Complete Works of Virgil

by Virgil

  When, in the shady shelter of a wood,

  And near the margin of a gentle flood,

  Thou shalt behold a sow upon the ground,

  With thirty sucking young encompass’d round;

  The dam and offspring white as falling snow-

  These on thy city shall their name bestow,

  And there shall end thy labors and thy woe.

  Nor let the threaten’d famine fright thy mind,

  For Phoebus will assist, and Fate the way will find.

  Let not thy course to that ill coast be bent,

  Which fronts from far th’ Epirian continent:

  Those parts are all by Grecian foes possess’d;

  The salvage Locrians here the shores infest;

  There fierce Idomeneus his city builds,

  And guards with arms the Salentinian fields;

  And on the mountain’s brow Petilia stands,

  Which Philoctetes with his troops commands.

  Ev’n when thy fleet is landed on the shore,

  And priests with holy vows the gods adore,

  Then with a purple veil involve your eyes,

  Lest hostile faces blast the sacrifice.

  These rites and customs to the rest commend,

  That to your pious race they may descend.

  “‘When, parted hence, the wind, that ready waits

  For Sicily, shall bear you to the straits

  Where proud Pelorus opes a wider way,

  Tack to the larboard, and stand off to sea:

  Veer starboard sea and land. Th’ Italian shore

  And fair Sicilia’s coast were one, before

  An earthquake caus’d the flaw: the roaring tides

  The passage broke that land from land divides;

  And where the lands retir’d, the rushing ocean rides.

  Distinguish’d by the straits, on either hand,

  Now rising cities in long order stand,

  And fruitful fields: so much can time invade

  The mold’ring work that beauteous Nature made.

  Far on the right, her dogs foul Scylla hides:

  Charybdis roaring on the left presides,

  And in her greedy whirlpool sucks the tides;

  Then spouts them from below: with fury driv’n,

  The waves mount up and wash the face of heav’n.

  But Scylla from her den, with open jaws,

  The sinking vessel in her eddy draws,

  Then dashes on the rocks. A human face,

  And virgin bosom, hides her tail’s disgrace:

  Her parts obscene below the waves descend,

  With dogs inclos’d, and in a dolphin end.

  ‘T is safer, then, to bear aloof to sea,

  And coast Pachynus, tho’ with more delay,

  Than once to view misshapen Scylla near,

  And the loud yell of wat’ry wolves to hear.

  “‘Besides, if faith to Helenus be due,

  And if prophetic Phoebus tell me true,

  Do not this precept of your friend forget,

  Which therefore more than once I must repeat:

  Above the rest, great Juno’s name adore;

  Pay vows to Juno; Juno’s aid implore.

  Let gifts be to the mighty queen design’d,

  And mollify with pray’rs her haughty mind.

  Thus, at the length, your passage shall be free,

  And you shall safe descend on Italy.

  Arriv’d at Cumae, when you view the flood

  Of black Avernus, and the sounding wood,

  The mad prophetic Sibyl you shall find,

  Dark in a cave, and on a rock reclin’d.

  She sings the fates, and, in her frantic fits,

  The notes and names, inscrib’d, to leafs commits.

  What she commits to leafs, in order laid,

  Before the cavern’s entrance are display’d:

  Unmov’d they lie; but, if a blast of wind

  Without, or vapors issue from behind,

  The leafs are borne aloft in liquid air,

  And she resumes no more her museful care,

  Nor gathers from the rocks her scatter’d verse,

  Nor sets in order what the winds disperse.

  Thus, many not succeeding, most upbraid

  The madness of the visionary maid,

  And with loud curses leave the mystic shade.

  “‘Think it not loss of time a while to stay,

  Tho’ thy companions chide thy long delay;

  Tho’ summon’d to the seas, tho’ pleasing gales

  Invite thy course, and stretch thy swelling sails:

  But beg the sacred priestess to relate

  With willing words, and not to write thy fate.

  The fierce Italian people she will show,

  And all thy wars, and all thy future woe,

  And what thou may’st avoid, and what must undergo.

  She shall direct thy course, instruct thy mind,

  And teach thee how the happy shores to find.

  This is what Heav’n allows me to relate:

  Now part in peace; pursue thy better fate,

  And raise, by strength of arms, the Trojan state.’

  “This when the priest with friendly voice declar’d,

  He gave me license, and rich gifts prepar’d:

  Bounteous of treasure, he supplied my want

  With heavy gold, and polish’d elephant;

  Then Dodonaean caldrons put on board,

  And ev’ry ship with sums of silver stor’d.

  A trusty coat of mail to me he sent,

  Thrice chain’d with gold, for use and ornament;

  The helm of Pyrrhus added to the rest,

  That flourish’d with a plume and waving crest.

  Nor was my sire forgotten, nor my friends;

  And large recruits he to my navy sends:

  Men, horses, captains, arms, and warlike stores;

  Supplies new pilots, and new sweeping oars.

  Meantime, my sire commands to hoist our sails,

  Lest we should lose the first auspicious gales.

  “The prophet bless’d the parting crew, and last,

  With words like these, his ancient friend embrac’d:

  ‘Old happy man, the care of gods above,

  Whom heav’nly Venus honor’d with her love,

  And twice preserv’d thy life, when Troy was lost,

  Behold from far the wish’d Ausonian coast:

  There land; but take a larger compass round,

  For that before is all forbidden ground.

  The shore that Phoebus has design’d for you,

  At farther distance lies, conceal’d from view.

  Go happy hence, and seek your new abodes,

  Blest in a son, and favor’d by the gods:

  For I with useless words prolong your stay,

  When southern gales have summon’d you away.’

  “Nor less the queen our parting thence deplor’d,

  Nor was less bounteous than her Trojan lord.

  A noble present to my son she brought,

  A robe with flow’rs on golden tissue wrought,

  A phrygian vest; and loads with gifts beside

  Of precious texture, and of Asian pride.

  ‘Accept,’ she said, ‘these monuments of love,

  Which in my youth with happier hands I wove:

  Regard these trifles for the giver’s sake;

  ‘T is the last present Hector’s wife can make.

  Thou call’st my lost Astyanax to mind;

  In thee his features and his form I find:

  His eyes so sparkled with a lively flame;

  Such were his motions; such was all his frame;

  And ah! had Heav’n so pleas’d, his years had been the same.’

  “With tears I took my last adieu, and said:

  ‘Your fortune, happy pair, already made,

  Leaves you no farther wish. My diff’rent state,

  Avoiding o
ne, incurs another fate.

  To you a quiet seat the gods allow:

  You have no shores to search, no seas to plow,

  Nor fields of flying Italy to chase:

  (Deluding visions, and a vain embrace!)

  You see another Simois, and enjoy

  The labor of your hands, another Troy,

  With better auspice than her ancient tow’rs,

  And less obnoxious to the Grecian pow’rs.

  If e’er the gods, whom I with vows adore,

  Conduct my steps to Tiber’s happy shore;

  If ever I ascend the Latian throne,

  And build a city I may call my own;

  As both of us our birth from Troy derive,

  So let our kindred lines in concord live,

  And both in acts of equal friendship strive.

  Our fortunes, good or bad, shall be the same:

  The double Troy shall differ but in name;

  That what we now begin may never end,

  But long to late posterity descend.’

  “Near the Ceraunian rocks our course we bore;

  The shortest passage to th’ Italian shore.

  Now had the sun withdrawn his radiant light,

  And hills were hid in dusky shades of night:

  We land, and, on the bosom Of the ground,

  A safe retreat and a bare lodging found.

  Close by the shore we lay; the sailors keep

  Their watches, and the rest securely sleep.

  The night, proceeding on with silent pace,

  Stood in her noon, and view’d with equal face

  Her steepy rise and her declining race.

  Then wakeful Palinurus rose, to spy

  The face of heav’n, and the nocturnal sky;

  And listen’d ev’ry breath of air to try;

  Observes the stars, and notes their sliding course,

  The Pleiads, Hyads, and their wat’ry force;

  And both the Bears is careful to behold,

  And bright Orion, arm’d with burnish’d gold.

  Then, when he saw no threat’ning tempest nigh,

  But a sure promise of a settled sky,

  He gave the sign to weigh; we break our sleep,

  Forsake the pleasing shore, and plow the deep.

  “And now the rising morn with rosy light

  Adorns the skies, and puts the stars to flight;

  When we from far, like bluish mists, descry

  The hills, and then the plains, of Italy.

  Achates first pronounc’d the joyful sound;

  Then, ‘Italy!’ the cheerful crew rebound.

  My sire Anchises crown’d a cup with wine,

  And, off’ring, thus implor’d the pow’rs divine:

  ‘Ye gods, presiding over lands and seas,

  And you who raging winds and waves appease,

  Breathe on our swelling sails a prosp’rous wind,

  And smooth our passage to the port assign’d!’

  The gentle gales their flagging force renew,

  And now the happy harbor is in view.

  Minerva’s temple then salutes our sight,

  Plac’d, as a landmark, on the mountain’s height.

  We furl our sails, and turn the prows to shore;

  The curling waters round the galleys roar.

  The land lies open to the raging east,

  Then, bending like a bow, with rocks compress’d,

  Shuts out the storms; the winds and waves complain,

  And vent their malice on the cliffs in vain.

  The port lies hid within; on either side

  Two tow’ring rocks the narrow mouth divide.

  The temple, which aloft we view’d before,

  To distance flies, and seems to shun the shore.

  Scarce landed, the first omens I beheld

  Were four white steeds that cropp’d the flow’ry field.

  ‘War, war is threaten’d from this foreign ground,’

  My father cried, ‘where warlike steeds are found.

  Yet, since reclaim’d to chariots they submit,

  And bend to stubborn yokes, and champ the bit,

  Peace may succeed to war.’ Our way we bend

  To Pallas, and the sacred hill ascend;

  There prostrate to the fierce virago pray,

  Whose temple was the landmark of our way.

  Each with a Phrygian mantle veil’d his head,

  And all commands of Helenus obey’d,

  And pious rites to Grecian Juno paid.

  These dues perform’d, we stretch our sails, and stand

  To sea, forsaking that suspected land.

  “From hence Tarentum’s bay appears in view,

  For Hercules renown’d, if fame be true.

  Just opposite, Lacinian Juno stands;

  Caulonian tow’rs, and Scylacaean strands,

  For shipwrecks fear’d. Mount Aetna thence we spy,

  Known by the smoky flames which cloud the sky.

  Far off we hear the waves with surly sound

  Invade the rocks, the rocks their groans rebound.

  The billows break upon the sounding strand,

  And roll the rising tide, impure with sand.

  Then thus Anchises, in experience old:

  ‘‘T is that Charybdis which the seer foretold,

  And those the promis’d rocks! Bear off to sea!’

  With haste the frighted mariners obey.

  First Palinurus to the larboard veer’d;

  Then all the fleet by his example steer’d.

  To heav’n aloft on ridgy waves we ride,

  Then down to hell descend, when they divide;

  And thrice our galleys knock’d the stony ground,

  And thrice the hollow rocks return’d the sound,

  And thrice we saw the stars, that stood with dews around.

  The flagging winds forsook us, with the sun;

  And, wearied, on Cyclopian shores we run.

  The port capacious, and secure from wind,

  Is to the foot of thund’ring Aetna join’d.

  By turns a pitchy cloud she rolls on high;

  By turns hot embers from her entrails fly,

  And flakes of mounting flames, that lick the sky.

  Oft from her bowels massy rocks are thrown,

  And, shiver’d by the force, come piecemeal down.

  Oft liquid lakes of burning sulphur flow,

  Fed from the fiery springs that boil below.

  Enceladus, they say, transfix’d by Jove,

  With blasted limbs came tumbling from above;

  And, where he fell, th’ avenging father drew

  This flaming hill, and on his body threw.

  As often as he turns his weary sides,

  He shakes the solid isle, and smoke the heavens hides.

  In shady woods we pass the tedious night,

  Where bellowing sounds and groans our souls affright,

  Of which no cause is offer’d to the sight;

  For not one star was kindled in the sky,

  Nor could the moon her borrow’d light supply;

  For misty clouds involv’d the firmament,

  The stars were muffled, and the moon was pent.

  “Scarce had the rising sun the day reveal’d,

  Scarce had his heat the pearly dews dispell’d,

  When from the woods there bolts, before our sight,

  Somewhat betwixt a mortal and a sprite,

  So thin, so ghastly meager, and so wan,

  So bare of flesh, he scarce resembled man.

  This thing, all tatter’d, seem’d from far t’ implore

  Our pious aid, and pointed to the shore.

  We look behind, then view his shaggy beard;

  His clothes were tagg’d with thorns, and filth his limbs

  besmear’d;

  The rest, in mien, in habit, and in face,

  Appear’d a Greek, and such indeed he was.

  He cast on us, from far, a frightful vi
ew,

  Whom soon for Trojans and for foes he knew;

  Stood still, and paus’d; then all at once began

  To stretch his limbs, and trembled as he ran.

  Soon as approach’d, upon his knees he falls,

  And thus with tears and sighs for pity calls:

  ‘Now, by the pow’rs above, and what we share

  From Nature’s common gift, this vital air,

  O Trojans, take me hence! I beg no more;

  But bear me far from this unhappy shore.

  ‘T is true, I am a Greek, and farther own,

  Among your foes besieg’d th’ imperial town.

  For such demerits if my death be due,

  No more for this abandon’d life I sue;

  This only favor let my tears obtain,

  To throw me headlong in the rapid main:

  Since nothing more than death my crime demands,

  I die content, to die by human hands.’

  He said, and on his knees my knees embrac’d:

  I bade him boldly tell his fortune past,

  His present state, his lineage, and his name,

  Th’ occasion of his fears, and whence he came.

  The good Anchises rais’d him with his hand;

  Who, thus encourag’d, answer’d our demand:

  ‘From Ithaca, my native soil, I came

  To Troy; and Achaemenides my name.

  Me my poor father with Ulysses sent;

  (O had I stay’d, with poverty content!)

  But, fearful for themselves, my countrymen

  Left me forsaken in the Cyclops’ den.

  The cave, tho’ large, was dark; the dismal floor

  Was pav’d with mangled limbs and putrid gore.

  Our monstrous host, of more than human size,

  Erects his head, and stares within the skies;

  Bellowing his voice, and horrid is his hue.

  Ye gods, remove this plague from mortal view!

  The joints of slaughter’d wretches are his food;

  And for his wine he quaffs the streaming blood.

  These eyes beheld, when with his spacious hand

  He seiz’d two captives of our Grecian band;

  Stretch’d on his back, he dash’d against the stones

  Their broken bodies, and their crackling bones:

  With spouting blood the purple pavement swims,

  While the dire glutton grinds the trembling limbs.

  “‘Not unreveng’d Ulysses bore their fate,

  Nor thoughtless of his own unhappy state;

  For, gorg’d with flesh, and drunk with human wine

  While fast asleep the giant lay supine,

  Snoring aloud, and belching from his maw

  His indigested foam, and morsels raw;