Complete Works of Virgil

by Virgil

  such was thy promise. Let the victory fall

  to victors of thy choice! If nowhere lies

  the land thy cruel Queen would deign accord

  unto the Teucrian people, — O my sire,

  I pray thee by yon smouldering wreck of Troy

  to let Ascanius from the clash of arms

  escape unscathed. Let my own offspring live!

  Yea, let Aeneas, tossed on seas unknown,

  find some chance way; let my right hand avail

  to shelter him and from this fatal war

  in safety bring. For Amathus is mine,

  mine are Cythera and the Paphian hills

  and temples in Idalium. Let him drop

  the sword, and there live out inglorious days.

  By thy decree let Carthage overwhelm

  Ausonia’s power; nor let defence be found

  to stay the Tyrian arms! What profits it

  that he escaped the wasting plague of war

  and fled Argolic fires? or that he knew

  so many perils of wide wilderness

  and waters rude? The Teucrians seek in vain

  new-born Troy in Latium. Better far

  crouched on their country’s ashes to abide,

  and keep that spot of earth where once was Troy!

  Give back, O Father, I implore thee, give

  Xanthus and Simois back! Let Teucer’s sons

  unfold once more the tale of Ilium’s woe!”

  Then sovereign Juno, flushed with solemn scorn,

  made answer. “Dost thou bid me here profane

  the silence of my heart, and gossip forth

  of secret griefs? What will of god or man

  impelled Aeneas on his path of war,

  or made him foeman of the Latin King?

  Fate brought him to Italia? Be it so!

  Cassandra’s frenzy he obeyed. What voice —

  say, was it mine? — urged him to quit his camp,

  risk life in storms, or trust his war, his walls,

  to a boy-captain, or stir up to strife

  Etruria’s faithful, unoffending sons?

  What god, what pitiless behest of mine,

  impelled him to such harm? Who traces here

  the hand of Juno, or of Iris sped

  from heaven? Is it an ignoble stroke

  that Italy around the new-born Troy

  makes circling fire, and Turnus plants his heel

  on his hereditary earth, the son

  of old Pilumnus and the nymph divine,

  Venilia? For what offence would Troy

  bring sword and fire on Latium, or enslave

  lands of an alien name, and bear away

  plunder and spoil? Why seek they marriages,

  and snatch from arms of love the plighted maids?

  An olive-branch is in their hands; their ships

  make menace of grim steel. Thy power one day

  ravished Aeneas from his Argive foes,

  and gave them shape of cloud and fleeting air

  to strike at for a man. Thou hast transformed

  his ships to daughters of the sea. What wrong

  if I, not less, have lent the Rutuli

  something of strength in war? Aeneas, then,

  is far away and knows not! Far away

  let him remain, not knowing! If thou sway’st

  Cythera, Paphos, and Idalium,

  why rouse a city pregnant with loud wars,

  and fiery hearts provoke? That fading power

  of Phrygia, do I, forsooth, essay

  to ruin utterly? O, was it I

  exposed ill-fated Troy to Argive foe?

  For what offence in vast array of arms

  did Europe rise and Asia, for a rape

  their peace dissolving? Was it at my word

  th’ adulterous Dardan shepherd came to storm

  the Spartan city? Did my hand supply

  his armament, or instigate a war

  for Cupid’s sake? Then was thy decent hour

  to tremble for thy children; now too late

  the folly of thy long lament to Heaven,

  and objurgation vain.” Such Juno’s plea;

  the throng of gods with voices loud or low

  gave various reply: as gathering winds

  sing through the tree-tops in dark syllables,

  and fling faint murmur on the far-off sea,

  to tell some pilot of to-morrow’s storm.

  Then Jupiter omnipotent, whose hands

  have governance supreme, began reply;

  deep silence at his word Olympus knew,

  Earth’s utmost cavern shook; the realms of light

  were silent; the mild zephyrs breathed no more,

  and perfect calm o’erspread the levelled sea.

  “Give ear, ye gods, and in your hearts record

  my mandate and decree. Fate yet allows

  no peace ‘twixt Troy and Italy, nor bids

  your quarrel end. Therefore, what Chance this day

  to either foe shall bring, whatever hope

  either may cherish, — the Rutulian cause

  and Trojan have like favor in my eyes.

  The destinies of Italy constrain

  the siege; which for the fault of Troy fulfills

  an oracle of woe. Yon Rutule host

  I scatter not. But of his own attempt

  let each the triumph and the burden bear;

  for Jove is over all an equal King.

  The Fates will find the way.” The god confirmed

  his sentence by his Stygian brother’s wave,

  the shadowy flood and black, abysmal shore.

  He nodded; at the bending of his brow

  Olympus shook. It is the council’s end.

  Now from the golden throne uprises Jove;

  the train of gods attend him to the doors.

  Meanwhile at every gate the Rutule foe

  urges the slaughter on, and closes round

  the battlements with ring of flame. The host

  of Trojans, prisoned in the palisades,

  lies in strict siege and has no hope to fly.

  In wretched plight they man the turrets tall,

  to no avail, and with scant garrison

  the ramparts crown. In foremost line of guard

  are Asius Imbrasides, the twin

  Assaraci, and Hicetaon’s son

  Thymoetes, and with Castor at his side

  the veteran Thymbris; then the brothers both

  of slain Sarpedon, and from Lycian steep

  Clarus and Themon. With full-straining thews

  lifting a rock, which was of some huge hill

  no fragment small, Lyrnesian Acmon stood;

  nor less than Clytius his sire he seemed,

  nor Mnestheus his great brother. Some defend

  the wall with javelins; some hurl down stones

  or firebrands, or to the sounding string

  fit arrows keen. But lo! amid the throng,

  well worth to Venus her protecting care,

  the Dardan boy, whose princely head shone forth

  without a helm, like radiant jewel set

  in burnished gold for necklace or for crown;

  or like immaculate ivory inclosed

  in boxwood or Orician terebinth;

  his tresses o’er his white neck rippled down,

  confined in circlet of soft twisted gold.

  Thee, too, the warrior nations gaze upon,

  high-nurtured Ismarus, inflicting wounds

  with shafts of venomed reed: Maeonia’s vale

  thy cradle was, where o’er the fruitful fields

  well-tilled and rich, Pactolus pours his gold.

  Mnestheus was there, who, for his late repulse

  of Turnus from the rampart, towered forth

  in glory eminent; there Capys stood,

  whose name the Capuan citadel shall bear.

  While these in many a shock of grievous war

>   hotly contend, Aeneas cleaves his way

  at midnight through the waters. He had fared

  from old Evander to th’ Etruscan folk,

  addressed their King, and to him told the tale

  of his own race and name, his suit, his powers;

  of what allies Mezentius had embraced,

  and Turnus’ lawless rage. He bids him know

  how mutable is man, and warning gives,

  with supplication joined. Without delay

  Tarchon made amity and sacred league,

  uniting with his cause. The Lydian tribe,

  now destined from its tyrant to be free,

  embarked, obedient to the gods, and gave

  allegiance to the foreign King. The ship

  Aeneas rode moved foremost in the line:

  its beak a pair of Phrygian lions bore;

  above them Ida rose, an emblem dear

  to exiled Trojans. On his Iofty seat

  was great Aeneas, pondering the events

  of changeful war; and clinging to his side

  the youthful Pallas fain would learn the lore

  of stars, the highway of dark night, and asks

  the story of his toils on land and sea.

  Now open Helicon and move my song,

  ye goddesses, to tell what host in arms

  followed Aeneas from the Tuscan shore,

  and manned his ships and traveiled o’er the sea!

  First Massicus his brazen Tigress rode,

  cleaving the brine; a thousand warriors

  were with him out of Clusium’s walls, or from

  the citadel of Coste, who for arms

  had arrows, quivers from the shoulder slung,

  and deadly bows. Grim Abas near him sailed;

  his whole band wore well-blazoned mail; his ship

  displayed the form of Phoebus, all of gold:

  to him had Populonia consigned

  (His mother-city, she) six hundred youth

  well-proven in war; three hundred Elba gave,

  an island rich in unexhausted ores

  of iron, like the Chalybes. Next came

  Asilas, who betwixt the gods and men

  interprets messages and reads clear signs

  in victims’ entrails, or the stars of heaven,

  or bird-talk, or the monitory flames

  of lightning: he commands a thousand men

  close lined, with bristling spears, of Pisa all,

  that Tuscan city of Alpheus sprung.

  Then Astur followed, a bold horseman he,

  Astur in gorgeous arms, himself most fair:

  three hundred are his men, one martial mind

  uniting all: in Caere they were bred

  and Minio’s plain, and by the ancient towers

  of Pyrgo or Gravisca’s storm-swept hill.

  Nor thy renown may I forget, brave chief

  of the Ligurians, Cinyrus; nor thine,

  Cupavo, with few followers, thy crest

  the tall swan-wings, of love unblest the sign

  and of a father fair: for legends tell

  that Cycnus, for his Phaethon so dear

  lamenting loud beneath the poplar shade

  of the changed sisters, made a mournful song

  to soothe his grief and passion: but erewhile,

  in his old age, there clothed him as he sang

  soft snow-white plumes, and spurning earth he soared

  on high, and sped in music through the stars.

  His son with bands of youthful peers urged on

  a galley with a Centaur for its prow,

  which loomed high o’er the waves, and seemed to hurl

  a huge stone at the water, as the keel

  ploughed through the deep. Next Ocnus summoned forth

  a war-host from his native shores, the son

  of Tiber, Tuscan river, and the nymph

  Manto, a prophetess: he gave good walls,

  O Mantua, and his mother’s name, to thee, —

  to Mantua so rich in noble sires,

  but of a blood diverse, a triple breed,

  four stems in each; and over all enthroned

  she rules her tribes: her strength is Tuscan born.

  Hate of Mezentius armed against his name

  five hundred men: upon their hostile prow

  was Mincius in a cloak of silvery sedge, —

  Lake Benacus the river’s source and sire.

  Last good Aulestes smites the depths below,

  with forest of a hundred oars: the flood

  like flowing marble foams; his Triton prow

  threatens the blue waves with a trumpet-shell;

  far as the hairy flanks its form is man,

  but ends in fish below — the parting waves

  beneath the half-brute bosom break in foam.

  Such chosen chiefs in thirty galleys ploughed

  the salt-wave, bringing help to Trojan arms.

  Day now had left the sky. The moon benign

  had driven her night-wandering chariot

  to the mid-arch of heaven. Aeneas sate,

  for thought and care allowed him no repose,

  holding the helm and tending his own sails.

  but, as he sped, behold, the beauteous train,

  lately his own, of nymphs, anon transformed

  by kind Cybebe to sea-ruling powers.

  In even ranks they swam the cloven wave, —

  nymphs now, but once as brazen galleys moored

  along the sandy shore. With joy they knew

  their King from far, and with attending train

  around him drew. Cymodocea then,

  best skilled in mortal speech, sped close behind,

  with her right hand upon the stern, uprose

  breast-high, and with her left hand deeply plied

  the silent stream, as to the wondering King

  she called: “So late on watch, O son of Heaven,

  Aeneas? Slack thy sail, but still watch on!

  We were the pine-trees on the holy top

  of Ida’s mountain. Sea-nymphs now are we,

  and thine own fleet. When, as we fled, the flames

  rained o’er us from the false Rutulian’s hand

  ‘t was all unwillingly we cast away

  thy serviceable chains: and now once more

  we follow thee across the sea. These forms

  our pitying mother bade us take, with power

  to haunt immortally the moving sea.

  Lo, thy Ascanius lies close besieged

  in moated walls, assailed by threatening arms

  and Latium’s front of war. Arcadia,

  her horsemen with the bold Etruscan joined,

  stands at the place appointed. Turnus means,

  with troop opposing, their advance to bar

  and hold them from the camp. Arouse thee, then,

  and with the rising beams of dawn call forth

  thy captains and their followers. Take that shield

  victorious, which for thee the Lord of Fire

  forged for a gift and rimmed about with gold.

  To-morrow’s light — deem not my words be vain! —

  shall shine on huge heaps of Rutulia’s dead.”

  So saying, she pushed with her right hand the stern

  with skilful thrust, and vanished. The ship sped

  swift as a spear, or as an arrow flies

  no whit behind the wind: and all the fleet

  quickened its course. Anchises’ princely son,

  dumb and bewildered stood, but took good heart

  at such an omen fair. Then in few words

  with eyes upturned to heaven he made his prayer:

  “Mother of gods, O Ida’s Queen benign,

  who Iovest Dindymus and towns with towers,

  and lion-yokes obedient to thy rein,

  be thou my guide in battle, and fulfil

  thine augury divine. In Phrygia’s cause

  be present
evermore with favoring power!”

  He spoke no more. For now the wheels of day

  had sped full circle into perfect light,

  the dark expelling. Then, for his first care,

  he bade his captains heed the signal given,

  equip their souls for war, and wait in arms

  the coming fray. Now holds he full in view

  his Trojans and their fortress, as he stands

  upon his towering ship. With his left hand

  he lifts his radiant shield; then from the wall

  the Dardan warriors send a battle-cry

  that echoes to the stars, as kindling hope

  their rage renews. A flight of spears they hurl:

  ‘t was like the cranes of Strymon, through dark clouds

  each other calling, when they cleave the skies

  vociferous, outwinging as they fly

  the swift south winds — Ioud music them pursues.

  Amazement on Ausonia’s captains fell

  and Turnus, as they gazed. But soon they saw

  ships pointing shoreward and the watery plain

  all stirring with a fleet. Aeneas’ helm

  uplifted its bright peak, — like streaming flame

  the crimson crest; his shield of orbed gold

  poured forth prodigious fire: it seemed as when

  in cloudless night a comet’s blood-red beam

  makes mournful splendor, or the Dog-star glows,

  which rises to bring drought and pestilence

  to hapless men, and with ill-omened ray

  saddens the sky. But Turnus, undismayed,

  trusted not less to hurl th’ invaders back

  and hold the shore against them. “Look!” he cried,

  your prayer is come to pass, — that sword in hand

  ye now may shatter them. The might of Mars

  is in a true man’s blow. Remember well

  each man his home and wife! Now call to mind

  the glory and great deeds of all your sires!

  Charge to yon river-bank, while yet they take

  with weak and fearful steps their shoreward way!

  Fortune will help the brave.” With words like these,

  he chose, well-weighing, who should lead the charge,

  who at the leaguered walls the fight sustain.

  Aeneas straightway from his lofty ships

  lets down his troop by bridges. Some await

  the ebbing of slack seas, and boldly leap

  into the shallows; others ply the oar.

  Tarchon a beach discovers, where the sands

  sing not, nor waves with broken murmur fall,

  but full and silent swells the gentle sea.

  Steering in haste that way, he called his crews:

  “Now bend to your stout oars, my chosen brave.

  Lift each ship forward, till her beak shall cleave

  yon hostile shore; and let her keel’s full weight

  the furrow drive. I care not if we break