Complete Works of Virgil

by Virgil

  And bristled swine and cagèd bears cried bitter-wild, and sore;

  And from the shapes of monstrous wolves the howling seaward bore.

  These from the likeness of mankind had cruel Circe won

  By herbs of might, and shape and hide of beasts upon them done.

  But lest the godly Trojan folk such wickedness should bear,

  Lest borne into the baneful bay they bring their keels o’er near,

  Their sails did Father Neptune fill with fair and happy breeze,

  And sped their flight and sent them swift across the hurrying seas.

  Now reddened all the sea with rays, and from the heavenly plain

  The golden-hued Aurora shone amidst her rosy wain,

  Then fell the winds and every air sank down in utter sleep,

  And now the shaven oars must strive amid the sluggish deep:

  Therewith Æneas sees a wood rise from the water’s face,

  And there it is the Tiber’s flood amidst a pleasant place,

  With many a whirling eddy swift and yellowing with sand

  Breaks into sea; and diversely above on either hand

  The fowl that love the river-bank and haunt the river-bed

  Sweetened the air with plenteous song and through the thicket fled.

  So there Æneas bids his folk shoreward their bows to lay,

  And joyfully he entereth in the stream’s o’ershadowed way.

  To aid, Erato! while I tell what kings, what deedful tide,

  What manner life, in Latin land did anciently abide

  When first the stranger brought his ships to that Ausonian shore;

  Yea help me while I call aback beginnings of the war.

  O Goddess, hearten thou thy seer! dread war my song-speech saith:

  It tells the battle in array, and kings full fain of death,

  The Tyrrhene host, all Italy, spurred on the sword to bear:

  Yea, greater matters are afoot, a mightier deed I stir.

  The king Latinus, old of days, ruled o’er the fields’ increase,

  And cities of the people there at rest in long-drawn peace:

  Of Faunus and Laurentian nymph, Marica, do we learn

  That he was born: but Faunus came of Picus, who must turn

  To thee, O Saturn, for his sire: ’twas he that blood began.

  Now, as God would, this king had got no son to grow a man,

  For he who first had dawned on him in earliest youth had waned:

  A daughter only such a house, so great a world sustained,

  Now ripe for man, the years fulfilled that made her meet for bed:

  And her much folk of Latin land were fain enow to wed,

  And all Ausonia: first of whom, and fairest to be seen,

  Was Turnus, great from fathers great; and him indeed the queen

  Was fain of for her son-in-law with wondrous love of heart:

  But dreadful portents of the Gods the matter thrust apart.

  Amidmost of the inner house a laurel-tree upbore

  Its hallowed leaves, that fear of God had kept through years of yore:

  Father Latinus first, they said, had found it there, when he

  Built there his burg and hallowed it to Phoebus’ deity,

  And on Laurentian people thence the name thereof had laid;

  On whose top now the gathered bees, O wondrous to be said!

  Borne on with mighty humming noise amid the flowing air,

  Had settled down, and foot to foot all interwoven there,

  In sudden swarm they hung adown from off the leafy bough.

  But straight the seer cries out: “Ah me! I see him coming now,

  The stranger man; I see a host from that same quarter come

  To this same quarter, to be lords amidst our highest home.”

  But further, while the altar-fires she feeds with virgin brands,

  The maid Lavinia, and beside her ancient father stands,

  Out! how along her length of hair the grasp of fire there came,

  And all the tiring of her head was caught in crackling flame.

  And there her royal tresses blazed, and blazed her glorious crown

  Gem-wrought, and she one cloud of smoke and yellow fire was grown:

  And wrapped therein, the fiery God she scattered through the house:

  And sure it seemed a dreadful thing, a story marvellous:

  For they fell singing she should grow glorious of fame and fate,

  But unto all her folk should be the seed of huge debate.

  So troubled by this tokening dread forth fareth now the king

  To Faunus’ fane, his father-seer, to ask him counselling

  ‘Neath Albunea the high, whose wood, the thicket most of worth,

  Resoundeth with the holy well and breathes the sulphur forth.

  From whence the folk of Italy and all Oenotrian land

  Seek rede amidst of troublous time. Here, when the priest in hand

  Hath borne the gifts, and laid him down amidst the hush of night

  On the strown fells of slaughtered ewes, and sought him sleep aright,

  He seeth wondrous images about him flit and shift,

  He hearkeneth many a changing voice, of talk with Gods hath gift,

  And holdeth speech with Acheron, from deep Avernus come.

  There now the sire Latinus went seeking the answers home,

  And there an hundred woolly ewes in order due did slay,

  And propped upon the fells thereof on bed of fleeces lay,

  Till from the thickets inner depths the sudden answer came:

  “Seek not thy daughter, O my son, to wed to Latin name;

  Unto the bridal set on foot let not thy troth be given:

  Thy sons are coming over sea to raise our blood to heaven,

  And sons of sons’ sons from their stem shall see beneath their feet

  All things for them to shift and doom; all things the sun may meet,

  As to and fro he wendeth way ‘twixt either ocean wave.”

  Such warnings of the silent night that father Faunus gave,

  Shut up betwixt his closed lips Latinus held no whit,

  But through Ausonia flying fame had borne the noise of it,

  When that Laomedontian folk at last had moored their ships

  Unto the grassy-mounded bank whereby the river slips.

  Æneas and Iulus fair, and all their most and best,

  Beneath a tall tree’s boughs had laid their bodies down to rest:

  They dight the feast; about the grass on barley-cakes they lay

  What meat they had, — for even so Jove bade them do that day, —

  And on the ground that Ceres gave the woodland apples pile.

  And so it happed, that all being spent, they turn them in a while

  To Ceres’ little field, and eat, egged on by very want,

  And dare to waste with hands and teeth the circle thin and scant

  Where fate lay hid, nor spare upon the trenchers wide to fall.

  “Ah!” cries Iulus, “so today we eat up board and all.”

  ’Twas all his jest-word; but its sound their labour slew at last,

  And swift his father caught it up, as from his mouth it passed,

  And stayed him, by the might of God bewildered utterly.

  Then forthwith: “Hail,” he cried, “O land that Fate hath owed to me!

  And ye, O House-gods of our Troy, hail ye, O true and kind!

  This is your house, this is your land: my father, as I mind,

  Such secrets of the deeds of Fate left me in days of yore:

  ‘O son, when hunger driveth thee stranded on outland shore

  To eat the very boards beneath thy victual scant at need,

  There hope for house, O weary one, and in that place have heed

  To set hand first unto the roof, and heap the garth around.’

  So this will be that hunger-tide: this waited us to bound

  Our wasting evils at the last.


  So come, and let us joyfully upon the first of dawn

  Seek out the land, what place it is, what men-folk there abide,

  And where their city; diversely leaving the haven-side.

  But now pour out the bowls to Jove, send prayer upon the way

  To sire Anchises, and the wine again on table lay.”

  He spake, and with the leafy bough his temples garlanded,

  And to the Spirit of the Soil forthwith the prayer he said,

  To Earth, the eldest-born of Gods, to Nymphs, to Streams unknown

  As yet: he called upon the Night, and night-tide’s signs new shown;

  Idæan Jove, the Phrygian Queen, the Mother, due and well

  He called on; and his parents twain in Heaven and in Hell.

  But thrice the Almighty Father then from cloudless heaven on high

  Gave thunder, showing therewithal the glory of his sky

  All burning with the golden gleam, and shaken by his hand.

  Then sudden rumour ran abroad amid the Trojan band,

  That now the day was come about their fateful walls to raise;

  So eagerly they dight the feast, gladdened by omen’s grace,

  And bring the beakers forth thereto and garland well the wine.

  But when the morrow’s lamp of dawn across the earth ‘gan shine,

  The shore, the fields, the towns of folk they search, wide scattering:

  And here they come across the pools of that Numician spring:

  This is the Tiber-flood; hereby the hardy Latins dwell.

  But therewithal Anchises’ seed from out them chose him well

  An hundred sweet-mouthed men to go unto the walls renowned,

  Where dwelt the king, and every one with Pallas’ olive crowned,

  To carry gifts unto the lord and peace for Teucrians pray.

  So, bidden, nought they tarry now, but swift-foot wear the way.

  But he himself marks out the walls with shallow ditch around,

  And falls to work upon the shore his first abode to found,

  In manner of a camp, begirt with bank and battlement.

  Meanwhile his men beheld at last, when all the way was spent,

  The Latin towers and roofs aloft, and drew the walls anigh:

  There were the lads and flower of youth afield the city by

  Backing the steed, or mid the dust a-steering of the car,

  Or bending of the bitter bow, hurling tough darts afar

  By strength of arm; for foot or fist crying the challenging.

  Then fares a well-horsed messenger, who to the ancient king

  Bears tidings of tall new-comers in outland raiment clad:

  So straight Latinus biddeth them within his house be had,

  And he upon his father’s throne sat down amidmost there.

  High on an hundred pillars stood that mighty house and fair,

  High in the burg, the dwelling-place Laurentian Picus won,

  Awful with woods, and worshipping of sires of time agone:

  Here was it wont for kings to take the sceptre in their hand,

  Here first to raise the axe of doom: ’twas court-house of the land,

  This temple, and the banquet-hall; here when the host was slain

  The fathers at the endlong boards would sit the feast to gain.

  There too were dight in cedar old the sires of ancient line

  For there was fashioned Italus, and he who set the vine,

  Sabinus, holding yet in hand the image of the hook;

  And Saturn old, and imaging of Janus’ double look,

  Stood in the porch; and many a king was there from ancient tide,

  Who in their country’s battle erst the wounds of Mars would bide:

  And therewithal were many arms hung on the holy door.

  There hung the axes crookèd-horned, and taken wains of war,

  And crested helms, and bolts and locks that city-gates had borne;

  And spears and shields, and thrusting-beaks from ships of battle torn.

  There with Quirinus’ crooked staff, girt in the shortened gown,

  With target in his left hand held, was Picus set adown, —

  The horse-tamer, whom Circe fair, caught with desire erewhile,

  Smote with that golden rod of hers, and, sprinkling venom’s guile,

  Made him a fowl, and colours fair blent on his shifting wings.

  In such a temple of the Gods, in such a house of kings,

  Latinus sat when he had called those Teucrian fellows in,

  And from his quiet mouth and grave such converse did begin:

  “What seek ye, sons of Dardanus? for not unknown to me

  Is that your city or your blood; and how ye crossed the sea,

  That have I heard. But these your ships, what counsel or what lack

  Hath borne them to Ausonian strand o’er all the blue sea’s back?

  If ye have strayed from out your course, or, driven by stormy tide

  (For such things oft upon the sea must seafarers abide),

  Have entered these our river-banks in haven safe to lie,

  Flee not our welcome, nor unknown the Latin folk pass by;

  The seed of Saturn, bound to right by neither law nor chain,

  But freely following in the ways whereof the God was fain.

  Yea now indeed I mind a tale, though now with years outworn,

  How elders of Aurunce said that mid these fields was born

  That Dardanus, who reached at last the Phrygian Ida’s walls,

  And Thracian Samos, that the world now Samothracia calls:

  From Tuscan stead of Corythus he went upon his ways;

  Whose throne is set in golden heaven, the star-besprinkled place,

  Who adds one other to the tale of altared deities.”

  He ended, but Ilioneus followed in words like these:

  “O king, O glorious Faunus’ child, no storm upon the main

  Drave us amid the drift of waves your country coast to gain;

  And neither star nor strand made blind the region of our road;

  But we by counsel and free will have sought out thine abode,

  Outcast from such a realm as once was deemed the mightiest

  The Sun beheld, as o’er the heaven she ran from east to west.

  Jove is the well-spring of our race; the Dardan children joy

  In Jove for father; yea, our king, Æneas out of Troy,

  Who sends us to thy door, himself is of the Highest’s seed.

  How great a tempest was let loose o’er our Idæan mead,

  From dire Mycenæ Sent; what fate drave either clashing world,

  Europe and Asia, till the war each against each they hurled,

  His ears have heard, who dwells afar upon the land alone

  That ocean beats; and his no less the bondman of the zone,

  That midmost lieth of the four, by cruel sun-blaze worn.

  Lo, from that flood we come to thee, o’er waste of waters borne,

  Praying a strip of harmless shore our House-Gods’ home to be,

  And grace of water and of air to all men lying free.

  We shall not foul our land’s renown; and thou, thy glory fair

  We know, and plenteous fruit of thanks this deed of thine shall bear:

  Nor ever may embrace of Troy Ausonia’s soul despite.

  Now by Æneas’ fates I swear, and by his hand of might,

  Whether in troth it hath been tried, or mid the hosts of war,

  That many folks — yea, scorn us not that willingly we bore

  These fillets in our hands today with words beseeching peace —

  That many lands have longed for us, and yearned for our increase.

  But fate of Gods and Gods’ command would ever drive us home

  To this your land: this is the place whence Dardanus was come,

  And hither now he comes again: full sore Apollo drave

  To Tuscan Tiber, and the place of dread Numicius’ wave.

&
nbsp; Moreover, here some little gifts of early days of joy

  Giveth our king, a handful gleaned from burning-tide of Troy:

  Anchises at the altar erst would pour from out this gold;

  This was the gear that Priam used when in the guise of old

  He gave his gathered folk the law; sceptre, and holy crown,

  And weed the work of Ilian wives.”

  Now while Ilioneus so spake Latinus held his face,

  Musing and steadfast, on the ground setting his downcast gaze,

  Rolling his eyes all thought-fulfilled; nor did the broidered gear

  Of purple move the King so much, nor Priam’s sceptre fair,

  As on his daughter’s bridal bed the thoughts in him had rest,

  For ancient Faunus’ fateful word he turned within his breast.

  Here was the son, the fate-foretold, the outland wanderer,

  Called on by equal doom of God the equal throne to share;

  He from whose loins those glorious sons of valour should come forth

  To take the whole world for their own by utter might of worth.

  At last he spake out joyfully: “God grace our deed begun,

  And his own bidding! man of Troy, thine asking shall be done:

  I take your gifts: nought shall ye lack from King Latinus’ hand,

  Riches of Troy, nor health and wealth of fat and fruitful land.

  But let Æneas come himself if he so yearn for me,

  If he be eager for our house, and would our fellow be;

  Nor let him fear to look upon friends’ faces close anigh,

  Part of the peace-troth shall be this, my hand in his to lie.

  And now bear back unto your king this bidding that I send:

  I have a daughter; her indeed with countryman to blend

  The answers of my father’s house forbid, and many a sign

  Sent down from heaven: from over sea comes one to wed our line;

  They say this bideth Latin Land; a man to raise our blood

  Up to the very stars of heaven: that this is he fate would,

  I think, yea hope, if any whit my heart herein avail.”

  He spake, and bade choose horses out from all his noble tale,

  Whereof three hundred sleek and fair stood in the stables high:

  These biddeth he for Teucrian men be led forth presently,

  Wing-footed purple-bearing beasts, with pictures o’er them flung

  Of woven stuff, and, on their breasts are golden collars hung:

  Gold-housed are they, and champ in teeth the yellow-golden chain

  But to Æneas, absent thence, a car and yoke-beasts twain

  He sends: the seed of heaven are they, and breathing very fire,