Complete Works of Virgil

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Complete Works of Virgil Page 191

by Virgil


  whence gleam the brazen arms. The warriors ride

  straight on through brake and fell, the nearest way;

  loud ring the war-cries, and in martial line

  the pounding hoof-beats shake the crumbling ground.

  By Caere’s cold flood lies an ample grove

  revered from age to age. The hollowing hills

  enclasp it in wide circles of dark fir,

  and the Pelasgians, so the legends tell,

  primaeval settlers of the Latin plains,

  called it the haunt of Silvan, kindly god

  of flocks and fields, and honoring the grove

  gave it a festal day. Hard by this spot

  had Tarchon with the Tuscans fortified

  his bivouac, and from the heights afar

  his legions could be seen in wide array

  outstretching through the plain. To meet them there

  Aeneas and his veteran chivalry

  made sure advance, and found repose at eve

  for warrior travel-worn and fainting steed.

  But now athwart the darkening air of heaven

  came Venus gleaming bright, to bring her son

  the gifts divine. In deep, sequestered vale

  she found him by a cooling rill retired,

  and hailed him thus: “Behold the promised gift,

  by craft and power of my Olympian spouse

  made perfect, that my son need never fear

  Laurentum’s haughty host, nor to provoke

  fierce Turnus to the fray.” Cythera’s Queen

  so saying, embraced her son, and hung the arms,

  all glittering, on an oak that stood thereby.

  The hero, with exultant heart and proud,

  gazing unwearied at his mother’s gift,

  surveys them close, and poises in his hands

  the helmet’s dreadful crest and glancing flame,

  the sword death-dealing, and the corselet strong,

  impenetrable brass, blood-red and large,

  like some dark-lowering, purple cloud that gleams

  beneath the smiting sun and flashes far

  its answering ray; and burnished greaves were there,

  fine gold and amber; then the spear and shield —

  the shield — of which the blazonry divine

  exceeds all power to tell. Thereon were seen

  Italia’s story and triumphant Rome,

  wrought by the Lord of Fire, who was not blind

  to lore inspired and prophesying song,

  fore-reading things to come. He pictured there

  Iulus’ destined line of glorious sons

  marshalled for many a war. In cavern green,

  haunt of the war-god, lay the mother-wolf;

  the twin boy-sucklings at her udders played,

  nor feared such nurse; with long neck backward thrown

  she fondled each, and shaped with busy tongue

  their bodies fair. Near these were pictured well

  the walls of Rome and ravished Sabine wives

  in the thronged theatre violently seized,

  when the great games were done; then, sudden war

  of Romulus against the Cures grim

  and hoary Tatius; next, the end of strife

  between the rival kings, who stood in arms

  before Jove’s sacred altar, cup in hand,

  and swore a compact o’er the slaughtered swine.

  Hard by, behold, the whirling chariots tore

  Mettus asunder (would thou hadst been true,

  false Alban, to thy vow!); and Tullus trailed

  the traitor’s mangled corse along the hills,

  the wild thorn dripping gore. Porsenna, next,

  sent to revolted Rome his proud command

  to take her Tarquin back, and with strong siege

  assailed the city’s wall; while unsubdued

  Aeneas’ sons took arms in freedom’s name.

  there too the semblance of the frustrate King,

  a semblance of his wrath and menace vain,

  when Cocles broke the bridge, and Cloelia burst

  her captive bonds and swam the Tiber’s wave.

  Lo, on the steep Tarpeian citadel

  stood Manlius at the sacred doors of Jove,

  holding the capitol, whereon was seen

  the fresh-thatched house of Romulus the King.

  There, too, all silver, through arcade of gold

  fluttered the goose, whose monitory call

  revealed the foeman at the gate: outside

  besieging Gauls the thorny pathway climbed,

  ambushed in shadow and the friendly dark

  of night without a star; their flowing hair

  was golden, and their every vesture gold;

  their cloaks were glittering plaid; each milk-white neck

  bore circlet of bright gold; in each man’s hand

  two Alpine javelins gleamed, and for defence

  long shields the wild northern warriors bore.

  There, graven cunningly, the Salian choir

  went leaping, and in Lupercalian feast

  the naked striplings ran; while others, crowned

  with peaked cap, bore shields that fell from heaven;

  and, bearing into Rome their emblems old,

  chaste priestesses on soft-strewn litters passed.

  But far from these th’ artificer divine

  had wrought a Tartarus, the dreadful doors

  of Pluto, and the chastisements of sin;

  swung o’er a threatening precipice, was seen

  thy trembling form, O Catiline, in fear

  of fury-faces nigh: and distant far

  th’ assemblies of the righteous, in whose midst

  was Cato, giving judgment and decree.

  Encircled by these pictures ran the waves

  of vast, unrestful seas in flowing gold,

  where seemed along the azure crests to fly

  the hoary foam, and in a silver ring

  the tails of swift, emerging dolphins lashed

  the waters bright, and clove the tumbling brine.

  For the shield’s central glory could be seen

  great fleets of brazen galleys, and the fight

  at Actium; where, ablaze with war’s array,

  Leucate’s peak glowed o’er the golden tide.

  Caesar Augustus led Italia’s sons

  to battle: at his side concordant moved

  Senate and Roman People, with their gods

  of hearth and home, and all Olympian Powers.

  Uplifted on his ship he stands; his brows

  beneath a double glory smile, and bright

  over his forehead beams the Julian star.

  in neighboring region great Agrippa leads,

  by favor of fair winds and friendly Heaven,

  his squadron forth: upon his brows he wears

  the peerless emblem of his rostral crown.

  Opposing, in barbaric splendor shine

  the arms of Antony: in victor’s garb

  from nations in the land of morn he rides,

  and from the Red Sea, bringing in his train

  Egypt and Syria, utmost Bactria’s horde,

  and last — O shameless! — his Egyptian spouse.

  All to the fight make haste; the slanted oars

  and triple beaks of brass uptear the waves

  to angry foam, as to the deep they speed

  like hills on hill-tops hurled, or Cyclades

  drifting and clashing in the sea: so vast

  that shock of castled ships and mighty men!

  Swift, arrowy steel and balls of blazing tow

  rain o’er the waters, till the sea-god’s world

  flows red with slaughter. In the midst, the Queen,

  sounding her native timbrel, wildly calls

  her minions to the fight, nor yet can see

  two fatal asps behind. Her monster-gods,

  barking Anubis, and his mong
rel crew,

  on Neptune, Venus, and Minerva fling

  their impious arms; the face of angry Mars,

  carved out of iron, in the centre frowns,

  grim Furies fill the air; Discordia strides

  in rent robe, mad with joy; and at her side,

  bellona waves her sanguinary scourge.

  There Actian Apollo watched the war,

  and o’er it stretched his bow; which when they knew,

  Egyptian, Arab, and swart Indian slave,

  and all the sons of Saba fled away

  in terror of his arm. The vanquished Queen

  made prayer to all the winds, and more and more

  flung out the swelling sail: on wind-swept wave

  she fled through dead and dying; her white brow

  the Lord of Fire had cunningly portrayed

  blanched with approaching doom. Beyond her lay

  the large-limbed picture of the mournful Nile,

  who from his bosom spread his garments wide,

  and offered refuge in his sheltering streams

  and broad, blue breast, to all her fallen power.

  But Caesar in his triple triumph passed

  the gates of Rome, and gave Italia’s gods,

  for grateful offering and immortal praise,

  three hundred temples; all the city streets

  with game and revel and applauding song

  rang loud; in all the temples altars burned

  and Roman matrons prayed; the slaughtered herds

  strewed well the sacred ground. The hero, throned

  at snow-white marble threshold of the fane

  to radiant Phoebus, views the gift and spoil

  the nations bring, and on the portals proud

  hangs a perpetual garland: in long file

  the vanquished peoples pass, of alien tongues,

  of arms and vesture strange. Here Vulcan showed

  ungirdled Afric chiefs and Nomads bold,

  Gelonian bowmen, men of Caria,

  and Leleges. Euphrates seemed to flow

  with humbler wave; the world’s remotest men,

  Morini came, with double-horned Rhine,

  and Dahae, little wont to bend the knee,

  and swift Araxes, for a bridge too proud.

  Such was the blazoned shield his mother gave

  from Vulcan’s forge; which with astonished eyes

  Aeneas viewed, and scanned with joyful mind

  such shadows of an unknown age to be;

  then on his shoulder for a burden bore

  the destined mighty deeds of all his sons.

  BOOK IX

  While thus in distant region moves the war,

  down to bold Turnus Saturn’s daughter sends

  celestial Iris. In a sacred vale,

  the seat of worship at his grandsire’s tomb,

  Pilumnus, Faunus’ son, the hero mused.

  And thus the wonder-child of Thaumas called

  with lips of rose: “O Turnus, what no god

  dared give for reward of thy fondest vow,

  has come unbidden on its destined day.

  Behold, Aeneas, who has left behind

  the city with his fleet and followers,

  is gone to kingly Palatine, the home

  of good Evander. Yea, his march invades

  the far Etrurian towns, where now he arms

  the Lydian rustics. Wilt thou longer muse?

  Call for thy chariot and steeds! Away!

  Take yonder tents by terror and surprise!”

  She spoke; and heavenward on poising wings

  soared, cleaving as she fled from cloud to cloud

  a vast, resplendent bow. The warrior saw,

  and, lifting both his hands, pursued with prayer

  the fading glory: “Beauteous Iris, hail!

  Proud ornament of heaven! who sent thee here

  across yon cloud to earth, and unto me?

  Whence may this sudden brightness fall? I see

  the middle welkin lift, and many a star,

  far-wandering in the sky. Such solemn sign

  I shall obey, and thee, O god unknown!”

  So saying, he turned him to a sacred stream,

  took water from its brim, and offered Heaven

  much prayer, with many an importuning vow.

  Soon o’er the spreading fields in proud array

  the gathered legions poured; no lack was there

  of steeds all fire, and broidered pomp and gold.

  Messapus led the van; in rearguard rode

  the sons of Tyrrheus; kingly Turnus towered

  from the mid-column eminent: the host

  moved as great Ganges lifting silently

  his seven peaceful streams, or when the flood

  of fructifying Nile from many a field

  back to his channel flows. A swift-blown cloud

  of black, uprolling dust the Teucrians see

  o’ershadowing the plain; Calcus calls

  from lofty outpost: “O my countrymen,

  I see a huge, black ball of rolling smoke.

  Your swords and lances! Man the walls! To arms!

  The foe is here! What ho!” With clamors loud

  the Teucrians through the city-gates retire,

  and muster on the walls. For, wise in war,

  Aeneas, ere he went, had left command

  they should not range in battle-line, nor dare,

  whate’er might hap, to risk in open plain

  the bold sortie, but keep them safe entrenched

  in mounded walls. So now, though rage and shame

  prick to a close fight, they defensive bar

  each portal strong, and, patient of control,

  from hollow towers expect th’ encircling foe.

  Turnus, at full speed, had outridden far

  his laggard host, and, leading in his train

  a score of chosen knights, dashed into view

  hard by the walls. A barb of Thracian breed

  dappled with white he rode; a crimson plume

  flamed over his golden helmet. “Who,” he cries,

  “Is foremost at the foe? Who follows me?

  Behold!” And, with the word, he hurled in air

  a javelin, provoking instant war:

  and, towering from his horse, charged o’er the field.

  With answering shout his men-at-arms pursue,

  and war-cries terrible. They laugh to scorn

  “the craven hearts of Troy, that cannot give

  fair, equal vantage, matching man to man,

  but cuddle into camp.” This way and that

  Turnus careers, and stormily surveys

  the frowning rampart, and where way is none

  some entering breach would find: so prowls a wolf

  nigh the full sheepfold, and through wind and rain

  stands howling at the postern all night long;

  beneath the ewes their bleating lambs lie safe;

  but he, with undesisting fury, more

  rages from far, made frantic for his prey

  by hunger of long hours, his foaming jaws

  athirst for blood: not less the envy burned

  of the Rutulian, as he scanned in vain

  the stronghold of his foe. Indignant scorn

  thrilled all his iron frame. But how contrive

  to storm the fortress or by force expel

  the Trojans from the rampart, and disperse

  along the plain? Straightway he spied the ships,

  in hiding near the camp, defended well

  by mounded river-bank and fleeting wave.

  On these he fell; while his exultant crew

  brought firebrands, and he with heart aflame

  grasped with a vengeful hand the blazing pine.

  To the wild work his followers sped; for who

  could prove him craven under Turnus’ eye?

  The whole troop for the weapon of their rage

  seized s
moking coals, of many a hearth the spoil;

  red glare of fuming torches burned abroad,

  and Vulcan starward flung a sparkling cloud.

  What god, O Muses, saved the Trojans then

  from wrathful flame? Who shielded then the fleet,

  I pray you tell, from bursting storm of fire?

  From hoary eld the tale, but its renown

  sings on forever. When Aeneas first

  on Phrygian Ida hewed the sacred wood

  for rib and spar, and soon would put to sea,

  that mighty mother of the gods, they say,

  the Berecynthian goddess, thus to Jove

  addressed her plea: “Grant, O my son, a boon,

  which thy dear mother asks, who aided thee

  to quell Olympian war. A grove I have

  of sacred pine, long-loved from year to year.

  On lofty hill it grew, and thither came

  my worshippers with gifts, in secret gloom

  of pine-trees dark and shadowing maple-boughs.;

  these on the Dardan warrior at his need

  I, not unwilling, for his fleet bestowed.

  But I have fears. O, Iet a parent’s prayer

  in this prevail, and bid my care begone!

  Let not rude voyages nor the shock of storm

  my ships subdue, but let their sacred birth

  on my charmed hills their strength and safety be!”

  Then spake her son, who guides the wheeling spheres:

  “Wouldst thou, my mother, strive to oversway

  the course of Fate? What means this prayer of thine?

  Can it be granted ships of mortal mould

  to wear immortal being? Wouldst thou see

  Aeneas pass undoubting and secure

  through doubtful strait and peril? On what god

  was e’er such power bestowed? Yet will I grant

  a different boon. Whatever ships shall find

  a safe Ausonian haven, and convey

  safe through the seas to yon Laurentian plain

  the Dardan King, from such I will remove

  their perishable shapes, and bid them be

  sea-nymphs divine, like Nereus’ daughters fair,

  Doto and Galatea, whose white breasts

  divide the foaming wave.” He said, and swore

  by his Tartarean brother’s mournful stream,

  the pitch-black floods and dark engulfing shore

  of Styx; then great Jove bowed his head, and all

  Olympus quaked at his consenting brow.

  Now was the promised day at hand (for Fate

  had woven the web so far) when Turnus’ rage

  stirred the divine progenitress to save

  her sacred ships from fire. Then sudden shone

  a strange effulgence in the eastern air;

  and in a storm-cloud wafted o’er the sky

  were Corybantic choirs, whose dreadful song

 

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