by Virgil
What rays around her heav’nly face are seen!
Mark her majestic voice, and more than mortal mien!
Beroe but now I left, whom, pin’d with pain,
Her age and anguish from these rites detain,”
She said. The matrons, seiz’d with new amaze,
Roll their malignant eyes, and on the navy gaze.
They fear, and hope, and neither part obey:
They hope the fated land, but fear the fatal way.
The goddess, having done her task below,
Mounts up on equal wings, and bends her painted bow.
Struck with the sight, and seiz’d with rage divine,
The matrons prosecute their mad design:
They shriek aloud; they snatch, with impious hands,
The food of altars; fires and flaming brands.
Green boughs and saplings, mingled in their haste,
And smoking torches, on the ships they cast.
The flame, unstopp’d at first, more fury gains,
And Vulcan rides at large with loosen’d reins:
Triumphant to the painted sterns he soars,
And seizes, in this way, the banks and crackling oars.
Eumelus was the first the news to bear,
While yet they crowd the rural theater.
Then, what they hear, is witness’d by their eyes:
A storm of sparkles and of flames arise.
Ascanius took th’ alarm, while yet he led
His early warriors on his prancing steed,
And, spurring on, his equals soon o’erpass’d;
Nor could his frighted friends reclaim his haste.
Soon as the royal youth appear’d in view,
He sent his voice before him as he flew:
“What madness moves you, matrons, to destroy
The last remainders of unhappy Troy!
Not hostile fleets, but your own hopes, you burn,
And on your friends your fatal fury turn.
Behold your own Ascanius!” While he said,
He drew his glitt’ring helmet from his head,
In which the youths to sportful arms he led.
By this, Aeneas and his train appear;
And now the women, seiz’d with shame and fear,
Dispers’d, to woods and caverns take their flight,
Abhor their actions, and avoid the light;
Their friends acknowledge, and their error find,
And shake the goddess from their alter’d mind.
Not so the raging fires their fury cease,
But, lurking in the seams, with seeming peace,
Work on their way amid the smold’ring tow,
Sure in destruction, but in motion slow.
The silent plague thro’ the green timber eats,
And vomits out a tardy flame by fits.
Down to the keels, and upward to the sails,
The fire descends, or mounts, but still prevails;
Nor buckets pour’d, nor strength of human hand,
Can the victorious element withstand.
The pious hero rends his robe, and throws
To heav’n his hands, and with his hands his vows.
“O Jove,” he cried, “if pray’rs can yet have place;
If thou abhorr’st not all the Dardan race;
If any spark of pity still remain;
If gods are gods, and not invok’d in vain;
Yet spare the relics of the Trojan train!
Yet from the flames our burning vessels free,
Or let thy fury fall alone on me!
At this devoted head thy thunder throw,
And send the willing sacrifice below!”
Scarce had he said, when southern storms arise:
From pole to pole the forky lightning flies;
Loud rattling shakes the mountains and the plain;
Heav’n bellies downward, and descends in rain.
Whole sheets of water from the clouds are sent,
Which, hissing thro’ the planks, the flames prevent,
And stop the fiery pest. Four ships alone
Burn to the waist, and for the fleet atone.
But doubtful thoughts the hero’s heart divide;
If he should still in Sicily reside,
Forgetful of his fates, or tempt the main,
In hope the promis’d Italy to gain.
Then Nautes, old and wise, to whom alone
The will of Heav’n by Pallas was foreshown;
Vers’d in portents, experienc’d, and inspir’d
To tell events, and what the fates requir’d;
Thus while he stood, to neither part inclin’d,
With cheerful words reliev’d his lab’ring mind:
“O goddess-born, resign’d in ev’ry state,
With patience bear, with prudence push your fate.
By suff’ring well, our Fortune we subdue;
Fly when she frowns, and, when she calls, pursue.
Your friend Acestes is of Trojan kind;
To him disclose the secrets of your mind:
Trust in his hands your old and useless train;
Too num’rous for the ships which yet remain:
The feeble, old, indulgent of their ease,
The dames who dread the dangers of the seas,
With all the dastard crew, who dare not stand
The shock of battle with your foes by land.
Here you may build a common town for all,
And, from Acestes’ name, Acesta call.”
The reasons, with his friend’s experience join’d,
Encourag’d much, but more disturb’d his mind.
‘T was dead of night; when to his slumb’ring eyes
His father’s shade descended from the skies,
And thus he spoke: “O more than vital breath,
Lov’d while I liv’d, and dear ev’n after death;
O son, in various toils and troubles toss’d,
The King of Heav’n employs my careful ghost
On his commands: the god, who sav’d from fire
Your flaming fleet, and heard your just desire.
The wholesome counsel of your friend receive,
And here the coward train and woman leave:
The chosen youth, and those who nobly dare,
Transport, to tempt the dangers of the war.
The stern Italians will their courage try;
Rough are their manners, and their minds are high.
But first to Pluto’s palace you shall go,
And seek my shade among the blest below:
For not with impious ghosts my soul remains,
Nor suffers with the damn’d perpetual pains,
But breathes the living air of soft Elysian plains.
The chaste Sibylla shall your steps convey,
And blood of offer’d victims free the way.
There shall you know what realms the gods assign,
And learn the fates and fortunes of your line.
But now, farewell! I vanish with the night,
And feel the blast of heav’n’s approaching light.”
He said, and mix’d with shades, and took his airy flight.
“Whither so fast?” the filial duty cried;
“And why, ah why, the wish’d embrace denied?”
He said, and rose; as holy zeal inspires,
He rakes hot embers, and renews the fires;
His country gods and Vesta then adores
With cakes and incense, and their aid implores.
Next, for his friends and royal host he sent,
Reveal’d his vision, and the gods’ intent,
With his own purpose. All, without delay,
The will of Jove, and his desires obey.
They list with women each degenerate name,
Who dares not hazard life for future fame.
These they cashier: the brave remaining few,
Oars, banks, and cables, half consum’d, renew.
The prince designs a
city with the plow;
The lots their sev’ral tenements allow.
This part is nam’d from Ilium, that from Troy,
And the new king ascends the throne with joy;
A chosen senate from the people draws;
Appoints the judges, and ordains the laws.
Then, on the top of Eryx, they begin
A rising temple to the Paphian queen.
Anchises, last, is honor’d as a god;
A priest is added, annual gifts bestow’d,
And groves are planted round his blest abode.
Nine days they pass in feasts, their temples crown’d;
And fumes of incense in the fanes abound.
Then from the south arose a gentle breeze
That curl’d the smoothness of the glassy seas;
The rising winds a ruffling gale afford,
And call the merry mariners aboard.
Now loud laments along the shores resound,
Of parting friends in close embraces bound.
The trembling women, the degenerate train,
Who shunn’d the frightful dangers of the main,
Ev’n those desire to sail, and take their share
Of the rough passage and the promis’d war:
Whom good Aeneas cheers, and recommends
To their new master’s care his fearful friends.
On Eryx’s altars three fat calves he lays;
A lamb new-fallen to the stormy seas;
Then slips his haulsers, and his anchors weighs.
High on the deck the godlike hero stands,
With olive crown’d, a charger in his hands;
Then cast the reeking entrails in the brine,
And pour’d the sacrifice of purple wine.
Fresh gales arise; with equal strokes they vie,
And brush the buxom seas, and o’er the billows fly.
Meantime the mother goddess, full of fears,
To Neptune thus address’d, with tender tears:
“The pride of Jove’s imperious queen, the rage,
The malice which no suff’rings can assuage,
Compel me to these pray’rs; since neither fate,
Nor time, nor pity, can remove her hate:
Ev’n Jove is thwarted by his haughty wife;
Still vanquish’d, yet she still renews the strife.
As if ‘t were little to consume the town
Which aw’d the world, and wore th’ imperial crown,
She prosecutes the ghost of Troy with pains,
And gnaws, ev’n to the bones, the last remains.
Let her the causes of her hatred tell;
But you can witness its effects too well.
You saw the storm she rais’d on Libyan floods,
That mix’d the mounting billows with the clouds;
When, bribing Aeolus, she shook the main,
And mov’d rebellion in your wat’ry reign.
With fury she possess’d the Dardan dames,
To burn their fleet with execrable flames,
And forc’d Aeneas, when his ships were lost,
To leave his foll’wers on a foreign coast.
For what remains, your godhead I implore,
And trust my son to your protecting pow’r.
If neither Jove’s nor Fate’s decree withstand,
Secure his passage to the Latian land.”
Then thus the mighty Ruler of the Main:
“What may not Venus hope from Neptune’s reign?
My kingdom claims your birth; my late defense
Of your indanger’d fleet may claim your confidence.
Nor less by land than sea my deeds declare
How much your lov’d Aeneas is my care.
Thee, Xanthus, and thee, Simois, I attest.
Your Trojan troops when proud Achilles press’d,
And drove before him headlong on the plain,
And dash’d against the walls the trembling train;
When floods were fill’d with bodies of the slain;
When crimson Xanthus, doubtful of his way,
Stood up on ridges to behold the sea;
(New heaps came tumbling in, and chok’d his way;)
When your Aeneas fought, but fought with odds
Of force unequal, and unequal gods;
I spread a cloud before the victor’s sight,
Sustain’d the vanquish’d, and secur’d his flight;
Ev’n then secur’d him, when I sought with joy
The vow’d destruction of ungrateful Troy.
My will’s the same: fair goddess, fear no more,
Your fleet shall safely gain the Latian shore;
Their lives are giv’n; one destin’d head alone
Shall perish, and for multitudes atone.”
Thus having arm’d with hopes her anxious mind,
His finny team Saturnian Neptune join’d,
Then adds the foamy bridle to their jaws,
And to the loosen’d reins permits the laws.
High on the waves his azure car he guides;
Its axles thunder, and the sea subsides,
And the smooth ocean rolls her silent tides.
The tempests fly before their father’s face,
Trains of inferior gods his triumph grace,
And monster whales before their master play,
And choirs of Tritons crowd the wat’ry way.
The marshal’d pow’rs in equal troops divide
To right and left; the gods his better side
Inclose, and on the worse the Nymphs and Nereids ride.
Now smiling hope, with sweet vicissitude,
Within the hero’s mind his joys renew’d.
He calls to raise the masts, the sheets display;
The cheerful crew with diligence obey;
They scud before the wind, and sail in open sea.
Ahead of all the master pilot steers;
And, as he leads, the following navy veers.
The steeds of Night had travel’d half the sky,
The drowsy rowers on their benches lie,
When the soft God of Sleep, with easy flight,
Descends, and draws behind a trail of light.
Thou, Palinurus, art his destin’d prey;
To thee alone he takes his fatal way.
Dire dreams to thee, and iron sleep, he bears;
And, lighting on thy prow, the form of Phorbas wears.
Then thus the traitor god began his tale:
“The winds, my friend, inspire a pleasing gale;
The ships, without thy care, securely sail.
Now steal an hour of sweet repose; and I
Will take the rudder and thy room supply.”
To whom the yawning pilot, half asleep:
“Me dost thou bid to trust the treach’rous deep,
The harlot smiles of her dissembling face,
And to her faith commit the Trojan race?
Shall I believe the Siren South again,
And, oft betray’d, not know the monster main?”
He said: his fasten’d hands the rudder keep,
And, fix’d on heav’n, his eyes repel invading sleep.
The god was wroth, and at his temples threw
A branch in Lethe dipp’d, and drunk with Stygian dew:
The pilot, vanquish’d by the pow’r divine,
Soon clos’d his swimming eyes, and lay supine.
Scarce were his limbs extended at their length,
The god, insulting with superior strength,
Fell heavy on him, plung’d him in the sea,
And, with the stern, the rudder tore away.
Headlong he fell, and, struggling in the main,
Cried out for helping hands, but cried in vain.
The victor daemon mounts obscure in air,
While the ship sails without the pilot’s care.
On Neptune’s faith the floating fleet relies;
But what the man forsook, the god supplies,
Glides by the Sirens’ cliffs, a shelfy coast,
Long infamous for ships and sailors lost,
And white with bones. Th’ impetuous ocean roars,
And rocks rebellow from the sounding shores.
The watchful hero felt the knocks, and found
The tossing vessel sail’d on shoaly ground.
Sure of his pilot’s loss, he takes himself
The helm, and steers aloof, and shuns the shelf.
Inly he griev’d, and, groaning from the breast,
Deplor’d his death; and thus his pain express’d:
“For faith repos’d on seas, and on the flatt’ring sky,
Thy naked corpse is doom’d on shores unknown to lie.”
BOOK VI
He said, and wept; then spread his sails before
The winds, and reach’d at length the Cumaean shore:
Their anchors dropp’d, his crew the vessels moor.
They turn their heads to sea, their sterns to land,
And greet with greedy joy th’ Italian strand.
Some strike from clashing flints their fiery seed;
Some gather sticks, the kindled flames to feed,
Or search for hollow trees, and fell the woods,
Or trace thro’ valleys the discover’d floods.
Thus, while their sev’ral charges they fulfil,
The pious prince ascends the sacred hill
Where Phoebus is ador’d; and seeks the shade
Which hides from sight his venerable maid.
Deep in a cave the Sibyl makes abode;
Thence full of fate returns, and of the god.
Thro’ Trivia’s grove they walk; and now behold,
And enter now, the temple roof’d with gold.
When Daedalus, to fly the Cretan shore,
His heavy limbs on jointed pinions bore,
(The first who sail’d in air,) ‘t is sung by Fame,
To the Cumaean coast at length he came,
And here alighting, built this costly frame.
Inscrib’d to Phoebus, here he hung on high
The steerage of his wings, that cut the sky:
Then o’er the lofty gate his art emboss’d
Androgeos’ death, and off’rings to his ghost;
Sev’n youths from Athens yearly sent, to meet
The fate appointed by revengeful Crete.
And next to those the dreadful urn was plac’d,
In which the destin’d names by lots were cast:
The mournful parents stand around in tears,
And rising Crete against their shore appears.
There too, in living sculpture, might be seen
