Complete Works of Virgil

by Virgil

  I give thee, and victorious here my gloves and craft lay by.”

  Forth now Æneas biddeth all who have a mind to strive

  At speeding of the arrow swift, and gifts thereto doth give,

  And with his mighty hand the mast from out Serestus’ keel

  Uprears; and there a fluttering dove, mark for the flying steel,

  Tied to a string he hangeth up athwart the lofty mast.

  Then meet the men; a brazen helm catches the lots down cast:

  And, as from out their favouring folk ariseth up the shout,

  Hippocoon, son of Hyrtacus, before the rest leaps out;

  Then Mnestheus, who was victor erst in ship upon the sea,

  Comes after: Mnestheus garlanded with olive greenery.

  The third-come was Eurytion, thy brother, O renowned,

  O Pandarus, who, bidden erst the peace-troth to confound,

  Wert first amid Achæan host to send a wingèd thing.

  But last, at bottom of the helm, Acestes’ name did cling,

  Who had the heart to try the toil amid the youthful rout.

  Then with their strength of all avail they bend the bows about

  Each for himself: from quiver then the arrows forth they take:

  And first from off the twanging string through heaven there went the wake

  Of shaft of young Hyrtacides, and clave the flowing air,

  And, flying home, amid the mast that stood before it there

  It stuck: the mast shook therewithal; the frighted, timorous bird,

  Fluttered her wings; and mighty praise all round about was heard.

  Then stood forth Mnestheus keen, and drew his bow unto the head,

  Aiming aloft; and shaft and eyes alike therewith he sped;

  But, worthy of all pitying, the very bird he missed,

  But had the hap to shear the knots and lines of hempen twist

  Whereby, all knitted to her foot, she to the mast was tied:

  But flying toward the winds of heaven and mirky mist she hied.

  Then swift Eurytion, who for long had held his arrow laid

  On ready bow-string, vowed, and called his brother unto aid,

  And sighted her all joyful now amidst the void of sky,

  And smote her as she clapped her wings ‘neath the black cloud on high:

  Then dead she fell, and mid the stars of heaven her life she left,

  And, falling, brought the shaft aback whereby her heart was cleft.

  Acestes now was left alone, foiled of the victory’s prize.

  No less the father sent his shot aloft unto the skies,

  Fain to set forth his archer-craft and loud-resounding bow.

  Then to men’s eyes all suddenly a portent there did show,

  A mighty sign of things to come, the ending showed how great

  When seers, the shakers of men’s hearts, sang over it too late.

  For, flying through the flowing clouds, the swift reed burned about,

  And marked its road with flaming wake, and, eaten up, died out

  Mid the thin air: as oft the stars fly loose from heaven’s roof,

  And run adown the space of sky with hair that flies aloof.

  Trinacrian men and Teucrian men, staring aghast they stood,

  Praying the Gods: but mightiest Æneas held for good

  That tokening, and Acestes takes as one all glad at heart,

  And loadeth him with many gifts, and suchwise speaks his part:

  “Take them, O father, for indeed by such a sign I wot

  Olympus’ King will have thee win all honour without lot.

  This gift thou hast, Anchises’ self, the ancient, had before,

  A bowl all stamped with images, which Cisseus once of yore,

  The Thracian, to my father gave, that he might bear the same

  A very tokening of his love and memory of his name.”

  So saying, a garland of green bay he doth his brows about,

  And victor over all the men Acestes giveth out:

  Nor did the good Eurytion grudge his honour so preferred,

  Though he alone from height of heaven had brought adown the bird:

  But he came next in gift-giving who sheared the string, and last

  Was he who set his wingèd reed amidmost of the mast.

  Now had Æneas called to him, ere yet the match was done,

  The child of Epytus, the guard, and fellow of his son,

  Beardless Iulus, and so spake into his faithful ear:

  “Go thou and bid Asoenius straight, if ready dight with gear

  He hath that army of the lads, and fair array of steeds,

  To bring unto his grandsire now, himself in warlike weeds,

  That host of his.”

  The lord meanwhile biddeth all folk begone

  Who into the long course had poured, and leave the meadow lone.

  Then come the lads: in equal ranks before their fathers’ eyes

  They shine upon their bitted steeds, and wondering murmurs rise

  From men of Troy and Sicily as on their ways they fare.

  Due crown of well-ordainèd leaves bindeth their flowing hair,

  And each a pair of cornel shafts with iron head doth hold;

  And some the polished quiver bear at shoulder: limber gold,

  Ringing the neck with twisted stem, high on the breast is shown.

  Three companies of horse they are by tale, and up and down

  Three captains ride, and twice six lads each leadeth to the war:

  In bands of even tale they shine, and like their leaders are.

  Their first array all glad at heart doth little Priam lead,

  Who from his grandsire had his name, thy well-renowned seed,

  Polites, fated to beget Italian folk: him bore

  A Thracian piebald flecked with white, whose feet were white before,

  And white withal the crest of him that high aloft he flung.

  Next Atys came, from whence the stem of Latin Atii sprung;

  Young Atys, whom Iulus young most well-beloved did call:

  Iulus last, in goodliness so far excelling all,

  Upon a horse of Sidon came, whom that bright Dido gave

  To be a token of her love, her memory to save.

  On horses of Acestes old, Trinacrian-nurtured beasts,

  The others of the youth are borne.

  With praise they greet their fluttering hearts and look on them with joy,

  Those Dardan folk, who see in them the ancient eyes of Troy.

  But after they had fared on steed the concourse all about

  Before the faces of their folk, Epytides did shout

  The looked-for sign afar to them, and cracked withal his whip:

  Then evenly they fall apart, in threesome order slip

  Their cloven ranks; but, called again, aback upon their way

  They turn, and threatening levelled spears against each other lay.

  Then they to other onset now and other wheeling take,

  In bands opposed, and tanglements of ring on ring they make;

  So with their weapons every show of very fight they stir,

  And now they bare their backs in flight, and now they turn the spear

  In hostile wise; now side by side in plighted peace they meet.

  — E’en as they tell of Labyrinth that lies in lofty Crete,

  A road with blind walls crossed and crossed, an ever-shifting trap

  Of thousand ways, where he who seeks upon no sign may hap,

  But midst of error, blind to seize or follow back, ’tis gone.

  Not otherwise Troy’s little ones the tangle follow on

  At top of speed, and interweave the flight and battle’s play;

  E’en as the dolphins, swimming swift amid the watery way,

  Cleave Libyan or Carpathian sea and sport upon the wave.

  This guise of riding, such-like play, his folk Ascanius gave

  Once more, when round the Long White Stead the
walls of war he drew:

  Withal the Ancient Latin Folk he taught the games to do,

  Suchwise as he a lad had learned with lads from Troy that came:

  That same the Albans taught their sons; most mighty Rome that same

  Took to her thence, and honoured so her sires of yore agone:

  Now name of Troy and Trojan host the play and boys have won.

  Thus far unto the Holy Sire the games were carried through,

  When Fortune turned her faith at last and changed her mind anew:

  For while the diverse hallowed games about the tomb they spent,

  Saturnian Juno Iris fair from heights of heaven hath sent

  Unto the Ilian ships, and breathed fair wind behind her ways,

  For sore she brooded, nor had spent her wrath of ancient days.

  So now the maid sped swift along her thousand-coloured bow,

  And swiftly ran adown the path where none beheld her go.

  And there she saw that gathering great, and swept the strand with eye,

  And saw the haven void of folk, the ships unheeded lie.

  But far away on lonely beach the Trojan women weep

  The lost Anchises; and all they look ever on the deep

  Amid their weeping: “Woe are we! what waters yet abide!

  What ocean-waste for weary folk!” So one and all they cried,

  And all they yearn for city’s rest: sea-toil is loathsome grown.

  So she, not lacking craft of guile, amidst them lighted down,

  When she hath put away from her God’s raiment and God’s mien,

  And but as wife of Doryclus, the Tmarian man, is seen,

  Old Beroë, who once had sons and lordly race and name;

  Amid the Dardan mother-folk such wise the Goddess came:

  “O wretched ones!” she said, “O ye whom armed Achæan hand

  Dragged not to death before the walls that stayed your fatherland!

  Unhappy folk! and why hath Fate held back your doom till now?

  The seventh year is on the turn since Troy-town’s overthrow;

  And we all seas the while, all lands, all rocks and skies that hate

  The name of guest, have wandered o’er, and through the sea o’ergreat

  Still chase that fleeing Italy mid wallowing waters tossed.

  Lo, here is Eryx’ brother-land; Acestes is our host;

  What banneth us to found our walls and lawful cities gain?

  O Fatherland! O House-Gods snatched from midst the foe in vain!

  Shall no walls more be called of Troy? Shall I see never more

  Xanthus or Simoïs, like the streams where Hector dwelt of yore?

  Come on, and those unhappy ships burn up with aid of me;

  For e’en now mid the dreams of sleep Cassandra did I see,

  Who gave me burning brand, and said, ‘Here seek your Troy anew:

  This is the house that ye shall have.’ — And now is time to do!

  No tarrying with such tokens toward! Lo, altars four are here

  Of Neptune: very God for us heart and the fire doth bear!”

  So saying, first she caught upon the fiery bane, and raised

  Her hand aloft, and mightily she whirled it as it blazed

  And cast it: but the Ilian wives, their straining hearts are torn,

  Their souls bewildered: one of them, yea, and their eldest-born,

  Pyrgo, the queenly fosterer of many a Priam’s son,

  Cried: “Mothers, nay no Beroë, nay no Rhoeteian one,

  The wife of Doryclus is this: lo, Godhead’s beauty there!

  Behold the gleaming of her eyes, note how she breathes the air;

  Note ye her countenance and voice, the gait wherewith she goes.

  Yea, I myself left Beroë e’en now amidst her woes;

  Sick, sad at heart that she alone must fail from such a deed,

  Nor bear unto Anchises’ ghost his glory’s righteous meed.”

  Such were the words she spake to them.

  But now those mothers, at the first doubtful, with evil eyes

  Gazed on the ships awhile between unhappy craving stayed

  For land they stood on, and the thought of land that Fortune bade:

  When lo! with even spread of wings the Goddess rose to heaven,

  And in her flight the cloudy lift with mighty bow was riven.

  Then, wildered by such tokens dread, pricked on by maddened hearts,

  Shrieking they snatch the hearthstone’s fire and brand from inner parts;

  While some, they strip the altars there, and flaming leaf and bough

  Cast forth: and Vulcan, let aloose, is swiftly raging now

  Along the thwarts, along the oars, and stems of painted fir.

  But now with news of flaming ships there goes a messenger,

  Eumelus, to Anchises’ tomb, and theatre-seats, and they

  Look round themselves and see the soot black in the smoke-cloud play.

  Then first Ascanius, e’en as blithe the riding-play he led,

  So eager now he rode his ways to camp bewilderèd,

  And nowise might they hold him back, his masters spent of breath.

  “O what new madness then is this? What, what will ye?” he saith.

  “O wretched townswomen, no foe, no camp of Argive men

  Ye burn, but your own hopes ye burn. Lo, your Ascanius then!”

  Therewith before their feet he cast his empty helm afar,

  Dight wherewithal he stirred in sport that image of the war.

  And thither now Æneas sped, and crowd of Teucrian folk;

  Whereat the women diversely along the sea-shore broke,

  Fleeing afeard, and steal to woods and whatso hollow den,

  And loathe their deed, and loathe the light, as changed they know again

  Their very friends, and Juno now from every heart is cast.

  But none the less the flaming rage for ever holdeth fast

  With might untamed; the fire lives on within the timbers wet,

  The caulking sends forth sluggish smoke, the slow heat teeth doth set

  Upon the keel; to inmost heart down creeps the fiery bale;

  Nor all the might of mighty men nor rivers poured avail.

  Then good Æneas from his back the raiment off him tore,

  And called the Gods to aid, and high his palms to heaven upbore:

  “Great Jove, if not all utterly a hater thou art grown

  Of Trojan folk, and if thy love of old yet looketh down

  On deeds of men, give to our ships to win from out the flame,

  O Father, now, and snatch from death the feeble Teucrian name,

  Or else thrust down the remnant left, if so we merit aught,

  With bolt of death, and with thine hand sweep us away to nought!”

  Scarce had he given forth the word, ere midst outpouring rain,

  The black storm rageth measureless, and earthly height and plain

  Shake to the thundering; all the sky casts forth confusèd flood,

  Most black with gathering of the South: then all the ship-hulls stood

  Fulfilled with water of the heavens; the half-burned oak was drenched,

  Until at last to utmost spark the smouldering fire is quenched,

  And all the ships escaped the bane of fiery end save four.

  But, shaken by such bitter hap, Father Æneas bore

  This way and that; and turned the cares on all sides in his breast:

  Whether amid Sicilian fields to set him down in rest,

  Forgetting Fate, or yet to strive for shores of Italy.

  Then the old Nautes, whom erewhile had Pallas set on high

  By her exceeding plenteous craft and lore that she had taught: —

  She gave him answers; telling him how wrath of God was wrought,

  And how it showed, and what the law of fate would ask and have: —

  This man unto Æneas now such words of solace gave:

  “O Goddess-born, Fate’s ebb
and flow still let us follow on,

  Whate’er shall be, by bearing all must Fortune’s fight be won.

  Dardan Acestes have ye here, sprung of the Godhead’s seed;

  Take his goodwill and fellowship to help thee in thy rede.

  Give him the crews of those burnt ships; to him let such-like go

  As faint before thy mighty hope and shifting weal and woe.

  The mothers weary of the sea, the elders spent with years,

  And whatsoever feeble is and whatsoever fears,

  Choose out, and in this land of his walls let the weary frame;

  And they their town by leave of thee shall e’en Acesta name.”

  So was he kindled by the speech of that wise ancient friend,

  Yet still down every way of care his thought he needs must send.

  But now the wain of mirky night was holding middle sky,

  When lo, his father’s image seemed to fall from heaven the high,

  And suddenly Anchises’ lips such words to him poured forth:

  “O son, that while my life abode more than my life wert worth;

  O son, well learned in Ilium’s fates, hither my ways I take

  By Jove’s commands, who even now the fiery bane did slake

  Amid thy ships, and now at last in heaven hath pitied thee:

  Yield thou to elder Nautes’ redes; exceeding good they be:

  The very flower of all thy folk, the hearts that hardiest are,

  Take thou to Italy; for thee in Latium bideth war

  With hardy folk of nurture rude: but first must thou be gone

  To nether dwelling-place of Dis: seek thou to meet me, son,

  Across Avernus deep: for me the wicked house of hell

  The dusk unhappy holdeth not; in pleasant place I dwell,

  Elysium, fellowship of good: there shall the holy Maid,

  The Sibyl, bring thee; plenteous blood of black-wooled ewes being paid:

  There shalt thou learn of all thy race, and gift of fated walls.

  And now farewell: for dewy night from mid way-faring falls,

  The panting steeds of cruel dawn are on me with their breath.”

  He spake, and midst thin air he fled as smoke-wreath vanisheth.

  “Where rushest thou?” Æneas cried: “where hurriest thou again?

  Whom fleest thou? who driveth thee from these embraces fain?”

  So saying, the flame asleep in ash he busied him to wake,

  And worshipped with the censer full and holy-kneaded cake

  The sacred Vesta’s shrine and God of Pergamean wall.

  Then for his fellows doth he send, Acestes first of all,

  And teacheth them of Jove’s command, and what his sire beloved