Complete Works of Virgil

by Virgil

Who shall be mighty spirits, and prolong

  Our names, their heritage. I will unfold

  The story, and reveal the destined years.

  Yon princeling, thou beholdest leaning there

  Upon a royal lance, shall next emerge

  Into the realms of day. He is the first

  Of half-Italian strain, the last-born heir

  To thine old age by fair Lavinia given,

  Called Silvius, a royal Alban name

  (Of sylvan birth and sylvan nurture he),

  A king himself and sire of kings to come,

  By whom our race in Alba Longa reign.

  Next Procas stands, our Trojan people’s boast;

  Capys and Numitor, and, named like thee,

  Aeneas Sylvius, like thee renowned

  For faithful honor and for deeds of war,

  When he ascends at last his Alban throne.

  Behold what warrior youth they be! How strong

  Their goodly limbs! Above their shaded brows

  The civic oak they wear! For thee they build

  Nomentum, and the walls of Gabii,

  Fidena too, and on the mountains pile

  Collatia’s citadels, Pometii,

  Bola and Cora, Castrum-Inui —

  Such be the names the nameless lands shall bear.

  See, in that line of sires the son of Mars,

  Great Romulus, of Ilian mother born,

  From far-descended line of Trojan kings!

  See from his helm the double crest uprear,

  While his celestial father in his mien

  Shows forth his birth divine! Of him, my son,

  Great Rome shall rise, and, favored of his star,

  Have power world-wide, and men of godlike mind.

  She clasps her seven hills in single wall,

  Proud mother of the brave! So Cybele,

  The Berecynthian goddess, castle-crowned,

  On through the Phrygian kingdoms speeds her car,

  Exulting in her hundred sons divine,

  All numbered with the gods, all throned on high.

  “Let now thy visionary glance look long

  On this thy race, these Romans that be thine.

  Here Caesar, of Iulus’ glorious seed,

  Behold ascending to the world of light!

  Behold, at last, that man, for this is he,

  So oft unto thy listening ears foretold,

  Augustus Caesar, kindred unto Jove.

  He brings a golden age; he shall restore

  Old Saturn’s sceptre to our Latin land,

  And o’er remotest Garamant and Ind

  His sway extend; the fair dominion

  outruns th’ horizon planets, yea, beyond

  The sun’s bright path, where Atlas’ shoulder bears

  Yon dome of heaven set thick with burning stars.

  Against his coming the far Caspian shores

  Break forth in oracles; the Maeotian land

  Trembles, and all the seven-fold mouths of Nile.

  Not o’er domain so wide Alcides passed,

  Although the brazen-footed doe he slew

  And stilled the groves of Erymanth, and bade

  The beast of Lerna at his arrows quail.

  Nor half so far triumphant Baechus drove,

  With vine-entwisted reins, his frolic team

  Of tigers from the tall-topped Indian hill.

  “Still do we doubt if heroes’ deeds can fill

  A realm so wide? Shall craven fear constrain

  Thee or thy people from Ausonia’s shore?

  Look, who is he I may discern from far

  By olive-branch and holy emblems known?

  His flowing locks and hoary beard, behold!

  Fit for a Roman king! By hallowed laws

  He shall found Rome anew — from mean estate

  In lowly Cures led to mightier sway.

  But after him arises one whose reign

  Shall wake the land from slumber: Tullus then

  Shall stir slack chiefs to battle, rallying

  His hosts which had forgot what triumphs be.

  Him boastful Ancus follows hard upon,

  o’erflushed with his light people’s windy praise.

  Wilt thou see Tarquins now? And haughty hand

  Of vengeful Brutus seize the signs of power?

  He first the consul’s name shall take; he first

  Th’ inexorable fasces sternly bear.

  When his own sons in rash rebellion join,

  The father and the judge shall sentence give

  In beauteous freedom’s cause — unhappy he!

  Howe’er the age to come the story tell,

  ‘t will bless such love of honor and of Rome.

  See Decius, sire and son, the Drusi, see!

  Behold Torquatus with his axe! Look where

  Camillus brings the Gallic standards home!

  “But who are these in glorious armor clad

  And equal power? In this dark world of cloud

  Their souls in concord move; — but woe is me!

  What duel ‘twixt them breaks, when by and by

  The light of life is theirs, and forth they call

  Their long-embattled lines to carnage dire!

  Allied by nuptial truce, the sire descends

  From Alpine rampart and that castled cliff,

  Monoecus by the sea; the son arrays

  His hostile legions in the lands of morn.

  Forbear, my children! School not your great souls

  In such vast wars, nor turn your giant strength

  Against the bowels of your native land!

  But be thou first, 0 first in mercy! thou

  Who art of birth Olympian! Fling away

  Thy glorious sword, mine offspring and mine heir!

  “Yonder is one whose chariot shall ascend

  The laurelled Capitolian steep; he rides

  In glory o’er Achaea’s hosts laid low,

  And Corinth overthrown. There, too, is he

  Who shall uproot proud Argos and the towers

  Of Agamemnon; vanquishing the heir

  Even of Aeacus, the warrior seed

  Of Peleus’ son; such vengeance shall be wrought

  For Troy’s slain sires, and violated shrines!

  “Or who could fail great Cato’s name to tell?

  Or, Cossus, thine? or in oblivion leave

  The sons of Gracchus? or the Scipios,

  Twin thunderbolts of war, and Libya’s bane?

  Or, more than kingly in his mean abode,

  Fabricius? or Serranus at the plough?

  Ye Fabii, how far would ye prolong

  My weary praise? But see! ‘T is Maximus,

  Who by wise waiting saves his native land.

  “Let others melt and mould the breathing bronze

  To forms more fair, — aye! out of marble bring

  Features that live; let them plead causes well;

  Or trace with pointed wand the cycled heaven,

  And hail the constellations as they rise;

  But thou, 0 Roman, learn with sovereign sway

  To rule the nations. Thy great art shall be

  To keep the world in lasting peace, to spare

  humbled foe, and crush to earth the proud.”

  So did Anchises speak, then, after pause,

  Thus to their wondering ears his word prolonged:

  “Behold Marcellus, bright with glorious spoil,

  In lifted triumph through his warriors move!

  The Roman power in tumultuous days

  He shall establish; he rides forth to quell

  Afric and rebel Gaul; and to the shrine

  Of Romulus the third-won trophy brings.”

  Then spoke Aeneas, for he now could see

  A beauteous youth in glittering dress of war,

  Though of sad forehead and down-dropping eyes:

  “Say, father, who attends the prince? a son?

  Or of his greatness some rem
oter heir?

  How his friends praise him, and how matchless he!

  But mournful night Tests darkly o’er his brow.”

  With brimming eyes Anchises answer gave:

  “Ask not, 0 son, what heavy weight of woe

  Thy race shall bear, when fate shall just reveal

  This vision to the world, then yield no more.

  0 gods above, too glorious did ye deem

  The seed of Rome, had this one gift been sure?

  The lamentation of a multitude

  Arises from the field of Mars, and strikes

  The city’s heart. 0 Father Tiber, see

  What pomp of sorrow near the new-made tomb

  Beside thy fleeting stream! What Ilian youth

  Shall e’er his Latin kindred so advance

  In hope of glory? When shall the proud land

  Of Romulus of such a nursling boast?

  Ah, woe’ is me! 0 loyal heart and true!

  0 brave, right arm invincible! What foe

  Had ‘scaped his onset in the shock of arms,

  Whether on foot he strode, or if he spurred

  The hot flanks of his war-horse flecked with foam?

  0 lost, lamented child! If thou evade

  Thy evil star, Marcellus thou shalt be.

  0 bring me lilies! Bring with liberal hand!

  Sad purple blossoms let me throw — the shade

  Of my own kin to honor, heaping high

  My gifts upon his grave! So let me pay

  An unavailing vow!”

  Then, far and wide

  Through spacious fields of air, they wander free,

  Witnessing all; Anchises guides his son

  From point to point, and quickens in his mind

  Hunger for future fame. Of wars he tells

  Soon imminent; of fair Laurentum’s tribes;

  Of King Latinus’ town; and shows what way

  Each task and hardship to prevent, or bear.

  Now Sleep has portals twain, whereof the one

  Is horn, they say, and easy exit gives

  To visions true; the other, gleaming white

  With polished ivory, the.dead employ

  To people night with unsubstantial dreams.

  Here now Anchises bids his son farewell;

  And with Sibylla, his companion sage,

  Up through that ivory portal lets him rise.

  Back to his fleet and his dear comrades all

  Aeneas hastes.

  Then hold they their straight course

  Into Caieta’s bay. An anchor holds

  Each lofty prow; the sterns stand firm on shore.

  BOOK VII

  One more immortal name thy death bequeathed,

  Nurse of Aeneas, to Italian shores,

  Caieta; there thy honor hath a home;

  Thy bones a name: and on Hesperia’s breast

  Their proper glory.When Aeneas now

  The tribute of sepulchral vows had paid

  Beside the funeral mound, and o’er the seas

  Stillness had fallen, he flung forth his sails,

  And leaving port pursued his destined way.

  Freshly the night-winds breathe; the cloudless moon

  Outpours upon his path unstinted beam,

  And with far-trembling glory smites the sea.

  Close to the lands of Circe soon they fare,

  Where the Sun’s golden daughter in far groves

  Sounds forth her ceaseless song; her lofty hall

  Is fragrant every night with flaring brands

  Of cedar, giving light the while she weaves

  With shrill-voiced shuttle at her linens fine.

  From hence are heard the loud lament and wrath

  Of lions, rebels to their linked chains

  And roaring all night long; great bristly boars

  And herded bears, in pinfold closely kept,

  Rage horribly, and monster-wolves make moan;

  Whom the dread goddess with foul juices strong

  From forms of men drove forth, and bade to wear

  the mouths and maws of beasts in Circe’s thrall.

  But lest the sacred Trojans should endure

  such prodigy of doom, or anchor there

  on that destroying shore, kind Neptune filled

  their sails with winds of power, and sped them on

  in safety past the perils of that sea.

  Now morning flushed the wave, and saffron-garbed

  Aurora from her rose-red chariot beamed

  in highest heaven; the sea-winds ceased to stir;

  a sudden calm possessed the air, and tides

  of marble smoothness met the laboring oar.

  Then, gazing from the deep, Aeneas saw

  a stretch of groves, whence Tiber’s smiling stream,

  its tumbling current rich with yellow sands,

  burst seaward forth: around it and above

  shore-haunting birds of varied voice and plume

  flattered the sky with song, and, circling far

  o’er river-bed and grove, took joyful wing.

  Thither to landward now his ships he steered,

  and sailed, high-hearted, up the shadowy stream.

  Hail, Erato! while olden kings and thrones

  and all their sequent story I unfold!

  How Latium’s honor stood, when alien ships

  brought war to Italy, and from what cause

  the primal conflict sprang, O goddess, breathe

  upon thy bard in song. Dread wars I tell,

  array of battle, and high-hearted kings

  thrust forth to perish, when Etruria’s host

  and all Hesperia gathered to the fray.

  Events of grander march impel my song,

  and loftier task I try. Latinus, then

  an aged king, held long-accepted sway

  o’er tranquil vales and towns. He was the son

  of Faunus, so the legend tells, who wed

  the nymph Marica of Laurentian stem.

  Picus was Faunus’ father, whence the line

  to Saturn’s Ioins ascends. O heavenly sire,

  from thee the stem began! But Fate had given

  to King Latinus’ body no heirs male:

  for taken in the dawning of his day

  his only son had been; and now his home

  and spacious palace one sole daughter kept,

  who was grown ripe to wed and of full age

  to take a husband. Many suitors tried

  from all Ausonia and Latium’s bounds;

  but comeliest in all their princely throng

  came Turnus, of a line of mighty sires.

  Him the queen mother chiefly loved, and yearned

  to call him soon her son. But omens dire

  and menaces from Heaven withstood her will.

  A laurel-tree grew in the royal close,

  of sacred leaf and venerated age,

  which, when he builded there his wall and tower,

  Father Latinus found, and hallowed it

  to Phoebus’ grace and power, wherefrom the name

  Laurentian, which his realm and people bear.

  Unto this tree-top, wonderful to tell,

  came hosts of bees, with audible acclaim

  voyaging the stream of air, and seized a place

  on the proud, pointing crest, where the swift swarm,

  with interlacement of close-clinging feet,

  swung from the leafy bough. “Behold, there comes,”

  the prophet cried, “a husband from afar!

  To the same region by the self-same path

  behold an arm’d host taking lordly sway

  upon our city’s crown!” Soon after this,

  when, coming to the shrine with torches pure,

  Lavinia kindled at her father’s side

  the sacrifice, swift seemed the flame to burn

  along her flowing hair — O sight of woe!

  Over her broidered snood it sparkling flew,<
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  lighting her queenly tresses and her crown

  of jewels rare: then, wrapt in flaming cloud,

  from hall to hall the fire-god’s gift she flung.

  This omen dread and wonder terrible

  was rumored far: for prophet-voices told

  bright honors on the virgin’s head to fall

  by Fate’s decree, but on her people, war.

  The King, sore troubled by these portents, sought

  oracular wisdom of his sacred sire,

  Faunus, the fate-revealer, where the groves

  stretch under high Albunea, and her stream

  roars from its haunted well, exhaling through

  vast, gloomful woods its pestilential air.

  Here all Oenotria’s tribes ask oracles

  in dark and doubtful days: here, when the priest

  has brought his gifts, and in the night so still,

  couched on spread fleeces of the offered flock,

  awaiting slumber lies, then wondrously

  a host of flitting shapes he sees, and hears

  voices that come and go: with gods he holds

  high converse, or in deep Avernian gloom

  parleys with Acheron. Thither drew near

  Father Latinus, seeking truth divine.

  Obedient to the olden rite, he slew

  a hundred fleecy sheep, and pillowed lay

  upon their outstretched skins. Straightway a voice

  out of the lofty forest met his prayer.

  “Seek not in wedlock with a Latin lord

  to join thy daughter, O my son and seed!

  Beware this purposed marriage! There shall come

  sons from afar, whose blood shall bear our name

  starward; the children of their mighty loins,

  as far as eve and morn enfold the seas,

  shall see a subject world beneath their feet

  submissive lie.” This admonition given

  Latinus hid not. But on restless wing

  rumor had spread it, when the men of Troy

  along the river-bank of mounded green

  their fleet made fast.Aeneas and his chiefs,

  with fair Iulus, under spreading boughs

  of one great tree made resting-place, and set

  the banquet on. Thin loaves of altar-bread

  along the sward to bear their meats were laid

  (such was the will of Jove), and wilding fruits

  rose heaping high, with Ceres’ gift below.

  Soon, all things else devoured, their hunger turned

  to taste the scanty bread, which they attacked

  with tooth and nail audacious, and consumed

  both round and square of that predestined leaven.

  “Look, how we eat our tables even!” cried

  Iulus, in a jest. Such was the word

  which bade their burdens fall. From his boy’s lip

  the father caught this utterance of Fate,