by Virgil
The blood of those that Circe stole when she beguiled her sire,
That crafty mistress, winning them, bastards, from earthy mare.
So back again Æneas’ folk high on their horses fare,
Bearing Latinus’ gifts and words, and all the tale of peace.
But lo, where great Jove’s bitter wife comes from the town of Greece,
From Argos wrought of Inachus, and holds the airy way.
Far off she sees Æneas’ joy, and where the ship-host lay
Of Dardans: yea from Sicily and far Pachynus head
She seeth him on earth at last and raising roofèd stead,
And all the ships void: fixed she stood, smit through with bitter wrath,
And shook her head: then from her breast the angry words came forth:
“Ah, hated race! Ah, Phrygian fates that shear my fates atwain!
Was there no dead man’s place for you on that Sigean plain?
Had ye no might to wend as slaves? gave Troy so poor a flame
To burn her men, that through the fire and through the swords ye came?
I think at last my godhead’s might is wearied and gone by,
That I have drunk enough of hate, and now at rest may lie: — I,
who had heart to follow up those outcasts from their land,
And as they fled o’er all the sea still in their path would stand.
Against these Teucrians sea and sky have spent their strength for nought:
Was Syrtes aught, or Scylla aught, or huge Charybdis aught?
Lo now the longed-for Tiber’s breast that nation cherisheth
Safe from the deep and safe from me: while Mars might do to death
Those huge-wrought folk of Lapithæ: the very Father-God
Gave up the ancient Calydon to Dian’s wrath and rod.
What was the guilt of Lapithæ? what crime wrought Calydon?
But I, the mighty spouse of Jove, who nought have left undone
My evil hap might compass, I who ran through all craft’s tale
Am vanquished of Æneas now. But if of no avail
My godhead be, I will not spare to pray what is of might,
Since Heaven I move not, needs must I let loose the Nether Night.
Ah! say it is not fated me the Latin realm to ban,
Lavinia must be fated wife of this same Trojan man,
Yet may I draw out time at least, and those great things delay;
At least may I for either king an host of people slay:
For father and for son-in-law shall plenteous price be paid,
With Trojan and Rutulian blood shalt thou be dowered, O maid;
Bellona’s self shall bridal thee; not Cisseus’ seed alone
Was big with brand; not she alone with wedding-ring has shone:
Yea, and this too is Venus’ child; another Paris comes
To kindle deadly torch again in new-born Trojan homes.”
So spake she terrible, and sank into the earth below,
Yea to the nether night, and stirred Alecto, forge of woe,
From the dread Goddesses’ abode: sad wars she loveth well,
And murderous wrath, and lurking guile, and evil deeds and fell:
E’en Pluto loathes her; yea, e’en they of that Tartarean place,
Her sisters, hate her: sure she hath as many a changing face,
As many a cruel body’s form, as her black snakes put forth.
To whom in such wise Juno spake and whetted on her wrath:
“Win me a work after thine heart, O Virgin of the night,
Lest all my fame, unstained of old, my glory won aright,
Give place: lest there Æneas’ sons Latinus overcome
By wedlock, and in Italy set up their house and home:
Thou, who the brothers of one heart canst raise up each ‘gainst each,
And overturn men’s homes with hate, and through the house-walls’ breach
Bear in the stroke and deadly brand — a thousand names hast thou, —
A thousand arts of ill: Stir up thy fruitful bosom now;
Be render of the plighted peace; of war-seed be the sower;
That men may yearn for arms, and ask, and snatch in one same hour.”
Thereon Alecto, steeped at heart with Gorgon venoming.
Sought Latium first and high-built house of that Laurentian king,
And by the silent threshold stood whereby Amata lay,
In whose hot heart a woman’s woe and woman’s wrath did play,
About those Teucrian new-comers and Turnus’ bridal bed:
On her she cast an adder blue, a tress from off her head,
And sent it to her breast to creep her very heart-strings through,
That she, bewildered by the bane, may all the house undo.
So he betwixt her bosom smooth and dainty raiment slid,
And crawled as if he touched her not, and maddened her yet hid,
And breathed the adder’s soul in her: the dreadful wormy thing
Seemed the wrought gold about her neck, or the long silken string
That knit her hair, and slippery soft it glided o’er her limbs.
And now while first the plague begins, and soft the venom swims,
Touching her sense, and round her bones the fiery web is pressed,
Nor yet her soul had caught the flame through all her poisoned breast,
Still soft, and e’en as mothers will, she spake the word and said
Her woes about her daughter’s case, and Phrygian bridal bed.
“To Teucrian outcasts shall our maid, Lavinia, wedded be?
O Father, hast thou nought of ruth of her, forsooth, and thee?
Nor of the mother, whom that man forsworn shall leave behind,
Bearing the maiden o’er the sea with the first northern wind?
Nay, not e’en so the Phrygian herd pierced Lacedæmon’s fold,
And bore Ledæan Helen off unto the Trojan hold.
Nay, where is gone thine hallowed faith, thy kinsomeness of yore?
Thine hand that oft to Turnus’ hand, thy kinsman, promise bore?
Lo, if we needs must seek a son strange to the Latin folk,
And Father Faunus’ words on thee are e’en so strait a yoke,
I deem, indeed, that every land free from our kingdom’s sway
Is stranger land, and even so I deem the Gods would say:
And Turnus comes, if we shall seek beginning of his race.
From Inachus, Acrisius old, and mid Mycenæ’s place.”
But when she thus had said in vain, and saw Latinus still
Withstand her: when all inwardly the maddening serpent’s ill
Hath smitten through her heart of hearts and passed through all her frame,
Then verily the hapless one, with dreadful things aflame,
Raves through the city’s length and breadth in God-wrought agonies:
As ‘neath the stroke of twisted lash at whiles the whip-top flies,
Which lads all eager for the game drive, ever circling wide
Round some void hall; it, goaded on beneath the strip of hide,
From circle unto circle goes; the silly childish throng
Still hanging o’er, and wondering how the box-tree spins along,
The while their lashes make it live: no quieter she ran
Through the mid city, borne amid fierce hearts of many a man.
Then in the wilderness she feigns the heart that Bacchus fills,
And stirs a greater madness up, beginning greater ills,
And mid the leafy mountain-side her daughter hides away,
To snatch her from the Teucrian bed, the bridal torch to stay;
Foaming: “Hail, Bacchus! thou alone art worthy lord to wed
This virgin thing: for thee she takes the spear’s soft-fruited head,
For thee she twinkleth dancing feet, and feeds her holy hair.”
The rumour flies, and one same rage all mother-folk doth bear,
&n
bsp; Heart-kindled by the Fury’s ill, to roofs of all unrest:
They flee the house and let the wind play free o’er hair and breast:
While others fill the very heavens with shrilly quivering wail,
And skin-clad toss about the spear the wreathing vine-leaves veil:
But she ablaze amidst of them upholds the fir-lit flame,
And sings her daughter’s bridal song, and sings of Turnus’ name,
Rolling her blood-shot eyes about; then eager suddenly
She shouts: “Ho, mothers! Latin wives, wherever ye may be,
Hearken! if in your righteous souls abideth any love
Of lorn Amata; if your souls a mother’s right may move,
Cast off the fillets from your locks, with me the madness bear.”
So through the woodland wilderness and deserts of the deer
Alecto drave the Queen around, with Bacchus’ stings beset
But when she deemed enough was wrought that rage of hers to whet,
And that Latinus’ rede and house was utterly undone,
Forthwith away on dusky wings is borne that evil one
Unto the bold Rutulian’s wall: a city, saith the tale,
Raised up by Danaë for her Acrisian folks’ avail
When on the hurrying South she fled: Ardea in days of yore
Our fathers called it; nor as yet is name thereof passed o’er,
Though wealth be gone: there Turnus lay within his house on high,
And midmost sleep of dusky night was winning peacefully.
When there Alecto cruel face and hellish body shed,
And to an ancient woman’s like her shape she fashionèd,
Wrinkling her forehead villanous; and hoary coifèd hair
She donned, and round about it twined the olive-garland fair,
And seemed the ancient Calybé of Juno’s holy place;
And so with such a word she thrust before the hero’s face:
“Turnus, and wilt thou bear it now, such labour spent in vain,
And give thy folk to Dardan men, the outcasts of the main?
The King gainsays thy wedding couch, and dowry justly bought
By very blood, and for his throne an outland heir is sought.
Go, thou bemocked, and thrust thyself mid perils none shall thank;
For cloaking of the Latin peace o’erthrow the Tuscan rank!
The mighty Saturn’s Seed herself hath bid me openly
To bear thee this, while thou in peace of middle night shouldst lie.
So up! be merry! arm the lads! bid wend from out the gate.
Up, up, and arm! The Phrygian folk who in the fair stream wait,
Burn thou their dukes of men with fire! burn every painted keel!
’Tis heavenly might that biddeth this. Let King Latinus feel
Thy strength, and learn to know at last what meaneth Turnus’ sword,
Unless he grant the wedding yet, and hold his plighted word.”
But therewithal the young man spake, and answered her in scorn:
“Thou errest: tidings of all this failed nowise to be borne
Unto mine ears, how stranger ships the Tiber-flood beset.
Nay, make me not so sore afeared, — belike she minds me yet,
Juno, the Queen of Heaven aloft.
Nay, mother, Eld the mouldy-dull, the empty of all sooth,
Tormenteth thee with cares in vain, and mid the arms of kings
Bemocks the seer with idle shows of many fearful things.
Nay, ’tis for thee to watch God’s house, and ward the images,
And let men deal with peace and war; for they were born for these.”
But at such word Alecto’s wrath in utter fire outbrake;
A tremor ran throughout his limbs e’en as the word he spake;
Fixed stared his eyes, the Fury hissed with Serpent-world so dread,
And such a mighty body woke: then rolling in her head
Her eyes of flame, she thrust him back, stammering and seeking speech,
As on her head she reared aloft two adders each by each,
And sounded all her fearful whip, and cried from raving mouth:
“Lo, I am she, the mouldy-dull, whom Eld, the void of sooth,
Bemocks amid the arms of kings with empty lies of fear!
Look, look! for from the Sisters’ House, the Dread Ones, come I here;
And war and death I have in hand.”
She spake, and on the youth she cast her torch and set its blaze,
A mirky gleam of smoke-wreathed flame, amidmost of his heart:
And mighty dread his slumber brake, and forth from every part,
From bones and body, burst the sweat, and o’er his limbs ‘gan fall;
And wild he cries for arms, and seeks for arms from bed and wall:
The sword-lust rageth in his soul, and wicked thirst of war.
So was it as at whiles it is, when with a mighty roar
The twiggen flame goes up about the hollow side of brass;
The water leapeth up therewith, within comes rage to pass,
The while the cloudy foaming flood spouts up a bubbling stir,
Until the sea refrains no more; the black cloud flies in air.
So to the dukes of men he shows how peace hath evil end,
And on Latinus biddeth them in weed of war to wend;
That they may save their Italy, and thrust the foemen forth.
And he will fare unto the field more than the twain of worth,
Teucrians and Latins: so he saith, and calls the Gods to aid.
Then eagerly Rutulian men to war and battle bade:
For some his glorious beauty stirred, and some his youth drave on,
And some his sires; and some were moved by deeds his hand had done.
But while he fills Rutulian souls with love for glorious things,
Alecto to the Teucrians wends on Stygian-fashioned wings,
With fresh guile spying out the place where goodly on the shore,
With toils and speed ‘gainst woodland beasts, Iulus waged the war.
Here for his hounds Cocytus’ Maid a sudden madness blent,
Crossing the nostrils of the beasts with long familiar scent,
As eagerly they chased a hart. This first began the toil,
And kindled field-abiders’ souls to war and deadly broil.
There was a hart most excellent, a noble hornèd thing,
That Tyrrheus’ sons had stolen from its own dam’s cherishing,
And fostered: he, their father, had the kingly herd to heed,
And well was trusted far and wide, the warden of the mead.
But to their sister Sylvia’s hand the beast was used, and oft
She decked him lovingly, and wreathed his horns with leafage soft,
And combed him oft, and washed him oft in water of the well.
Tame to her hand, and used enow amid manfolk to dwell,
He strayed the woods; but day by day betook him evermore,
Of his own will at twilight-tide, to that familiar door.
Him now Iulus’ hunting hounds mad-eager chanced to stir
Afar from home, and floating whiles adown the river fair,
Or whiles on bank of grassy green beguiling summer’s flame.
Therewith Ascanius, all afire with lust of noble fame,
Turned on the beast the spiky reed from out the curvèd horn;
Nor lacked the God to his right hand; on was the arrow borne
With plenteous whirr, and smote the hart through belly and through flank;
Who, wounded, to the well-known house fled fast, and groaning shrank
Into the stalls of his abode, and bloody, e’en as one
Who cries for pity, filled the place with woefulness of moan.
Then first the sister Sylvia there, smiting her breast, cried out,
Calling to aid the hardy hearts of field-folk thereabout;
And swifter than the thought they came; for sti
ll that bitter Bane
Lurked in the silent woods: this man a half-burned brand did gain
For weapon; that a knotted stake: whate’er came first to hand,
The seeker’s wrath a weapon made: there Tyrrheus cheers his band,
Come from the cleaving of an oak with foursome driven wedge,
Panting and fierce he tossed aloft the wood-bill’s grinded edge.
But she, that Evil, on the watch, noting the death anigh,
Climbs up upon the stall-house loft, and from its roof on high
Singeth the shepherd’s gathering sign, and through the crookèd horn
Sends voice of hell: and e’en therewith, as forth the notes were borne,
The forest trembled; the deep woods resounded; yea afar
The mere of Trivia heard the sound, and that white water, Nar,
That bears the sulphur down its stream; the Veline well-springs heard:
Mothers caught up their little ones, and trembled sore afeard.
Then hurrying at the voice sent forth by the dread war-horn’s song,
The hardy-hearted folk of fields from everywhither throng,
With weapons caught in haste: and now the Trojan folk withal
Pour from their opened gates, and on to aid Ascanius fall.
And there the battle is arrayed; and now no war they wake,
Where field-folk strive with knotty club or fire-behardened stake;
But with the two-edged sword they strive: the meadows bristle black
With harvest of the naked steel: the gleaming brass throws back
Unto the clouds that swim aloft the smiting of the sun:
As when the whitening of the wind across the flood doth run,
And step by step the sea gets up, and higher heaps the wave,
Until heaven-high it sweeps at last up from its lowest cave.
And here, by dint of whistling shaft in forefront of the fight,
A youth, e’en Tyrrheus’ eldest son, by name of Almo hight,
Was laid alow: there in his throat the reedy bane abode,
And shut with blood the path of speech, the tender life-breath’s road.
And many a body fell around: there, thrusting through the press
With peaceful word, Galæsus old died in his righteousness;
Most just of men; most rich erewhile of all Ausonian land:
Five flocks of bleaters once he had: five-fold came home to hand
His herds of neat: an hundred ploughs turned up the earth for him.
But while they wrought these deeds of Mars mid doubtful fate and dim,
The Goddess, strong in pledge fulfilled, since she the war had stained
