Complete Works of Virgil

by Virgil

  And seest the waves of smoke go by with mingled dust-cloud rolled, —

  There Neptune shakes the walls and stirs the foundings from their hold

  With mighty trident, tumbling down the city from its base.

  There by the Scæan gates again hath bitter Juno place

  The first of all, and wild and mad, herself begirt with steel,

  Calls up her fellows from the ships.

  Look back! Tritonian Pallas broods o’er topmost burg on high,

  All flashing bright with Gorgon grim from out her stormy sky;

  The very Father hearteneth on, and stays with happy might

  The Danaans, crying on the Gods against the Dardan fight.

  Snatch flight, O son, whiles yet thou may’st, and let thy toil be o’er,

  I by thy side will bring thee safe unto thy father’s door.’

  She spake, and hid herself away where thickest darkness poured.

  Then dreadful images show forth, great Godheads are abroad,

  The very haters of our Troy.

  And then indeed before mine eyes all Ilium sank in flame,

  And overturned was Neptune’s Troy from its foundations deep.

  E’en as betideth with an ash upon the mountain steep,

  Round which sore smitten by the steel the acre-biders throng,

  And strive in speeding of the axe: and there it threateneth long,

  And, shaken, trembleth nodding still with heavy head of leaf;

  Till overcome by many hurts it groans its latest grief,

  And torn from out the ridgy hill, drags all its ruin alow.

  I get me down, and, Goddess-led, speed on ‘twixt fire and foe,

  And point and edge give place to me, before me sinks the flame;

  But when unto my father’s door and ancient house I came,

  And I was fain of all things first my father forth to bear

  Unto the mountain-tops, and first I sought to find him there,

  Still he gainsayed to spin out life now Troy was lost and dead,

  Or suffer exile: ‘Ye whose blood is hale with youth,’ he said,

  ‘Ye other ones, whose might and main endureth and is stout,

  See ye to flight while yet ye may!

  Full surely if the heavenly ones my longer life had willed,

  They would have kept me this abode: the measure is fulfilled

  In that the murder I have seen, and lived when Troy-town fell.

  O ye, depart, when ye have bid my body streaked farewell.

  My hand itself shall find out death, or pity of my foes,

  Who seek my spoils: the tomb methinks a little thing to lose.

  Forsooth I tarry overlong, God-cursed, a useless thing,

  Since when the Father of the Gods, the earth-abiders’ King,

  Blew on me blast of thunder-wind and touched me with his flame.’

  His deed was stubborn as his word, no change upon him came.

  But all we weeping many tears, my wife Creusa there,

  Ascanius, yea and all the house, besought him not to bear

  All things to wrack with him, nor speed the hastening evil tide.

  He gainsaith all, and in his will and home will yet abide.

  So wretchedly I rush to arms with all intent to die;

  For what availeth wisdom now, what hope in fate may lie?

  ‘And didst thou hope, O father, then, that thou being left behind,

  My foot would fare? Woe worth the word that in thy mouth I find!

  But if the Gods are loth one whit of such a town to save,

  And thou with constant mind wilt cast on dying Troy-town’s grave

  Both thee and thine, wide is the door to wend adown such ways;

  For Pyrrhus, red with Priam’s blood, is hard at hand, who slays

  The son before the father’s face, the father slays upon

  The altar. Holy Mother, then, for this thou ledst me on

  Through fire and sword! — that I might see our house filled with the foe,

  My father old, Ascanius, Creusa lying low,

  All weltering in each other’s blood, and murdered wretchedly.

  Arms, fellows, arms! the last day’s light on vanquished men doth cry.

  Ah! give me to the Greeks again, that I may play the play

  Another while: not unavenged shall all we die today.’

  So was I girt with sword again, and in my shield would set

  My left hand now, and was in point from out of doors to get,

  When lo, my wife about my feet e’en in the threshold clung,

  Still to his father reaching out Iulus tender-young:

  ‘If thou art on thy way to die, then bear us through it all;

  But if to thee the wise in arms some hope of arms befall,

  Then keep this house first! Unto whom giv’st thou Iulus’ life,

  Thy father’s, yea and mine withal, that once was called thy wife?’

  So crying out, the house she filled with her exceeding moan,

  When sudden, wondrous to be told, a portent was there shown;

  For as his woeful parents’ hands and lips he hangs between,

  On topmost of Iulus’ head a thin peaked flame is seen,

  That with the harmless touch of fire, whence clearest light is shed,

  Licks his soft locks and pastures round the temples of his head.

  Quaking with awe from out his hair we fall the fire to shake,

  And bring the water of the well the holy flame to slake.

  But joyous to the stars aloft Anchises raiseth eyes,

  And with his hands spread out abroad to very heaven he cries:

  ‘Almighty Jove, if thou hast will toward any prayers to turn,

  Look down on us this while alone; if aught our goodness earn,

  Father, give help and strengthen us these omens from the sky!’

  Scarce had the elder said the word ere crashing suddenly

  It thundered on the left, and down across the shades of night

  Ran forth a great brand-bearing star with most abundant light;

  And clear above the topmost house we saw it how it slid

  Lightening the ways, and at the last in Ida’s forest hid.

  Then through the sky a furrow ran drawn out a mighty space,

  Giving forth light, and sulphur-fumes rose all about the place.

  My father vanquished therewithal his visage doth upraise,

  And saith a word unto the Gods that holy star to praise:

  ‘Now, now, no tarrying is at all, I follow where ye lead;

  O Father-Gods heed ye our house and this my son’s son heed!

  This is your doom; and Troy is held beneath your majesty.

  I yield, O son, nor more gainsay to go my ways with thee.’

  He spake; and mid the walls meanwhile we hear the fire alive

  Still clearer, and the burning place more nigh the heat doth drive.

  ‘O hasten, father well-beloved, to hang about my neck!

  Lo, here my shoulders will I stoop, nor of the labour reck.

  And whatsoever may befall, the two of us shall bide

  One peril and one heal and end: Iulus by my side

  Shall wend, and after us my wife shall follow on my feet

  Ye serving-folk, turn ye your minds these words of mine to meet:

  Scant from the city is a mound and temple of old tide,

  Of Ceres’ lone, a cypress-tree exceeding old beside.

  Kept by our fathers’ worshipping through many years agone:

  Thither by divers roads go we to meet at last in one.

  Now, father, take thy fathers’ Gods and holy things to hold,

  For me to touch them fresh from fight and murder were o’erbold,

  A misdeed done against the Gods, till in the living flood

  I make a shift to wash me clean.’

  I stooped my neck and shoulders broad e’en as the word I said,

  A forest lion’s yellow fell for cloth upon th
em laid,

  And took my burden up: my young Iulus by my side,

  Holding my hand, goes tripping short unto his father’s stride;

  My wife comes after: on we fare amidst a mirky world.

  And I, erewhile as nothing moved by storm of weapons hurled,

  I, who the gathering of the Greeks against me nothing feared,

  Now tremble at each breath of wind, by every sound am stirred,

  Sore troubled for my fellows both, and burden that I bore.

  And now we draw anigh the gates, and all the way seemed o’er,

  When sudden sound of falling feet was borne upon our ears,

  And therewithal my father cries, as through the dusk he peers,

  ‘Haste, son, and get thee swift away, for they are on us now;

  I see the glittering of the brass and all their shields aglow.’

  What Godhead nought a friend to me amidst my terror there

  Snatched wit away I nothing know: for while I swiftly fare

  By wayless places, wandering wide from out the road I knew,

  Creusa, whether her the Fates from me unhappy drew,

  Whether she wandered from the way, or weary lagged aback,

  Nought know I, but that her henceforth mine eyes must ever lack.

  Nor turned I round to find her lost, nor had it in my thought,

  Till to that mound and ancient house of Ceres we were brought;

  Where, all being come together now, there lacked but her alone,

  And there her fellows’ hopes, her son’s, her husband’s were undone.

  On whom of men, on whom of Gods, then laid I not the guilt?

  What saw I bitterer to be borne in all the city spilt?

  Ascanius and Anchises set the Teucrian Gods beside,

  I give unto my fellows there in hollow dale to hide,

  But I unto the city turn with glittering weapons girt;

  Needs must I search all Troy again, and open every hurt,

  And into every peril past must thrust my head once more.

  And first I reach the walls again and mirk ways of the door

  Whereby I wended out erewhile; and my old footsteps’ track

  I find, and mid the dusk of night with close eyes follow back;

  While on the heart lies weight of fear, and e’en the hush brings dread,

  Thence to the house, if there perchance, if there again she tread,

  I go: infall of Greeks had been, and all the house they hold,

  And ‘neath the wind the ravening fire to highest ridge is rolled.

  The flames hang o’er, with raging heat the heavens are hot withal;

  Still on: I look on Priam’s house and topmost castle-wall;

  And in the desert cloisters there and Juno’s very home

  Lo, Phoenix and Ulysses cursed, the chosen wards, are come

  To keep the spoil; fair things of Troy, from everywhither brought,

  Rapt from the burning of the shrines, Gods’ tables rudely caught,

  And beakers utterly of gold and raiment snatched away

  Are there heaped up; and boys and wives drawn out in long array

  Stand trembling round about the heap.

  And now withal I dared to cast my cries upon the dark,

  I fill the streets with clamour great, and, groaning woefully,

  ‘Creusa,’ o’er and o’er again without avail I cry.

  But as I sought and endlessly raved all the houses through

  A hapless shape, Creusa’s shade, anigh mine eyen drew,

  And greater than the body known her image fashioned was;

  I stood amazed, my hair rose up, nor from my jaws would pass

  My frozen voice, then thus she spake my care to take away:

  ‘Sweet husband, wherefore needest thou with such mad sorrow play?

  Without the dealing of the Gods doth none of this betide;

  And they, they will not have thee bear Creusa by thy side,

  Nor will Olympus’ highest king such fellowship allow.

  Long exile is in store for thee, huge plain of sea to plough,

  Then to Hesperia shalt thou come, where Lydian Tiber’s wave

  The wealthiest meads of mighty men with gentle stream doth lave:

  There happy days and lordship great, and kingly wife, are born

  For thee. Ah! do away thy tears for loved Creusa lorn.

  I shall not see the Myrmidons’ nor Dolopes’ proud place,

  Nor wend my ways to wait upon the Greekish women’s grace;

  I, daughter of the Dardan race, I, wife of Venus’ son;

  Me the great Mother of the Gods on Trojan shore hath won.

  Farewell, and love the son we loved together once, we twain.’

  She left me when these words were given, me weeping sore, and fain

  To tell her much, and forth away amid thin air she passed:

  And there three times about her neck I strove mine arms to cast,

  And thrice away from out my hands the gathered image streams,

  E’en as the breathing of the wind or wingèd thing of dreams.

  And so at last, the night all spent, I meet my folk anew;

  And there I found great multitude that fresh unto us drew,

  And wondered thereat: wives were there, and men, and plenteous youth;

  All gathered for the faring forth, a hapless crowd forsooth:

  From everywhere they draw to us, with goods and courage set,

  To follow o’er the sea where’er my will may lead them yet.

  And now o’er Ida’s topmost ridge at last the day-star rose

  With dawn in hand: all gates and doors by host of Danaan foes

  Were close beset, and no more hope of helping may I bide.

  I turned and took my father up and sought the mountain-side.

  BOOK III.

  ARGUMENT.

  ÆNEAS TELLS OF HIS WANDERINGS AND MISHAPS BY LAND AND BY SEA.

  Now after it had pleased the Gods on high to overthrow

  The Asian weal and sackless folk of Priam, and alow

  Proud Ilium lay, and Neptune’s Troy was smouldering on the ground,

  For diverse outlands of the earth and waste lands are we bound,

  Driven by omens of the Gods. Our fleet we built beneath

  Antandros, and the broken steeps of Phrygian Ida’s heath,

  Unwitting whither Fate may drive, or where the Gods shall stay

  And there we draw together men.

  Now scarce upon the way

  Was summer when my father bade spread sails to Fate at last.

  Weeping I leave my fatherland, and out of haven passed

  Away from fields where Troy-town was, an outcast o’er the deep,

  With folk and son and Household Gods and Greater Gods to keep.

  Far off a peopled land of Mars lies midst its mighty plain,

  Tilled of the Thracians; there whilom did fierce Lycurgus reign.

  ’Twas ancient guesting-place of Troy: our Gods went hand in hand

  While bloomed our weal: there are we borne, and on the hollow strand

  I set my first-born city down, ‘neath evil fates begun,

  And call the folk Æneadæ from name myself had won.

  Unto Dione’s daughter there, my mother, and the rest,

  I sacrificed upon a day to gain beginning blest,

  And to the King of Heavenly folk was slaying on the shore

  A glorious bull: at hand by chance a mound at topmost bore

  A cornel-bush and myrtle stiff with shafts close set around:

  Thereto I wend and strive to pluck a green shoot from the ground,

  That I with leafy boughs thereof may clothe the altars well;

  When lo, a portent terrible and marvellous to tell!

  For the first stem that from the soil uprooted I tear out

  Oozes black drops of very blood, that all the earth about

  Is stained with gore: but as for me, with sudden horror chill

&
nbsp; My limbs fall quaking, and my blood with freezing fear stands still.

  Yet I go on and strive from earth a new tough shoot to win,

  That I may search out suddenly what causes lurk within;

  And once again from out the bark blood followeth as before.

  I turn the matter in my mind: the Field-Nymphs I adore,

  And him, Gradivus, father dread, who rules the Thracian plain,

  And pray them turn the thing to good and make its threatenings vain.

  But when upon a third of them once more I set my hand,

  And striving hard thrust both my knees upon the opposing sand —

  — Shall I speak now or hold my peace? — a piteous groan is heard

  From out the mound, and to mine ears is borne a dreadful word:

  ‘Why manglest thou a wretched man? O spare me in my tomb!

  Spare to beguilt thy righteous hand, Æneas! Troy’s own womb

  Bore me, thy kinsman; from this stem floweth no alien gore:

  Woe’s me! flee forth the cruel land, flee forth the greedy shore;

  For I am Polydore: pierced through, by harvest of the spear

  O’ergrown, that such a crop of shafts above my head doth bear.’

  I stood amazed: the wildering fear the heart in me down-weighed.

  My hair rose up, my frozen breath within my jaws was stayed.

  Unhappy Priam privily had sent this Polydore,

  For fostering to the Thracian king with plenteous golden store.

  In those first days when he began to doubt the Dardan might,

  Having the leaguered walls of Troy for ever in his sight.

  This king, as failed the weal of Troy and fortune fell away,

  Turned him about to conquering arms and Agamemnon’s day.

  He brake all right, slew Polydore, and all the gold he got

  Perforce: O thou gold-hunger cursed, and whither driv’st thou not

  The hearts of men?

  But when at length the fear from me did fall,

  Unto the chosen of the folk, my father first of all,

  I show those portents of the Gods and ask them of their will,

  All deem it good that we depart that wicked land of ill,

  And leave that blighted guesting-place and give our ships the breeze.

  Therefore to Polydore we do the funeral services,

  The earth is heaped up high in mound; the Death-Gods’ altars stand

  Woeful with bough of cypress black and coal-blue holy band;

  The wives of Ilium range about with due dishevelled hair;

  Cups of the warm and foaming milk unto the dead we bear,