by Virgil
Or mighty Tyre of ancient days, — as if the wildfire ran
Rolling about the roof of God and dwelling-place of man.
Half dead her sister heard, and rushed distraught and trembling there,
With nail and fist befouling all her face and bosom fair:
She thrust amidst them, and by name called on the dying Queen:
“O was it this my sister, then! guile in thy word hath been!
And this was what the bale, the fire, the altars wrought for me!
Where shall I turn so left alone? Ah, scorned was I to be
For death-fellow! thou shouldst have called me too thy way to wend.
One sword-pang should have been for both, one hour to make an end.
Built I with hands, on Father-Gods with crying did I cry
To be away, a cruel heart, from thee laid down to die?
O sister, me and thee, thy folk, the fathers of the land,
Thy city hast thou slain —— O give, give water to my hand,
And let me wash the wound, and if some last breath linger there,
Let my mouth catch it!”
Saying so she reached the topmost stair,
And to her breast the dying one she fondled, groaning sore,
And with her raiment strove to staunch the black and flowing gore.
Then Dido strove her heavy lids to lift, but back again
They sank, and deep within her breast whispered the deadly bane:
Three times on elbow struggling up a little did she rise,
And thrice fell back upon the bed, and sought with wandering eyes
The light of heaven aloft, and moaned when it was found at last.
Then on her long-drawn agony did Juno pity cast,
Her hard departing; Iris then she sent from heaven on high,
And bade her from the knitted limbs the struggling soul untie.
For since by fate she perished not, nor waited death-doom given,
But hapless died before her day by sudden fury driven,
Not yet the tress of yellow hair had Proserpine off-shred,
Nor unto Stygian Orcus yet had doomed her wandering head.
So Iris ran adown the sky on wings of saffron dew,
And colours shifting thousandfold against the sun she drew,
And overhead she hung: “So bid, from off thee this I bear,
Hallowed to Dis, and charge thee now from out thy body fare.”
She spake and sheared the tress away; then failed the life-heat spent
And forth away upon the wind the spirit of her went.
BOOK V.
ARGUMENT.
ÆNEAS MAKING FOR ITALY IS STAYED BY CONTRARY WINDS, WHEREFORE HE SAILETH TO SICILY, AND, COMING TO THE TOMB OF HIS FATHER ANCHISES, HOLDETH SOLEMN GAMES THEREAT, AND IN THE END GOETH HIS WAY TO ITALY AGAIN.
Meanwhile Æneas with his ships the mid-sea way did hold
Steadfast, and cut the dusky waves before the north wind rolled,
Still looking back upon the walls now litten by the flame
Of hapless Dido: though indeed whence so great burning came
They knew not; but the thought of grief that comes of love defiled
How great it is, what deed may come of woman waxen wild,
Through woeful boding of the sooth the Teucrians’ bosoms bore.
But when the ships the main sea held, nor had they any more
The land in sight, but sea around and sky around was spread,
A coal-blue cloud drew up to them, that hanging overhead
Bore night and storm: feared ‘neath the dark the waters trembling lie.
Then called the helmsman Palinure from lofty deck on high:
“Ah, wherefore doth such cloud of storm gird all the heavens about?
What will ye, Father Neptune, now?”
Therewith he crieth out
To gather all the tackling in, and hard on oars to lay,
And slopeth sail across the wind; and so such word doth say:
“Great-souled Æneas, e’en if Jove my borrow now should be,
‘Neath such a sky I might not hope to make our Italy:
The changed winds roar athwart our course, and from the west grown black
They rise; while o’er the face of heaven gathers the cloudy rack.
Nor have we might to draw a-head, nor e’en to hold our own.
Wherefore since Fortune hath prevailed, by way that she hath shown,
Whither she calleth, let us turn: methinks the way but short
To brother-land of Eryx leal and safe Sicanian port,
If I may read the stars aright that erst I bare in mind.”
Quoth good Æneas: “Now for long that suchwise would the wind
I saw, and how thou heldest head against it all in vain:
Shift sail and go about; what land may sweeter be to gain,
Or whither would I liefer turn my keels from beat of sea,
Than that which yet the Dardan lord Acestes holds for me,
That holds my very father’s bones, Anchises, in its breast?”
They seek the haven therewithal, and fair and happy west
Swelleth the sails: o’er whirl of waves full speedily they wend,
And glad to that familiar sand they turn them in the end:
But there Acestes meeteth them, who from a mountain high
All wondering had seen afar the friendly ships draw nigh.
With darts he bristled, and was clad in fell of Libyan bear.
Him erst unto Crimisus’ flood a Trojan mother fair
Brought forth: and now, forgetting nought his mother’s folk of old,
He welcomes them come back again with wealth of field and fold,
And solaces the weary men with plenteous friendly cheer.
But when the stars in first of dawn fled from the morrow clear,
Æneas called upon the shore assembly of his folk,
And standing high aloft on mound such words to tell he spoke:
“O mighty Dardan men, O folk from blood of Godhead born,
The yearly round is all fulfilled, with lapse of months outworn,
Since when my godlike father’s husk and bones of him we laid
Amid the mould, and heavy sad the hallowed altars made:
And now meseems the day is here, for evermore to me
A bitter day, a worshipped day. — So God would have it be!
Yea should it find me outcast man on great Getulia’s sand,
Or take me in the Argive sea, or mid Mycenæ’s land,
Yet yearly vows, and pomps that come in due recurring while,
Still should I pay, and gifts most meet upon the altar pile.
Now to my father’s bones, indeed, and ashes are we brought
By chance; yet not, meseems, without the Godhead’s will and thought
Are we come here, to lie in peace within a friendly bay.
So come, and let all worship here the glory of the day;
Pray we the winds, that year by year this worship may be done
In temples dedicate to him within my city won.
Troy-born Acestes giveth you two head of hornèd beasts
For every ship; so see ye bid the House-gods to your feasts,
Both them of Troy and them our host Acestes loveth here.
Moreover, if the ninth dawn hence Aurora shall uprear
For health of men, and with her rays earth’s coverlit shall lift,
For Teucrians will I fast set forth the race for galleys swift:
Then whosoe’er is fleet of foot, or bold of might and main,
Or with the dart or eager shaft a better prize may gain,
Or whoso hath the heart to play in fight-glove of raw hide,
Let all be there, and victory’s palm and guerdon due abide.
Clean be all mouths! and gird with leaves the temple of the head.”
His mother’s bush he did on brow e’en as the word he said;
The like did Helymus, the like Aces
tes ripe of eld,
The like the boy Ascanius, yea, and all that manner held.
Then from that council to the tomb that duke of men did pass;
Mid many thousands, he the heart of all that concourse was.
There, worshipping, on earth he pours in such wise as was good
Two cups of mere wine, two of milk, and two of holy blood,
And scatters purple flowers around; and then such words he said:
“Hail, holy father! hail once more! hail, ashes visited
Once more for nought! hail, father-shade and spirit sweet in vain!
Forbid with me that Italy to seek, that fated plain,
With me Ausonian Tiber-flood, whereso it be, to seek.”
He spake: but from the lowest mound a mighty serpent sleek
Drew seven great circles o’er the earth, and glided sevenfold,
Passing in peace the tomb around, and o’er the altars rolled:
Blue stripèd was the back of him, and all his scales did glow
With glitter of fine flecks of gold; e’en as the cloud-hung bow
A thousand shifting colours fair back from the sun he cast.
Æneas wondered at the sight; but on the serpent passed,
And ‘twixt the bowls and smoothèd cups his long array he wound,
Tasting the hallowed things; and so he gat him underground
Beneath the tomb again, and left the altars pastured o’er.
Heartened hereby, his father’s soul Æneas worshipped more,
And, doubtful, deemeth it to be Anchises’ guardian ghost
Or godhead of the place: so there he slayeth double host,
As custom would; two black-backed steers, and e’en as many swine,
And calleth on his father’s soul with pouring of the wine,
On great Anchises’ glorious ghost from Acheron set free.
From out their plenty therewithal his fellows joyfully
Give gifts, and load the altar-stead, and smite the steers adown.
While others serve the seething brass, and o’er the herbage strown
Set coaly morsels ‘neath the spit, and roast the inner meat.
And now the looked-for day was come with simple light and sweet,
And Phaeton’s horses shining bright the ninth dawn in did bear.
Fame and the name Acestes had the neighbouring people stir
To fill the shore with joyful throng, Æneas’ folk to see:
But some were dight amid the games their strife-fellows to be.
There first before the eyes of men the gifts to come they lay
Amid the course; as hallowed bowls, and garlands of green bay,
And palms, the prize of victory, weapons, and raiment rolled
In purple, and a talent’s weight of silver and of gold;
Then blast of horn from midst the mound the great games halloweth in:
Four ships from all the fleet picked out will first the race begin
With heavy oars; well matched are they for speed and rowers’ tale:
Hereof did Mnestheus’ eager oars drive on the speedy Whale,
Mnestheus to be of Italy, whence cometh Memmius’ name.
The huge Chimæra’s mountain mass was Gyas set to tame;
There on that city of a ship threesome its rowing plies
The Dardan youth; the banks of oars in threefold order rise.
Sergestus next, the name whereof the Sergian house yet bears,
Is ferried by the Centaur great: last in blue Scylla steers
Cloanthus, whence the name of thee, Cluentius, man of Rome.
Far mid the sea a rock there is, facing the shore-line’s foam,
Which, beat by overtoppling waves, is drowned and hidden oft,
What time the stormy North-west hides the stars in heaven aloft:
But otherwhiles it lies in peace when nought the sea doth move,
And riseth up a meadow fair that sunning sea-gulls love.
There a green goal Æneas raised, dight of a leafy oak,
To be a sign of turning back to that sea-faring folk,
That fetching compass round the same their long course they might turn.
So then by lot they take their place: there on the deck they burn.
The captains, goodly from afar in gold and purple show:
The other lads with poplar-leaf have garlanded the brow,
And with the oil poured over them their naked shoulders shine.
They man the thwarts; with hearts a-stretch they hearken for the sign,
With arms a-stretch upon the oars; hard tugs the pulse of fear
About their bounding hearts, hard strains the lust of glory dear.
But when the clear horn gives the sound, forthwith from where they lie
They leap away; the seamen’s shouts smite up against the sky,
The upturned waters froth about as home the arms are borne:
So timely they the furrows cut, and all the sea uptorn
Is cloven by the sweep of oars and bows’ three-headed push.
— Nay, nought so swift in twi-yoke race forth from the barriers rush
The scattered headlong chariots on to wear the space of plain,
Nor eager so the charioteers shake waves along the rein
Above the hurrying yoke, as hung over the lash they go.
— Then with the shouts and praise of men, and hope cast to and fro,
Rings all the grove; the cliff-walled shore rolleth great voice around,
And beating ‘gainst the mountain-side the shattering shouts rebound.
Before the others Gyas flies, and first the waves doth skim
Betwixt the throng and roar, but hard Cloanthus presseth him;
Who, better manned, is held aback by sluggish weight of pine.
‘Twixt Whale and Centaur after these the edge of strife is fine,
And hard they struggle each with each to win the foremost place.
Now the Whale hath it; beaten now is foregone in the race
By the huge Centaur; head and head now follow on the two,
As the long keel of either one the salt sea furrows through.
But now they drew anigh the holm, the goal close on them gave,
When Gyas first and conquering there amid the whirl of wave
Unto the helmsman of his ship, Menoetes, cries command:
“And why so far unto the right? turn hither to this hand!
Hug thou the shore; let the blades graze the very rocks a-lee.
Let others hold the deep!”
No less unto the wavy sea
Menoetes, fearing hidden rocks, still turns away the bow:
Gyas would shout him back again: “Menoetes, whither now?
Steer for the rocks!”
And therewithal, as back his eyes he cast.
He sees Cloanthus hard at heel and gaining on him fast;
Who, grazing on this hand and that the rocks and Gyas’ ship,
Now suddenly by leeward course a-head of all doth slip,
And leaving clear the goal behind hath open water’s gain.
Then unto Gyas’ very bones deep burns the wrathful pain;
Nor did his cheeks lack tears indeed: forgetting honour’s trust,
Forgetting all his fellows’ weal, Menoetes doth he thrust
Headlong from off the lofty deck into the sea adown,
And takes the tiller, helmsman now and steering-master grown;
He cheers his men, and toward the shore the rudder wresteth round.
Menoetes, heavy, hardly won up from the ocean’s ground,
(For he was old, and floods enow fulfilled his dripping gear,)
Made for the holm and sat him down upon the dry rock there:
The Teucrians laughed to see him fall, and laughed to see him swim,
And laugh to see him spue the brine back from the heart of him.
Now Mnestheus’ and Sergestus’ hope began anew to spring,
That they might outgo Gyas yet am
id his tarrying:
Of whom Sergestus draws ahead and nears the rocky holm;
But not by all his keel indeed the other did o’ercome,
But by the half; the eager Whale amidships held her place,
Where Mnestheus midst the men themselves now to and fro did pace,
Egging them on: “Now, now!” he cries; “up, up, on oar-heft high!
Fellows of Hector, whom I chose when Troy last threw the die!
Now put ye forth your ancient heart, put forth the might of yore,
Wherewith amid Getulian sand, Ionian sea ye bore;
The heart and might ye had amidst Malea’s following wave!
I, Mnestheus, seek not victory now, nor foremost place to save.
— Yet, O my heart! but let them win to whom thou giv’st the crown,
O Neptune! — but the shameful last! O townsmen, beat it down.
And ban such horror!”
Hard on oars they lie mid utter throes,
And quivereth all the brazen ship beneath their mighty blows;
The sea’s floor slippeth under them; the ceaseless pantings shake
Their limbs and parchèd mouths, and still the sweat-streams never slake.
But very chance those strivers gave the prize they struggled for,
Since now Sergestus, hot at heart, while to the stony shore
He clingeth innerward, is come into the treacherous strait,
And hapless driveth on the rocks thrust forth for such a fate:
The cliffs are shaken and the oars against the flinty spikes
Snap crashing, and the prow thrust up yet hangeth where it strikes:
Up start the seafarers, and raise great hubbub tarrying;
Then sprits all iron-shod and poles sharp-ended forth they bring
To bear her off, and gather oars a-floating in the wash.
But Mnestheus, whetted by his luck, joyful, with hurrying dash
Of timely-beating oars, speeds forth, and praying breezes on,
O’er waters’ slope adown the sea’s all open way doth run:
— E’en as a pigeon in a cave stirred suddenly from rest,
Who in the shady pumice-rock hath house and happy nest;
Scared ‘neath the roof she beateth forth with mighty flap of wings,
And flieth, borne adown the fields, till in soft air she swings,
And floateth on the flowing way, nor scarce a wing doth move;
— So Mnestheus, so the Whale herself, the latter waters clove,
So with the way erst made on her she flew on swift and soft;
And first Sergestus doth she leave stayed on the rock aloft,
Striving in shallows’ tanglement, calling for help in vain,
