it in his claws, and adhering

with his taloned gripe; the wounded reptile writhes

its spiral coils, stiffens with erected scales, and hisses from

its mouth, surging and swelling; the eagle, undismayed, 15

plies it despite its struggles with his hooked beak, while

his pinions beat the air: even thus Tarchon carries his

prize in triumph from the bands of Tibur’s folk. Following

their chief’s auspicious lead, the sons of Mæonia charge

the foe. Then Arruns, the man of fate, compasses swift 20

Camilla about, dart in hand, with many a forestalling wile,

and tries what chance may be readiest. Wherever the

fiery maid dashes into the midst of the battle, Arruns

threads his way after her, and scans her steps in silence:

wherever she returns in triumph, escaping safely from the 25

foe, that way the youth turns his swift and stealthy rein;

now makes proof of this approach, now of that, and traverses

the whole circle, and shakes with relentless malice

his inevitable lance. It chanced that one Chloreus, sacred

to Cybele and once her priest, was shining conspicuous 30

from afar in Phrygian armour, urging on a foaming charger,

whose covering was a skin adorned with golden clasp and

brazen scales set plume-wise. He, in the blaze of foreign

purple, was launching Gortynian shafts from a Lycian bow;

golden was the bow that rang from his shoulder, golden the 35

helm on his sacred head; his saffron scarf with its rustling

gauzy folds was gathered up by a golden brooch, and his

tunic and his hose decked with barbaric broidery. He it

was that the maiden, eager, it may be, to fasten on the

temple-gate the arms of Troy, or to flaunt herself in the

golden spoil, singled out from all the battle, and was following

with a hunter’s blind devotion, raging recklessly

through the ranks, enkindled with a woman’s love for prey 5

and plunder; when at length, seizing his opportunity,

Arruns awakes his dart from its ambush, and thus prays

aloud to heaven: “Greatest of gods, Apollo, guardian of

divine Soracte, whom we are the first to worship, for whom

the pine-tree glow is fed by heaps of wood, while ourselves, 10

thy votaries, strong in our piety, walk through the flame

over living embers, grant, all-powerful sire, that my arms

may wipe this scandal away. I seek no plunder or spoil,

no trophy for the conquest of a maid; the rest of my deeds

shall secure my fame; let but this terrible fiend fall vanquished 15

by wound of mine, I will return to the cities of my

fathers an unhonoured man.” Phœbus heard, and vouchsafed

in his heart that half the vow should speed, while

half he scattered among the flying breezes: to strike and

slay Camilla with sudden death-wound, so much he grants 20

the suppliant: to return and meet the eyes of his noble

fatherland, this he allows not; the gusts of air turned the

accents into wind. So when the spear, launched from the

hand, was heard along the sky, each keen Volscian mind

flew to one centre, every Volscian eye was bent on the 25

queen. She alone had no thought for wind or sound or

weapon sweeping down from heaven, till the spear had

made its passage and lodged beneath her protruded breast,

and deeply driven, drank her maiden blood. Her comrades

run together in alarm, and support their falling mistress. 30

Arruns, more terrified than all, flies away, half joy,

half fear, nor puts further confidence in his lance, nor dares

to meet the darts of the maiden. Even as the caitiff

wolf, ere the weapons of vengeance can follow him, has

fled at once to the pathless privacy of the mountain steep, 35

on slaying a shepherd or mighty bullock, conscious of his

daring deed, and drawing back his quivering tail with

lithe action has clapped it to his belly and made for the

woods, in like manner Arruns all wildered has stolen away

from sight, and contented to escape has plunged into the

thick of the battle. With dying hand the maiden pulls

at the spear; but the steely point stands lodged among the

bones at the ribs in the deep wound it made. Drained of 5

blood, she sinks to earth; sink, too, her death-chilled eyes;

her once bright bloom has left her face. Then at her last

gasp she accosts Acca, one of her maiden train, who beyond

the rest was Camilla’s friend and shared her thoughts,

and speaks on this wise; “Thus far, sister Acca, has 10

strength been given me: now the cruel wound overcomes

me; and all around me grows dim and dark. Haste and

carry Turnus my dying charge, to take my place in the

battle and keep off the Trojans from the town. And now

farewell.” As she spoke she dropped the bridle, swimming 15

down to earth with no willing act. Then as the death-chill

grows she gradually discumbers herself of the entire weight

of the body, droops her unstrung neck and her head on

which fate has seized, quitting too her armour, and her

soul, resenting its lot, flies groaningly to the shades. Then 20

indeed, rising unmeasured, the uproar strikes the golden

stars: Camilla overthrown, the fight waxes fiercer: on

they rush thickening, at once the whole force of the Teucrians,

and the Tyrrhene leaders, and Evander’s Arcad

cavalry. 25

But Trivia’s sentinel Opis has long been seated high on

the mountain top, an undismayed spectator of the combat.

And when far off, deep among the din of raging

warriors, she spied Camilla shent by ruthless death, she

groaned, and fetched these words from the bottom of her 30

breast: “Poor maiden! too, too cruel the penalty you

have paid for provoking the Teucrians to battle. Nought

has it bestead you at your need to have served Dian in the

forest, and carried on your shoulder the shafts of our sisterhood.

Yet not unhonoured has your queen left you even 35

here in death’s extremity; nor shall this your end be without

its glory in the world, nor yourself bear the ignominy

of the unrevenged; for he, whoever he be, whose wound

has profaned your person, shall atone it by the death he

has earned.” Under the lofty mountain’s shade there

stood a vast mound of earth, the tomb of Dercennus, an

old Laurentine king, shrouded with dark ilex: here the

beauteous goddess first alights with a rapid bound, and 5

spies out Arruns from the barrow’s height. Soon as she

saw him gleaming in his armour, and swelling with vanity,

“Why stray from the path?” cries she; “turn your feet

hitherward! come hither to your death, and receive

Camilla’s guerdon! Alack! and are you too to be slain 10

by the shafts of Dian?” She said, and with the skill of

Thracian maiden drew a swift arrow from her gilded quiver,

bent the bow with deadly aim, and drew it far apart, till

the arching ends met together, and with her two hands

she touched, the barb of steel with her left, her breast with 15

her right and the bowstring. Forthwith the hurtling of

the shaft and the rush of the breeze reached Arruns’ ear

at the moment the steel lodged in his body. Him gasping

and groaning his last his comrades leave unthinking in the

unmarked dust of the plain: Opis spreads her wings, and 20

is borne to skyey Olympus.

First flies, its mistress lost, Camilla’s light-armed company;

fly the Rutules in rout, flies keen Atinas; leaders

in disarray and troops in devastation make for shelter,

turn round, and gallop to the walls. None can sustain 25

in combat the Teucrians’ deadly onset or resist the stream;

they throw their unstrung bows on their unnerved

shoulders, and the hoof of four-foot steeds shakes the

crumbling plain. On rolls to the ramparts a cloud of dust,

thick and murky; and the matrons from their sentry-posts, 30

smiting on their breasts, raise a shriek as women

wont to the stars of heaven. Who first pour at speed

through the open gates are whelmed by a multitude of

foemen that blends its crowd with theirs; they scape not

the agony of death, but on the very threshold, with their 35

native walls around them, in the sanctuary of home, they

breathe away their lives. Some close the gates: they dare

not give ingress to their friends nor take them within the

walls, implore as they may: and a piteous carnage ensues,

these guarding the approach sword in hand, those rushing

on the sword’s point. Some, borne on by the deluge,

stream headlong into the moat; some in blind agony,

spurring their horses, charge as with battering-rams the 5

portals and their stubborn barriers. Nay, the very matrons

on the walls in the intensity of the struggle, prompted

by true patriot spirit at sight of Camilla, fling darts from

their quivering hands, and make hard oak-stakes and

seared truncheons do the work of steel, hot and headlong, 10

and fain would be the first to die for their city.

Meantime the cruel news floods Turnus’ ears in his forest-ambush,

as Acca tells the warrior her tale of mighty terror:

the Volscian ranks destroyed, Camilla slain, the enemy

coming on like a torrent, sweeping all before their victorious 15

onslaught, the alarm already wafted to the walls.

He, all on fire (for even such is Jove’s stern requirement),

quits his post on the hills, leaves the impregnable forest.

Scarce had he passed from their sight and occupied the

plain, when father Æneas, entering the unguarded pass, 20

scales the hill-top, and issues through the shadowy wood.

So the two rivals march cityward at full speed, each with

all his army, nor long is the intervening distance; at the

same moment Æneas looked far over the plains all smoking

with dust, and saw the host of Laurentum, and Turnus was 25

aware of fell Æneas in battle array, and heard the onward

tramp of feet and the neighing of steeds. Instantly they

were for closing in fight and throwing for the stake of combat;

but the time was come for reddening Phœbus to bathe

his wearied team in the Hiberian flood, and bring back 30

night on the steps of retreating day. So they encamp

before the city, and make their ramparts strong.

BOOK XII

When Turnus sees that the War-god’s enmity has

broken the spirit of Latium, that men are beginning to

claim his promise, and make him the mark of their eyes,

he bursts at once into fury unappeasable, and swells his

pride to the height. As in Punic land, when the hunters 5

have wounded him deep in the breast, the lion at last rouses

himself to fight, tosses with fierce joy his mane from his

neck, snaps fearlessly the brigand’s spear in the wound,

and roars from his gory mouth: even so, Turnus once

kindled, his vehemence grows each moment. Then he 10

addresses the king, and dashes hotly into speech: “Turnus

stops not the way: Æneas and his cowards have no plea

for retracting their challenge or disowning their plighted

word; I meet the combat; bring the sacred things, good

father, and solemnize the truce. Either will I with my own 15

right hand send the Dardan down to Tartarus, the runaway

from Asia—let the Latians sit by and see—and

with my single weapon refute the slander of a nation; or

let the vanquished own their master and Lavinia be the

conqueror’s bride.” 20

With calm dignity of soul the king makes answer:

“Gallant youth, the greater your impetuous valour, the

more watchful must needs be my foresight, the more

anxious my scrutiny of all that may happen. You have

your father Daunus’ kingdom, you have many a town 25

won by your own sword: I that speak have gold and a

heart to give it; in Latium and Laurentum’s land are other

unwedded maidens, of no unworthy lineage. Suffer me

without disguise to give voice to these unwelcome sayings,

and take home what I speak further: I was forbidden by 30

Fate to give my daughter to any of her early suitors;

so sang gods and men alike. Conquered by my love for

you, conquered by the ties of kindred and the sorrow of

my weeping queen, I set all pledges at naught, I snatched

the bride from her plighted husband. I drew the unhallowed 5

sword. From that fatal day you see what troubles,

what wars are let loose upon me; you know the weight of

the sufferings which you are the first to feel. Twice vanquished

in a mighty conflict, we scarce protect by our bulwarks

the hopes of Italy: Tiber’s waters are yet steaming 10

with our blood, and the spacious plains are whitened by

our bones. Whither am I drifting again and again?

what madness turns my brain? If on the death of Turnus

I am ready to welcome these new allies, why should I not

end the strife while he lives and is safe? What will our 15

Rutulian kinsmen say, what the rest of Italy, if—may

Fortune forefend the omen!—I give you up to death,

you, a suitor for my alliance, for my daughter’s hand?

Think of the uncertainties of war; have pity on your aged

sire, now biding forlornly far away in his Ardean home!” 20

These words abate not Turnus’ vehemence a whit: it

starts up fiercer, more virulent for the healing hand.

Soon as he can find utterance, he thus begins: “The care

you take for my sake, best of fathers, lay down for my

sake, I beg, and suffer me to pledge my life for my honour. 25

My hand, too, can scatter darts and fling steel with no

feeble force; my blows, too, fetch blood. He will not have

his goddess-mother within call, to hide her craven son in an

unmanly cloud, and conceal herself by help of treacherous

shadows.” 30

But the queen, appalled by the new hazard of the combat,

was all in tears, clinging to her fiery son-in-law with

the convulsive grasp of death: “Turnus, by these my

tears, by any regard you cherish for Amata—you are

now our only hope, our only solace in our forlorn old age—the 35

honour and power of the king are in your hands;

on you, its one pillar, the whole house leans. I ask but

this—forbear to cross swords with the Teucrians. Whatever

chance waits on you in this unhappy combat, waits

on me, too, my Turnus; along with you I shall leave the

hated light, nor see in Æneas my son-in-law and my

conqueror.”

As Lavinia heard her mother’s voice, her glowing cheeks 5

were bathed in tears; a deep blush kindled a fire, and shot

over her flushing face. As when a man has stained Indian

ivory with blood-red purple, or like a bed of lilies and roses

mixed: such hues were seen on the maiden’s countenance.

He, bewildered with passion, fixes his eyes upon her: the 10

sight makes him burn the more for battle, and thus he

addresses Amata in brief: “Let me not have tears nor

aught so ominous, dear mother, as my escort to the iron

battle; Turnus is not free to postpone the call of death.

Go, Idmon, and bear the Phrygian despot a message that 15

will like him not: Soon as the goddess of to-morrow’s

dawn shall fire the sky with the glow of her chariot, let

him not spur the Teucrians against the Rutulians; let

Teucrian and Rutulian sheath their swords, while we

twain with our own life-blood decide the war. Let 20

Lavinia’s hand be sought and won in yonder field.”

So he spoke, and rushed back within doors: he calls for

his steeds, and joys to look on them snorting and neighing—the

steeds which Orithyia gave as a present to Pilumnus,

to surpass the snows in whiteness, the winds in speed. 25

Round them stand the bustling charioteers, patting their

chests with hollow palms and combing their maned necks.

Next he throws round his shoulders his hauberk, stiff

with scales of gold and dazzling orichalc,[282] and adjusts to

his wear the sword, the shield, and the cones of the crimson 30

crest—that sword the Fire-god’s own hand had made for

his father Daunus, and tempered it glowing in the Stygian

wave. Lastly, the spear which was standing in the

palace-hall, propped by a mighty column, the spoil of

Auruncan Actor, he seizes forcefully, sturdy as it is, 35

and shakes till it quivers, crying aloud: “Now, my good

spear, that hast never failed my call, now is the time;

once wast thou swayed by giant Actor, now by Turnus:

grant that I may lay low the emasculate Phrygian, strip

and rend his hauberk by strength of hand, and soil in the

dust those ringlets curled with hot iron and moist with

myrrh.” So he rages, fury-driven: sparks flash from the

furnace of his countenance, lightnings dart from his 5

fiery eyes; as when a bull in view of a fight raises fearful

bellowing, and calls up rage into his horns by butting against

a tree’s trunk, challenges the wind with his blows, and

spurns the flying sand in prelude for the fray.

With equal fierceness Æneas, clad in his mother’s 10

armour, sharpens valour’s edge, and lashes his heart with

wrath, joying that proffered truce should end the war.

Then he calms his comrades’ fear and the grief of Iulus,

talking of destiny, and sends envoys with an answer to the

Latian king, to name the conditions of peace. 15

Scarce had the next morrow begun to sprinkle the

mountain-tops with light, at the time when the sun’s

steeds first come up from the deep and breathe flakes of

radiance from their upturned nostrils, when Rutulians

and Teucrians were at work, measuring out lists for combat 20

under the ramparts of the mighty town, with hearths

in the midst, and altars of turf for their common gods.

Others were carrying fire and spring water, begirt with

aprons, vervain[283] wreaths on their brows. Forth moves

the Ausonian army, bands with lifted javelins issuing 25

from the crowded gates. From yonder quarters pours the

Trojan and Tuscan force, with the arms of their several

countries, harnessed as if summoned by the War-god’s

bloody fray. In the midst of either squadrons the generals

flash along, glorious in gold and purple, Mnestheus, 30

Assaracus’ seed, and Asilas the brave, and Messapus,

tamer of horses, the progeny of Neptune. At a given

signal each army retreats within its confines; spears are

fixed in the ground, and bucklers rested at ease. Matrons

in yearning eagerness, and unarmed masses, and tottering 35

old men, fill turret and roof, or stand by the lofty portals.

But Juno, from the top of the mount now styled Alban—in

those days it had no name, nor glory, nor honour—was

looking in prospect on the plain, the two armies,

Trojan and Laurentine, and the Latian town. At once

she addressed Turnus’ sister, a goddess herself, who presides

over the pool and the brawling stream—such dignity

Jove, the king of heaven, solemnly made hers in return for 5

violated maidenhood: “Sweet Nymph, glory of the rivers,

favourite of my heart, you know how I have preferred you

to all Latium’s daughters who have climbed the odious bed

of our great Master and have gladly given you a seat in the

sky; and now, Juturna, learn from me your sorrow, for 10

which I am not to blame. So long as Fortune seemed

favourable and Fate allowed Latium to prosper, I spread

my shield over Turnus and these your walls: now I see

the youth engaged with a destiny mightier than his own,

and the day of doom and the power of the enemy are at 15

hand. I cannot look on the combat, nor on the league

that ushers it in. If you have the nerve to dare aught for

your brother, go on; it is a sister’s part: perhaps the downtrodden

have a better lot in store.” Ere she had well

ended Juturna’s tears sprang forth, and thrice and again 20

her hand smote on her lovely breast. “No time for tears,”

cries Saturn’s daughter: “quick, and if any way there be,

snatch your brother from death: or at least revive the war—and

mar the treaty while yet on their lips. Remember,

I warrant the attempt.” With such advice she left her 25

wavering in purpose and staggering under the cruel blow.

Meantime the monarchs appear, the stately form of the

Latian king riding in a four-horse car, his brows gleaming

with a circle of twelve gilded rays, the cognizance of the Sun

his grandsire: Turnus is drawn by a snow-white pair, two 30

spears with broad iron points quivering in his hands. Then

comes father Æneas, the parent stock of the Roman tree,

blazing with his starry shield and celestial armour, and at

his side Ascanius, the second hope of mighty Rome, both

issuing from their camp: while a priest in stainless robe 35

has brought the young of a bristly boar and an unclipped

sheep of two years old, and placed the victims by the

blazing altar. They, turning their eyes to the rising sun,

offer the salted barley, score with the steel the brows of the

cattle, and make libations from their chargers. Then

thus prays good Æneas, his sword drawn in his hand:

“Let the Sun above and the Earth beneath witness my invocation, 5

this very Earth for which I have had the heart

to endure so much, and the almighty Sire, and thou, his

goddess-bride, Saturn’s daughter, now—may I hope it?—now

at last made gracious: thou, too, glorious Mars,

whose princely nod controls every battle: Springs also

and Rivers I invoke, all the majesty of the sky, all the 10

deities of the purple deep: if chance award the victory

to Turnus the Ausonian, reason claims that the vanquished

shall retire to Evander’s town: Iulus shall quit the land,

nor shall Æneas’ children in after-days draw the sword again,

or threaten this realm with war. But should conquest 15

vouchsafe to us the smiles of the battle-field, as I rather

deem, and pray that Heaven will rather grant, I will not bid

the Italians be subject to Troy, nor ask I the crown for

myself: no, let the two great nations, one unconquered as

the other, join on equal terms in an everlasting federation. 20

The gods and their ritual shall be my gift: let my good

father-in-law still wield the sword and the lawful rights of

empire: the Teucrians shall raise me a city, and Lavinia

shall give it her name.” Thus first Æneas: the Latian

king follows, with eyes lifted to heaven, and right hand 25

stretched to the stars: “I swear as you swore, Æneas,

by Land and Ocean and Lights above, Latona’s twofold

offspring, and two-faced Janus, the potency of the gods

below and the shrine of relentless Pluto: and let the

Father too give ear, who ratifies covenants with thunder. 30

My hand is on the altars; I adjure the fires and powers

that part us: so far as rests with Italy, no length of time

shall break this bond of friendship, let things issue as they

may: no violence shall make me swerve in will, not though

deluge and chaos come again, ruining the earth into the 35

water and crushing down heaven into Tartarus: even

as this sceptre”—for a sceptre chanced to be in his hand—“shall

never more burgeon with light foliage into branch

or shade, now that once cut down in the woods it is orphaned

of that which gave it life, and has resigned to the

axe its leaves and its sprays—once a tree, now the workman’s

hand has cased it with seemly brass, and given it to

be wielded by Latium’s elders.” With words like these 5

were they ratifying the treaty, all the nobles looking on.

Then, as the rite ordains, they cut the throats of the

hallowed’ victims into the fire, flay the yet breathing flesh,

and pile the altars with laden chargers.

But the Rutulians have long been thinking the combat 10

unequal: their bosoms are swayed by rival emotions,

all the more, the nearer they observe the ill-matched

champions. Turnus aids the feeling by the quietness of

his step and the downcast reverential look which he turns

on the altar, his wan cheeks, and the pallor of his youthful 15

frame. Soon as his sister Juturna heard such whispers

spreading, and saw the hearts of the multitude wavering

to and fro, she plunges among the ranks, taking the form

of Camers, great in ancestral dignity, great in the name of

his father’s worth, and himself a valiant warrior—plunges 20

among the ranks, knowing well what she would have, and

scatters her sayings abroad in words like these: “Blush

ye not, Rutulians, with souls such as yours, to make one a

sacrifice for all? are we not equal to our foes in strength or

in numbers? See, here is their whole army, Trojan 25

and Arcadian, aye, and that fated band of Eturia, which

seeks Turnus’ life. Though but half of us should engage,

each would scarce have an enemy to fight with. He, no

doubt, will rise on the wings of fame to the gods for whose

altars he gives himself to die, and will live in the mouths 30

of men: we, stripped of our country, shall be the slaves of

haughty masters, we, I say, now seated passively on the

ground.” By such words the flame is fanned more and

more in those young warrior hearts, and murmurs run

from rank to rank: not Rutulian alone, but Laurentian and 35

Latian are changed men. They who a short while since

were hoping for their own repose and their state’s prosperity,

now burn for arms, would have the treaty undone,

and pity Turnus’ cruel fate. And now Juturna gives them

one thing more, even a sign from heaven, no spell so potent

to work on Italian minds and make them dupes of the

marvel. Flying through the ruddy sky, Jove’s golden

bird was chasing the river fowl, a winged noisy multitude, 5

when suddenly swooping on the water he carries off in

his tyrant claws a stately swan. The Italians are all

attention, when lo! the whole mass of birds face about with

a scream, marvellous to see, their wings darkening the air,

and in dense cloud press on their enemy, till overborne by 10

sheer weight he gives way, drops the booty from his talons

into the river, flying aloft, and vanishes in the distant sky.

Oh, then the Rutulians welcome the omen with a shout and

spread their hands on high; and first of all cries the augur

Tolumnius. “Here, here is the thing I have prayed for so 15

often. I embrace it, I own the hand of Heaven. Follow

me—yes, me—and seize your weapons, my poor countrymen,

whom the felon stranger is scaring with battle, as if

ye were feeble birds, and ravaging your coasts. He too

will turn to flight and sail far away on the deep. Close 20

your ranks with one accord, and rally round the prince

of whom the battle robs you.” He spoke, and running forward

hurls his dart full at the enemy: the hurtling cornel

sounds, and cuts the air on no doubtful errand. A deafening

shout follows on the act, the ranks are confused, 25

and men’s hearts stirred with mad bewilderment. On flew

the spear, just where nine goodly brethren chanced to

stand facing it, all born of one true Tuscan mother to

Gylippus the Arcadian. One of these just at the waist

where the quilted belt chafes against the belly and the 30

buckle presses the sides—a youth of goodly form and

clad in refulgent armour—it strikes through the ribs

and lays him grovelling on the yellow sand. But his

brothers, a gallant company and stung by grief, draw their

swords or seize their javelins, and charge in headlong fury. 35

To meet them rush the Laurentian columns: while from

their side surge forth in a flood Trojans and Agyllans and

Arcadians with inlaid harness. All are possessed by one

passion, to try the issue with the steel. The altars are

stripped bare: through the whole sky drives a flickering

storm of weapons and an iron sleet comes thick: bowls

and hearths are carried away. King Latinus flies, bearing

away his gods in discomfiture, the truce unratified. 5

Others rein the chariot or vault on horseback, with swords

ready drawn.

Messapus, all on fire to annul the treaty, spurs his horse

full on the Tuscan Aulestes, a king and wearing kingly

cognizance: he draws quickly back, and gets entangled 10

in piteous sort with the altars that meet him behind,

falling on them head and shoulders. Up flashes Messapus

spear in hand, and towering on horseback brings down on

him the massy beam in the midst of his prayers, and delivers

himself thus: “He is sped: here is a better victim for the 15

mighty gods.” The Italians cluster round, and strip the

yet warm body. As Ebusus comes up and aims a blow,

Corynæus meets him with a brand half-burnt from the

altar and dashes the fire in his face: his long beard burst

into a blaze and made a smell of burning hair: the enemy 20

presses on, grasps in his left hand the locks of the wildered

man and with the impact of his knee pins him to earth;

then buries the stark falchion in his side. Podalirius

gives chase to Alsus the shepherd as he rushed in the first

rank through a shower of darts, and hangs over him with 25

naked sword: he, swinging back his axe, splits full in front

the foe’s forehead and chin, and splashes his arms right

and left with the blood. The heavy rest of iron slumber

settles down on the dying eyes, and their beams are curtained

in everlasting night. 30

But good Æneas, his head bare, was stretching forth

his unarmed hand and shouting to his men: “Whither are

you driving? what is this sudden outburst of strife? Oh,

curb your passions! the truce is stricken, and all the terms

arranged: none but I has a right to engage: give way to 35

me and have done with alarm: my sword shall ratify the

treaty: this sacrifice has put Turnus in my power.”

While he is crying thus and uttering words like these, lo!

full at the chief flies a hurtling arrow, none knew by

what hand launched, by what wind wafted, who graced

the Rutulians so highly, chance or deity: the glory of the

proud achievement was lost, nor was any known to boast

of having wounded Æneas. 5

Soon as Turnus sees Æneas retiring from the battle,

and the Trojan leaders in confusion, he glows with swift

access of hope, calls for horses and armour, bounds like a

conqueror into the chariot, and takes the reins in hand.

Many a heroic frame he slaughters as he whirls along, many 10

he tumbles and leaves to live or die, crushes whole ranks

by the onset of his car, or plucks forth spears and hurls

them at the fliers. Just as storming along by Hebrus’ icy

flood gore-stained Mars smites on his shield, and stirring

battle lets loose his fiery steeds: they fly over the plains 15

faster than winds southern or western: Thrace groans to

her extremity under the beat of their hoofs: around him

circle the frowns of black-visaged Terror, and the powers

of Wrath and Treachery, liege followers of the god: with

like eagerness through the thickest of the battle Turnus 20

whirls his straining horses, trampling in piteous sort on the

slaughtered foe: the flying hoof spirts gory dew, and blood

and sand are kneaded in a mass. Sthenelus he has slain

already, and Thamyris and Pholus, these hand to hand,

that from a distance: a distant death, too, has found the 25

Imbrasidæ, Glaucus and Lades, trained in Lycia by

Imbrasus their sire, and by him harnessed alike, warriors

who could stand and fight or outride the winds. In another

part of the field Eumedes is riding through the fray, the

gallant son of ancient Dolon, with the name of his grandsire, 30

the heart and hand of his sire, who of old, offering

to spy out the Danaan camp, dared to ask Achilles’

chariot as his guerdon; far other guerdon was it with

which Diomed requited his daring, and his hopes are set on

Achilles’ steeds no longer. Marking him at distance along 35

the plain, Turnus first sends after him a flying spear

through the intervening space, then stops the car and dismounts,

comes on the wretch gasping and laid low, and

setting his foot on his neck, wrests the sword from his hand,

bathes it flashing deep in his throat, and thus accompanies

the blow: “Lie there, Trojan, and measure the Hesperian

soil you came to invade: such are their guerdons who

draw their swords on me; so build they up their city.” 5

Then with a spear throw he sends Asbutes to join the dead.

Chloreus and Sybaris and Dares and Thersilochus, Thymœtes

too, thrown off by a restiff horse. As when the

blast of Thracian Boreas roars on the deep Ægean and

drives the billows to the shore, wherever the winds push 10

on, the clouds scurry over the sky, so when Turnus cleaves

his path, the ranks give way, the armies turn in rout; the

motion bears him along, and the gale which blows on the

car tosses his flickering crest. Phegeus, indignant at his

overweening onset, meets the car and grasping the bridle 15

wrenches aside the foaming jaws of the impetuous steeds.

While he is dragged along clinging to the yoke, the broad

spear-head reaches his unguarded breast, cleaves the two-plated

corslet, and tastes the surface of the flesh. Yet he,

his shield before him, kept fronting and threatening the 20

foe, and protecting himself with his drawn sword, when

the wheel careering onward strikes and flings him on the

ground, and Turnus with a sweep of his blade between

the bottom of the helmet and the breastplate’s topmost

rim has lopped the head and left the trunk to welter. 25

While Turnus thus is dealing havoc over the field,

Mnestheus, true Achates, and Ascanius have helped Æneas

to the camp, all bleeding, and staying his halting steps

by the help of a spear. There he frets and struggles to

pull out the broken shaft, and calls for help the readiest 30

way, bidding them enlarge the wound with a broad sword,

cut the weapon’s lodgment to the bottom, and send him

to combat again. And now at his side was Iapis, son of

Iasus, dearest of mankind to Phœbus, he to whom the

god in his passionate fondness would fain have given his 35

own function, his own hand’s cunning, the augur’s insight,

the lyre, the weapons of archery; but he, wishing

to lengthen out the span of his bed-rid sire, chose rather

to know the virtue of simples and the laws of the healing

art, and to practise in silence an unambitious craft.

There stood Æneas, fretting impatiently, propped on his

massy spear, with a warrior concourse about him, and

Iulus all in tears, yet himself unmoved by their sorrow. 5

The aged leech, his garments swathed round him in

Pæon’s fashion, is plying busily the healing hand and

Phœbus’ sovereign remedies all to no end, all to no end

pulling at the dart and griping the steel with the pincer.

No Fortune guides the course of skill, no patron Phœbus 10

lends his aid; and meanwhile the fierce alarms of the field

grow louder and louder, and the mischief is nearer at

hand. They see dust-clouds propping the sky, the horsemen

gallop in, darts fall thick in the midst of the camp,

and heavenward mounts the cruel din of warriors battling 15

or falling in the stern affray:—when, lo! Venus, struck

to the heart by her son’s undeserved suffering, with a

mother’s care plucks dittany[284] from Cretan Ida, a plant

with downy leaves and a purple flower: wild goats know

that simple well, if the flying arrow should lodge in their 20

flesh. Veiled by a dim cloud, the goddess brings it down;

with it she impregnates the spring water gleaming in the

caldron, imparting unseen powers, and sprinkles ambrosia’s[285]

healthful juice and fragrant panacea. The old

man rinsed the wound with the water so transformed, all 25

unwitting, and in a moment all pain was fled from the

frame, and the blood was stanched in the wound. The

arrow obeys the hand, and falls unforced, and strength is

restored as before. “Quick! give the warrior his arms!

why so tardy?” cries Iapis, himself the first to stir up 30

the martial spirit. “No human aid has done this, no

power of leech-craft; it is not my hand, Æneas, that

restores you; a mightier power than man’s is at work,

sending you back to mightier deeds.” The chief, greedy

for the fight, has cased his legs in gold, chafing at delay 35

and brandishing his spear. Soon as the shield is fitted

to his side, the cuirass to his back, he clasps Ascanius to

his mailed breast, and kissing his lips through the helmet

addresses him thus: “Learn valour from me, my son,

and genuine hardihood, success from others. To-day it is

my hand that shall shield you in war and lead you through

the walks of honour; be it your care, when your age has

ripened into manhood, to bear the past in mind, seek 5

patterns among those of your own blood, and be stirred

to action by Æneas your sire and Hector your uncle.”

So having said, he passed towering through the gate,

a huge spear quivering in his hand: Antheus and Mnestheus

close their ranks and rush forth, and the whole 10

multitude streams from the empty camp. The field is

clouded by blinding dust, and earth throbs and shudders

with the tramp of feet. Turnus saw them coming towards

him from their battlements, the Ausonians saw, and a

cold shudder ran through their vitals: first before all the 15

Latians Juturna heard and knew the sound and shrank

back in terror. As a storm-cloud bursting through the

sky sweeps down to earth along the main: hapless husbandmen

know it ere it comes, and shudder at heart;

yes, it will bring havoc to their trees, devastation to their 20

crops, will lay all low far and wide; the winds fly before

it and waft the sound to the shore: with as strong a rush

the Rhœteian chief sweeps his army full on the foe; they

close in firm masses and form severally at his side. Thymbræus’

sword cuts down mighty Osiris, Mnestheus slays 25

Archetius, Achates Epulo, and Gyas Ufens; falls too the

augur Tolumnius, the first to fling his javelin at the

enemy. The din mounts to the sky, and the Rutulians

routed in turn fly through the plains in a whirlwind of

dust. The hero himself neither stoops to slaughter the 30

flying nor encounter such as would fain meet him foot to

foot, weapon in hand: Turnus alone he tracks winding

through the thick darkness, him alone he challenges to

combat. The terror struck Juturna’s manly mind: she

plucks from his seat Metiscus, Turnus’ charioteer, as he 35

drives the horses, and leaves him fallen at distance behind

the car: herself takes his place and handles the

flowing rein, assuming all that Metiscus had, voice and

person and armour. Like a black swallow that flies

through the house of some wealthy man and traverses

the lofty hail, in quest of scraps of food for her twittering

nestlings; now she is heard in the empty cloisters, now

about the watertanks; so drives Juturna through the 5

thick of the foe, and flies on rapid wheel from spot to

spot, now here, now there she gives a glimpse of her victorious

brother, yet never lets him stop and fight, but

whirls far away in the distance. Æneas for his part

winds through sinuous paths in hope to meet him, tracks 10

his steps, and shouts to him aloud across the weltering

ranks. Oft as he spies out the foe and tries by running

to match the horses’ winged speed, each time Juturna

wheels the car aside. What can he do? he tosses in aimless

ebb and flow, thoughts distracting his mind this 15

way and that:—when lo! Messapus, with sudden movement,

happening to carry two limber spear-shafts tipped

with steel, levels one at him and flings it true to its mark.

Æneas stopped and gathered his arms about him, sinking

on his knee; yet the fierce spear took the top of the 20

helmet and struck the crest from the cone. Then at last

his wrath mounts high; and under the duresse of treachery,

as he sees the steeds and chariot whirling away from him,

after many an appeal to Jove and the altars of the violated

league, he falls on the ranks before him, and fanned 25

to dreadful vengeance by the War-god’s breath, lets loose

a carnage cruel and unsparing, and flings the reins on the

neck of his passion.

And now what god will tell me all those horrors and

relate for me in verse the several scenes of slaughter, the 30

deaths of the leaders whom Turnus here, the Trojan hero

there, is chasing over the plain? Was it thy will, great

Jove, that nations destined in time to come to everlasting

amity should first clash in such dread turmoil? Æneas

confronted by Rutulian Sucro[o] (that combat first brought 35

the Trojan onset to a stand) after brief delay catches him

on the side and drives his stubborn sword death’s nearest

way through the ribs that fence the bosom. Turnus in

foot-encounter slays Amycus, whose horse had thrown

him, and his brother Diores, striking one with the spear

ere he came up, the other with the swordblade, lops the

heads of both, hangs them from his car, and carries them

dripping with blood. That sends down Talos to death 5

and Tanais and brave Cethegus, those at one onslaught,

and hapless Onytes, of the house of Echion, brought forth

by Peridia: that kills the brethren who came from

Apollo’s land of Lycia, and young Menœtes the Arcadian,

who shrunk from war in vain; he plied his craft and lived 10

in poverty by the fishy waters of Lerna, a stranger to the

halls of the great; and his father tilled land for hire.

Like two fires launched from different quarters on a dry

forest with bushes of crackling bay, or as when two foaming

rivers pouring from lofty heights crash along and run 15

towards the ocean, each ploughing his own wild channel:

with no less fury rush through the fight Æneas and

Turnus both: now, now the wrath is boiling within them:

their unconquered bosoms swell to bursting: they throw

their whole force on the wounds they deal. This with 20

the whirl and the blow of a mighty rock dashes Murranus

headlong from his car to the ground, Murranus who had

ever on his tongue the ancient names of sires and grandsires

and a lineage stretching through the series of Latium’s

kings: the wheels throw forward the fallen man under the 25

reins and yoke, and he is crushed by the quick hoof-beat

of the steeds that mind not their lord. That meets

Hyllus as he rushed on in vehement fury, and hurls a

javelin at his gold-bound brows: the spear pierced the

helmet and stood fixed in the brain. Nor did your 30

prowess, Cretheus, bravest of Greeks, deliver you from

Turnus, nor did the gods Cupencus worshipped shield

him from the onset of Æneas: his bosom met the steel,

and the check of the brazen buckler stood the wretch in

small stead. You, too, great Æolus, the Laurentian 35

plains looked on in death, spreading your frame abroad

over their surface: fallen are you, whom the Argive bands

could never overthrow, nor Achilles the destroyer of

Priam’s realm: here was your fatal goal: a princely

home under Ida’s shade: at Lyrnesus a princely hope, in

Laurentian soil a sepulchre. The two armies are in hot

conflict: all the Latians, all the sons of Dardanus, Mnestheus, 5

and keen Serestus, and Messapus tamer of the steed,

and brave Asilas, the Tuscan band, and Evander’s Arcad

cavalry, each man for himself straining every nerve: no

stint, no stay; they strive with giant tension.

And now Æneas had a thought inspired by his beauteous

mother, to march to the walls, throw his force 10

rapidly on the town, and stun the Latians with a sudden

blow. Tracking Turnus through the ranks he swept his

eyes round and round, and beholds the city enjoying

respite from all that furious war, and lying in unchallenged

repose. At once his mind is fired with the vision of a 15

grander battle: Mnestheus he summons and Sergestus

and brave Serestus, the first in command, and mounts an

eminence round which the rest of the Teucrian army

gathers in close ranks, not laying shield or dart aside.

Standing on the tall mound, he thus bespeaks them: 20

“Let nothing stay my orders; the hand of Jove is here;

nor let any move slower because the enterprise is sudden.

The town, the cause of the war, the royal home of the

Latian king, unless they submit the yoke and confess

themselves vanquished, I will overthrow this day, and lay 25

its smoking turrets level with the ground. What? am I

to wait till Turnus choose to bide the combat, and once

conquered, meet me a second time? This, my men, is

the well-spring, this the head and front of the monstrous

war. Bring torches with speed, and reclaim the treaty 30

fire in hand.” He said, and all with emulous spirit of

union close their ranks and stream to the walls in compact

mass. Scaling ladders and brands are produced

suddenly and in a moment. Some run to the several

gates and slay those stationed there: some hurl the steel 35

and overshadow the sky with javelins. Æneas himself

among the foremost lifts up his hand under the city wall,

loudly upbraids the king, and calls the gods to witness

that he is once more forced into battle, the Italians twice

his foes, the second treaty broken like the first. Strife

arises among the wildered citizens: some are for throwing

open the town and unbarring the gates to the Dardans:

nay, they even drag the monarch to the ramparts: others 5

draw the sword and prepare to guard the walls: as when

a countryman has tracked out bees concealed in a cavernous

rock and filled their hiding-place with pungent smoke,

they in alarm for the common wealth flit about their

waxen realm and stir themselves to wrath by vehement 10

buzzing: the murky smell winds from chamber to chamber:

a dull blind noise fills the cavern: vapours ascend

into the void of air.

Yet another stroke fell on Latium’s wearied sons,

shaking with its agony the city to her foundations. When 15

the queen from her palace saw the enemy draw near, the

walls assailed, flames flying roofward, the Rutulian army,

the soldiers of Turnus nowhere in sight, she deemed, poor

wretch, her warrior slain in the combat, and maddened

with the access of grief, cries aloud that she alone is the 20

guilty cause, the fountainhead of all this evil; and flinging

out wild words in the fury of her frenzied anguish,

rends with desperate hand her purple raiment, and fastens

from a lofty beam the noose of hideous death. Soon as

Latium’s wretched dames knew the blow that had fallen, 25

her daughter Lavinia is first to rend yellow hair and

roseate cheek, and the rest about her ran as wildly: the

palace re-echoes their wail. The miserable story spreads

through the town: every heart sinks: there goes the old

king with garments rent, all confounded by his consort’s 30

death and his city’s ruin: he soils his hoary locks with

showers of unseemly dust, and oft and oft upbraids himself

that he embraced not sooner Æneas the Dardan nor

took him for son-in-law of his own free will.

Turnus, meantime, is plying the war far away on the 35

plain, following here and there a straggler with abated

zeal, himself and his steeds alike less buoyant. The air

wafted to him the confused din, inspiring unknown terror,

and on his quickened ears smote the sound of the city’s

turmoil and the noise not of joy. “Alas! what is this

mighty agony that shakes the walls? what these loud

shouts pouring from this quarter and that?” So he cries,

and drawing his bridle halts bewildered. His sister, just 5

as she stood in guise of Metiscus the driver, guiding car,

horse, and reins, thus meets his question: “Proceed we

still, Turnus, to chase the Trojans, where victory’s dawn

shows us the way: others there are whose hands can

guard the city: Æneas bears down on the Italians and 10

stirs up the battle: let us send havoc as cruel among his

Teucrians: so shall your slain be as many and your martial

fame as high.” Turnus answered: “Sister, I both

knew you long since, when at first you artfully disturbed

the truce and flung yourself into our quarrel, and now 15

you vainly hide the goddess from my eyes. But tell me

by whose will you are sent from Olympus to cope with

toils like this? Is it that you may look on the cruel end

of your hapless brother? For what can I do? what

chance is there left to give me hope of safety? With my 20

own eyes I saw Murranus die, his giant frame laid low

by a giant wound: he called me by name, he, than whom

I had no dearer friend. Dead, too, is ill-starred Ufens,

all because he would not see me disgraced: his body and

his arms are the Teucrians’ prize. Am I to let the nation’s 25

homes be razed to the ground, the one drop that was

wanting to the cup, and not rather with my own right

hand give Drances’ words the lie? Shall I turn my back?

shall this land see Turnus flying? is death after all so

bitter? Be gracious to me, gentle powers of the grave, 30

since the gods above are against me! Yes, I will come

down to you a stainless spirit, guiltless of that base charge,

worthy in all my acts of my great forefathers.”

Scarce had he spoken, when lo! there flies through the

midst of the foe, on a foaming steed, Saces, with an arrow 35

full in his face: up he spurs, imploring Turnus by name:

“Turnus, our last hope is in you: have compassion on

your army. Æneas thunders with sword and spear, and

threatens that he will level in dust and give to destruction

the Italians’ topmost battlements: even now brands

are flying to the roofs. Every Latian face, every eye

turns to you: the king himself mutters in doubt whom

to call his son-in-law, to whose alliance to incline. Nay, 5

more, your fastest friend the queen is dead by her own

hand, scared and driven out of life. Only Messapus and

keen Atinas are at the gates to uphold our forces. About

them are closed ranks, and an iron harvest of naked

blades: you are rolling your car over a field from which 10

war has ebbed.” Turnus stood still with silent dull regard,

wildered by the thoughts that crowd on his mind:

deep shame, grief and madness, frenzy-goaded passion

and conscious wrath all surging at once. Soon as the

shadows parted and light came back to his intelligence, 15

he darted his blazing eyes cityward with restless vehemence,

and looked back from his car to the wide-stretching

town. Lo! there was a cone of fire spreading from story

to story and flaring to heaven: the flame was devouring

the turret which he had built himself of planks welded 20

together, put wheels beneath it, and furnished it with

lofty bridges. “Fate is too strong for me, sister, too

strong: hold me back no longer: we needs must follow

where Heaven and cruel Fortune are calling us. Yes, I

will meet Æneas: I will endure the full bitterness of 25

death: no more, my love, shall you see me disgraced:

suffer me first to have my hour of madness.” He said,

and in a moment leapt to the ground, rushes on through

foes, through javelins, leaves his sister to her sorrow, and

dashes at full speed through the intervening ranks. Even 30

as from a mountain’s top down comes a rock headlong,

torn off by the wind, or washed down by vehement rain,

or loosened by the lapse of creeping years; down the steep

it crashes with giant impulse, that reckless stone, bounding

over the ground and rolling along with it trees, herds, 35

and men: so, dashing the ranks apart, rushes Turnus to

the city walls, where the earth is wet with plashy blood,

and the gale hurtles with spears: he beckons with his

hand, and cries with a mighty voice: “Have done, ye

Rutulians! ye Latians, hold back your darts! whatever

Fortune brings she brings to me: ’tis juster far that I in

your stead should singly expiate the treaty’s breach and

try the issue of the steel.” All at the word part from the 5

midst, and leave him a clear space.

But father Æneas, hearing Turnus’ name, quits his

hold on the walls and the battlements that crown them,

flings delay to the winds and breaks off the work of war,

steps high in triumph, and makes his arms peal dread 10

thunder: vast as Athos, vast as Eryx, vast as father

Apennine himself, when he roars with his quivering holms[286]

and lifts his snowy crest exultingly to the sky. All turn

their eyes with eager contention. Rutulians, Trojans, and

Italians, those alike who were manning the towers and 15

those whose battering-rams were assailing the foundations.

All unbrace their armour. Latinus himself stands amazed

to see two men so mighty, born in climes so distant each

from each, thus met together to try the steel’s issue. At

once, when a space is cleared on the plain, first hurling 20

their spears, they advance with swift onset, and dash into

the combat with shield and ringing harness. Earth groans

beneath them; their swords hail blow on blow: chance

and valour mingle pell-mell. As when on mighty Sila or

Taburnus’ summit two bulls, lowering their brows for 25

combat, engage fiercely: the herdsmen retreat in dread:

the cattle all stand dumb with terror, the heifers wait in

suspense who is to be the monarch of the woodland,

whom the herds are to follow henceforth: they each in

turn give furious blows, push and lodge their horns, and 30

bathe neck and shoulders with streams of blood: the

sound makes the forest bellow again: with no less fury

Æneas the Trojan, and the Daunian chief clash shield on

shield: the enormous din fills the firmament. Jupiter

himself holds aloft his scales poised and level, and lays 35

therein the destinies of the two, to see whom the struggle

dooms, and whose the weight that death bears down.

Forth darts Turnus, deeming it safe, rises with his whole

frame on the uplifted sword, and strikes, Trojans and

eager Latians shout aloud: both armies gaze expectant.

But the faithless sword snaps in twain and fails its fiery

lord midway in the stroke, unless flight should come to

his aid. Off he flies swifter than the wind, seeing an unknown 5

hilt in his defenceless hand. Men say that in his

headlong haste, when first he was mounting the car harnessed

for battle, he left behind his father’s falchion and

snatched up the steel of Metiscus, his charioteer: so long

as the Teucrians fled straggling before him, the weapon 10

did good service; soon as it came to the divine Vulcanian

armour, the mortal blade, like brittle ice, flew asunder at

the stroke: the fragments sparkle on the yellow sand.

So now in his distraction Turnus flies here and there

over the plain, weaving vague circles in this place and in 15

that: for the Trojans have closed in circle about him,

and here is a spreading marsh, there lofty ramparts to

bar the way.

Nor is Æneas wanting, though at times the arrow

wound slackens his knees and robs them of their power 20

to run: no, he follows on, and presses upon the flier foot

for foot: as when a hound has got a stag pent in by a

river, or hedged about by the terror of crimson plumage,

and chases him running and barking: the stag, frighted

by the snare and the steep bank, doubles a thousand times: 25

the keen Umbrian clings open-mouthed to his skirts, all

but seizes him, and as though in act to seize, snaps his

teeth, and is baffled to find nothing in their gripe. Then,

if ever, uprises a shout, echoing along bank and marsh,

and heaven rings again with the noise. Turnus, even as 30

he flies, calls fiercely on the Rutulians, addressing by

name, and clamors for his well-known sword. Æneas,

for his part, threatens death and instant destruction,

should any come near, and terrifies his trembling foes,

swearing that he will raze their city to the ground, and 35

presses on in spite of his wound. Five times they circle

round, five times they retrace the circle: for no trivial

prize is at stake, no guerdon of a game: the contest is

for Turnus’ life, for his very heart’s blood. It chanced

that there had stood there a wild olive with its bitter

leaves, sacred to Faunus, a tree in old days reverenced by

seamen, where when saved from ocean they used to fasten

their offerings to the Laurentian god and hang up their 5

votive garments: but the unrespecting Trojans had lately

lopped the hallowed trunk, that the lists might be clear

for combat. There was lodged Æneas’ spear: thither its

force had carried it, and was now holding it fast in the

unyielding root. The Dardan chief bent over it, fain to 10

wrench forth the steel that his weapon may catch whom

his foot cannot overtake. Then cried Turnus in the

moment of frenzied agony: “Have mercy, I conjure thee,

good Faunus, and thou, most gracious earth, hold fast

the steel if I have ever reverenced your sanctities, which 15

Æneas’ crew for their part have caused battle to desecrate.”

He said, nor were his vows unanswered by heavenly aid.

Hard as he struggled, long as he lingered over the stubborn

stock, by no force could Æneas make the wood unclose

its fangs. While he strains with keen insistence, the 20

Daunian goddess, resuming the guise of charioteer Metiscus,

runs forward and restores to her brother his sword.

Then Venus, resenting the freedom taken by the presumptuous

Nymph, came nigh, and plucks the weapon

from the depth of the root. And now towering high, 25

with restored weapons and recruited force, this in strong

reliance on his sword, that fiercely waving his spear tall

as he, the two stand front to front in the breath-draining

conflict of war.

Meanwhile the king of almighty Olympus accosts Juno, 30

as from a golden cloud she gazes on the battle: “Where

is this to end, fair spouse? what last stroke have you in

store? you know yourself, by your own confession, that

Æneas has his place assured in heaven among Italia’s

native gods, that destiny is making him a ladder to the 35

stars. What plan you now? what hope keeps you seated

on those chilly clouds? was it right that mortal wound

should harm a god, or that Turnus—for what power

could Juturna have apart from you?—should receive

back his lost sword and the vanquished should feel new

forces? At length have done, and let my prayers bow

your will. Let this mighty sorrow cease to devour you

in silence: let me hear sounds of sullen disquiet less often 5

from your lovely lips. The barrier has been reached.

To toss the Trojans over land and sea, to kindle an unhallowed

war, to plunge a home in mourning, to blend a

dirge with the bridal song, this it has been yours to do:

all further action I forbid.” So spake Jupiter: and so in 10

return Saturn’s daughter with downcast look: “Even

because I knew, great Jove, that such was your pleasure,

have I withdrawn against my will from Turnus and from

earth: else you would not see me now in the solitude of

my airy throne, exposed to all that comes, meet or unmeet: 15

armed with firebrands, I should stand in the very

line of battle, and force the Teucrians into the hands of

their foes. As for Juturna, I counselled her, I own, to

succour her wretched brother, and warranted an unusual

venture where life was at stake: but nought was said of 20

aiming the shaft or bending the bow: I swear by the inexpiable

fountain-head of Styx, the one sanction that

binds us powers above. And now I yield indeed, and

quit this odious struggle. Yet there is a boon I would

ask, a boon which destiny forefends not. I ask it for 25

the sake of Latium, for the dignity of your own people:

when at last peace shall be ratified with a happy bridal,

for happy let it be: when bonds of treaty shall be knit

at last, let it not be thy will that the native Latians

should change their ancient name, become Trojans or 30

take the Teucrian style: let not them alter their language

or their garb. Let there be Latium still: let there be

centuries of Alban kings: let there be a Roman stock,

strong with the strength of Italian manhood: but let

Troy be fallen as she is, name and nation alike.” The 35

Father of men and nature answered with a smile: “Aye,

you are Jove’s own sister, the other branch of Saturn’s

line; such billows of passion surge in your bosom! but

come,—let this ineffectual frenzy give way: I grant your

wish, and submit myself in willing obedience. The

Ausonians shall keep their native tongue, their native

customs: the name shall remain as it is: the Teucrians

shall merge in the nation they join—that and no more: 5

their rites and worship shall be my gift: all shall be Latians

and speak the Latian tongue. The race that shall arise

from this admixture of Ausonian blood shall transcend in

piety earth and heaven itself, nor shall any nation pay

you such honours as they.” Juno nodded assent, and 10

turned her sullenness to pleasure; meanwhile she departs

from the sky, and quits the cloud where she sat.

This done, the sire meditates a further resolve, and

prepares to part Juturna from her brother’s side. There

are two fiends known as the Furies, whom with Tartarean 25

Megæra dismal Night brought forth at one and the same

birth, wreathing them alike with coiling serpents, and

equipping them with wings that fan the air. They are

seen beside Jove’s throne, at the threshold of his angry

sovereignty, goading frail mortality with stings of terror, 20

oft as the monarch of the gods girds himself to send forth

disease and frightful death, or appals guilty towns with

war. One of these Jove sped with haste from heaven’s

summit, and bade her confront Juturna in token of his

will. Forth she flies, borne earthward on the blast of a 25

whirlwind. Swift as the arrow from the string cleaves

the cloud, sent forth by Parthian—Parthian or Cydonian—tipped

with fell poison’s gall, the dealer of a wound

incurable, and skims the flying vapours hurtling and unforeseen,

so went the Daughter of Night and made her 30

way to earth. Soon as she sees the forces of Troy and

the army of Turnus, she huddles herself suddenly into the

shape of a puny bird, which oft on tombstone or lonely

roof sitting by night screams restlessly through the gloom;

in this disguise the fiend again and again flies flapping in 35

Turnus’ face, and beats with her wings on his shield. A

strange chilly terror unknits his frame, his hair stands

shudderingly erect, and his utterance cleaves to his jaws.

But when Juturna knew from far the rustling of those

Fury pinions, she rends, hapless maid, her dishevelled

tresses, marring, in all a sister’s agony, her face with her

nails, her breast with her clenched hands: “What now,

my Turnus, can your sister avail? what more remains for 5

an obdurate wretch like me? by what expedient can I

lengthen your span? can I face a portent like this? At

last, at last I quit the field. Cease to appal my fluttering

soul, ye birds of ill omen: I know the flapping of your

wings and its deathful noise; nor fail I to read great 10

Jove’s tyrannic will. Is this his recompense for lost virginity?

why gave he me life to last for ever? why was

the law of death annulled? else might I end this moment

the tale of my sorrows, and travel to the shades hand in

hand with my poor brother. Can immortality, can aught 15

that I have to boast give me joy without him? Oh, that

earth would but yawn deep enough, and send me down,

goddess though I be, to the powers of the grave!” So

saying, she shrouded her head in her azure robe, with many

a groan, and vanished beneath the river of her deity. 20

Æneas presses on, front to front, shaking his massy,

tree-like spear, and thus speaks in the fierceness of his

spirit: “What is to be the next delay? why does Turnus

still hang back? ours is no contest of speed, but of stern

soldiership, hand to hand. Take all disguises you can; 25

muster all your powers of courage or of skill: mount on

wing, if you list, to the stars aloft, or hide in the cavernous

depth of earth.” Shaking his head, he replied: “I quail

not at your fiery words, insulting foe: it is Heaven that

makes me quail, and Jove my enemy.” No more he 30

spoke: but, sweeping his eyes round, espies a huge stone,

a stone ancient and huge, which chanced to be lying on

the plain, set as some field’s boundary, to forefend disputes

of ownership: scarce could twelve picked men lift

it on their shoulders, such puny frames as earth produces 35

now-a-days: he caught it up with hurried grasp and

flung it at his foe, rising as he threw, and running rapidly,

as hero might. And yet all the while he knows not that

he is running or moving, lifting up or stirring the enormous

stone: his knees totter under him, and his blood

chills and freezes: and so the mass from the warrior’s

hand, whirled through the empty void, passed not through

all the space between nor carried home the blow. Even 5

as in dreams, at night, when heavy slumber has weighed

down the eyes, we seem vainly wishing to make eager

progress forward and midway in the effort fail helplessly;

our tongue has no power, our wonted strength stands not

our frames in stead, nor do words or utterance come at 10

our call: so it is with Turnus: whatever means his valour

tries, the fell fiend bars them of their issue. And now

confused images whirl through his brain: he looks to his

Rutulians and to the city, and falters with dread, and

quails at the threatening spear: how to escape he knows 15

not, nor how to front the foe, nor sees he anywhere his

car or the sister who drives it.

Full in that shrinking face Æneas shakes his fatal

weapon, taking aim with his eye, and with an effort of

his whole frame hurls it forth. Never stone flung from 20

engine of siege roars so loud, never peal so rending follows

the thunderbolt. On flies the spear like dark whirlwind

with fell destruction on its wing, pierces the edge of the

corslet, and the outermost circle of the seven-fold shield,

and with a rush cleaves through the thigh. Down with 25

his knee doubled under him comes Turnus to earth, all

his length prostrated by the blow. Up start the Rutulians,

groaning as one man: the whole mountain round

rebellows, and the depths of the forest send back the

sound far and wide. He in lowly suppliance lifts up eye 30

and entreating hand: “It is my due,” he cries, “and I

ask not to be spared it: take what fortune gives you.

Yet, if you can feel for a parent’s misery—your father,

Anchises was once in like plight—have mercy on Daunus’

hoary hairs, and let me, or if you choose my breathless 35

body, be restored to my kin. You are conqueror: the

Ausonians have seen my conquered hands outstretched:

the royal bride is yours: let hatred be pressed no further.”

Æneas stood still, a fiery warrior, his eyes rolling, and

checked his hand: and those suppliant words were working

more and more on his faltering purpose, when, alas!

the ill-starred belt was seen high on the shoulder, and

light flashed from the well-known studs—the belt of 5

young Pallas, whom Turnus conquered and struck down

to earth, and bore on his breast the badge of triumphant

enmity. Soon as his eyes caught the spoil and drank in

the recollection of that cruel grief, kindled into madness

and terrible in his wrath: “What, with my friend’s 10

trophies upon you, would you escape my hand? It is

Pallas, Pallas, who with this blow makes you his victim,

and gluts his vengeance with your accursed blood.”

With these words, fierce as flame, he plunged the steel into

the breast that lay before him. That other’s frame grows 15

chill and motionless, and the soul,[287] resenting its lot, flies

groaningly to the shades.

FOOTNOTES

[A] “Like footsteps upon wool.”—Tennyson, Œnone.

[B] Mr. Conington has missed a line, which may be rendered thus: “who knowest the divine will of Apollo—his tripods and his laurels.”—[E. S. S.]

[C] Another line omitted in the translation:—“huge as Greek shield or sun-god’s torch.”—[E. S. S.]

[D] A caret in the Ms. notes the omission of Urbis opus: “A city in itself.”—[E. S. S.]

[E] Three lines omitted in the Ms.: “Then on Mount Eryx, towering to the stars, is reared a temple to Idalian Venus, and for Anchises’ tomb a priest appointed, with dedication of broad-acred grove.”—[E. S. S.]

[F] For the omitted lines Conington’s verses are inserted.—[E. S. S.]

NOTES

BOOK I

[1:1.] Arms and the man I sing. Compare the following opening lines of great epics:—

“O goddess, sing the wrath of Peleus’ son,

Achilles; sing the deadly wrath that brought

Woes numberless upon the Greeks.”

—Iliad, Bryant’s Trans.

“Tell me, O muse, of that sagacious man

Who, having overthrown the sacred town

Of Ilium, wandered far and visited

The capitals of many nations, learned

The customs of their dwellers, and endured

Great sufferings on the deep.”

—Homer, Odyssey.

“Of love and ladies, knights and arms, I sing,

Of courtesies and many a daring feat.”

—Ariosto, Orlando Furioso.

“I sing the pious arms and chief, who freed

The Sepulchre of Christ from thrall profane;

Much did he toil in thought and much in deed,

Much in the glorious enterprise sustain.”

—Tasso, Jerusalem Delivered.

“Of man’s first disobedience, and the fruit

Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste

Brought death into the world, and all our woe,

...

Sing, heavenly muse.”

—Milton, Paradise Lost.

“I, who erewhile the happy garden sung,

By one man’s disobedience lost, now sing

Recovered Paradise to all mankind,

By one man’s firm obedience.”

—Milton, Paradise Regained.

[1:1.] Troy. A city in northwest Asia Minor where the famous Trojan war took place.

[1:3.] Latian. The broad plain near the mouth of the Tiber, in Italy.

[1:5.] Juno. Queen of the gods; wife and sister of Jupiter.

[1:5.] Much.

“Much there he suffered,

And many perilles past in forreine landes,

To save his people sad from victours vengefull handes,”

—Spenser, Faerie Queene.

[1:8.] Alba. Alba Longa, a long ridge some fifteen miles southeast of Rome. The successors of Æneas reigned there until the founding of Rome.

[1:10.] Muse. One of the nine Muses. Greek and Latin poets often profess to be merely the mouthpiece of the Muses.

[1:14.] Hate.

“And in soft bosoms dwell such mighty rage?”

—Pope, Rape of the Lock.

“In heavenly spirits could such perverseness dwell?”

—Milton, Paradise Lost.

[1:17.] Tyre. Carthage was sprung from Tyre, an old and prosperous city on the coast of Phœnicia. The founders of Carthage and their descendants are termed indifferently by Virgil Phœnicians, Sidonians, Pœni, or Tyrians.

[1:19.] War’s.

“An old and haughty nation proud in arms.”

—Milton, Comus.

[1:21.] Samos. A large island off the west coast of Asia Minor. Here were the most ancient temple and worship of Juno, here she was nurtured, and here she was married to Jupiter.

[1:28.] Libya. North Africa.

[2:1.] Fate’s.

“Those three fatall Sisters, whose sad hands

Doo weave the direful threads of destinie

And in their wrath brake off the vitall bands.”

—Spenser, Daphnaïda.

“Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears

And slits the thin-spun life.”

—Milton, Lycidas.

“Sad Clotho held the rocke [distaff], the whiles the thrid

By griesly Lachesis was spun with paine,

That cruell Atropos eftsoones undid,

With cursed knife cutting the twist in twaine.”

—Spenser, Faerie Queene.

[2:1.] Saturn. An ancient Italian god of agriculture, identified later with the Greek god Cronos.

[2:3.] Argos. A city of Argolis in the Peloponnesus. One of Juno’s favorite cities. Juno’s love for Argos played the same part in the Trojan war as her regard for Carthage plays in the Æneid. It is used here poetically for the name of the people, i.e. = Greeks.

[2:6.] Paris. A son of Priam, king of Troy, who eloped with Helen and caused the Trojan war. The judgment was the award of the golden apple, prize of beauty, to Venus as against Juno and Minerva.

“Here eke that famous golden apple grew,

The which emongest the gods, false Ate threw;

For which th’ Idæan Ladies disagreed,

Till partiall Paris dempt it Venus dew,

And had of her fayre Helen for his meed.”

—Spenser, Faerie Queene.

In Tennyson’s Œnone, Juno offers—

“from all neighbor crowns

Alliance and allegiance till thy hand

Fail from the sceptre-staff.”

And Minerva—

“Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control.”

But Venus—

“I promise thee

The fairest and most loving wife in Greece.”

[2:9.] Ganymede. A Trojan prince; was carried off to Olympus by Jupiter’s eagle. He was made cup-bearer to the gods in place of Hebe, daughter of Juno.

“And godlike Ganymede, most beautiful

Of men; the gods beheld and caught him up

To heaven, so beautiful was he, to pour

The wine to Jove, and ever dwell with them.”

—Homer, Iliad.

“flushed Ganymede, his rosy thigh

Half-buried in the Eagle’s down,

Sole as a flying star shot thro’ the sky

Above the pillar’d town.”

—Tennyson, Palace of Art.

[2:10.] Danaan. Greek. Danaus, an ancient city of Argos. Conington transliterates various proper names, such as Argives, Achæans, Pelasgians, all meaning Greeks. Vergil uses the originals now to secure variety, now to meet the metrical requirement.

[2:11.] Achilles. Son of Peleus, king of Thessaly, and Thetis, a sea nymph, chief champion of the Greeks before Troy.

[2:22.] Teucrians. Teucer, an ancient king of Troy; he came to Troy from Crete. He was father-in-law of Dardanus, and is often called founder of the Trojans.

[2:23.] Pallas. Epithet of the Greek goddess Athena. Sometimes identified with the Latin goddess of wisdom, Minerva.

[2:26.] Ajax. Oïleus’ son. Had, on the night Troy was taken, assaulted Priam’s daughter Cassandra, who had taken refuge in Minerva’s temple.

[2:27.] Jove. Jupiter, chief of the Olympian gods. Son of Cronos or Saturnus. He is father omnipotent, father of gods, and king of men. The lightning and the thunderbolt, fashioned for him by Vulcan, are his weapons. The eagle is his messenger. Apparently Jupiter, the Sky-father, is the personification of the sky. Cicero quotes Ennius as follows: “This shining vault on high which all men call upon in prayer as Jupiter.”

[2:30.] Rock’s.

“caught in a fierce tempest shall be hurled

Each on his rock transfixed, the sport and prey

Of rocking whirlwinds.”

—Milton, Paradise Lost.

[2:38.] Æolia. Home of the winds,—Lipara. One of the Æolian islands north of Sicily.

[2:38.] Cavern.

“In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,

It struggles and howls by fits.”

—Shelley, The Cloud.

[2:38.] Æolus. King of the winds.

[3:2.] Bond.

“And wild winds bound within their cell.”

—Tennyson, Mariana.

[3:19.] Tyrrhene sea. Also Tuscan sea; the part of the Mediterranean which extended from Liguria to Sicily.

[3:19.] Ilion. Troy.

[3:30.] Bidding.

“Father eternal, thine is to decree;

Mine, both in heaven and earth, to do thy will.”

—Milton, Paradise Lost.

[3:36.] Rush forth.

“Nor slept the winds

Within their stormy caves, but rushed abroad

From the four hinges of the world, and fell

On the vexed wilderness.”

—Milton, Paradise Lost.

“With howling sound, high carnival to keep,

And in wild uproar all embroil both land and deep.”

—Tasso, Jerusalem Delivered.

“Then forth it breakes, and with his furious blast

Confounds both land and seas, and skyes doth overcast.”

—Spenser, Faerie Queene.

[3:38.] Fall.

“The winds, as at their hour of birth,

Leaning upon the ridged sea.”

—Tennyson.

[4:5.] Daylight.

“And tosse the deepes, and teare the firmament,

And all the world confound with wide uprore.”

—Spenser, Faerie Queene.

“The clouds their gloomy veil above them strain,

Nor suffer sun or star to cheer the view.

...

While aye descending night, with deeper shade,

The vext and fearful billows overlayed.”

—Ariosto, Orlando Furioso.

[4:9.] Æneas. Son of Venus and Anchises, hero of the Æneid.

[4:9.] Chilled.

“His bold Æneas on like billows tossed

In a tall ship, and all his country lost

Dissolves with fear; and, both his hands upheld,

Proclaims them happy when the Greeks had quelled

In honorable fight.”

—Waller, Of the Dangers his Majesty Escaped.

[4:12.] Thrice.

“Thrice happy, four times happy, they who fell

On Troy’s wide field warring for Atreus’ sons:

O, had I met my fate and perished there.”

—Homer, Odyssey.

[4:14.] Tydeus’ son. Diomedes, with whom Æneas had fought in single combat and been saved by direct intervention of Venus.

[4:16.] Hector. Son of Priam, king of Troy, and Hecuba. Hector was the bravest champion of Troy, and was slain by Achilles.

[4:17.] Æacides. A descendant of Æacus (king of Ægina and father of Peleus). Virgil applies the name to (1) Achilles, (2) Pyrrhus, son of Achilles, (3) Perseus, king of Macedonia.

[4:18.] Sarpedon. Son of Jupiter, and king of the Lycians; an ally of Troy slain by Patroclus, friend of Achilles.

[4:18.] Simois. The famous river that flows by Troy.

“And Simoïs, in whose bed lay many shields

And helms and bodies of slain demigods.”

—Homer, Iliad.

[4:23.] Stars. Hyperbole; cf.—

“The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds;

The wind-shaked surge, with high and monstrous mane,

Seems to cast water on the burning Bear

And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole.”

—Shakespeare, Othello.

[4:26.] Crest.

“Now quivering o’er the topmost waves she rides

While deep beneath the enormous gulf divides:

Now launching headlong down the horrid vale,

Becalmed she hears no more the howling gale.”

—Falconer, Shipwreck.

[4:33.] Syrtes. Two shallow bays on the north coast of Africa distinguished as Major and Minor,—dangerous to navigation.

[5:8.] Side-jointings.

“The chinks suck destruction. The heavy dead hulk

On the living sea rolls an inanimate bulk.”

—Shelley, Vision of the Sea.

“The sides convulsive shook on groaning beams,

And, rent with labour, yawn’d their pitchy seams.”

—Falconer, Shipwreck.

[5:11.] Neptune. God of the sea,—brother of Juno.

[5:22.] Confound.

“I heard the wrack,

As earth and sky would mingle.”

—Milton, Paradise Lost.

“While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies,

Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies.”

—Goldsmith, Deserted Village.

[5:29.] Eurus. The east wind. It is the poet’s way to single out one wind and use it as general word for winds. One example of the use of the specific for the generic.

[5:33.] Routs.

“Thou frownest, and old Æolus thy foe

Skulks to his cavern, ’mid the gruff complaint

Of all his rebel tempests. Dark clouds faint

When, from thy diadem, a silver gleam

Slants over blue dominion.”

—Keats, Endymion.

[5:34.] Cymothoë and Triton. Lesser sea deities.

“From thy dead lips a clearer note is born

Than ever Triton blew from wreathèd horn.”

—Holmes, Chambered Nautilus.

[5:37.] Trident.

“It seem’d as there the British Neptune stood,

With all his hosts of waters at command,

Beneath them to submit th’ officious flood;

And with his trident shov’d them off the sand.”

—Dryden, Annus Mirabilis.

[6:4.] Weapon.

“Rage prompted them at length, and found them arms

Against such hellish mischief fit to oppose.”

—Milton, Paradise Lost.

[6:15.] Haven.

“It was a still

And calmy bay, on the one side sheltered

With the brode shadow of an hoarie hill;

On th’ other side an high rock towred still,

That twixt them both a pleasaunt port they made,

And did like an halfe theatre fulfill.”

—Spenser, Faerie Queene.

“And overhead upgrew

Insuperable height of loftiest shade,

Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm,

A sylvan scene, and as the ranks ascend

Shade above shade, a woody theatre

Of stateliest view.”

—Milton, Paradise Lost.

“Its uplands sloping deck the mountain’s side,

Woods over woods in gay theatric pride.”

—Goldsmith, Traveller.

“In one they find a lone sequestered place,

Where, to a crescent curved, the shore extends

Two moony horns, that in their sweep embrace

A spacious bay,—a rock the port defends;

Inward it fronts, and broad to ocean bends

Its back, whereon each dashing billow dies,

When the wind rises and the storm descends;

While here and there two lofty crags arise,

Whose towers, far out at sea, salute the sailor’s eyes.

Safe sleep the silent seas beneath; above,

Black arching woods o’ershade the circled scene:

Within, a grotto opens, in the grove,

Pleasant with flowers, with moss, with ivies green,

And waters warbling in the depths unseen;

Needed nor twisted rope nor anchor there

For weary ships.”

—Tasso, Jerusalem Delivered.

[6:25.] Cable.

“And there is a safe haven where no need

Of cable is; no anchor there is cast,

Nor hawsers fastened to the strand.”

—Homer, Odyssey.

[7:3.] Biremes. Ships having two tiers of oars.

[7:23.] Scylla. A sea-monster, residing in a cave in certain rocks, also called Scylla, between Italy and Sicily. The upper part of this monster resembled a lovely woman. About the waist was a circle of dogs or wolves; below was the tail of a dolphin. The wolves reach out and seize passing ships and drag them on the rocks. Virgil’s Scylla is adopted by Milton as a description of one of the monsters guarding the gates of Hell.

[7:25.] Cyclops. Certain giants of cannibal nature who dwelt in Sicily near Ætna. They had a single large round eye in the middle of the forehead.

[7:27.] Remembered.

“A time will come, not distantly descried,

When to remember ev’ry past dismay

Will be no less a pleasure than a pride;

Hold then courageous on, and keep, I pray,

Your noble hearts in cheer for that victorious day.”

—Tasso, Jerusalem Delivered.

[7:33.] Heart-sick.

“So spoke the apostate angel, though in pain,

Vaunting aloud, but racked with deep despair.”

—Milton, Paradise Lost.

[8:15.] Ether.

“Now had the Almighty Father from above,

From the pure empyrean where he sits

High throned above all highth, bent down his eye,

His own works and their works at once to view.”

—Milton, Paradise Lost.

[8:26.] Barred.

“In vain—for rude adversity’s command

Still, on the margin, of each famous land,

With unrelenting ire his steps opposed,

And every gate of hope against him closed.”

—Falconer, Shipwreck.

[8:37.] Antenor. Nephew of Priam. After the capture of Troy, he sailed up the Adriatic Sea, established a new people called the Veneti, and founded Patavium (Padua).

[9:8.] Arms.

“And in thy tempul I wol my banur hong,

And all the armes of my companye.”

—Chaucer, Knight’s Tale.

“In my heart’s temple I suspend to thee

These votive wreaths of withered memory.”

—Shelley, Epipsychidion.

[9:13.] Piety.

“False Jupiter, rewardst thou virtue so?

What, is not piety exempt from woe?”

—Marlowe and Nash, Dido.

[9:18.] Cythera. An island south of Laconia, near which, the tradition is, Venus rose from the foam of the sea.

[9:20.] Lavinium. A city of Latium, represented as founded by Æneas and named by him for his wife Lavinia, daughter of King Latinus. It was Latinus’ promise of Lavinia to Æneas that caused the wars of the last six books of the Æneid.

[9:29.] Rutulians. A Volscian people whose chief city was Antium. They with their King Turnus were the chief antagonists of Æneas when he was trying to settle in Italy.

[9:30.] Ascanius. Son of Æneas.

[9:36.] Hector’s.

“There in stout Hector’s race three hundred years

The Roman sceptre royal shall remain.”

—Marlowe and Nash, Dido.

[10:11.] Assaracus. A Trojan king of Phrygia; he was grandfather of Anchises, hence the expression “house of Assaracus” means the descendants of Æneas. And as the Julian clan was thought to be derived from Iulus, Æneas’ son, this included Julius Cæsar and his adopted son Augustus.

[10:11.] Phthia. A city and district in Thessaly, Greece, over which, it is said, Achilles ruled.

[10:12.] Mycenæ. A famous city ruled by Agamemnon, in the Morea (southern Greece).

[10:12.] Argos. A city of Argolis, in the Peloponnesus. One of Juno’s favorite cities. So fate wills that the descendants of the Trojans shall take vengeance for the destruction of Troy on the descendants of the great Greek leaders.

[10:15.] Stars.

“He shall ascend

The throne hereditary, and bound his reign

With Earth’s wide bounds, his glory with the heavens.”

—Milton, Paradise Lost.

[10:19.] War.

“All loved virtue, no man was affray’d

Of force, ne fraud in wight was to be found:

No warre was known, no dreadfull trompets sound;

Peace universall rayn’d mongst men and beasts.”

—Spenser, Faerie Queene.

“No war, or battle’s sound

Was heard the world around;

The idle spear and shield were high up hung;

The hookèd chariot stood,

Unstained with hostile blood;

The trumpet spake not to the armèd throng,

And kings sat still with awful eye,

As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by.”

—Milton, Hymn on Nativity.

[10:20.] Vesta. Goddess of the hearth.

[10:20.] Quirinus. Name given to Romulus after he was translated from earth to heaven. Romulus, the legendary founder of Rome. Cicero tells us that after his translation, Romulus appeared on the Quirinal Hill and stated that his name as god was Quirinus, and gave instructions that a temple should be erected to him on that hill—hence the name of the hill and the palace, once home of the popes, now of the monarchs of Italy.

[10:26.] Son of Maia. Mercury, swift-winged messenger of the gods.

“The Sonne of Maia, soone as he receiv’d

That word, streight with his azure wings he cleav’d

The liquid clowdes, and lucid firmament;

Ne staid, till that he came with steep descent

Unto the place where his prescript did showe.”

—Spenser, Mother Hubbard’s Tale.

[10:28.] Dido. Daughter of Belus, king of Tyre; widow of Sychæus. According to story, she led the Phœnician colony to Carthage.

[10:33.] Punic. Carthaginian. So the three Punic wars of Rome against Carthage.

[11:17.] Ho.

“Ho, young men! saw you, as you came,

Any of all my sisters wandering here,

Having a quiver girded to her side,

And clothed in a spotted leopard’s skin?”

—Marlowe and Nash, Dido.

[11:26.] Goddess.

“Most sure, the goddess

On whom these airs attend! Vouchsafe my prayer

May know if you remain upon this island.”

—Shakespeare, Tempest.

[11:27.] Phœbus’ sister. Diana, sister of Phœbus Apollo.

[12:1.] Agenor. Twin brother of Belus and founder of Sidon, from whom Dido was descended.

[12:18.] Hope.

“Poor girl! put on thy stifling widow’s weed,

And ’scape at once from Hope’s accursed bands,

To-day thou wilt not see him, nor to-morrow,

And the next day will be a day of sorrow.”

—Keats, Isabella.

[12:33.] Woman. “Dux femina facti,”—motto on the medal in 1588, in honor of Elizabeth’s victories over the Spanish Armada. Cf. Kingsley’s Westward Ho!

[12:36.] Byrsa. A word which in the Carthaginian language meant citadel, but sounded like a Greek word meaning bull’s hide. From this confusion, apparently, arose the story that Dido cut a bull’s hide into very thin strings and so encompassed much ground for her new city.

[13:24.] Breath of life.

“So drew mankind in vain the vital air,

Unformed, unfriended by those kindly cares,

That health and vigor to the soul impart.”

—Gray, Education and Government.

[13:31.] Jove.

“The bird of Jove, stooped from his airy tour.

Two birds of gayest plume before him drove.”

—Milton, Paradise Lost.

[13:36.] Wings.

“Around, around in ceaseless circles wheeling

With clang of wings and scream, the eagle sailed.”

—Shelley, The Revolt of Islam.

“Whilst with their clang the air resounds.”

—Wordsworth, Excursion.

[14:6.] Walk.

“In gliding state she wins her easy way.”

—Gray, Progress of Poesy.

[14:18.] Paphos. A city in Cyprus.

[14:20.] Sabæan incense. Arabian frankincense.

“Sabean odoures, from the spicy shore

Of Arabie the blest.”

—Milton, Paradise Lost.

[14:37.] Bees.

“All hands employ’d the royal work grows warm:

Like labouring bees on a long summer’s day.

Some sound the trumpet for the rest to swarm,

And some on bells of tasted lilies play;

With glewy wax some new foundation lay

Of virgin combs, which from the roof are hung;

Some arm’d within doors upon duty stay,

Or tend the sick, or educate the young.”

—Dryden, Annus Mirabilis.

[15:18.] Sidon. Tyre and Sidon were the chief cities of Phœnicia. Adjectives formed from them are used interchangeably with Phœnician and Carthaginian for the sake of variety or to meet metrical requirements.

[15:37.] Tears.

“Yet tears to human suffering are due;

And mortal hopes defeated and o’erthrown

Are mourned by man.”

—Wordsworth, Laodamia.

“The Virgilian cry,

The sense of tears in mortal things.”

—Matthew Arnold, Geist’s Grave.

“Thou majestic in thy sadness at the doubtful doom of human kind.”

—Tennyson.

[16:4.] Pergamus. Troy.

[16:12.] Xanthus. A river near Troy.

[16:13.] Troilus. Shakespeare’s Troilus draws plot from Chaucer.

[16:19.] Pallas. Minerva, goddess of wisdom, friend of the Greeks.

[16:32.] Memnon. Leader of the Æthiopian allies of Troy. Was son of Tithonus and Aurora.

[16:33.] Penthesilea. Queen of the Amazons who fought for Troy. Achilles slew both Memnon and Penthesilea.

[17:6.] Diana.

“Such as Diana by the sandy shore

Of swift Eurotas, or on Cynthus greene,

Where all the nymphs have her unwares forlore [left],

Wandreth alone with bow and arrowes keene,

To seeke her game.”

—Spenser, Faerie Queene.

[17:9.] Latona. Mother of Apollo and Diana. The type of perfect mother love.

[18:10.] Orion. A hunter famous in ancient myth, armed with belt and sword, translated to the heavens as a constellation, thought to bring storms.

[19:36.] Shone.

“When sea-born Venus guided o’er

Her warrior to the Punic shore,

Around that radiant head she threw

In deep’ning clouds ambrosial dew:

But when the Tyrian queen drew near,

The light pour’d round him fresh and clear.”

—Landor.

“Not great Æneas stood in plainer day,

When, the dark mantling mist dissolved away,

He to the Tyrians showed his sudden face,

Shining with all his goddess mother’s grace:

For she herself had made his countenance bright,

Breathed honor on his eyes, and her own purple light.”

—Dryden, Britannia Rediviva.

[20:4.] Enchased.

“Like to a golden border did appeare,

Framed in goldsmithes forge with cunning hand.”

—Spenser, Faerie Queene.

[21:9.] Learning.

“Who by the art of known and feeling sorrows,

Are pregnant to good pity.”

—Shakespeare, King Lear.

“What sorrow wast thou had’st her know,

And from her own she learned to melt at others’ woe.”

—Gray, Hymn to Adversity.

[21:30.] Acanthus. A plant now called bear’s-foot, or bear’s-breech; grows in southern Europe, Asia Minor, and India. Its leaf was a common form in embroidery and sculpture, and is well known from its use in the Corinthian capital.

[21:31.] Helen. Most beautiful of women, daughter of Jupiter and Leda, was wife of Menelaus of Sparta. She was carried off by Paris as Venus’ reward to him for his decision in her favor in the question of the Golden Apple. This breach of hospitality by Paris was the cause of the Trojan war.

[22:1.] Cupid. Son of Venus; god of love.

[22:10.] Typhœan. Thunderbolts of Jove, called Typhœan because they slew the giant Typhœus at the time of the great fight for the throne of heaven between Jupiter and the Olympian gods and “the earth-born Titan brood.”

“Phœbus resigns his darts, and Jove

His thunder to the god of love.”

—Denham, Friendship.

[22:38.] Poison.

“Through her bones the false instilled fire

Did spred it selfe and venime close inspire.”

—Spenser, Faerie Queene.

[23:4.] Slumber.

“She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven

That slid into my soul.”

—Coleridge, Ancient Mariner.

[23:29.] Gazing.

“And her eyes on all my motions with a mute observance hung.”

—Tennyson, Locksley Hall.

[23:35.] Lap.

“But both Dione honored they and Cupid,

That as her mother, this one as her son,

And said that he had sat in Dido’s lap.”

—Dante, Paradiso.

[24:6.] Lamps.

“As heaven with stars, the roof with jewels glows,

And ever-living lamps depend in rows.”

—Pope, Temple of Fame.

[24:15.] Bacchus. Son of Jupiter and Semele, god of wine, and, by metonymy, used to mean wine. (Name of god for his realm, as Vulcan for fire, etc.).

“Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prest,

Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest.”

—Goldsmith, Deserted Village.

[24:25.] Atlas. A king of Mauretania; father of the Pleiades; he supported the heavens on his shoulders. He was skilled in astronomy. Personification of Mount Atlas.

[24:25.] Song.

“He sung the secret seeds of Nature’s frame:

How seas, and earth, and air, and active flame,

Fell through the mighty void, and in their fall

Were blindly gathered in this goodly ball.

The tender soil, then stiff’ning by degrees,

Shut from the bounded earth, the bounding seas.

Then earth and ocean various forms disclose;

And a new sun to the new world arose;

And mists, condensed to clouds, obscure the sky,

And clouds, dissolved, the thirsty ground supply.

The rising trees the lofty mountains grace;

The lofty mountains feed the savage race,

Yet few, and strangers, in th’ unpeopled place.

From thence the birth of man the song pursued,

And how the world was lost, and how renewed.”

—Dryden, Translation of Ecl. VI. Cf. Æn. VI.

BOOK II

[26:8.] Myrmidons or the Dolopes. The soldiers of Achilles, who was the fiercest of the Greeks.

[26:9.] Ulysses. King of “Ithaca’s rocky isle,” husband of “faithful Penelope.” His wanderings are the subject of Homer’s Odyssey. Homer’s stock epithet is “the very crafty.”

[27:18.] Laocoon. A priest of Apollo appointed to act as priest of Neptune. The famous group of Laocoon and his two sons in the coils of the twin serpents, of the Pergamenian type of sculpture, was discovered in the baths of the Emperor Titus, and stands in the Belvidere of the Vatican Museum.

[29:8.] Calchas. Priest of the Greeks.

[29:14.] Sons of Atreus. Agamemnon, king of Mycenæ, commander-in-chief of the Greeks, and his brother Menelaus of Sparta, former husband of Helen.

[29:27.] Phœbus. Apollo, god of prophecy.

[31:16.] Palladium. Statue of Pallas, the Greek goddess identified by the Romans with Minerva, goddess of wisdom, of household arts, and of war. Also called Tritonia.

[32:7.] Pelops. Son of Tantalus and father of Atreus. He was served up as food for the gods by his father, restored to life by Jupiter, and furnished with an ivory shoulder in place of the one eaten at the banquet. He gained control of the Peloponnesus, or Morea, which was named for him. The use here, another case of the specific for the generic, is in place of Greece itself.

[33:27.] Cassandra. Daughter of Priam and Hecuba. Priestess of Apollo. When she offended Apollo, he could not take back the prophetic power which he had given her, but he decreed that her prophecies should never be believed.

[34:17.] Hector. Of this passage Fénelon wrote, “Can one read this passage without being moved?” Châteaubriand called the scene “a kind of epitome of Virgil’s genius.”

[35:9.] Vesta. So Æneas is to be apostle to the heathen. Even the early Christians reverenced the vestal sisters, prototype of church sisterhoods. The institution known as the Vestal Virgins was the purest element of the Roman religion; even emperors intrusted their last wills to their sacred keeping as the most inviolable of safeguards. Their convent has recently been excavated near the Roman Forum.

[38:36.] Nereus. A sea-god, father of the Nereids.

[40:3.] Andromache. Daughter of King Eëtion, wife of Hector, the eldest son of Priam and the most famous warrior of the Trojans, finally slain by Achilles and dragged around the walls of Troy.

[40:17.] Pyrrhus. Son of Achilles. Also called Neoptolemus. After fighting in the Trojan war, he founded a kingdom in Epirus.

[41:17.] Hecuba. Chief wife of Priam. She really was the mother of nineteen children. Poetic license treats her as the queen mother of all Priam’s fifty daughters-in-law and fifty daughters, and finally includes them all under the term daughters-in-law.

[43:13.] Creusa. Wife of Æneas and mother of Ascanius or Iulus.

[43:21.] Tyndareus. Father of Helen.

[46:2.] Flame. In this passage Virgil makes Anchises refer to a previous capture of Troy by the Greek hero Hercules, at which time King Laomedon was slain; and, secondly, to Jupiter’s punishment of Anchises himself for boasting of the love of Venus. Jupiter crippled him by a thunderbolt.

BOOK III

The time covers about six years. It begins with events immediately following the fall of Troy, June, B.C. 1184.

[51:7.] Antandros. A city on the southern side of Mount Ida, near Troy.

[51:19.] Lycurgus. An early king of Thrace who stoutly opposed the introduction of the rites of Bacchus into his realm, was blinded and afterward destroyed by Jupiter. The present king was Polymnestor, who had married Priam’s daughter Ilione.

[51:24.] Æneadæ. Literally, descendants of Æneas, translated by Conington in Book I, line 157, as “the family of Æneas.” Really used to mean the “household” of Æneas, or followers of Æneas, nation of Æneas. So Greek artists of the early time called themselves Dædalides, or followers of Dædalus. One is reminded of the tale of Jacob with his “household” meeting Esau with his “household.” Indeed, the Romans themselves were sometimes called Romulides, followers of Romulus.

[51:25.] Dione. Mother of Venus.

[52:13.] Gradivus. Mars, god of war, who decides the issue of all battles, and goes forth to war with giant strides. Gradivus is derived from a Latin word meaning to march, Mars was father of Romulus and Remus by Rhea Sylvia.

[53:11.] Manes. The souls of the dead, also the spirit or shade of a single person.

[53:16.] Farewell call. The cry valē, made three times at the funeral pyre as a final farewell to the dead.

[53:35.] Thymbra. A city near Troy having a famous temple of Apollo.

[64:35.] Gnossus. A common name for Crete, from one of its towns.

[55:4.] Idomeneus. A king of Crete, leader of the Cretan forces against Troy. On his return to Crete, in accordance with a vow, he sacrificed his son to the gods. Because of the pestilence that followed this act, the Cretans banished Idomeneus.

[56:17.] Hesperia. Land of the evening star, or western land, Italy. Also called Ausonia.

[56:25.] Corythus. Legendary ancestor of the Trojans.

[56:26.] Dicte. A mountain in the eastern part of Crete.

[57:32.] Celæno. Queen of the Harpies, which were foul winged monsters described as daughters of Electra and Oceanus.

[57:33.] Phineus. King of Salmydessus in Thrace. He put out the eyes of his son, and so was himself blinded by the gods, and the Harpies were sent to torment him by carrying off or defiling all his food. The house of Phineus was shut to the Harpies when they were driven off by the Argonauts.

[59:5.] Tables. Not so dreadful a portent as it seemed. See [page 153].

[59:18.] Zacynthos. The island Zante.

[59:29.] Actium. Actium is introduced here because of the epoch-making battle of Actium between Augustus and Antony, and the fact that Augustus, after the victory, initiated games there.

[60:5.] Phæacian. The island Corfu.

[61:4.] Daughter. Polyxene, sacrificed at the tomb of Achilles.

[61:11.] Hermione. Granddaughter of Leda, daughter of Menelaus and Helen; had been betrothed in Menelaus’ absence to Orestes. Menelaus, not knowing this, gave her to Pyrrhus Neoptolemus, Achilles’ son.

[61:36.] Scæan gate. Famous gate of Troy.

[63:4.] Circe. The famous sorceress, who by her magic cake turned men into animals. She was called Ææan, from Æa, a city in Colchis, in Asia Minor, famous for its magic. Circe came from Colchis. Her island is fabled to have become a promontory of Latium.

[64:5.] Scylla and Charybdis. Whirlpools, bordering the straits of Messina, dangerous to the ancient navigator. This is the description of Scylla used by Milton in describing one of the guardians of the gate of Hell.

[64:15.] Trinacrian. Sicilian. The word is of Greek origin, and signifies triangular, referring to the contour of Sicily. Pachynus itself was the southeastern point of Sicily, the modern Capo di Passaro.

[66:8.] Astyanax. Son of Hector and Andromache, who perished in the sack of Troy.

[67:8.] Aurora. Goddess of the dawn. Wife of Tithonus.

[68:32.] Enceladus. One of the giants who was defeated by Jupiter and imprisoned in a burning cave beneath Mount Ætna. See Longfellow’s Enceladus.

“Under Mount Etna he lies,

It is slumber, it is not death;

For he struggles at times to arise,

And above him the lurid skies

Are hot with his fiery breath.”

All this region, as has been newly shown by the late terrible earthquake, is peculiarly subject to seismic disturbances.

[72:17.] Arethusa. According to fable, pursued by Alpheus, river-god of Elis in Greece, was turned into a subterranean river, still pursued by the river-god under the Ægean until she emerged harmoniously blent with her pursuer in the famous fountain of Ortygia. Shelley uses the legend as follows in his Arethusa:—

“And now from their fountains

In Enna’s mountains,

Down one vale where the morning basks,

Like friends once parted

Grown single-hearted,

They ply their watery tasks.

At sunrise they leap

From their cradles steep

In the cave of the shelving hill;

At noontide they flow

Through the woods below

And the meadows of asphodel;

And at night they sleep

In the rocking deep

Beneath the Ortygian shore:—

Like spirits that lie

In the azure sky

Where they love but live no more.”

BOOK IV

This portion of the Æneid was written when the memory of Antony and Cleopatra was still fresh, and many traits of royal, imperious Dido seem suggestive of the Egyptian queen. Cf. Shakespeare’s Cleopatra, and Chaucer’s Legend of Good Women.

[74:8.] Dawn-goddess. Aurora, with Phœbus’ torch. Apollo is constantly identified with the sun-god.

[75:3.] Erebus. God of darkness, son of Chaos and brother of Night. Synonymous with darkness, especially that of the underworld.

[76:5.] Lyæus. Bacchus. As the god that makes men unbend and frees them from care, he is called Father Lyæus.

[78:9.] Hymen. God of marriage.

[79:24.] Fame. Cf. Bacon, Fragment of an Essay of Fame. “The poets make Fame a monster. They describe her in part finely and elegantly, and in part gravely and sententiously. They say, look how many feathers she hath, so many eyes she hath underneath; so many tongues; so many voices; she pricks up so many ears. This is a flourish; there follow excellent parables; as that she gathereth strength in going; that she goeth upon the ground, and yet hideth her head in the clouds, that in the day-time she sitteth in a watch-tower, and flieth most by night; that she mingleth things done with things not yet done, and that she is a terror to great cities.”

[79:31.] Cœus. One of the Titans; was father of Latona.

[80:34.] Mæonian cap. Mæonia, part of Lydia, Asia Minor. Since Lydia and Phrygia were adjacent, Mæonian = Phrygian = Trojan.

[81:15.] The laws. Rome, the world’s lawgiver.

[83:18.] Mænad. Mænads, or Bacchantes, women worshipping Bacchus in wild and orgiastic fashion in the woods or on mountain slopes of Cithæron.

[84:19.] Elissa. Dido.

[84:31.] Grynean. Refers to oracle of Apollo at Gryneum.

[89:29.] Hecate. Diana, moon-goddess, is identified with Hecate, also moon-goddess. As goddess of cross-roads, Hecate was called Trivia, and is represented by three statues standing back to back. Hecate is especially a goddess of the underworld and of witchcraft.

[90:28.] Laomedon. The father of Priam. He was notorious for his trickery and broken promises. Hence Trojans in a derogatory, scornful sense were termed race of Laomedon.

[91:38.] Tithonus. Son of Laomedon, husband of Aurora.

[95:10.] Iris. Goddess of the rainbow, the messenger of Juno.

[95:14.] Proserpine. Daughter of Ceres, wife of Pluto, and hence queen of underworld.

BOOK V

Æneas sees the flames of Dido’s pyre and guesses their meaning. In Sicily, he institutes funeral games to Anchises. Compare funeral games of Patroclus in 23d book of Iliad. The contest of the ships and the equestrian exhibition are wholly original, however. The burning of the fleet was part of an old Trojan legend.

[99:8.] Acheron’s prison. The underworld.

[99:14.] Phaethon. The sun-god.

[99:23.] Talent. A weight, not coin, of silver or gold. The Attic silver talent was worth over $1000.

[103:2.] Feel that they are thought strong. The translation here is poor, the correct rendering being, “They can, because they think they can.” Virgil’s is a classical expression of the power of belief.

[103:12.] Portunus, a god of harbors, is here associated with the other divinities of the deep.

[103:24.] The royal boy. Ganymede, a favorite subject of art.

[106:38.] Amycus. A famous boxer of Bebrycii killed by Pollux.

[107:35.] Eryx. A Sicilian king, son of Venus; was killed by Hercules in a boxing contest.

[113:8.] Labyrinth in Crete. The Labyrinth, a maze built by Dædalus for King Minos at Gnossus in Crete to contain the Minotaur.

[113:25.] Solemn. Sacred festival, required each year.

[117:20.] Dis. Ruler of the underworld, variously called Orcus, Acheron, Erebus, Avernus. Dis, or Pluto, brother of Jupiter, is called Jupiter Stygius.

[117:22.] Tartarus. The abode of the wicked in the underworld.

[117:24.] Elysium. The abode of the good in the underworld.

[120:11.] Glaucus. A prophetic sea-god, said to be completely incrusted by “shellfish, seaweed, and stones,” so that he is used by Plato (Rep. X, p. 116) as the image of a soul incrusted with sin.

[120:12.] Ino’s Palæmon. Ino with his son Palæmon were transformed into sea divinities. The following names are of sea divinities.

[121:7.] Lethe. A river of the underworld whose waters bring forgetfulness. Styx. The main river in the underworld.

[121:17.] Sirens’ isle. The Sirens were monsters with heads of women and bodies of birds who dwelt on some rocks off the Campanian coast, by the bay of Naples. Their sweet singing enticed mariners on to the rocks to be destroyed.

[121:24.] Naked corpse. Burial thought essential to spirit’s peace.

BOOK VI

Visit of Æneas to Anchises in the world of the dead. Much of the philosophy is Stoic pantheism. The theory of the vision appears to include the Pythagorean doctrine of metempsychosis. Ulysses in Odyssey, Book XI, visited the world of shades.

[122:11.] Sibyl. Through the Cumæan Sibyl, Deïphobe, as the guide of Æneas through the lower world, Virgil exalts the use of the Sibylline Books in the Roman religion. It is interesting to note that the position given the Sibyl, as guide of Æneas, Dante in turn gives to Virgil as his own guide in the lower world.

[122:24.] Sons of Cecrops. The Athenians yearly surrendered seven youths and seven maidens to be sent to Crete to be devoured by the Minotaur, because the Athenians, through envy of his success in the public games, had murdered Androgeus, son of Minos, king of Crete, and Minos had made this the condition of peace.

[122:31.] The edifice is the Labyrinth, in which the Minotaur was confined.

[123:5.] Icarus. Son of Dædalus, who sought to escape with his father from Crete, but flew so near the sun that the wax by which his wings were fastened on was melted, and he fell and perished in the sea called from his name Icarian.

[123:35.] Dardan. Trojan. The Trojans are called by Virgil sometimes descendants of Dardanus, sometimes of Laomedon, sometimes of Anchises, again of Æneas, now Teucrians, and now Phrygians.

[123:36.] Æacides. A patronymic, applied by Virgil, now to Achilles, as here, now to Pyrrhus Neoptolemus, meaning descendant of Æacus.

[124:35.] Dorian. Greek.

[125:36.] Alcides. Hercules.

[126:10.] Cocytus. A river of the underworld.

[127:29.] Fissile. Easy to split.

[129:19.] Aornos. Greek word, meaning without birds.

[129:28.] Furies. The Furies were the goddesses of Vengeance, named Allecto, Megæra, and Tisiphonë.

[130:31.] Briareus. Giant, son of Earth.

[130:31.] Lerna. A lake and marsh near Argos in Greece. Here dwelt the Hydra, a nine-headed monster, whose breath was poisonous. Hercules finally slew it. Possibly an idealized tradition of the draining of the marsh Lerna.

[130:32.] Chimæra. A fabulous monster which breathed forth fire. In front it was a lion, in the hinder part a dragon, and in the middle a goat. The monster was slain by Bellerophon.

[130:33.] Gorgons. Three mythical women of Libya, having some resemblance to the Furies. The chief was Medusa, slain by Perseus. Her head with serpent hair was placed in the shield or Ægis of Jove and Minerva.

[134:31.] Cerberus. Three-headed dog that guarded the entrance to the underworld.

[136:10.] Minos. King of Crete; after death became one of the judges in the underworld.

[136:19.] Marpessa. The mountain in Paros which contained the famous marble quarries, Marpesian, Parian.

[138:12.] Æolus. Ulysses was descended from Æolus.

[140:20.] Ixion. Ixion was father of Pirithous, king of the Lapithæ. Examples of men who have incurred the wrath of the gods.

[141:31.] Priest. Orpheus. Legendary poet and musician. ’Twas he who so charmed Proserpine that she allowed him to lead forth from the lower world his wife Eurydice.

[142:9.] Eridanus. A river issuing from the underworld, variously identified by ancient writers with the Po, the Rhine, or the Rhone,—usually with the Po.

[143:26.] Lethe. Quaffing its waters brought forgetfulness. See [page 144].

[146:1.] Berecyntian mother. Cybele, a Phrygian goddess, worshipped as mother of the gods. So called from Berecyntus, a mountain in Phrygia, sacred to Cybele.

[146:37.] Fasces. The bundles of rods from which an axe protruded, carried by the lictor before certain magistrates when they appeared in public. Symbol of authority.

[147:5.] Drusi. A Roman family mentioned here in compliment to their descendent Livia, wife of Augustus.

[147:5.] Decii. The Decii, father, son, and grandson, solemnly devoted themselves to death, each to win a doubtful battle, in the wars of the Latins, of the Samnites, and of Pyrrhus respectively.

[147:5.] Torquatus. (T. Manlius) won his title (with a gold neck-chain) by slaying a gigantic Gaul.

[147:6.] Camillus, returning from banishment, drove back the victorious Gauls, winning back the captured standards.

[147:12.] Father-in-law and son-in-law. Cæsar and Pompey.

[147:30.] Fabii. Quintus Fabius wore out the strength of Hannibal, constantly refusing to be drawn into a pitched battle. Hence “Fabian policy” means delay.

[148:10.] Quirinus. Romulus.

[149:7.] Laurentian. Laurentum, a town on the coast of Latium, a city of King Latinus.

[149:14.] Gate of ivory.

“A recent writer has reminded us that dreams after midnight were accounted true both by the Greeks and the Romans. Hence he concluded that Virgil, in making Æneas issue by the gate of false dreams, is indicating that Æneas comes forth from the underworld before midnight. As to the time of Æneas’ stay in the lower world see lines 255, 535-539. He is in the land of the shades from dawn until nearly midnight.”—Knapp.

“By those who think this book a symbolic exhibition of certain mysteries, the legend of the Gate, with the dismissal of Æneas from the ivory one, is considered a warning that the language may not be taken literally, or understood except by the initiated.”—Greenough.

“Anchises conducts Æneas and the Sibyl to the ivory gate as the one which affords the easiest and quickest ascent to the upper world. They are thus saved the toil of ascending by the way they came, which, according to the words of the Sibyl, 128, 129, would have been a work of great labor.”—Frieze.

BOOK VII

Arrival of Æneas in Latium and commencement of hostilities between the Latins and Trojans.

[150:1.] Caieta. Æneas buries his nurse on a promontory of Latium which he called after her—now called Gaeta.

[151:8.] Erato. Name of one of the Muses.

[151:14.] Tyrrhenian. The Tyrrheni were a people of Asia who had settled in Etruria, a district north of Italy. Hence used synonymously for Etrurian, Tuscan—Italian. Œnotrian is still another term.

[151:29.] Turnus. Son of Daunus and the nymph Venilia, was king of the Rutulians, a people of Latium. He led the Italian forces against Æneas, but was at last slain by Æneas in single combat, as described in the last of Book XII.

[153:19.] The eating of tables was foretold by the Harpy and Anchises, in Book III, [page 59].

[159:19.] Bellona. Goddess of war and bloodshed, an old Italian deity—sister of Mars.

[159:26.] Allecto. One of the Furies. Her sisters were Megæra and Tisiphonë.

[160:11.] Amata. Queen of Latium, wife of King Latinus.

[165:15.]17. Trivia’s lake (= Diana’s), Nar, Veline.

“The lake of Diana on the Alban Mount, far to the southeast of the Tiber, and the Nar and Velinus far to the northeast, i.e. the whole country around heard the sound. The lake of Diana is now called Lake Nemi, near Ariccia, 15 miles south of Rome. The river Nar runs between Umbria and the Sabine country, and falls into the Tiber. The lake Velinus was produced by the overflow of the river Velinus and was led into the Nar by a channel cut through a ledge of rock by the consul M. Curius Denatus, B.C. 270. This produced the celebrated fall of Terni.”—Frieze.

[168:7.] Janus. An Italian god of beginnings and gateways—two-headed, since gates fall two ways. Is especially the guardian of the gates of the temple of war.

[168:10.] Gabine cincture. A peculiar way of adjusting the toga.

[169:6 to 175:18]. For this portion, omitted in the prose version, we use Conington’s verse translation.

BOOK VIII

Alliance of Æneas and Evander. Vulcan makes a shield for Æneas.

[179:9.] Amphitryon’s child. Hercules—the stepson of Amphitryon.

[180:12.] Maia. Daughter of Atlas.

[181:3.] Pheneus. A town of Arcadia.

[182:8.] Geryon. A giant monster of Gades (Cadiz) in Spain, the keeper of beautiful cattle. He was slain by Hercules, who took the cattle across the Alps to the valley of the Tiber.

[182:36.] Tiryns. In Argolis, the early home of Hercules.

[186:2.] Hests. Commands.

[186:22.] Ægis. Famous shield of Jupiter (worn also by Minerva), bearing in the centre the baneful head of the Gorgon Medusa. The Ægis when shaken wrought terror and dismay on the wearer’s foes. The shaking was accompanied by thunder and lightning—thus the Ægis was the symbol of the whirlwind that drives the storm-cloud.

[189:19.] Lemnos. An island in the Ægean Sea, the home of Vulcan.

[194:21.] Cuishes. Greaves, or leg coverings.

[198:12.] Cocles. Horatius. See Macaulay’s Lays of Ancient Rome.

[196:19.] Egyptian spouse. Cleopatra.

[196:31.] Anubis. An Egyptian god, with a dog’s head.

[196:34.] Mavors. Mars.

[197:2.] Saba. In Arabia.

BOOK IX

The attack of Turnus on the Trojan camp.

[198:5.] Child. Iris.

[198:29.] Messapus. A Tyrrhenian chief whose followers are from Fescennium and other places on the right bank of the Tiber. See Book VII.

[203:19.] Wont. Were wont.

[212:5.] Ravin. Ravages.

[217:12.] Kid-stars. The Kids were two stars in the hand of Auriga, the setting of which in December was attended with heavy rains.

[217:24.] Padus. The Po.

[217:24.] Athesis. A river in northern Italy, now the Adige.

[218:22.] Prochyta. A small island off the west of Campania, near the promontory of Micenum.

[218:23.] Inarime. An island off the Campanian coast, now Ischia.

BOOK X

Council of the gods.

[226:12.] Terebinth. Turpentine tree.

[227:3.] Helicon. A mountain of Bœotia sacred to Apollo and the Muses.

BOOK XI

Funeral honors to the dead. The truce broken by renewal of hostilities.

[257:27.] Arpi. A town of Apulia.

[268:5.] The pillars of Proteus are the island of Pharos and the coast of Egypt, whither Menelaus was driven.

[258:8.] Monarch of Mycenæ. Agamemnon.

[262:16.] Myrmidons. See [page 325].

[263:11.] Camilla. A warrior princess of the Volsci.

[264:10.] Coras. See [page 170].

[265:4.] Champaign. Plain.

BOOK XII

Final conflict between Æneas and Turnus.

[279:29.] Orichalc. Copper.

[280:24.] Vervain. Verbena, leafy twig, sacred bough (of laurel, olive, myrtle, or cypress).

[288:18.] Dittany. Herb growing on Mount Dicte in Crete.

[288:24.] Ambrosia. Sustenance of immortal life, food of the gods, as nectar is their drink.

[296:12.] Holms. Oaks, holm-oak, “great scarlet oak.”

[303:16.] Soul. Cf. the Emperor Hadrian’s Address to his Soul, translated by Byron, Prior, Pope, Merivale, Carnarvon, etc.

“Soul of mine, pretty one, flitting one,

Guest and partner of my clay,

Whither wilt thou hie away,—

Pallid one, rigid one, naked one—

Never to play again, never to play?”

—Merivale.

“Yes, thou goest, Spirit—yes,

In thy paleness, nakedness—

Mirth is banished,

Jest hath vanished

Into gloom and dreariness.”

—Carnarvon.

“Wee wan’erin’ winsome elf, my saul,

Thou’s made this clay long hoose an’ hall,

But whar, oh whar art now to dwall,

Thy bield now bare?

Gaun’ flickterin’ feckless, shiverin’ caul,

Nae cantrips mair.”

Transcriber’s Note: Endnotes indicated by [o] are missing.

INDEX TO NOTES

Printed in the United States of America.