by Virgil
Lo, they who in their country’s fight sword-wounded bodies bore;
Lo, priests of holy life and chaste, while they in life had part;
Lo, God-loved poets, men who spake things worthy Phoebus’ heart:
And they who bettered life on earth by new-found mastery;
And they whose good deeds left a tale for men to name them by:
And all they had their brows about with snowy fillets bound.
Now unto them the Sibyl spake as there they flowed around, —
Unto Musæus first; for him midmost the crowd enfolds
Higher than all from shoulders up, and reverently beholds:
“Say, happy souls, and thou, O bard, the best earth ever bare,
What land, what place Anchises hath? for whose sake came we here,
And swam the floods of Erebus and every mighty wave.”
Then, lightly answering her again, few words the hero gave:
“None hath a certain dwelling-place; in shady groves we bide,
And meadows fresh with running streams, and beds by river-side:
But if such longing and so sore the heart within you hath,
O’ertop yon ridge and I will set your feet in easy path.”
He spake and footed it afore, and showeth from above
The shining meads; and thence away from hill-top down they move.
But Sire Anchises deep adown in green-grown valley lay,
And on the spirits prisoned there, but soon to wend to day,
Was gazing with a fond desire: of all his coming ones
There was he reckoning up the tale, and well-loved sons of sons:
Their fate, their haps, their ways of life, their deeds to come to pass.
But when he saw Æneas now draw nigh athwart the grass,
He stretched forth either palm to him all eager, and the tears
Poured o’er his cheeks, and speech withal forth from his mouth there fares:
“O come at last, and hath the love, thy father hoped for, won
O’er the hard way, and may I now look on thy face, O son,
And give and take with thee in talk, and hear the words I know?
So verily my mind forebode, I deemed ’twas coming so,
And counted all the days thereto; nor was my longing vain.
And now I have thee, son, borne o’er what lands, how many a main!
How tossed about on every side by every peril still!
Ah, how I feared lest Libyan land should bring thee unto ill!”
Then he: “O father, thou it was, thine image sad it was,
That, coming o’er and o’er again, drave me these doors to pass:
My ships lie in the Tyrrhene salt — ah, give the hand I lack!
Give it, my father; neither thus from my embrace draw back!”
His face was wet with plenteous tears e’en as the word he spake,
And thrice the neck of him beloved he strove in arms to take;
And thrice away from out his hands the gathered image streams,
E’en as the breathing of the wind or wingèd thing of dreams.
But down amid a hollow dale meanwhile Æneas sees
A secret grove, a thicket fair, with murmuring of the trees,
And Lethe’s stream that all along that quiet place doth wend;
O’er which there hovered countless folks and peoples without end:
And as when bees amid the fields in summer-tide the bright
Settle on diverse flowery things, and round the lilies white
Go streaming; so the fields were filled with mighty murmuring.
Unlearned Æneas fell aquake at such a wondrous thing,
And asketh what it all may mean, what rivers these may be,
And who the men that fill the banks with such a company.
Then spake Anchises: “These are souls to whom fate oweth now
New bodies: there they drink the draught by Lethe’s quiet flow,
The draught that is the death of care, the long forgetfulness.
And sure to teach thee of these things, and show thee all their press,
And of mine offspring tell the tale, for long have I been fain,
That thou with me mightst more rejoice in thine Italia’s gain.”
“O Father, may we think it then, that souls may get them hence
To upper air and take once more their bodies’ hinderance?
How can such mad desire be to win the worldly day?”
“Son, I shall tell thee all thereof, nor hold thee on the way.”
Therewith he takes the tale and all he openeth orderly:
“In the beginning: earth and sky and flowing fields of sea,
And stars that Titan fashioned erst, and gleaming moony ball,
An inward spirit nourisheth, one soul is shed through all,
That quickeneth all the mass, and with the mighty thing is blent:
Thence are the lives of men and beasts and flying creatures sent,
And whatsoe’er the sea-plain bears beneath its marble face;
Quick in these seeds is might of fire and birth of heavenly place,
Ere earthly bodies’ baneful weight upon them comes to lie,
Ere limbs of earth bewilder them and members made to die.
Hence fear they have, and love, and joy, and grief, and ne’er may find
The face of heaven amid the dusk and prison strait and blind:
Yea, e’en when out of upper day their life at last is borne,
Not all the ill of wretched men is utterly outworn,
Not all the bane their bodies bred; and sure in wondrous wise
The plenteous ill they bore so long engrained in them it lies:
So therefore are they worn by woes and pay for ancient wrong:
And some of them are hung aloft the empty winds among;
And some, their stain of wickedness amidst the water’s heart
Is washed away; amidst the fire some leave their worser part;
And each his proper death must bear: then through Elysium wide
Are we sent forth; a scanty folk in joyful fields we bide,
Till in the fulness of the time, the day that long hath been
Hath worn away the inner stain and left the spirit clean,
A heavenly essence, a fine flame of all unmingled air.
All these who now have turned the wheel for many and many a year
God calleth unto Lethe’s flood in mighty company,
That they, remembering nought indeed, the upper air may see
Once more, and long to turn aback to worldly life anew.”
Anchises therewithal his son, and her the Sibyl drew
Amid the concourse, the great crowd that such a murmuring sent,
And took a mound whence they might see the spirits as they went
In long array, and learn each face as ‘neath their eyes it came.
“Come now, and I of Dardan folk will tell the following fame,
And what a folk from Italy the world may yet await,
Most glorious souls, to bear our name adown the ways of fate.
Yea, I will set it forth in words, and thou thy tale shalt hear:
Lo ye, the youth that yonder leans upon the headless spear,
Fate gives him nighest place today; he first of all shall rise,
Blent blood of Troy and Italy, unto the earthly skies:
Silvius is he, an Alban name, thy son, thy latest born;
He whom thy wife Lavinia now, when thin thy life is worn,
Beareth in woods to be a king and get a kingly race,
Whence comes the lordship of our folk within the Long White Place.
And Procas standeth next to him, the Trojan people’s fame;
Then Capys, Numitor, and he who bringeth back thy name,
Silvius Æneas, great in war, and great in godliness,
If ever he in that White Stead may bear the kingdom’s stress.
Lo ye, what youths! what glorious might unto thin
e eyes is shown!
But they who shade their temples o’er with civic oaken crown,
These build for thee Nomentum’s walls, and Gabii, and the folk
Fidenian, and the mountains load with fair Collatia’s yoke:
Pometii, Bola, Cora, there shall rise beneath their hands,
And Inuus’ camp: great names shall spring amid the nameless lands.
“Then Mavors’ child shall come on earth, his grandsire following,
When Ilia’s womb, Assaracus’ own blood, to birth shall bring
That Romulus: — lo, see ye not the twin crests on his head,
And how the Father hallows him for day with his own dread
E’en now? Lo, son! those signs of his; lo, that renownèd Rome!
Whose lordship filleth all the earth, whose heart Olympus’ home,
And with begirdling of her wall girds seven great burgs to her,
Rejoicing in her man-born babes: e’en as the Earth-Mother
Amidst the Phrygian cities goes with car and towered crown,
Glad in the Gods, whom hundred-fold she kisseth for her own.
All heaven-abiders, all as kings within the house of air.
Ah, turn thine eyeballs hitherward, look on this people here,
Thy Roman folk! Lo Cæsar now! Lo all Iulus’ race,
Who ‘neath the mighty vault of heaven shall dwell in coming days.
And this is he, this is the man thou oft hast heard foretold,
Augustus Cæsar, sprung from God to bring the age of gold
Aback unto the Latin fields, where Saturn once was king.
Yea, and the Garamantian folk and Indians shall he bring
Beneath his sway: beyond the stars, beyond the course of years,
Beyond the Sun-path lies the land, where Atlas heaven upbears,
And on his shoulders turns the pole with burning stars bestrown.
Yea, and e’en now the Caspian realms quake at his coming, shown
By oracles of God; and quakes the far Mæotic mere,
And sevenfold Nile through all his mouths quakes in bewildered fear.
Not so much earth did Hercules o’erpass, though he prevailed
To pierce the brazen-footed hind, and win back peace that failed
The Erymanthus’ wood, and shook Lerna with draught of bow;
Nor Liber turning vine-wreathed reins when he hath will to go
Adown from Nysa’s lofty head in tiger-yokèd car. —
Forsooth then shall we doubt but deeds shall spread our valour far?
Shall fear forsooth forbid us rest in that Ausonian land?
“But who is this, the olive-crowned, that beareth in his hand
The holy things? I know the hair and hoary beard of eld
Of him, the Roman king, who first a law-bound city held,
Sent out from little Cures’ garth, that unrich land of his,
Unto a mighty lordship: yea, and Tullus next is this,
Who breaks his country’s sleep and stirs the slothful men to fight;
And calleth on the weaponed hosts unused to war’s delight
But next unto him Ancus fares, a boaster overmuch;
Yea and e’en now the people’s breath too nigh his heart will touch.
And wilt thou see the Tarquin kings and Brutus’ lofty heart,
And fasces brought aback again by his avenging part?
He first the lordship consular and dreadful axe shall take;
The father who shall doom the sons, that war and change would wake,
To pain of death, that he thereby may freedom’s fairness save.
Unhappy! whatso tale of thee the after-time may have,
The love of country shall prevail, and boundless lust of praise.
“Drusi and Decii lo afar! On hard Torquatus gaze,
He of the axe: Camillus lo, the banner-rescuer!
But note those two thou seest shine in arms alike and clear,
Now souls of friends, and so to be while night upon them weighs:
Woe’s me! what war shall they awake if e’er the light of days
They find: what host each sets ‘gainst each, what death-field shall they dight!
The father from the Alpine wall, and from Monoecus’ height
Comes down; the son against him turns the East’s embattlement.
O children, in such evil war let not your souls be spent,
Nor turn the valour of your might against the heart of home.
Thou first, refrain, O thou my blood from high Olympus come;
Cast thou the weapons from thine hand!
“Lo to the Capitol aloft, for Corinth triumphing,
One glorious with Achæan deaths in victor’s chariot goes;
Mycenæ, Agamemnon’s house, and Argos he o’erthrows,
Yea and Æacides himself the great Achilles’ son;
Avenging so the sires of Troy and Pallas’ house undone.
Great Cato, can I leave thee then untold? pass Cossus o’er?
Or house of Gracchus? Yea, or ye, twin thunderbolts of war,
Ye Scipios, bane of Libyan land? Fabricius, poor and strong?
Or thee, Serranus, casting seed adown the furrows long?
Fabii, where drive ye me outworn? Thou Greatest, thou art he,
Who bringest back thy country’s weal by tarrying manfully.
“Others, I know, more tenderly may beat the breathing brass,
And better from the marble block bring living looks to pass;
Others may better plead the cause, may compass heaven’s face,
And mark it out, and tell the stars, their rising and their place:
But thou, O Roman, look to it the folks of earth to sway;
For this shall be thine handicraft, peace on the world to lay,
To spare the weak, to wear the proud by constant weight of war.”
So mid their marvelling he spake, and added furthermore:
“Marcellus lo! neath Spoils of Spoils how great and glad he goes,
And overtops all heroes there, the vanquisher of foes:
Yea, he shall prop the Roman weal when tumult troubleth all,
And ride amid the Punic ranks, and crush the rising Gaul,
And hang in sire Quirinus’ house the third war-taken gear.”
Then spake Æneas, for he saw following Marcellus near
A youth of beauty excellent, with gleaming arms bedight,
Yet little glad of countenance with eyes that shunned the light:
“O father, who is he that wends beside the hero’s hem,
His son belike, or some one else from out that mighty stem?
What murmuring of friends about! How mighty is he made!
But black Night fluttereth over him with woeful mirky shade.”
Then midst the rising of his tears father Anchises spoke:
“O son, search not the mighty woe and sorrow of thy folk!
The Fates shall show him to the world, nor longer blossoming
Shall give. O Gods that dwell on high, belike o’ergreat a thing
The Roman tree should seem to you, should this your gift endure!
How great a wail of mighty men that Field of Fame shall pour
On Mavors’ mighty city walls: what death-rites seest thou there,
O Tiber, as thou glidest by his new-wrought tomb and fair!
No child that is of Ilian stock in Latin sires shall raise
Such glorious hope; nor shall the land of Romulus e’er praise
So fair and great a nursling child mid all it ever bore.
Goodness, and faith of ancient days, and hand unmatched in war,
Alas for all! No man unhurt had raised a weaponed hand
Against him, whether he afoot had met the foeman’s band,
Or smitten spur amid the flank of eager foaming horse.
O child of all men’s ruth, if thou the bitter Fates mayst force,
Thou art Marcellus. Reach ye hands of lily-blooms fulfilled;
Fo
r I will scatter purple flowers, and heap such offerings spilled
Unto the spirit of my child, and empty service do.”
Thereafter upon every side they strayed that country through,
Amid wide-spreading airy meads, and sight of all things won.
But after old Anchises now through all had led his son,
And kindled love within his heart of fame that was to be,
Then did he tell him of the wars that he himself should see,
And of Laurentian peoples taught, and town of Latin folk;
And how from every grief to flee, or how to bear its stroke.
Now twofold are the Gates of Sleep, whereof the one, men say,
Is wrought of horn, and ghosts of sooth thereby win easy way,
The other clean and smooth is wrought of gleaming ivory,
But lying dreams the nether Gods send up to heaven thereby.
All said, Anchises on his son and Sibyl-maid doth wait
Unto the last, and sends them up by that same ivory gate.
He wears the way and gains his fleet and fellow-folk once more.
So for Caieta’s haven-mouth by straightest course they bore,
Till fly the anchors from the bows and sterns swing round ashore.
BOOK VII.
ARGUMENT.
ÆNEAS AND HIS TROJANS TAKE LAND BY THE TIBER-MOUTH, AND KING LATINUS PLIGHTETH PEACE WITH THEM; WHICH PEACE IS BROKEN BY THE WILL OF JUNO, AND ALL MEN MAKE THEM READY FOR WAR.
Thou also, O Æneas’ nurse, Caieta, didst avail,
E’en dying, unto these our shores to leave a deathless tale:
And yet thy glory guards the place, thy bones have won it name
Within the great Hesperian land, if that be prize of fame.
But good Æneas, when at last all funeral rites were paid
And the grave heaped, when in a while the ocean’s face was laid,
Went on his way with sails aloft, and left the port behind:
The faint winds breathe about the night, the moon shines clear and kind;
Beneath the quivering shining road the wide seas gleaming lie.
But next the beach of Circe’s land their swift ships glide anigh,
Where the rich daughter of the Sun with constant song doth rouse
The groves that none may enter in, or in her glorious house
Burneth the odorous cedar-torch amidst the dead of night,
While through the slender warp she speeds the shrilling shuttle light.
And thence they hear the sound of groans, and wrath of lions dread
Fretting their chains; and roaring things o’er night-tide fallen dead;
