Complete Works of Virgil

by Virgil

  And bowls of holy blood we bring, and lay the soul in grave,

  And cry a great farewell to him, the last that he shall have.

  But now, when we may trust the sea and winds the ocean keep

  Unangered, and the South bids on light whispering to the deep,

  Our fellows crowd the sea-beach o’er and run the ships adown,

  And from the haven are we borne, and fadeth field and town.

  Amid the sea a land there lies, sweet over everything,

  Loved of the Nereids’ mother, loved by that Ægean king

  Great Neptune: this, a-wandering once all coasts and shores around,

  The Bow-Lord good to Gyaros and high Myconos bound,

  And bade it fixed to cherish folk nor fear the wind again:

  There come we; and that gentlest isle receives us weary men;

  In haven safe we land, and thence Apollo’s town adore;

  King Anius, who, a king of men, Apollo’s priesthood bore,

  His temples with the fillets done and crowned with holy bays,

  Meets us, and straight Anchises knows, his friend of early days.

  So therewith hand to hand we join and houseward get us gone.

  There the God’s fane I pray unto, the place of ancient stone:

  ‘Thymbræan, give us house and home, walls to the weary give,

  In folk and city to endure: let Pergamus twice live,

  In Troy twice built, left of the Greeks, left of Achilles’ wrath!

  Ah, whom to follow? where to go? wherein our home set forth?

  O Father, give us augury and sink into our heart!

  Scarce had I said the word, when lo all doors with sudden start

  Fell trembling, and the bay of God, and all the mountain side,

  Was stirred, and in the opened shrine the holy tripod cried:

  There as a voice fell on our ears we bowed ourselves to earth:

  ‘O hardy folk of Dardanus, the land that gave you birth

  From root and stem of fathers old, its very bosom kind,

  Shall take you back: go fare ye forth, your ancient mother find:

  There shall Æneas’ house be lords o’er every earth and sea,

  The children of his children’s sons, and those that thence shall be.’

  So Phoebus spake, and mighty joy arose with tumult mixed,

  As all fell wondering where might be that seat of city fixed,

  Where Phoebus called us wandering folk, bidding us turn again.

  Thereat my father, musing o’er the tales of ancient men,

  Saith: ‘Hearken, lords, and this your hope a little learn of me!

  There is an isle of mightiest Jove called Crete amid the sea;

  An hundred cities great it hath, that most abundant place;

  And there the hill of Ida is, and cradle of our race.

  Thence Teucer our first father came, if right the tale they tell,

  When borne to those Rhoetean shores he chose a place to dwell

  A very king: no Ilium was, no Pergamus rose high;

  He and his folk abode as then in dales that lowly lie:

  Thence came Earth-mother Cybele and Corybantian brass,

  And Ida’s thicket; thence the hush all hallowed came to pass,

  And thence the lions yoked and tame, the Lady’s chariot drag.

  On then! and led by God’s command for nothing let us lag!

  Please we the winds, and let our course for Gnosian land be laid;

  Nor long the way shall be for us: with Jupiter to aid,

  The third-born sun shall stay our ships upon the Cretan shore.’

  So saying, all the offerings due he to the altar bore,

  A bull to Neptune, and a bull to thee, Apollo bright,

  A black ewe to the Storm of sea, to Zephyr kind a white.

  Fame went that Duke Idomeneus, thrust from his fathers’ land,

  Had gone his ways, and desert now was all the Cretan strand,

  That left all void of foes to us those habitations lie.

  Ortygia’s haven then we leave, and o’er the sea we fly

  By Naxos of the Bacchus ridge, Donusa’s green-hued steep,

  And Olearon, and Paros white, and scattered o’er the deep

  All Cyclades; we skim the straits besprent with many a folk;

  And diverse clamour mid the ships seafarers striving woke;

  Each eggs his fellow; On for Crete, and sires of time agone!

  And rising up upon our wake a fair wind followed on.

  And so at last we glide along the old Curetes’ strand,

  And straightway eager do I take the city wall in hand,

  And call it Pergamea, and urge my folk that name who love,

  For love of hearth and home to raise a burg their walls above.

  And now the more part of the ships are hauled up high and dry,

  To wedding and to work afield the folk fall presently,

  And I give laws and portion steads; when suddenly there fell

  From poisoned heaven a wasting plague, a wretched thing to tell,

  On limbs of men, on trees and fields; and deadly was the year,

  And men must leave dear life and die, or weary sick must bear

  Their bodies on: then Sirius fell to burn the acres dry;

  The grass was parched, the harvest sick all victual did deny.

  Then bids my father back once more o’er the twice-measured main,

  To Phoebus and Ortygia’s strand, some grace of prayer to gain:

  What end to our outworn estate he giveth? whence will he

  That we should seek us aid of toil; where turn to o’er the sea?

  Night falleth, and all lives of earth doth sleep on bosom bear,

  When lo, the holy images, the Phrygian House-gods there,

  E’en them I bore away from Troy and heart of burning town,

  Were present to the eyes of me in slumber laid adown,

  Clear shining in the plenteous light that over all was shed

  By the great moon anigh her full through windows fashionèd.

  Then thus they fall to speech with me, end of my care to make:

  ‘The thing that in Ortygia erst the seer Apollo spake

  Here telleth he, and to thy doors come we of his good will:

  Thee and thine arms from Troy aflame fast have we followed still.

  We ‘neath thy care and in thy keel have climbed the swelling sea,

  And we shall bear unto the stars thy sons that are to be,

  And give thy city majesty: make ready mighty wall

  For mighty men, nor toil of way leave thou, though long it fall.

  Shift hence abode; the Delian-born Apollo ne’er made sweet

  These shores for thee, nor bade thee set thy city down in Crete:

  There is a place, the Westland called of Greeks in days that are,

  An ancient land, a fruitful soil, a mighty land of war;

  Oenotrian folk first tilled the land, whose sons, as rumours run,

  Now call it nought but Italy, from him who led them on.

  This is our very due abode: thence Dardanus outbroke,

  Iasius our father thence, beginner of our folk.

  Come rise, and glad these tidings tell unto thy father old,

  No doubtful tale: now Corythus, Ausonian field and fold

  Let him go seek, for Jupiter banneth Dictæan mead.’

  All mazed was I with sight and voice of Gods; because indeed

  This was not sleep, but face to face, as one a real thing sees.

  I seemed to see their coifèd hair and very visages,

  And over all my body too cold sweat of trembling flowed.

  I tore my body from the bed, and, crying out aloud,

  I stretched my upturned hands to heaven and unstained gifts I spilled

  Upon the hearth, and joyfully that worship I fulfilled.

  Anchises next I do to wit and all the thing unlock;

  And he, he saw the twi-branched stem, twi
n fathers of our stock,

  And how by fault of yesterday through steads of old he strayed.

  ‘O son, well learned in all the lore of Ilium’s fate,’ he said,

  ‘Cassandra only of such hap would sing; I mind me well

  Of like fate meted to our folk full oft would she foretell;

  And oft would call to Italy and that Hesperian home.

  But who believed that Teucrian folk on any day might come

  Unto Hesperia’s shores? or who might trow Cassandra then?

  Yield we to Phoebus, follow we as better counselled men

  The better part.’

  We, full of joy, obey him with one mind;

  From this seat too we fare away and leave a few behind;

  With sail abroad in hollow tree we skim the ocean o’er.

  But when our keels the deep sea made, nor had we any more

  The land in sight, but sea around, and sky around was spread,

  A coal-blue cloud drew up to us that, hanging overhead,

  Bore night and storm, and mirky gloom o’er all the waters cast:

  Therewith the winds heap up the waves, the seas are rising fast

  And huge; and through the mighty whirl scattered we toss about;

  The storm-clouds wrap around the day, and wet mirk blotteth out

  The heavens, and mid the riven clouds the ceaseless lightnings live.

  So are we blown from out our course, through might of seas we drive,

  Nor e’en might Palinurus self the day from night-tide sift,

  Nor have a deeming of the road atwixt the watery drift.

  Still on for three uncertain suns, that blind mists overlay,

  And e’en so many starless nights, across the sea we stray;

  But on the fourth day at the last afar upon us broke

  The mountains of another land, mid curling wreaths of smoke.

  Then fall the sails, we rise on oars, no sloth hath any place,

  The eager seamen toss the spray and sweep the blue sea’s face;

  And me first saved from whirl of waves the Strophades on strand

  Now welcome; named by Greekish name Isles of the Sea, they stand

  Amid the great Ionian folk: Celæno holds the shores,

  And others of the Harpies grim, since shut were Phineus’ doors

  Against them, and they had to leave the tables they had won.

  No monster woefuller than they, and crueller is none

  Of all God’s plagues and curses dread from Stygian waters sent.

  A wingèd thing with maiden face, whose bellies’ excrement

  Is utter foul; and hookèd hands, and face for ever pale

  With hunger that no feeding stints.

  Borne thither, into haven come, we see how everywhere

  The merry wholesome herds of neat feed down the meadows fair,

  And all untended goatish flocks amid the herbage bite.

  With point and edge we fall on them, and all the Gods invite,

  Yea very Jove, to share the spoil, and on the curvèd strand

  We strew the beds, and feast upon rich dainties of the land.

  When lo, with sudden dreadful rush from out the mountains hap

  The Harpy folk, and all about their clanging wings they flap,

  And foul all things with filthy touch as at the food they wrench,

  And riseth up their grisly voice amid the evilest stench.

  Once more then ‘neath a hollow rock at a long valley’s head,

  Where close around the boughs of trees their quavering shadows shed,

  We dight the boards, and once again flame on the altars raise.

  Again from diverse parts of heaven, from dusky lurking-place,

  The shrieking rout with hookèd feet about the prey doth fly,

  Fouling the feast with mouth: therewith I bid my company

  To arms, that with an evil folk the war may come to pass.

  They do no less than my commands, and lay along the grass

  Their hidden swords, and therewithal their bucklers cover o’er.

  Wherefore, when swooping down again, they fill the curvèd shore

  With noise, Misenus blows the call from off a watch-stead high

  With hollow brass; our folk fall on and wondrous battle try,

  Striving that sea-fowl’s filthy folk with point and edge to spill.

  But nought will bite upon their backs, and from their feathers still

  Glanceth the sword, and swift they flee up ‘neath the stars of air,

  Half-eaten meat and token foul leaving behind them there.

  But on a rock exceeding high yet did Celæeno rest,

  Unhappy seer! there breaks withal a voice from out her breast:

  ‘What, war to pay for slaughtered neat, war for our heifers slain?

  O children of Laomedon, the war then will ye gain?

  The sackless Harpies will ye drive from their own land away?

  Then let this sink into your souls, heed well the words I say;

  The Father unto Phoebus told a tale that Phoebus told

  To me, and I the first-born fiend that same to you unfold:

  Ye sail for Italy, and ye, the winds appeased by prayer,

  Shall come to Italy, and gain the grace of haven there:

  Yet shall ye gird no wall about the city granted you,

  Till famine, and this murder’s wrong that ye were fain to do,

  Drive you your tables gnawed with teeth to eat up utterly.’

  She spake, and through the woody deeps borne off on wings did fly.

  But sudden fear fell on our folk, and chilled their frozen blood;

  Their hearts fell down; with weapon-stroke no more they deem it good

  To seek for peace: but rather now sore prayers and vows they will,

  Whether these things be goddesses or filthy fowls of ill.

  Father Anchises on the strand stretched both his hands abroad,

  And, bidding all their worship due, the Mighty Ones adored:

  ‘Gods, bring their threats to nought! O Gods, turn ye the curse, we pray!

  Be kind, and keep the pious folk!’

  Then bade he pluck away

  The hawser from the shore and slack the warping cable’s strain:

  The south wind fills the sails, we fare o’er foaming waves again,

  E’en as the helmsman and the winds have will that we should fare.

  And now amidmost of the flood Zacynthus’ woods appear,

  Dulichium, Samos, Neritos, with sides of stony steep:

  Wide course from cliffs of Ithaca, Laertes’ land, we keep,

  Cursing the soil that bore and nursed Ulysses’ cruelty.

  Now open up Leucata’s peaks, that fare so cloudy high

  Over Apollo, mighty dread to all seafarers grown;

  But weary thither do we steer and make the little town,

  We cast the anchors from the bows and swing the sterns a-strand.

  And therewithal since we at last have gained the longed-for land,

  We purge us before Jupiter and by the altars pray,

  Then on the shores of Actium’s head the Ilian plays we play.

  Anointed with the sleeking oil there strive our fellows stripped

  In wrestling game of fatherland: it joys us to have slipped

  By such a host of Argive towns amidmost of the foe.

  Meanwhile, the sun still pressing on, the year about doth go,

  And frosty winter with his north the sea’s face rough doth wear;

  A buckler of the hollow brass of mighty Abas’ gear

  I set amid the temple-doors with singing scroll thereon,

  ÆNEAS HANGETH ARMOUR HERE FROM CONQUERING DANAANS WON.

  And then I bid to leave the shore and man the thwarts again.

  Hard strive the folk in smiting sea, and oar-blades brush the main.

  The airy high Phæacian towers sink down behind our wake,

  And coasting the Epirote shores Chaonia’s bay we ma
ke,

  And so Buthrotus’ city-walls high set we enter in.

  There tidings hard for us to trow unto our ears do win,

  How Helenus, e’en Priam’s son, hath gotten wife and crown

  Of Pyrrhus come of Æacus, and ruleth Greekish town,

  And that Andromache hath wed one of her folk once more.

  All mazed am I; for wondrous love my heart was kindling sore

  To give some word unto the man, of such great things to learn:

  So from the haven forth I fare, from ships and shore I turn.

  But as it happed Andromache was keeping yearly day,

  Pouring sad gifts unto the dead, amidst a grove that lay

  Outside the town, by wave that feigned the Simoïs that had been,

  Blessing the dead by Hector’s mound empty and grassy green,

  Which she with altars twain thereby had hallowed for her tears.

  But when she saw me drawing nigh with armour that Troy bears

  About me, senseless, throughly feared with marvels grown so great,

  She stiffens midst her gaze; her bones are reft of life-blood’s heat,

  She totters, scarce, a long while o’er, this word comes forth from her:

  ‘Is the show true, O Goddess-born? com’st thou a messenger

  Alive indeed? or if from thee the holy light is fled,

  Where then is Hector?’

  Flowed the tears e’en as the word she said,

  And with her wailing rang the place: sore moved I scarce may speak

  This word to her, grown wild with grief, in broken voice and weak:

  ‘I live indeed, I drag my life through outer ways of ill;

  Doubt not, thou seest the very sooth.

  Alas! what hap hath caught thee up from such a man downcast?

  Hath any fortune worthy thee come back again at last?

  Doth Hector’s own Andromache yet serve in Pyrrhus’ bed?’

  She cast her countenance adown, and in a low voice said:

  ‘O thou alone of Trojan maids that won a little joy,

  Bidden to die on foeman’s tomb before the walls of Troy!

  Who died, and never had to bear the sifting lot’s award,

  Whose slavish body never touched the bed of victor lord!

  We from our burning fatherland carried o’er many a sea,

  Of Achillæan offspring’s pride the yoke-fellow must be,

  Must bear the childbed of a slave: thereafter he, being led

  To Leda’s child Hermione and that Laconian bed,

  To Helenus his very thrall me very thrall gave o’er:

  But there Orestes, set on fire by all the love he bore

  His ravished wife, and mad with hate, comes on him unaware