Get Coursework Help In Your Essays, Assignments, Homeworks, Dissertation Or Thesis

Professional And Experienced Writers - 24/7 Online Support

The end of the giver


Aeneid of Virgil

A Verse Translation by

Allen Mandelbaum

• r#» B A N T A M C L A S S I C


A Bantam Book

PUBLISHING HISTORY First Bantam edition published June 1961

New Bantam edition / October 1972 Bantam Classic edition / October 1981 Bantam Classic reissue / August 2004

Published by Bantam Dell

A Division of Random House, Inc. New York, New York

Cover painting, "View of Carthage with Dido and Aeneas," by Claud Lorrain.

Courtesy of the Kunsthalle, Hamburg, Germany.

All rights reserved. Translation copyright © 1971 by Allen Mandelbaum

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by

law. For information address: Bantam Books, New York, New York.

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and de- stroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

Bantam Books and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

ISBN 0-553-21041-6

Manufactured in the United States of America Published simultaneously in Canada

OPM 35 34 33


I salute thee, Mantovano, I that loved thee since my day began

Wielder of the stateliest measure ever moulded by the lips of man.

So wrote the poet laureate Alfred, Lord Tennyson, on the occasion of the nineteenth centenary of Virgil's death. In his own time Romans referred to Virgil simply as "the Poet"; in the Middle Ages he was worshiped as "the Prophet of the Gentiles" and used as a source of mystical predictions: for Dante he was the "Sweet Master" who guides one to the Earthly Paradise. His influence has appeared in the work of almost every Western poet to succeed him.

Throughout his life Virgil was a poet and as far as we know had no interest in pursuing any other career. He was born Publius Vergilius Maro in 70 B.C. near Mantua, in what is now northern Italy. His parents, farm owners, were people of property and sub- stance, if not wealth, and were able to obtain for their son a first- rate education at Cremona, Milan, and Rome. On completing his education, he returned home and possibly began work on the Eclogues, which appeared between the years 42 and 37 B.C. In 41 B.C. the Emperor Octavian (later known as Augustus) confiscated Virgil's family's property, and Virgil was obliged to travel to Rome to negotiate for its return. Fortunately for Virgil, one of the officials secured for him an introduction to the emperor; not only was his land returned, but he also met Octavian's confidant Maecenas, who became Virgil's patron for the rest of his life.

An industrious, meticulous writer, Virgil was not prolific. In ad- dition to the ten Eclogues, which apparently took at least five years to publish, Virgil wrote the four Georgics, which took seven years (37-30 B.C.), and the Aeneid, his great masterwork. Virgil worked on the Aeneid for eleven years, until his death in 19 B.C. Feeling, apparently, that the epic was still unfinished, he directed in his will that the manuscript be destroyed. To the great fortune of succeeding generations, the emperor, Virgil's most prominent friend and ad- mirer, intervened to countermand this provision. He turned the manuscript over to two of Virgil's friends, Varius and Tucca, to edit only obvious errors and repetitions without adding to the text. The result of their work is the beautiful and brilliant Aeneid we have today.


Giuseppe Ungaretti, for Aeneas, lost Dido, pious Palinurus, and the mind that moves across your Promised Land; and Jonathan, my son, for a Dogon horseman you hunted down one hot September noon, that rider on the plains of Troy within us.

Rome • San Francisco • Orta S. Giulio • New York May 1964 • May 1970

in memoriam Giuseppe Ungaretti February 8, 1888-June 1,1970


I was late come to a full encounter with the Aeneid. Three judg- ments stood in my way. One was a tag line of Mark Van Doren that echoed through my youth with tenacious resonance: "Homer is a world; Virgil, a style" (a late variant of Coleridge's: "If you take from Virgil his diction and metre, what do you leave him?"). The second was a passage in a book long since hallowed for me, Georg Lukacs' Die Theorie des Romans: "The heroes of Virgil live the cool and limited existence of shadows, nourished by the blood of noble zeal, blood that has been sacrificed in the attempt to recall what has forever disappeared." The third was Concetto Marchesi's personal version of the traditional comparison between Homer and Virgil in the most lucid history of Latin literature we have, his Storia delta letteratura latina. There he was so alert to every defect of the Aeneid that its virtues seemed secondary. Marchesi was so splendid on Lucretius, then central to me, that with an illogical ex- tension of trust, I allowed his estimate of the Aeneid to usurp my own reading.

All three obstacles were variations on the theme of Homer ver- sus Virgil, using the father to club the son, coupled at times with some variations on the theme of Dante versus Virgil, using the son to club the father. Whichever way one turned in the line of affilia- tion (Homer-Virgil-Dante)—toward parricide or filicide—the mid- dleman Virgil lost. Nor did another son of that same line, Milton, the English poet who filled the largest space within me when I was growing up, clear the way to the Aeneid. Milton was too separate, too massive a mountain then for me to see what lay behind him.

Three ways led me across these obstacles. On one I walked alone; on two my guides were Dante and Giuseppe Ungaretti. Let me begin with Ungaretti, who died as this preface was being writ- ten, one of two to whom this translation is dedicated. In the season of his life, in the autumn of his life that followed Sentimento del tempo (Sentiment of Time), Ungaretti's meditations mingled with Virgilian evocations in La Terra Promessa (The Promised Land).

I N T R O D U C T I O N vii

This was published in "final" form in 1950 with the Dido choruses and Palinurus sestina; in 1960 his // taccuino del vecchio (The Old Man's Notebook) appeared with an additional 27 "Final Choruses for the Promised Land." In the mid-50's I had translated and intro- duced the 1950 Promised Land in Poetry and then in a volume of Ungaretti's selected poems called Life of a Man; and the final stages of the revision of the Aeneid were completed even as I pre- pared for publication a much fuller Selected Poems of Giuseppe Ungaretti, which includes some of the 1960 choruses. In those mid- 50's years, then, these words of Ungaretti were often with me:

Perennial beauty (but bound inexorably to perishing, to im- ages, to earthly vicissitudes, to history, and thus but illusively perennial, as Palinurus will say) assumed in my mind the as- pect of Aeneas. Aeneas is beauty, youth, ingenuousness ever in search of a promised land, where, in the contemplated, fleeting beauty, his own beauty smiles and enchants. But it is not the myth of Narcissus: it is the animating union of the life of memory, of fantasy and of speculation, of the life of the mind; and it is, too, the fecund union of the carnal life in the long succession of generations.

Dido came to represent the experience of one who, in late autumn, is about to pass beyond it; the hour in which living is about to become barren; the hour of one from whom the horrible, tremendous, final tremor of youth is about to depart. Dido is the experience of nature as against the moral experi- ence (Palinurus).

. . . La Terra Promessa, in any case, was, and is still, to begin at the point at which, Aeneas having touched the promised land, the figurations of his former experience awaken to attest to him, in memory, how his present experi- ence, and all that may follow, will end, until, the ages con- sumed, it is given to men to know the true promised land.

Even when allegorical readings were less in fashion than they are today, Ungaretti could have been seen not only as "using" Virgil but as seeing into him. Here Ungaretti's Virgil is seen both from the autumn of a civilization, across the long divides of mem- ory, and as the autumnal voice of a civilization, just as he is in Ungaretti's strangely beautiful reading of the first canto of the Inferno. In the later 1960 choruses, the promised land of Virgil fuses with the promised land of the Bible and with the terminus of all desire. But the "true promised land" is never a certainty. Much


recent criticism has seen the ache and bite of doubt in the Aeneid, ever less—as we read more—a triumphant poem in praise of the imperium of Caesar Augustus. But for me, it was chiefly through Ungaretti that I saw in the Aeneid the underground denial—by con- sciousness and longing—of the total claims of the state and history: the persistence in the mind of what is not there, of what is absent, as a measure of the present. The young Lukacs who found Virgil too "Utopian," that is, casting back for what is irretrievable, was him- self, at the end of Die Theorie des Romans, to leave the way open for his own later castings ahead, his affirmations of Utopia as nearer and perhaps here, in the same climate that allowed the absolute con- viction of Trotsky's 1924 coda to Literature and Revolution: "The average human type will rise to the heights of an Aristotle, a Goethe, or a Marx. And above this ridge new peaks will rise." Virgil was never so Utopian, he never so deified the present or the future, and, as we shall soon see, he understood better the dynamics of deifying the past.

Witness: Van Doren in The Noble Voice, following a brilliant suggestion of Jacob Klein, brings to bear a passage from Plato's Statesman on the section in Book VI where Anchises says, "But all the rest, when they have passed time's circle / for a millennium, are summoned by / the god to Lethe in a great assembly / that, free of memory, they may return / beneath the curve of the upper world, that they / may once again begin to wish for bodies." In citing the Statesman, Van Doren assumes that Virgil was geared to the lulling myth of cycles, that he hoped for peace by "miracle" and "magic," never coming to terms with the fact that civilization is "arduous." But the man who had written the Georgics knew what human labor was; as did the man who, born in 70 B.C., spent the last eleven years of his life, before his death in 19 B.C., at work on one poem—leav- ing it still incompletely revised. He was not wagering all on the gods or on the man-made god Augustus. Not only is the very myth Anchises posits framed by the terminus of Book VI, with the query raised by Clausen as to its meaning; another, less enigmatic pas- sage, often neglected, reminds us of how complex was Virgil's vi- sion of god-making. In Book IX, 243-246, Nisus, about to embark on a mission, asks his comrade Euryalus: "Euryalus, is it / the gods who put this fire in our minds, / or is it that each man's relentless longing / becomes a god to him?" And the god of Nisus and Euryalus plays them false.

Far from belief in miracle and magic, in the Utopian leap, there is in Virgil a sense of the lost as truly irretrievable. He was indeed a celebrator of dominion, of the rule of law: "For other peoples will, I


do not doubt, / still cast their bronze to breathe with softer features, / or draw out of the marble living lines, / plead causes better, trace the ways of heaven / with wands and tell the rising constellations; / but yours will be the rulership of nations, / remember, Roman, these will be your arts: / to teach the ways of peace to those you conquer, / to spare defeated peoples, tame the proud" (VI, 1129-1137). But he is able to look with longing not only at the rule of Saturn (the gods, too, have their vicissitudes: Saturn had been evicted by Jupiter) of which Evander speaks in Book VIII, where Saturn is represented as a giver of laws, but also at Latinus' description of his people as "needing no laws ": "Do not forget / the Latins are a race of Saturn, needing / no laws and no restraint for righteousness; / they hold themselves in check by their own will / and by the cus- toms of their ancient god" (VII, 267-271). This is more than a pas- toral backward glance: Aeneas and Jupiter are to defeat the people of Saturn; but Virgil knows the price that is paid by the victory of the order of positive law over natural law. He knows, too, that his "Saturn" may be the product of his own "relentless longing," and just as powerless as that longing.

This then was the way on which Ungaretti first led me. But Ungaretti was a true Petrarchan (there is no Dantesque tradition in Italy); his is not a percussive line, moving ahead relentlessly toward certainties, but a self-reflexive line, moving toward queries, shaped by consciousness aware of its fragility and the fragility of its im- ages. The way to Dante's Virgil was different. It need only be sketched here in part. In these last two decades, no poetic text has been closer to me than that of the Commedia; and for about a de- cade, I had planned to translate the Inferno with a full commentary. That translation is how complete, but in 1964, two years before I began to work on the Inferno, certain aspects of Virgil that I had felt through Dante gave the Aeneid priority. One aspect of Dante's Virgil is not too distant from Tennyson's "Wielder of the stateliest measure ever moulded by the lips of man"; this is the Virgil of "lo bello stile" "the beautiful style," in Canto I of the Inferno. But Dante was able to learn from Virgil not only the beautiful style, but the styles of Virgil. Virgil cannot compare with Dante in the range of his lexis, in the range of the real he comprehends. His words are fewer than Dante's; and he and Dante belong to separate classes in the two types of poets distinguished by Donald Davie in Purity of Diction in English Verse: "One feels that Hopkins could have found a place for every word in the language if only he could have written enough poems. One feels the same about Shakespeare. But there are other poets, I find, with whom I feel the other thing—that


a selection has been made and is continually being made, that words are thrusting at the poem and being fended off from it, that however many poems these poets wrote certain words would never be allowed into the poems, except as a disastrous oversight." One knows that Dante belongs in the first class, Virgil in the second. But Dante was not always in that first class; the writer of the Vita nuova and the Canzoniere, with their relative homogeneity—the homo- geneity of eras—only passed into another and more complex order, the order of politics and history, with the Commedia. Virgil had not only preceded him there; he had preceded him there with a style that was not only "stately" but, as Macrobius noted in the Saturnalia, was "now brief, now full, now dry, now rich . . . now easy, now impetuous." Also, beginning with a tercet that marked clause or sentence somewhat mechanistically, Dante was to learn from Virgil a freer relation of line and syntax, a richer play of en- jambment, rejet, and contre-rejet. The instances belong elsewhere; the lesson of freedom and definition is what is important here. That freedom also reached an area that Dante, the fastest of poets, never fully realized: the rapid shifts of tense in Virgil, the sudden intru- sions of past on present and present on past within the narrative se- quence itself (though the double lands of the narrative past and the present of simile were fully explored by Dante). There is no uni- form explanation for these shifts in Virgil; but each instance counts in its place and is motivated there.

I have tried to impress what Macrobius heard and Dante learned on this translation, to embody both the grave tread and the speed and angularity Virgil can summon, the asymmetrical thrust of a mind on the move. I have tried to annul what too many readers of Virgil in modern translations have taken to be his: the flat and un- various, and the loss of shape and energy where the end of the line is inert—neither reinforced nor resisted—and the mass of sound be- comes amorphous and anonymous. In the course of that attempt, a part of the self says with Dryden, as he did on VIII, 364-365 (478-480 in our English): "For my part, I am lost in the admiration of it: I contemn the world when I think of it, and my self when I translate it"; the other part of the self brings me to the last way, the unmediated one.

That way is the path that opens when the guides, for whom one has been grateful, fall away or say: "I crown and miter you over yourself." Time, with all its density, does not disappear; but it seems to heighten and not to muffle the words of the past address- ing us. And place, which for me at least had always been the last mode through which I heard a poet, after twelve years lived in the


landscapes of Virgil, finally began, even as I was leaving Italy, to reinforce the voice of Virgil. That happened to me at a time of much personal discontent. I had long contemned any use of the po- etic word for purposes of consolation. But pride lessens with the years, and Virgil consoled. The years of my work on this translation have widened that personal discontent; this state (no longer, with the Vietnam war, that innocuous word "society") has wrought the unthinkable, the abominable. Virgil is not free of the taint of the proconsular; but he speaks from a time of peace achieved, and no man ever felt more deeply the part of the defeated and the lost. Above all, if T. S. Eliot celebrated a Virgil who is linked to Dante in the continuity that "led Europe towards the Christian culture he could not know," there is the other Virgil who calls to mind deep discontinuities between antiquity and ourselves. Virgil does not have Plato's humor; but he does have Platonic tolerance (and more compassion than Plato). And if the relative weights of the Epicurean, the Stoic, the Pythagorean in him are often hard to as- sess, his humanity is constant—and vital, not lumbering, not mar- moreal. And not shrill; and when, with the goad of public despair, my own poetic voice has had to struggle often with shrillness, the work on this translation has been most welcome.

Past these three ways—Ungaretti, Dante, self—there lies an- other mode of encounter, where Virgil may be defined in relation to others, but then speaks only as himself. Yeats, at a critical point in his own work, in 1909, noted that: "Our modern poetry is imagina- tive. It is the poetry of the young. The poetry of the greatest periods is a sustained expression of the appetites and habits. Hence we se- lect where they exhausted." Virgil does not swarm with the "ap- petites and habits" that pack Homer and Dante and Shakespeare. He is not as exhaustive as they are; his is a world, not the world. He is more selective, less objective, more bent on the color that feeling casts. He seems to lie on the near—not far—side of Wordsworth's watershed for modern poetry: "The feeling therein developed gives importance to the action and situation, and not the action and situa- tion to the feeling." But he is "sustained," and is not "of the young" (though for them, and for the aged, too, of Plato's Laws); and none of his selection and imagination seems to involve what I think of as premature stripping, where the other world of poetry takes over be- fore this world is known: Virgil selects after his knowing this world. For this, he is a name-giver whose letters and syllables seem to imitate not what Lukacs called "the cool and limited existence of shadows" but "the real nature of each thing."

Any work that spans six years in the life of a man must come to

Xll T H E A E N E I D

seem a communal project in his mind. The partial record of my gratefulness to those who have written on Virgil is recorded in the bibliographical note at the end of this volume. Beyond that, I am in- debted to many. Sears Jayne, once the best of colleagues and al- ways "I'amico mio, e non de la ventura" (as glossed by M. Casella), read portions of this manuscript in the third draft with the kind of care that made the numberless final draft possible, as did Jane Cooper, who has been for me the poet-reader each poet needs: may all my work be worthy of them both. My editor, Toni Burbank, watched over, nurtured, welcomed; Mrs. Ruth Hein, my copy edi- tor, was quarrelsome, scrupulous, a pleasure; Mrs. Ila Traldi helped in many binds of time and spirit. Mrs. Efrem Slabotzky worked on the first draft of the glossary. Mrs. Sybil Langer was prodigal with comments on the early drafts, and Helen McNeil read the manu- script in its middle stages. Seth Benardete, M. T. Grendi, and G. Lanata helped with urgent queries. Susan Hirshfeld was my gradu- ate assistant for two years; during and beyond that span, she has been totally patient with all drafts, with me; for all deadlines, she has served as conscience. My indebtedness to the late Giuseppe Ungaretti is more fully indicated earlier in this foreword and in the dedication; the dedication to my son is an incomplete expression of what his help has meant in countless details. (The Dogon horseman he pointed out to me in the fall of 1966 is a wood statue in the Museum of Primitive Art, reproduced as Number 227 in the Metro- politan's 1969 catalogue, Art of Oceania, Africa, and the Americas.) Helaine Newstead and my other colleagues and the students at the Graduate Center have made it a place where to teach is to learn, a place that has sustained me in the work that follows, in all work. All who were patient with my distracted presence and my needed ab- sence while this translation was under way, and especially Bruce Bassoff, Hilail Gildin, Paul Mariani, Joseph Moses, and Isaak Orleans, have been "amigos a quien amo I' sobre todo tesoro. "

Allen Mandelbaum

The Graduate Center The City University of New York June, 1970




I sing of arms and of a man: his fatehad made him fugitive; he was the first to journey from the coasts of Troy as far as Italy and the Lavinian shores. Across the lands and waters he was battered 5 beneath the violence of High Ones, for the savage Juno's unforgetting anger; and many sufferings were his in war— until he brought a city into being and carried in his gods to Latium; 10 from this have come the Latin race, the lords of Alba, and the ramparts of high Rome.

Tell me the reason, Muse: what was the wound to her divinity, so hurting her that she, the queen of gods, compelled a man 15 remarkable for goodness to endure so many crises, meet so many trials? Can such resentment hold the minds of gods?

There was an ancient city they called Carthage— a colony of refugees from Tyre— 20 a city facing Italy, but far

2 T H E A E N l i l D [12-42]

away from Tiber's.mouth: extremely rich and, when it came to waging war, most fierce. This land was Juno's favorite—it is said— more dear than her own Samos; here she kept 2j her chariot and armor; even then the goddess had this hope and tender plan: for Carthage to become the capital of nations, if the Fates would just consent. But she had heard that, from the blood of Troy, 30 a race had come that some day would destroy the citadels of Tyre; from it, a people would spring, wide-ruling kings, men proud in battle and destined to annihilate her Libya. The Fates had so decreed. And Saturn's daughter— 35 in fear of this, remembering the old war that she had long since carried on at Troy ' for her beloved Argos (and, indeed, the causes of her bitterness, her sharp and savage hurt, had not yet left her spirit; 40 for deep within her mind lie stored the judgment of Paris and the wrong done to her scorned beauty, the breed she hated, and the honors that had been given ravished Ganymede)— was angered even more; for this, she kept 4s far off from Latium the Trojan remnant left by the Greeks and pitiless Achilles. For long years they were cast across all waters, fate-driven, wandering from sea to sea. It was so hard to found the race of Rome. 50

With Sicily scarce out of sight, the Trojans had gladly spread their canvas on the sea, turning the salt foam with their brazen prows, when Juno, holding fast within her heart the everlasting insult, asked herself: 55 "Am I, defeated, simply to stop trying, unable to turn back the Trojan king from Italy? No doubt, the Fates won't have it. But Pallas—was she powerful enough to set the Argive fleet on fire, to drown 60 the crewmen in the deep, for an outrage done by only one infuriated man, Ajax, Oileus' son? And she herself

[42-71] B O O K I 3

could fling Jove's racing lightning from the clouds and smash their galleys, sweep the sea with tempests. 65 Then Ajax' breath was flame from his pierced chest; she caught him up within a whirlwind; she impaled him on a pointed rock. But I, the queen of gods, who stride along as both the sister and the wife of Jove, have warred 70 so many years against a single nation. For after this, will anyone adore the majesty of Juno or, before her altars, pay her honor, pray to her?"

Then—burning, pondering—the goddess reaches 75 Aeolia, the motherland of storms, a womb that always teems with raving south winds. In his enormous cave King Aeolus restrains the wrestling winds, loud hurricanes; he tames and sways them with his chains and prison. 80 They rage in indignation at their cages; the mountain answers with a mighty roar. Lord Aeolus sits in his high citadel; he holds his scepter, and he soothes their souls and calms their madness. Were it not for this, 85 then surely they would carry off the sea and lands and steepest heaven, sweeping them across the emptiness. But fearing that, the all-able Father hid the winds within dark caverns, heaping over them high mountains; 90 and he assigned to them a king who should, by Jove's sure edict, understand just when to jail and when, commanded, to set free. Then Juno, suppliant, appealed to him:

"You, Aeolus—to whom the king of men 95 and father of the gods has given this: to pacify the waves or, with the wind, to incite them—over the Tyrrhenian now sails my enemy, a race that carries the beaten household gods of Ilium 100 to Italy. Hammer your winds to fury and ruin their swamped ships, or scatter them and fling their crews piecemeal across the seas. I have twice-seven nymphs with splendid bodies;

4 T H E A E N E I D [72-101]

the loveliest of them is Deiopea, 105 and I shall join her to you in sure marriage and name her as your own, that she may spend all of her years with you, to make you father of fair sons. For such service, such return."

And Aeolus replied: "O Queen, your task no is to discover what you wish; and mine, to act at your command. For you have won this modest kingdom for me, and my scepter, and Jove's goodwill. You gave me leave to lean beside the banquets of the gods, and you 115 have made me lord of tempests and of clouds."

His words were done. He turned his lance head, struck the hollow mountain on its side. The winds, as in a column, hurry through the breach; they blow across the earth in a tornado. 120 Together, Eurus, Notus, and—with tempest on tempest—Africus attack the sea; they churn the very bottom of the deep and roll vast breakers toward the beaches; cries of men, the creaking of the cables rise. 125 Then, suddenly, the cloud banks snatch away the sky and daylight from the Trojans' eyes. Black night hangs on the waters, heavens thunder, and frequent lightning glitters in the air; everything intends quick death to men. 130

At once Aeneas' limbs fall slack with chill. He groans and stretches both hands to the stars. He calls aloud: "O, three and four times blessed were those who died before their fathers' eyes beneath the walls of Troy. Strongest of all 135 the Danaans, o Diomedes, why did your right hand not spill my lifeblood, why did I not fall upon the Ilian fields, there where ferocious Hector lies, pierced by Achilles' javelin, where the enormous 140 Sarpedon now is still, and Simois has seized and sweeps beneath its waves so many helmets and shields and bodies of the brave!"

[102-130] B O O K I 5

Aeneas hurled these words. The hurricane is howling from the north; it hammers full 145 against his sails. The seas are heaved to heaven. The oars are cracked; the prow sheers off; the waves attack broadside; against his hull the swell now shatters in a heap, mountainous, steep. Some sailors hang upon a wave crest; others 150 stare out at gaping waters, land that lies below the waters, surge that seethes with sand. And then the south wind snatches up three ships and spins their keels against the hidden rocks— those rocks that, rising in midsea, are called 155 by the Italians "Altars"—like a monstrous spine stretched along the surface of the sea. Meanwhile the east wind wheels another three off from the deep and, terrible to see, against the shoals and shifting silt, against 160 the shallows, girding them with mounds of sand.

Before Aeneas' eyes a massive breaker smashes upon its stern the ship that carries the Lycian crewmen led by true Orontes. The helmsman is beaten down; he is whirled headlong. 165 Three times at that same spot the waters twist and wheel the ship around until a swift whirlpool has swallowed it beneath the swell. And here and there upon the wide abyss, among the waves, are swimmers, weapons, planks, 170 and Trojan treasure. Now the tempest takes the sturdy galleys of Ilioneus and brave Achates, now the ships of Abas and many-yeared Aletes; all receive their enemy, the sea, through loosened joints 175 along their sides and through their gaping seams.

But Neptune felt the fracas and the frenzy; and shaken by the unleashed winds, the wrenching of the still currents from the deep seabed, he raised his tranquil head above the surface. 180 And he can see the galleys of Aeneas scattered across the waters, with the Trojans dismembered by the waves and fallen heavens. Her brother did not miss the craft and wrath

6 T H E A E N E I D [130-159]

of Juno. Catching that, he calls up both 185 the east wind and the west. His words are these:

"Has pride of birth made you so insolent? So, Winds, you dare to mingle sky and land, heave high such masses, without my command? Whom I—? But no, let me first calm the restless 190 swell; you shall yet atone—another time— with different penalties for these your crimes. But now be off, and tell your king these things: that not to him, but me, has destiny allotted the dominion of the sea 195 and my fierce trident. The enormous rocks are his—your home, East Wind. Let Aeolus be lord of all that lies within that hall and rule in that pent prison of the winds."

So Neptune speaks and, quicker than his tongue, 200 brings quiet to the swollen waters, sets the gathered clouds to flight, calls back the sun. Together, then, Cymothoe and Triton, thrusting, dislodge the ships from jagged crags. But now the god himself takes up his trident 205 to lift the galleys, and he clears a channel across the vast sandbank. He stills the sea and glides along the waters on light wheels. And just as, often, when a crowd of people is rocked by a rebellion, and the rabble 210 rage in their minds, and firebrands and stones fly fast—for fury finds its weapons—if, by chance, they see a man remarkable for righteousness and service, they are silent and stand attentively; and he controls 215 their passion by his words and cools their spirits: so all the clamor of the sea subsided after the Father, gazing on the waters and riding under cloudless skies, had guided his horses, let his willing chariot run. 220

And now Aeneas' weary crewmen hurry . to find the nearest land along their way. They turn toward Libya's coast. There is a cove within a long, retiring bay; and there

[159-191] BOOK I 7

an island's jutting arms have formed a harbor 225 where every breaker off the high sea shatters and parts into the shoreline's winding shelters. Along this side and that there towers, vast, a line of cliffs, each ending in like crags; beneath the ledges tranquil water lies 230 silent and wide; the backdrop—glistening forests and, beetling from above, a black grove, thick with bristling shadows. Underneath the facing brow: a cave with hanging rocks, sweet waters, seats of living stone, the home 235 of nymphs. And here no cable holds tired ships, no anchor grips them fast with curving bit.

Aeneas shelters here with seven ships— all he can muster, all the storm has left. The Trojans, longing so to touch the land, 240 now disembark to gain the wished-for sands. They stretch their salt-soaked limbs along the beach. Achates was the first to strike a spark from flint and catch the fire up with leaves. He spread dry fuel about, and then he waved 245 the tinder into flame. Tired of their trials, the Trojan crewmen carry out the tools of Ceres and the sea-drenched corn of Ceres. And they prepare to parch the salvaged grain by fire and, next, to crush it under stone. 250

Meanwhile Aeneas climbs a crag to seek a prospect far and wide across the deep, if he can only make out anything of Antheus and his Phrygian galleys, or of Capys, or the armor of Caicus 255 on his high stern. There is no ship in sight; all he can see are three stags wandering along the shore, with whole herds following behind, a long line grazing through the valley. He halted, snatched his bow and racing arrows, 260 the weapons carried by the true Achates. And first he lays the leaders low, their heads held high with tree-like antlers; then he drives the herds headlong into the leafy groves; they panic, like a rabble, at his arrows. 265

8 T H E A E N E I D [192-219]

He does not stay his hand until he stretches, victoriously, seven giant bodies along the ground, in number like his galleys. This done, he seeks the harbor and divides the meat among his comrades. And he shares 270 the wine that had been stowed by kind Acestes in casks along the shores of Sicily: the wine that, like a hero, the Sicilian had given to the Trojans when they left. Aeneas soothes their melancholy hearts: 275

"O comrades—surely we're not ignorant of earlier disasters, we who have suffered things heavier than this—our god will give an end to this as well. You have neared the rage of Scylla and her caves' resounding rocks; 280 and you have known the Cyclops' crags; call back your courage, send away your grieving fear. Perhaps one day you will remember even these our adversities with pleasure. Through so many crises and calamities 285 we make for Latium, where fates have promised a peaceful settlement. It is decreed that there the realm of Troy will rise again. Hold out, and save yourselves for kinder days."

These are his words; though sick with heavy cares, 290 he counterfeits hope in his face; his pain is held within, hidden. His men make ready the game that is to be their feast; they flay the deer hide off the ribs; the flesh lies naked. Some slice off quivering strips and pierce them with 295 sharp spits, while on the beach the others set caldrons of brass and tend the flame. With food their strength comes back again. Along the grass they stretch and fill their bellies full of fat venison meat and well-aged wine. That done— 300 their hunger banished by their feasting and the tables cleared—their talk is long, uncertain between their hope and fear, as they ask after their lost companions, wondering if their comrades are still alive or if they have undergone 305 the final change and can no longer hear

[219-249] BOOK I 9

when called upon. Especially the pious Aeneas moans within himself the loss now of the vigorous Orontes, now of Amycus, the cruel end of Lycus, 310 the doom of brave Cloanthus, of brave Gyas.

Their food and talk were done when Jupiter, while gazing from the peaks of upper air across the waters winged with canvas and low-lying lands and shores and widespread people, 315 stood high upon the pinnacle of heaven until he set his sight on Libya's kingdom. And as he ponders this, the saddened Venus, her bright eyes dimmed and tearful, speaks to him:

"O you who, with eternal rule, command 320 and govern the events of gods and men, and terrify them with your thunderbolt, what great offense has my Aeneas given, what is his crime, what have the Trojans done that, having undergone so many deaths, 325 the circle of all lands is shut against them— and just because of Italy? Surely you have sworn that out of them, in time to come, with turning years, the Romans will be born and, from the resurrected blood of Teucer, 330 rise up as rulers over sea and land? What motive, Father made you change? That promise was solace for Troy's fall and its sad ruin; I weighed this fate against the adverse fates. But now their former fortune still pursues 335 the Trojans driven by so many evils. Great king, is there no end to this ordeal? Antenor could escape the Argive army, then make his way through the Illyrian bays, the inner lands of the Liburnians, 340 and safely cross the source of the Timavus, where, with a mighty mountain's roar, it rushes through nine mouths, till its flood bursts, overwhelming the fields beneath with its resounding waters. Yet here he planted Padua, a town 345 and home for Teucrians, and gave his nation a name and then hung up the arms of Troy;

10 T H E A E N E I D [249-278]

and now, serene, he tastes tranquillity. But we, your very children, we whom you had promised heaven's heights, have lost our ships— 350 unspeakable! Just for the rage of one we are betrayed, kept far from Italy. Is this the way you give us back our scepter?"

But then he smiled upon her—Jupiter, father of men and gods—just as he calms 355 the heavens and the storms. He lightly kissed his daughter's lips; these were his words to Venus: "My Cytherea, that's enough of fear; your children's fate is firm; you'll surely see the walls I promised you, Lavinium's city; 360 and you shall carry your great-hearted son, Aeneas, high as heaven's stars. My will is still the same; I have not changed. Your son (I now speak out—I know this anxiousness is gnawing at you; I unroll the secret 365 scroll of the Fates, awake its distant pages) shall wage tremendous war in Italy and crush ferocious nations and establish a way of life and walls for his own people— until the time of his third summer as 370 the king of Latium, until he has passed three winters since he overcame the Latins. But then the boy Ascanius, who now is carrying lulus as his surname (while the state of Ilium held fast, he still 375 was known as Ilus), with his rule shall fill the wheeling months of thirty mighty years. He shall remove his kingdom from Lavinium and, powerful, build Alba Longa's walls. For full three hundred years, the capital 380 and rule of Hector's race shall be at Alba, until a royal priestess, Ilia, with child by Mars, has brought to birth twin sons. And then, rejoicing in the tawny hide of his nursemaid, the she-wolf, Romulus 385 shall take the rulership and build the walls of Mars' own city. Romulus shall call that people 'Romans,' after his own name. I set no limits to their fortunes and

[278-304] BOOK I 11

no time; I give them empire without end. 390 Then even bitter Juno shall be changed; or she, who now harasses lands and heavens with terror, then shall hold the Romans dear together with me, cherishing the masters of all things, and the race that wears the toga. 395 This is what I decree. An age shall come along the way of gliding lustra when the house born of Assaracus shall hold both Phthia and illustrious Mycenae and rule defeated Argos. Then a Trojan 400 Caesar shall rise out of that splendid line. His empire's boundary shall be the Ocean; the only border to his fame, the stars. His name shall be derived from great lulus, and shall be Julius. In time to come, 405 no longer troubled, you shall welcome him to heaven, weighted with the Orient's wealth; he, too, shall be invoked with prayers. With battle forgotten, savage generations shall grow generous. And aged Faith and Vesta, 410 together with the brothers, Romulus and Remus, shall make laws. The gruesome gates of war, with tightly welded iron plates, shall be shut fast. Within, unholy Rage shall sit on his ferocious weapons, bound 415 behind his back by a hundred knots of brass; he shall groan horribly with bloody lips."

The words of Jupiter are done. He sends the son of Maia down from heaven that the newfound lands and fortresses of Carthage 420 be opened wide in welcome to the Trojans; that Dido, ignorant of destiny, not drive away Aeneas from her boundaries. He flies across the great air; using wings as oars, he quickly lands on Libyan shores. 425 He does as he was told. And the Phoenicians now set aside their savagery before the will of god; and Dido, above all, receives into her spirit kindliness, a gracious mind to greet the Teucrians. 430

12 T H E A E N E I D [305-333]

But, nightlong, many cares have held the pious Aeneas. And as soon as gracious daylight is given to him, this is his decision: to go out and explore this foreign country, to learn what shores the wind has brought him to, 435 who lives upon this land—it is unfilled— are they wild beasts or men—and then to tell his comrades what he has found. He hides his fleet inside the narrows of the wooded cove, beneath a hollow rock shut in by trees, 440 with bristling shades around. And he himself, only Achates at his side, moves on; he brandishes two shafts tipped with broad iron.

But in the middle of the wood, along the way, his mother showed herself to him. 445 The face and dress she wore were like a maiden's, her weapons like a girl's from Sparta or those carried by Harpalyce of Thrace when she tires out her horses, speeding faster even than rapid Hebrus as she races. 450 For, as a huntress would, across her shoulder, Venus had slung her bow in readiness; her hair was free, disheveled by the wind; her knees were bare; her tunic's flowing folds were gathered in a knot. And she speaks first: 455 "Young men there! Can you tell me if by chance you have seen one of my sisters pass—she wore a quiver and a spotted lynx's hide— while she was wandering here or, with her shouts, chasing a foaming boar along its course?" 460

So Venus. Answering, her son began: "I have not seen or heard your sister, maiden— or by what name am I to call you, for your voice is not like any human voice. O goddess, you must be Apollo's sister 465 or else are to be numbered with the nymphs! Whoever you may be, do help us, ease our trials; do tell us underneath what skies, upon what coasts of earth we have been cast; we wander, ignorant of men and places, 470 and driven by the wind and the vast waves.

[334-361] BOOK I 13

Before your altars many victims will fall at our hands, as offerings to you."

Then Venus: "I can hardly claim such honor. The girls of Tyre are used to wearing quivers 475 and bind their calves with scarlet hunting boots. You see a Punic country, men of Tyre, the city of Agenor; but at the border the Libyans lie—a tribe that swears by war. Our ruler here is Dido, she who left 480 her city when she had to flee her brother. The tale of wrong is intricate and long, but I shall trace its chief events in order.

"Her husband was Sychaeus: wealthiest landowner in Phoenicia. For her father 485 had given her, a virgin, to Sychaeus and joined them with the omens of first marriage. Unhappy Dido loved him with much passion. Pygmalion, her brother, held the kingdom of Tyre; beyond all men he was a monster 490 in crime. Between Sychaeus and her brother dividing fury came. Pygmalion— unholy, blind with lust for gold—in secret now catches Dido's husband off his guard and cuts him down by sword before the altars, 495 heedless of his own sister's love. For long he kept this hidden and, insidious, invented many stories to mock Dido— she is sick and longing—with an empty hope. But in her sleep, to Dido came the very 500 image of her unburied husband; he lifted his pallid face—amazingly— and laid bare to his wife the cruel altars, his breast impaled upon the blade, revealing to her the hidden horror of the house. 505 He urges her to speed her flight, to leave her homeland; and to help her journey, he discloses ancient treasure in the earth, a hoard of gold and silver known to none. And Dido, moved by this, prepared her flight 510 and her companions. Now there come together both those who felt fierce hatred for the tyrant

14 T H E A E N E I D [362-389]

and those who felt harsh fear. They seize the ships that happen to be ready, loading them with gold. The wealth of covetous Pygmalion 515 is carried overseas. A woman leads. They landed at the place where now you see the citadel and high walls of new Carthage rising; and then they bought the land called Byrsa, "The Hide," after the name of that transaction 520 (they got what they were able to enclose inside a bull's skin). But who, then, are you? From what coasts have you come? Where are you going?" To these her questions he replied with sighs; he drew his words from deep within his breast: 525

"O goddess, if I tracked my story back until its first beginning, were there time to hear the annals of our trials, then the evening would have shut Olympus' gates and gathered in the day before I ended. 530 But we were sailing out from ancient Troy— if Troy means anything to you—across strange seas when, as it willed, a tempest drove us upon the coasts of Libya. I am pious Aeneas, and I carry in my ships 535 my household gods together with me, rescued from Argive enemies; my fame is known beyond the sky. I seek out Italy, my country, my ancestors born of Jove. When I set out upon the Phrygian sea, 540 I had twice-ten ships, and my goddess-mother showed me the way; I followed my firm fates. Now I am left with scarcely seven galleys, ships shattered by the waves and the east wind; and I myself, a needy stranger, roam 545 across the wilderness of Libya; I am driven out of Europe, out of Asia." But Venus had enough of his complaints, and so she interrupted his lament:

"Whoever you may be, I hardly think 550 the heaven-dwellers hold a grudge against you: the breath of life is yours, and you are near a Tyrian city. Only make your way until you reach the palace of the queen.

[390-417] BOOK I 15

For I can tell you truthfully: your comrades 555 are given back to you, your fleet is saved and driven toward sure waters by the winds that shifted to the north—unless my parents have taught me augury to no good end. Look there, where you can make out twice-six swans 560 that gladly file along, whom once the bird of Jupiter had scattered, swooping down from upper air into the open sky. And now, in long array, they either seem to settle down or else to hover, waiting 565 and watching those that have already landed; and just as they, returning, play with rustling wings, as they wheel about the sky in crews, and give themselves to song—not otherwise your ships and youths are either in the harbor 570 or near its mouth with swelling sails. Only move on and follow where this pathway leads."

These were the words of Venus. When she turned, her neck was glittering with a rose brightness; her hair anointed with ambrosia, 575 her head gave all a fragrance of the gods; her gown was long and to the ground; even her walk was sign enough she was a goddess.

And when Aeneas recognized his mother, he followed her with these words as she fled: 580 "Why do you mock your son—so often and so cruelly—with these lying apparitions? Why can't I ever join you, hand to hand, to hear, to answer you with honest words?"

So he reproaches her, then takes the road 585 to Carthage. But as goddess, Venus cloaks Aeneas and Achates in dark mist; she wraps them in a cape of cloud so thick that none can see or touch them or delay their way or ask why they had come. And she 590 herself glides through the skies to Paphos, gladly revisiting her home, her temple and her hundred altars fragrant with fresh garlands - and warm with their Sabaean frankincense.

16 T H E A E N E 1 D [418-449]

Meanwhile Aeneas and the true Achates 595 press forward on their path. They climb a hill that overhangs the city, looking down upon the facing towers. Aeneas marvels at the enormous buildings, once mere huts, and at the gates and tumult and paved streets. 600 The eager men of Tyre work steadily: some build the city walls or citadel— they roll up stones by hand; and some select the place for a new dwelling, marking out its limits with a furrow; some make laws, 605 establish judges and a sacred senate; some excavate a harbor; others lay the deep foundations for a theater, hewing tremendous pillars from the rocks, high decorations for the stage to come. 610 Just as the bees in early summer, busy beneath the sunlight through the flowered meadows, when some lead on their full-grown young and others press out the flowing honey, pack the cells with sweet nectar, or gather in the burdens 615 of those returning; some, in columns, drive the drones, a lazy herd, out of the hives; the work is fervent, and the fragrant honey is sweet with thyme. "How fortunate are those whose walls already rise!" Aeneas cries 620 while gazing at the rooftops of the city. Then, sheltered by a mist, astoundingly, he enters in among the crowd, mingling together with the Tyrians. No one sees him.

Just at the center of the city stood 625 a thickly shaded wood; this was the place where, when they landed, the Phoenicians first— hurled there by whirlwind and by wave—dug up an omen that Queen Juno had pointed out: the head of a fierce stallion. This had meant 630 the nation's easy wealth and fame in war throughout the ages. Here Sidonian Dido was building a stupendous shrine for Juno, enriched with gifts and with the goddess' statue, where flights of steps led up to brazen thresholds; 635 the architraves were set on posts of brass;

[449-478] BOOK I 17

the grating hinges of the doors were brass. Within this grove, the sights—so strange to him— have, for the first time, stilled Aeneas' fear; here he first dared to hope he had found shelter, 640 to trust more surely in his shattered fortunes. For while he waited for the queen, he studied everything in that huge sanctuary, marveling at a city rich enough for such a temple, at the handiwork 645 of rival artists, at their skillful tasks. He sees the wars of Troy set out in order: the battles famous now through all the world, the sons of Atreus and of Priam, and Achilles, savage enemy to both. 650 He halted. As he wept, he cried: "Achates, where on this earth is there a land, a place that does not know our sorrows? Look! There is Priam! Here, too, the honorable finds its due and there are tears for passing things; here, too, 655 things mortal touch the mind. Forget your fears; this fame will bring you some deliverance." He speaks. With many tears and sighs he feeds his soul on what is nothing but a picture.

He watched the warriors circling Pergamus: 660 here routed Greeks were chased by Trojan fighters and here the Phrygian troops pursued by plumed Achilles in his chariot. Nearby, sobbing, he recognized the snow-white canvas tents of King Rhesus—with his men betrayed, 665 while still in their first sleep, and then laid waste, with many dead, by bloody Diomedes, who carried off their fiery war horses before they had a chance to taste the pastures of Troy, or drink the waters of the Xanthus. 670

Elsewhere young Troilus, the unhappy boy— he is matched unequally against Achilles— runs off, his weapons lost. He is fallen flat; his horses drag him on as he still clings fast to his empty chariot, clasping 675 the reins. His neck, his hair trail on the ground, and his inverted spear inscribes the dust.

18 T H E A E N E I D [479-508]

Meanwhile the Trojan women near the temple of Pallas, the unkindly; hair disheveled, sad, beating at their breasts, as suppliants, 680 they bear the robe of offering. The goddess averts her face, her eyes fast to the ground.

Three times Achilles had dragged Hector round the walls of Troy, selling his lifeless body for gold. And then, indeed, Aeneas groans 685 within the great pit of his chest, deeply; for he can see the spoils, the chariot, the very body of his friend, and Priam pleading for Hector with defenseless hands. He also recognized himself in combat 690 with the Achaean chiefs, then saw the Eastern battalions and the weapons of black Memnon. Penthesilea in her fury leads the ranks of crescent-shielded Amazons. She flashes through her thousands; underneath 695 her naked breast, a golden girdle; soldier- virgin and queen, daring to war with men.

But while the Dardan watched these scenes in wonder, while he was fastened in a stare, astonished, the lovely-bodied Dido neared the temple, 700 a crowding company of youths around her. And just as, on the banks of the Eurotas or though the heights of Cynthus, when Diana incites her dancers, and her followers, a thousand mountain-nymphs, press in behind her, 705 she wears a quiver slung across her shoulder; and as she makes her way, she towers over all other goddesses; gladness excites Latona's silent breast: even so, Dido; so, in her joy, she moved among the throng 710 as she urged on the work of her coming kingdom.

And then below the temple's central dome— facing the doorway of the goddess, guarded by arms—she took her place on a high throne. Dido was dealing judgments to her people 715 and giving laws, apportioning the work of each with fairness or by drawing lots;

[509-540] B O O K I 19

when suddenly Aeneas sees, as they press forward through that mighty multitude, Sergestus, Antheus, and the brave Cloanthus, 720 and other Trojans whom the black whirlwind had scattered on the waters, driven far to other coasts. Aeneas is astounded; both joy and fear have overcome Achates. They bumed to join right hands with their companions, 725 but this strange happening confuses them. They stay in hiding, screened by folds of fog, and wait to see what fortune found their friends, on what beach they have left the fleet, and why they come; for these were men who had been chosen 730 from all the ships to ask for grace, who now made for the temple door with loud outcries.

When they had entered and received their leave to speak in Dido's presence, then the eldest, Ilioneus, calmly began: "O Queen, 735 whom Jupiter has granted this: to bring to being a new city, curbing haughty nations by justice—we, unhappy Trojans, men carried by the winds across all seas, beg you to keep the terror of fire from 740 our fleet, to spare a pious race, to look on with us kindliness. We do not come to devastate your homes and with the sword to loot the household gods of Libya or to drive down stolen booty toward the beaches 745 That violence is not within our minds; such arrogance is not for the defeated. There is a place the Greeks have named Hesperia, an ancient land with strong arms and fat soil. Its colonists were the Oenotrians. 750 Now rumor runs that their descendants call that nation 'Italy,' after their leader. Our prows were pointed there when suddenly, rising upon the surge, stormy Orion drove us against blind shoals; and insolent 755 south winds then scattered us, undone by brine, across the crushing sea, the pathless rocks A few of us have drifted to your shores. What kind of men are these? Or is your country

2 0 T H E A E N E I D [539-570]

so barbarous that it permits this custom? 760 We are denied the shelter of the beach; they goad us into war; they will not let us set foot upon the border of their land. If you despise the human race and mortal weapons, then still consider that the gods 765 remember right and wrong. We had a king, Aeneas, none more just, no one more pious, no man his better in the arts of war. If fate has saved this man, if he still feeds upon the upper air, if he is not 770 laid low to rest among the cruel Shades, then we are not afraid and you will not repent if you compete with him in kindness. Within Sicilian territory, too, are fields and cities and the famed Acestes, 775 born of the blood of Troy. Let us haul up our fleet, smashed by the winds, along your beaches and fit out timber from your forests, trim our oars; and if we find our king and comrades and are allowed to turn toward Italy 780 and Latium, then let us sail out gladly. But if our shelter there has been denied us, and you, the finest father of the Trojans, were swallowed by the sea of Libya, and no hope is left us now for lulus, then 785 at least let us seek out again the straits of Sicily, the land from which we sailed. There houses wait for us, and King Acestes." So spoke Ilioneus. The other sons of Dardanus approved his words with shouts. 790

Then Dido softly, briefly answers him: "O Teucrians, enough of fear, cast out your cares. My kingdom is new; hard circumstances have forced me to such measures for our safety, to post guards far and wide along our boundaries. 795 But who is ignorant of Aeneas' men? Who has not heard of Troy, its acts and heroes, the flames of that tremendous war? We Tyrians do not have minds so dull, and we are not beyond the circuit of the sun's yoked horses. 800 Whatever you may choose—Hesperia and

[569-600] BOOK I 21

the fields of Saturn, or the land of Eryx and King Acestes—I shall send you safe with escort, I shall help you with my wealth. And should you want to settle in this kingdom 805 on equal terms with me, then all the city I am building now is yours. Draw up your ships. I shall allow no difference between the Tyrian and the Trojan. Would your king, Aeneas, too, were present, driven here 810 by that same south wind. I, in fact, shall send my trusted riders out along the shores, to comb the farthest coasts of Libya and to see if, cast out of the waters, he is wandering through the forests or the cities." 815

The words of Dido stir the brave Achates and father Aeneas; long since, both of them had burned to break free from their cloud. Achates speaks first to his companion: "Goddess-born, what counsel rises in your spirit now? 820 You see that everything is safe, our ships and sailors saved. And only one is missing, whom we ourselves saw sink among the waves. All else is as your mother said it would be."

Yet he was hardly done when suddenly 825 the cloud that circled them is torn; it clears away to open air. And there Aeneas stood, glittering in that bright light, his face and shoulders like a god's. Indeed, his mother had breathed upon her son becoming hair, 830 the glow of a young man, and in his eyes, glad handsomeness: such grace as art can add to ivory, or such as Parian marble or silver shows when set in yellow gold.

But then, surprising all, he tells the queen: 835 "The man you seek is here. I stand before you, Trojan Aeneas, torn from Libyan waves. O you who were alone in taking pity on the unutterable trials of Troy, who welcome us as allies to your city 840 and home— a remnant left by Greeks, harassed

22 T H E A E N E I D [598-630]

by all disasters known on land and sea, in need of everything—we cannot, Dido, repay you, then, with gratitude enough to match your merits, neither we nor any 845 Dardans scattered over this great world. May gods confer on you your due rewards, if deities regard the good, if justice and mind aware of right count anywhere. What happy centuries gave birth to you? 850 What splendid parents brought you into being? While rivers run into the sea and shadows still sweep the mountain slopes and stars still pasture upon the sky, your name and praise and honor shall last, whatever be the lands that call me." 855 This said, he gives his right hand to his friend Ilioneus; his left he gives Serestus; then turns to brave Cloanthus and brave Gyas.

First at the very sight of him, and then at all he had endured, Sidonian Dido 860 was startled. And she told the Trojan this: "You, goddess-born, what fortune hunts you down through such tremendous trials? What violence has forced you onto these ferocious shores? Are you that same Aeneas, son of Dardan 865 Anchises, whom the gracious Venus bore beside the banks of Phrygian Simois? Indeed, 1 still remember banished Teucer, a Greek who came to Sidon from his native kingdom, when with the help of Belus he 870 was seeking out new realms (my father Belus was plundering then, as victor, wealthy Cyprus). And even then I learned of Troy's disaster, and of your name and of the kings of Greece. And though he was the Trojans' enemy, 875 Teucer would often praise the Teucrians and boast that he was born of their old race. Thus, young men, you are welcome to our halls. My destiny, like yours, has willed that I, a veteran of hardships, halt at last 880 in this country. Not ignorant of trials, I now can learn to help the miserable."

[631-660] B O O K i 23

So Dido speaks. At once she leads Aeneas into the royal palace and announces her offerings in the temples of the gods. 885 But meanwhile she does not neglect his comrades. She sends down to the beaches twenty bullocks, a hundred fat lambs with their ewes, and Bacchus' glad gift of wine. Within the palace gleam the furnishings of royal luxury; 890 the feast is readied in the atrium. And there are draperies of noble purple woven with art; and plate of massive silver upon the tables; and, engraved in gold, the sturdy deeds of Dido's ancestors, 895 a long, long line of happenings and heroes traced from the first beginnings of her race.

Aeneas (for his father's love could not permit his mind to rest) now quickly sends Achates to the Trojan ships, to carry 900 these tidings to Ascanius, to lead Aeneas' son up to the walls of Carthage: all his paternal love and care are for Ascanius. He also tells Achates to bring back gifts snatched from the wreck of Troy: 905 a tunic stiff with images of gold, and then a veil whose fringes were of saffron acanthus—these once worn by Argive Helen, who had borne them off to Troy and her unlawful wedding when she had fled Mycenae—splendid 910 gifts of her mother Leda; and besides, the scepter that had once been carried by Ilione, eldest of Priam's daughters, a necklace set with pearls, and then a crown that had twin circles set with jewels and gold. 915 And hurrying to do all he was told, Achates made his way down to the boats.

But in her breast the Cytherean ponders new stratagems, new guile: that Cupid, changed in form and feature, come instead of sweet 920 Ascanius and, with his gifts, inflame the queen to madness and insinuate

2 4 T H E A E N E I D [660-688]

a fire in Dido's very bones. For Venus is much afraid of that deceptive house and of the Tyrians with their double tongues. 925 The thought of savage Juno burns; by night her care returns. Her words are for winged Love:

"Son, you are my only strength, my only power; son, you who scorn the shafts of the great Father's Typhoean thunderbolts, I flee to you 930 for refuge; suppliant, I call upon the force within your godhead. For you know how, through the hatred of resentful Juno, across the sea and every shore your brother Aeneas has been hunted down; and often 935 you have sorrowed with my sorrow. Now Phoenician Dido has hold of him; with sweet words she would make him stay. The hospitality of Juno—and where it may lead—makes me afraid; at such a turn I know she'll not 940 be idle. So, before she has a chance, I plan to catch the queen by craftiness, to girdle Dido with a flame, so that no god can turn her back; I'll hold her fast with great love for Aeneas. Hear me now; 945 I need your help to carry out this plot. Ascanius, my dearest care, is ready to go along to the Sidonian city, called by his loving father, carrying gifts saved from Troy in flames and from the sea. 950 But I shall lull the royal boy to sleep on high Cythera or Idalium and hide him in my holy house, so that he cannot know—or interrupt—our trap. And you will need—for one night and no more— 955 to counterfeit his features; as a boy, to wear that boy's familiar face, and so when Dido, joyful, draws you close during the feasting and the flowing wine, when she embraces you, and kisses tenderly, 960 your breath can fill her with a hidden flame, your poison penetrate, deceivingly."

[689-719] BOOK I 25

Love does what his dear mother asks. He sheds his wings and gladly tries the walk of lulus. But Venus pours upon Ascanius 965 a gentle rest. She takes him to her breast caressingly; and as a goddess can, she carries him to her Idalium where, in high groves, mild marjoram enfolds him in flowers and the breath of its sweet shade. 970

Now Cupid's on his way, as he was told. Gladly—Achates is his guide—he brings the Tyrians royal gifts. As he arrives, he finds the banqueting begun, the queen already settled on her couch of gold 975 beneath resplendent awnings, at the center. Father Aeneas and the Trojan warriors now gather; they recline on purple covers. The servants pour out water for their hands and promptly offer bread from baskets and 980 bring towels smooth in texture for the guests. Inside are fifty handmaids at their stations— their care to stock the storerooms and to honor the household gods with fire—and a hundred more women, and as many male attendants 985 of equal age with them, to load the tables with food and place the cups. The Tyrians, too, have gathered, crowding through the happy halls— all these invited to brocaded couches. They marvel at Aeneas' gifts, at lulus— 990 the god's bright face and his fictitious words— and at the cloak, the veil adorned with saffron acanthus borders. And above all, luckless Dido—doomed to face catastrophe— can't sate her soul, inflamed by what she sees; 995 the boy, the gifts excite her equally. And he pretends to satisfy a father's great love by hanging on Aeneas' neck in an embrace. Then he seeks out the queen. Her eyes cling fast to him, and all her heart; 1000 at times she fondles him upon her lap— for Dido does not know how great a god is taking hold of her poor self. But Cupid,

26 T H E A E N E I D [719-749]

remembering his mother, Venus, slowly begins to mist the memory of Sychaeus 1005 and with a living love tries to surprise her longings gone to sleep, her unused heart.

And at the first pause in the feast the tables are cleared away. They fetch enormous bowls and crown the wine with wreaths. The uproar grows; 1010 it swells through all the palace; voices roll across the ample halls; the lamps are kindled— they hang from ceilings rich with golden panels— and flaming torches overcome the night. And then the queen called for a golden cup, 1015 massive with jewels, that Belus once had used, Belus and all the Tyrian line; she rilled that golden cup with wine. The hall fell still.

"O Jupiter, for they say you are author of laws for host and guest, do grant that this 1020 may be a day of happiness for those who come from Tyre and Troy, and may our sons remember it. May Bacchus, gladness-giver, and gracious Juno, too, be present here; and favor, Tyrians, this feast with honor." 1025 Her words were done. She offered her libation, pouring her wine upon the boards; and then she was the first to take the cup, but only touching her lips to it. She passed it next to Bitias and spurred him to be quick. 1030 He drained the foaming cup with eagerness and drenched himself in that gold flood; in turn the other chieftains drank. Long-haired Iopas, whom mighty Atlas once had taught, lifts up his golden lyre, sounding through the hall. 1035 He sings the wandering moon; the labors of the sun; the origins of men and beasts, of water and of fire; and of Arcturus, the stormy Hyades, and the twin Bears; and why the winter suns so rush to plunge 1040 in Ocean; what holds back the lingering nights. The Tyrians applaud again, again. The Trojans follow. So the luckless Dido drew out the night with varied talk. She drank

[749-756] BOOK I 27

long love and asked Aeneas many questions: 1045 of Priam; Hector; how Aurora's son was armed; and now, how strong were Diomedes' horses; now, how tremendous was Achilles.

"No, come, my guest," she calls, "and tell us all things from the first beginning: Grecian guile, 1050 your people's trials, and then your joumeyings. For now the seventh summer carries you, a wanderer, across the lands and waters."


A sudden silence fell on all of them;their eyes were turned, intent on him. And father Aeneas, from his high couch, then began:

"O Queen—too terrible for tongues the pain you ask me to renew, the tale of how 5 the Danaans could destroy the wealth of Troy, that kingdom of lament: for I myself saw these sad things; I took large part in them. What Myrmidon or what Dolopian, what soldier even of the harsh Ulysses, 10 could keep from tears in telling such a story? But now the damp night hurries from the sky into the sea; the falling stars persuade to sleep. But if you long so much to learn our suffering, to hear in brief the final 15 calamity of Troy—although my mind, remembering, recoils in grief, and trembles, I shall try.

"The captains of the Danaans, now weak with war and beaten back by fate, and with so many gliding years gone by, 20

[15-43] BOOK II 29

are able to construct, through the divine art of Minerva, a mountainous horse. They weave its ribs with sawed-off beams of fir, pretending that it is an offering for safe return. At least, that is their story. 25 Then in the dark sides of the horse they hide men chosen from the sturdiest among them; they stuff their soldiers in its belly, deep in that vast cavern: Greeks armed to the teeth.

"Before their eyes lies famous Tenedos, 30 an island prosperous and powerful as long as Priam's kingdoms held their own, but now only a bay, a treacherous ships' anchorage. And here the Argives sail to hide themselves along that lonely shore. 35 We thought that they had left, to seek Mycenae before the wind. And all of Troy is free of long lament. The gates are opened wide; gladly we go to see the Doric camp, deserted places, the abandoned sands. 40 For here a squadron of Dolopians, here fierce Achilles once had pitched his tent; and here their ships were anchored; here they fought. Some wonder at the deadly gift to maiden Minerva, marveling at the horse's bulk; 45 Thymoetes was the first of us to urge that it be brought within the walls and set inside the citadel. He so advised either through treachery or else because the fates of Troy had willed this course. But Capys 50 and those with sounder judgment counsel us to cast the Greek device into the sea, or to set fire to this suspicious gift, or else to pierce and probe that hollow belly. The doubting crowd is split into two factions. 55

"The lead is taken by Laocoon. He hurries from the citadel's high point excitedly; and with a mob around him, from far off he calls out: 'Poor citizens, what wild insanity is this? Do you 60 believe the enemy have sailed away?

30 T H E A E N E 1 D [43-74]

Or think that any Grecian gifts are free of craft? Is this the way Ulysses acts? Either Achaeans hide, shut in this wood, or else this is an engine built against 65 our walls to spy upon our houses or to batter down our city from above; some trickery is here. Trojans, do not trust in the horse. Whatever it may be, I fear the Greeks, even when they bring gifts.' 70 And as he spoke he hurled his massive shaft with heavy force against the side, against the rounded, jointed belly of the beast. It quivered when it struck the hollow cavern, which groaned and echoed. Had the outcome not 75 been fated by the gods, and had our minds not wandered off, Laocoon would then have made our sword points foul the Argive den; and, Troy, you would be standing yet and you, high fort of Priam, you would still survive. 80

"Meanwhile with many shouts some Dardan shepherds were dragging to the king a youth they had found. His hands were bound behind his back; he was a stranger who had surrendered willingly, that he might bring about this very thing 85 and open Troy to the Achaeans; he was sure of spirit, set for either end: to win through stratagems or meet his death. From every side the young of Troy rush out, all swarming in their eagerness to see him, 90 contending in their taunts against the captive. Now listen to the treachery of the Danaans and learn from one the wickedness of all. For as he stood with every eye upon him, uneasy and unarmed, and looked around 95 while taking in the Phrygian ranks—'What land,' he cries, 'what seas can now receive me? What awaits my misery? I have no place among the Danaans; and in bitterness the Trojans ask for vengeance, for my blood 100 as penalty.' His lamentation turned our feelings. Every violence was checked. We urge him on to speak, to tell us who

[74-103] B O O K n 31

his. family may be, what word he brings, what is he hoping for as prisoner. 105 At last he lays aside his fear and speaks:

" 'O King, I shall hide nothing of the truth, whatever comes of it for me. I'll not deny that I am born an Argive; this I first confess. For fortune made of Sinon no a miserable man but not a man of faithlessness and falsehood. Now by chance you may have heard men talk of Palamedes, the son of Belus, famous, glorious; though he was innocent, the Greeks condemned him 115 to death on lying evidence, false charges, simply because he had opposed the war. Now that his light is lost, his killers mourn him. When I was young, my father—a poor man— sent me to serve in arms as a companion 120 to Palamedes, our close relative. And while my kinsman's realm was safe and sure and while his word was strong in the kings' council, I was respected and I shared his fame. But after he had left these upper shores, 125 a victim of the sharp Ulysses' envy (no man is ignorant of what I tell), I dragged my bitter life through grief and darkness, I raged within me at the doom of my innocent friend. And in my madness I 130 did not keep silent, but I swore to act as his avenger if I found the chance, if ever I returned to my homeland of Argos as a victor. With my words I stirred up bitter hatred; and for this 135 I first was touched by threats; from that time, too, Ulysses menaced me with fresh complaints; the words he spread among the army were ambiguous; aware of his own guilt, he looked for weapons. And he did not stop 140 until, with Calchas as his tool—but why do I tell over this unwelcome story, this useless tale? Why do I hold you back? If you consider all Achaeans one, it is enough for you that I am Grecian. 145

32 T H E A E N E I D [103-131]

Then take your overdue revenge at once: for this is what the Ithacan would wish; the sons of Atreus—they would pay for this.'

"But then indeed we burn to know, to ask the reasons; we were far too ignorant 150 of so much wickedness, of Greek deception. Trembling, he carries on. His words are false:

" 'The Greeks have often wanted to abandon the plain of Troy, to slip away, to flee, weary of this long war: would that they had! 155 But each time they were blocked by bitter tempests across the waters, terrified because the south wind beat against their sails. Above all, when this high horse you see was ready, built of maple beams, storm clouds droned through the heavens. 160 Bewildered, we send out Eurypylus to ask the oracle of Phoebus; from the shrine he brings back these grim words to us: "By blood and by the slaying of a virgin, Grecians, you stilled the winds when you first came 165 to Troy; by blood seek out your homeward way. The only offering that is suitable: an Argive life." And when the army heard this oracle, they were amazed; within the Grecians' deepest marrow cold fear shuddered. 170 For whom has fate prepared this end? Whose life does Phoebus want? At this, with much fanfare the Ithacan drags out the prophet Calchas before the crowd and asks of him what are the gods' demands. And many now foretold 175 to me this schemer's ruthless villainy; they saw—but unprotestingly—what was to come. For twice-five days the seer is still, secluded in his tent; his tongue refuses to name a single Greek or to betray 180 death's victim. Finally, with difficulty and driven by the Ithacan's loud urgings, as they had planned, he breaks his silence and assigns me to the altar. All approved; what each feared for himself he now endured 185

[131-160] B O O K II 33

when someone else was singled out for ruin.

" 'And now the day of horror was at hand; the rites were being readied for me: cakes of salt and garlands round my temples. I confess, 1 snatched myself from death; I broke 190 my bonds; and in a muddy pond, unseen, nightlong I hid among the rushes, waiting for them to sail away—if only that could be! And now there is no hope for me to see my old country, my tender sons, 195 my longed-for father, on whom they may levy the punishment for my escape, making poor victims pay for my crime with their death. I beg you, therefore, by the High Ones, by the powers that know the truth, and by whatever 200 still uncontaminated trust is left to mortals, pity my hard trials, pity a soul that carries undeserved sorrows.'

"We grant life to his tears and, more, our mercy. And Priam is the first to have the fetters 205 and tight chains taken off the fugitive; he speaks to him with words of friendliness: 'Whoever you may be, from this time on forget the Greeks you lost; you are one of us. And answer truthfully the things I ask: 210 Why have they built this massive horse? Who was its maker? And what are they after? What religious gift is it? Or engine of war?'

"He stopped. The other, schooled in Grecian guile and wiles, lifts his unfettered hands to heaven: 215 'You everlasting fires,' he cries, 'and your inviolable power, be my witness; you altars, savage swords that I escaped, you garlands of the gods I wore as victim, it now is right for me to break the holy 220 oath of my loyalty and right for me to hate the Greeks, to bring all things to light, whatever they conceal. I am no longer bound to obey the laws of my own country. But, Troy, you must hold fast what you have promised; 225

3 4 T H E A E N E I D [160-188]

preserved, preserve your word to me, if now I tell the truth and so repay you fully.

" 'The only hope and confidence the Danaans had ever had in undertaking war lay in the help of Pallas. But in fact, 230 since that time when the godless Diomedes, the son of Tydeus, first went with Ulysses, inventor of impieties, and tried to tear down from its sacred shrine the fateful Palladium, when they cut down the guardians 235 of that high citadel with ruthless hands, daring to touch the virgin goddess' garlands— since then the Danaans' hopes have ebbed away, receding, falling back; their force is broken; the mind of Pallas has not turned toward them. 240 The omens of her change were not uncertain. No sooner was her image in the Grecian camp site than salt sweat poured across its body and quivering flames blazed from its staring eyes; and then, amazingly, three times the goddess . 245 herself sprang from the ground with trembling shaft and shield. And straightway Calchas warns them that they must try out the seas in flight, that Troy could never be destroyed by Argive arms unless fresh auspices were brought from Argos; 250 that would regain the favor of the gods who first helped bring the curving keels from Greece. Then with the wind they sought their native land, Mycenae, to make ready gods and weapons as their companions, to recross the seas, 255 to come back suddenly. For so had Calchas interpreted the omens. And he warned them to build this effigy as their atonement for the Palladium, to serve as payment for their outrage against the goddess' image, 260 to expiate so great a sacrilege. But he instructed them to make this mass of interwoven timbers so immense and build it up so high to heaven that it cannot pass the gate, can never be 265 received within Troy's walls, never protect the people under its old sanctity.

[189-220] B O O K 11 35

For if your hands should harm Minerva's gift, then vast destruction (may the gods turn this their prophecy against the priest's own lips!) 270 would fall on Priam's kingdom and the Phrygians; but if it climbed by your hands into Troy, then Asia would repel the Greeks and, more, advance in war as far as Pelops' walls; this is the doom that waits for our descendants.' 275

"Such was the art of perjured Sinon, so insidious, we trusted what he told. So we were taken in by snares, forced tears— yes, we, whom neither Diomedes nor Achilles of Larissa could defeat, 280 nor ten long years, a thousand-galleyed fleet.

"Now yet another and more dreadful omen is thrust at us, bewilders our blind hearts. Laocoon, by lot named priest of Neptune, was sacrificing then a giant bull 285 upon the customary altars, when two snakes with endless coils, from Tenedos strike out across the tranquil deep (I shudder to tell what happened), resting on the waters, advancing shoreward side by side; their breasts 290 erect among the waves, their blood-red crests are higher than the breakers. And behind, the rest of them skims on along the sea; their mighty backs are curved in folds. The foaming salt surge is roaring. Now they reach the fields. 295 Their eyes are drenched with blood and fire—they burn. They lick their hissing jaws with quivering tongues. We scatter at the sight, our blood is gone. They strike a straight line toward Laocoon. At first each snake entwines the tiny bodies 300 of his two sons in an embrace, then feasts its fangs on their defenseless limbs. The pair next seize upon Laocoon himself, who nears to help his sons, carrying weapons. They wind around his waist and twice around 305 his throat. They throttle him with scaly backs; their heads and steep necks tower over him. He struggles with his hands to rip their knots,

36 T H E A E N E I D [221-252]

his headbands soaked in filth and in dark venom, while he lifts high his hideous cries to heaven, 310 just like the bellows of a wounded bull when it has fled the altar, shaking off an unsure ax. But now the snakes escape: twin dragons, gliding to the citadel of cruel Pallas, her high shrines. They hide 315 beneath the goddess' feet, beneath her shield.

"At this, a stranger terror takes its way through every trembling heart. Laocoon has justly paid the penalty—they say— for outrage, since his spearhead had profaned 320 the sacred oak, his cursed shaft been cast against the horse's back. Their cry is that the image must be taken to the temple, the favor of the goddess must be sought.

"We break the walls and bare the battlements. 325 We set to work; beneath the horse's feet we fasten sliding wheels; about its neck we stretch out ropes of hemp. And fat with weapons, the engine of our fate climbs up the rampart. And boys and unwed girls surround it, singing 330 their sacred chants, so glad to touch the cable. The horse glides, menacing, advancing toward the center of the city. O my land, o Ilium, the home of gods and Dardan walls long renowned in war, four times it stalled 335 before the gateway, at the very threshold; four times the arms clashed loud inside its belly. Nevertheless, heedless, blinded by frenzy, we press right on and set the inauspicious monster inside the sacred fortress. Even 340 then can Cassandra chant of what will come with lips the gods had doomed to disbelief by Trojans. That day was our last—and yet, helpless, we crown the altars of the gods with festive branches all about the city. 345

"Meanwhile the heavens wheel, night hurries from Ocean and clothes within its giant shadow the earth, the sky, the snares of Myrmidons.

[252-285] BOOK II 37

The silent Trojans lie within their city as sleep embraces their exhausted bodies. 350

"And now from Tenedos the Argive army were moving in their marshaled ships, beneath the friendly silence of the tranquil moon, seeking familiar shores. The royal galley has signaled with its beacon torches; Sinon, 355 shielded by the unkindly destinies of gods, can secretly set free the Danaans out of the monster's womb, the pinewood prison. The horse, thrown open, gives them back to air. They exit gladly from the hollow timber: 360 Thessandrus, Sthenelus, the captains; fierce Ulysses, gliding down the lowered rope; and Thoas, Acamas, and then the grandson of Peleus, Neoptolemus; the chieftain Machaon, Menelaus, then Epeos, 365 the very maker of the stratagem. They fall upon the city buried deep in wine and sleep. The guards cut down, the gates thrown open, they can welcome their companions and gather the conspirators in one. 370

"It was the hour when for troubled mortals rest—sweetest gift of gods that glides to men— has just begun. Within my sleep, before my eyes there seemed to stand, in tears and sorrow, Hector as once he was, dismembered by 375 the dragging chariot, black with bloodied dust; his swollen feet were pierced by thongs. Oh this was Hector, and how different he was from Hector back from battle, putting on Achilles' spoils, or Hector when he flung 380 his Phrygian firebrands at Dardan prows! His beard unkempt, his hair was thick with blood, he bore the many wounds he had received around his homeland's walls. And I myself seemed then to weep, to greet him with sad words: 385 'O light of Troy, o Trojans' trusted hope! What long delay has held you back? From what seashores, awaited Hector, have you come? For, weary with the many deaths of friends,

38 T H E A E N E I D [283-316]

the sorrows of your men, your city, how 390 our eyes hold fast to you! What shameful cause defaced your tranquil image? Why these wounds?'

"He wastes no words, no time on useless questions— but drawing heavy sighs from deep within, 'Ah, goddess-born, take flight,' he cries, 'and snatch 395 yourself out of these flames. The enemy has gained the walls; Troy falls from her high peak. Our home, our Priam—these have had their due: could Pergamus be saved by any prowess, then my hand would have served. But Troy entrusts 400 her holy things and household gods to you; take them away as comrades of your fortunes, seek out for them the great walls that at last, once you have crossed the sea, you will establish.' So Hector speaks; then from the inner altars 405 he carries out the garlands and great Vesta and, in his hands, the fire that never dies.

"Meanwhile the howls of war confound the city. And more and more—although my father's house was far, withdrawn, and screened by trees—the roar 410 is sharper, the dread clash of battle grows. I start from sleep and climb the sloping roof above the house. I stand, alerted: just as when, with furious south winds, a fire has fallen on a wheat field, or a torrent 415 that hurtles from a mountain stream lays low the meadows, low the happy crops, and low the labor of the oxen, dragging forests headlong—and even then, bewildered and unknowing, perched upon a rock, the shepherd 420 will listen to the clamor. Now indeed the truth is plain, the guile of Greece made clear. The spacious palace of Deiphobus has fallen, victim of the towering Vulcan. And now Ucalegon's, his neighbor, bums; 425 and wide Sigeum's harbor gleams with fire. The cries of men are high, the trumpets clang.

"Insane, I seize my weapons. There's no sense in weapons, yet my spirit burns to gather

[315-346] B O O K u 39

a band for battle, to rush out against 430 the citadel with my companions. Rage and anger drive my mind. My only thought: how fine a thing it is to die in arms.

"But Panthus, slipping past the Grecian swords— Panthus, the son of Othrys, priest of Phoebus 435 within the citadel—now rushes toward my threshold, madly; in his hand he carries the holy vessels and defeated gods. He drags his tiny grandson. 'Panthus, where's the crucial struggle? Where are we to stand?' 440 My words are hardly done when, with a groan, he answers: 'It has come—the final day and Troy's inevitable time. We Trojans were; Troy has been; gone is the giant glory of Teucrians: ferocious Jupiter 445 has taken all to Argos. And the city now burns beneath its Danaan overlords. The horse stands high within the heart of Troy and it pours out armed men. The mocking Sinon, now he has won, is scattering firebrands. 450 Some crowd the open gates—as many thousands as ever came from great Mycenae; others have blocked the narrow streets with ready blades; the sword edge stands, unsheathed, its gleaming point is set for slaughter; at the forward line • 455 the guards can scarcely stand; they battle blind.'

"The words of Panthus and the will of gods, these carry me into the flames and weapons, where bitter Fury, where the roar and cries that climb the skies call out. And in the moonlight 460 I now am met by comrades: Epytus, great warrior, and Ripheus come to join us; to march beside us, Hypanis and Dymas and then the young Coroebus, son of Mygdon. For in those days he chanced to come to Troy, 465 insane with love for his Cassandra, bringing his help, as son-in-law, to Priam and the Phrygians—sad Coroebus, would he had heeded the warnings of his frantic bride!

4 0 T H E A E N E 1 D [347-377]

"And when I saw them hot again for battle, 470 in tight ranks, I began: 'Young men, your hearts are sturdy—but for nothing; if you want to follow me into my last attempt, you see what fortune watches us. For all the gods on whom this kingdom stood have quit 475 our shrines and altars, gone away. The city that you would help is now in flames. Then let us rush to arms and die. The lost have only this one deliverance: to hope for none.'

"So were these young men's spirits spurred to fury. 480 Then—just as plundering wolves in a black fog, when driven blindly by their belly's endless frenzy, for they have left behind their cubs to wait with thirsty jaws—through enemies, through swords we pass to certain death; we make 485 our way into the heart of Troy; around us the black night hovers with its hollow shade.

"Who has the words to tell that night's disaster? And who to tell the deaths? What tears could equal our agony? An ancient city falls 490 that ruled for many years; through streets and houses and on the sacred thresholds of the gods so many silent bodies lie about. Nor are the Teucrians the only ones to pay the penalty of blood: at times 495 new courage comes to beaten hearts, and then the Danaan victors die; and everywhere are fear, harsh grief, and many shapes of slaughter.

"The first to face us is Androgeos, surrounded by a mighty mob of Greeks. 500 In ignorance, he thinks us fellow troops and welcomes us at once with friendly words: 'But hurry, men! What laziness has kept you back? The others are at sack and plunder in burning Pergamus. Have you just come 505 from your tall ships?' He spoke and knew at once— for he received no sure reply from us— that he was in the hands of enemies.

[378-409] BOOK II 41

He drew back, dazed. He checked his step and voice. Even as one who works his way along 510 the ground through tangled briers when, unawares, he treads upon a serpent and recoils in terror, suddenly, as it ignites in anger, puffing up its azure neck: just so, on seeing us, Androgeos trembled, 515 trying to make his quick escape. We rush to ring the Greeks, our weapons thick; we kill on every side. They do not know the ground and panic overcomes them. Fortune smiles on our first trial. And here Coroebus, glad 520 at our success and spirits, cries: 'My comrades, where Fortune first points out the path of safety, where first she shows herself auspicious, there must be the way to follow: let us change our shields, take Danaan armor for ourselves. 525 If that be guile or valor—who would ask in war? Our enemies will give us weapons.'

"These were Coroebus' words. Then he puts on Androgeos' crested helmet and his shield with handsome emblem, fastening to his thigh 530 the Argive sword. So Dymas does and Ripheus and the excited youths: each arms himself with these new spoils. We move ahead, to mingle with Argives under auspices not ours. Through that long night we clash in many combats, 535 and we send many Danaans down to Orcus. Some scatter to the ships, to seek the shore of safety; some in their low fear climb back to the familiar belly of the horse.

"But oh, it is not right for anyone 540 to trust reluctant gods! For there the virgin Cassandra, Priam's daughter, hair disheveled, was dragged out from the temple, from Minerva's shrine, and her eyes were raised in vain to heaven— her eyes, for chains held fast her gentle hands. 545 Coroebus, maddened, could not stand the sight. He threw himself, about to die, against the very center of the Grecian line. We follow close behind him, charging thick.

4 2 T H E A E N E I D [410-439]

Here, from the shrine's high roof, we are struck down 550 for the first time by our own Trojan weapons: the image of our arms, the error of our Danaan helmets, starts a wretched slaughter. But then the Grecians groan with indignation because the virgin is rescued. From all sides 555 they muster to attack us: Ajax most ferociously, and both of Atreus' sons, and all the army of Dolopians: as, when a hurricane has burst, the crosswinds will clash together—West and South and East, 560 exulting in his oriental steeds— the woods are shrill, and foam-washed Nereus rages, his trident stirs the seas up from their deeps. And any whom our stratagems had driven beneath the shades of dark night, whom we had chased 585 across the city, now appear; and first they recognize our shields, our miming weapons, then note our speech that does not sound like theirs. Such numbers overcome us instantly. Coroebus is the first to fall; he dies 570 beneath Peneleus' right hand, beside the altar of the warrior goddess, Pallas. Then Riphens, too, has fallen—he was first among the Teucrians for justice and observing right; the gods thought otherwise. 575 Both Hypanis and Dymas perish, pierced by their own comrades; neither your great goodness, 0 Panthus, nor Apollo's garland could protect you when you fell. O final flames that take my people, ashes of my Ilium, 580 be you my witness that, in your disaster, 1 did not shun the Danaan blades or battle: if fate had willed my end, my hand had earned it. Then we are forced apart. Along with me go Iphitus and Pelias: one was 585 already slow with his long years, the other, slow-footed through a wound got from Ulysses. The clamor calls us on to Priam's palace.

"And here the fight is deadly, just as if there were no battles elsewhere, just as if 590 no one were dying now throughout the city;

[440-472] BOOK II 43

for here the god of war cannot be tamed. The Danaans rush the roofs; they storm the threshold with linked and lifted shields; their ladders hug the walls-—the rungs reach up the very doorposts. 595 Against the darts their left hands thrust their bucklers, and with their right, they clutch the battlements. In turn the Trojans tear down roofs and towers to fling as missiles; they can see the end is near, but even at death's point they still 600 prepare defense. They roll down gilded rafters, our ancient fathers' splendors; while below, the others block the gates with naked blades. They guard in tight array. Made new again, our spirits rush relief to Priam's palace, 605 help to our men, and fresh force to the beaten.

"There was an entry gate with secret doors: a passageway that ran to Priam's rooms, a postern at the palace rear; and there, while Troy still stood, the sad Andromache 610 would often, unattended, come to see her husband's parents; there she brought her boy Astyanax to visit his grandfather. That is the way I take to reach the ramparts along the roof; from there the wretched Trojans 615 fling useless weapons with their hands. And from the sheer edge of that roof a tower rose, built starward; it had served as lookout over all Troy, the Danaan ships, the Grecian camp. And where the upper storeys show loose joints, 620 there we attack with iron to tug it free, to wrench it from the top, to thrust it down. It suddenly collapses; with a crash it tumbles wide across the Danaan ranks; its fall is ruinous. But fresh Greeks come; 625 the stones, the other missiles never stop.

"And then, before the very porch, along the outer portal Pyrrhus leaps with pride, his armor glitters with a brazen brilliance he is like a snake that, fed on poisonous plants 630 and swollen underground all winter, now. his slough cast off, made new and bright with youth,

44 T H E A E N E I D [473-502]

uncoils his slippery body to the light; his breast erect, he towers toward the sun; he flickers from his mouth a three-forked tongue. 635 With Pyrrhus are the giant Periphas together with Automedon, Achilles' charioteer and armor-bearer; all the youths of Scyros now assault the palace; they fling their firebrands up toward the roof. 640 Pyrrhus himself, among the first, takes up a two-edged ax and cracks the stubborn gates. He rips the bronze-bound portals off their hinges, cuts through a beam, digs out tough oak: the breach is vast, a gaping mouth. The inner house 645 is naked now, the long halls, open; naked, the private rooms of Priam and the ancient kings; and the Greeks can see the threshold guards.

"But deep within, confusion takes the palace, anguish and sad commotion; and the vaulted 650 walls echo with the wail and woe of women, lament that beats against the golden stars. Across the huge apartments in their terror the matrons wander, clutching at the doors, embracing them, imprinting kisses. Pyrrhus, 655 his father's force within him, presses forward— no barrier, and not the guards themselves, can hold him off. The gate gives way before the ram's repeated hammerings; the doors are severed from their hinges, topple out. 660 Force cracks a breach; the Danaans storm and pour across the passage, butchering the first they meet; their soldiers stream across the palace— less furious than these, the foaming river when it has burst across resisting banks 665 and boundaries and overflows, its angry flood piling in a mass along the plains as it drags flocks and folds across the fields. And I myself saw Neoptolemus, insane with blood, and both of Atreus' sons 670 upon the threshold. I saw Hecuba together with her hundred daughters, and among the altars I could see King Priam, polluting with his blood the fires he

[502-532] BOOK II 45

himself had hallowed. And the fifty bridal 675 chambers that had such hopes of sons of sons, the doors that once had stood so proud with booty and with barbaric gold lie on the ground. What fire cannot do, the Danaans can.

"Perhaps you now will ask the end of Priam. 680 When he has seen his beaten city ruined— the wrenching of the gates, the enemy among his sanctuaries—then in vain the old man throws his armor, long unused, across his shoulders, tottering with age; 685 and he girds on his useless sword; about to die, he hurries toward the crowd of Greeks.

"Beneath the naked round of heaven, at the center of the palace, stood a giant shrine; at its side an ancient laurel leaned 690 across the altar stone, and it embraced the household gods within its shadow. Here, around that useless altar, Hecuba together with her daughters—just like doves when driven headlong by a dark storm—huddled; 695 and they held fast the statues of the gods. But when she saw her Priam putting on the armor he had worn when he was young, she cried: 'Poor husband, what wild thought drives you to wear these weapons now? Where would you rush? 700 This is no time for such defense and help, not even were my Hector here himself. Come near and pray: this altar shall yet save us all, or you shall die together with us.' When this was said she took the old man to her 705 and drew him down upon the sacred seat.

"But then Polites, one of Priam's sons who had escaped from Pyrrhus' slaughter, down long porticoes, past enemies and arrows, races, wounded, across the empty courts. 710 But after him, and hot to thrust, is Pyrrhus; now, even now he clutches, closing in; he presses with his shaft until at last Polites falls before his parents' eyes,

4 6 T H E A E N E I D [531-562]

within their presence; he pours out his life 715 in streams of blood. Though in the fist of death, at this, Priam does not spare voice or wrath: 'If there is any goodness in the heavens to oversee such acts, for this offense and outrage may you find your fitting thanks 720 and proper payment from the gods, for you have made me see the murder of my son, defiled a father's face with death. Achilles— you lie to call him father—never dealt with Priam so—and I, his enemy; 725 for he had shame before the claims and trust that are a suppliant's. He handed back for burial the bloodless corpse of Hector and sent me off in safety to my kingdom.' The old man spoke; his feeble spear flew off— 730 harmless; the hoarse bronze beat it back at once; it dangled, useless now, from the shield's boss. And Pyrrhus: 'Carry off these tidings; go and bring this message to my father, son of Peleus; and remember, let him know 735 my sorry doings, how degenerate is Neoptolemus. Now die.' This said, he dragged him to the very altar stone, with Priam shuddering and slipping in the blood that streamed from his own son. And Pyrrhus 740 with his left hand clutched tight the hair of Priam; his right hand drew his glistening blade, and then he buried it hilt-high in the king's side. This was the end of Priam's destinies, the close that fell to him by fate: to see 745 his Troy in flames and Pergamus laid low— who once was proud king over many nations and lands of Asia. Now he lies along the shore, a giant trunk, his head torn from his shoulders, as a corpse without a name. 750

"This was the first time savage horror took me. I was astounded; as I saw the king gasping his life away beneath a ruthless wound, there before me rose the effigy of my dear father, just as old as Priam; 755 before me rose Creiisa, left alone,

[563-591] BOOK II 47

my plundered home, the fate of small lulus. I look behind and scan the troops around me; all of my men, worn out, have quit the battle, have cast their bodies down along the ground 760 or fallen helplessly into the flames.

"And now that I am left alone, I see the daughter of Tyndareos clinging to Vesta's thresholds, crouching silently within a secret corner of the shrine; 765 bright conflagrations give me light as I wander and let my eyes read everything. For she, in terror of the Trojans—set against her for the fall of Pergamus— and of the Danaans' vengeance and the anger 770 of her abandoned husband; she, the common Fury of Troy and of her homeland, she had hid herself; she crouched, a hated thing, beside the altars. In my mind a fire is burning; anger spurs me to avenge 775 my falling land, to exact the debt of crime. 'Is she to have it so: to leave unharmed, see Sparta and her home Mycenae, go— a victor queen in triumph—to look on her house and husband, parents, children, trailing 780 a train of Trojan girls and Phrygian slaves? Shall Troy have been destroyed by fire, Priam been beaten by the blade, the Dardan shore so often soaked with blood, to this end? No. For though there is no memorable name 785 in punishing a woman and no gain of honor in such victory, yet I shall have my praise for blotting out a thing of evil, for my punishing of one who merits penalties; and it will be 790 a joy to fill my soul with vengeful fire, to satisfy the ashes of my people.'

"And carried off by my mad mind, I was still blurting out these words when, with such brightness as I had never seen, my gracious mother 795 stood there before me; and across the night she gleamed with pure light, unmistaken goddess,

4 8 T H E A E N E I D [591-621]

as lovely and as tall as she appears whenever she is seen by heaven's beings. And while she caught and held my right hand fast, 800 she spoke these words to me with her rose lips: 'My son, what bitterness has kindled this fanatic anger? Why this madness? What of all your care for me—where has it gone? Should you not first seek out your father, worn 805 with years, Anchises, where you left him; see if your own wife, Creiisa, and the boy Ascanius are still alive? The Argive lines ring them all about; and if my care had not prevented such an end, by now 810 flames would have swept them off, the hostile sword have drunk their blood. And those to blame are not the hated face of the Laconian woman, the daughter of Tyndareos, or Paris: it is the gods' relentlessness, the gods', 815 that overturns these riches, tumbles Troy from its high pinnacle. Look now—for I shall tear away each cloud that cloaks your eyes and clogs your human seeing, darkening all things with its damp fog: you must not fear 820 the orders of your mother; do not doubt, but carry out what she commands. For here, where you see huge blocks ripped apart and stones torn free from stones and smoke that joins with dust in surges, Neptune shakes the walls, his giant 825 trident is tearing Troy from its foundations; and here the first to hold the Scaean gates is fiercest Juno; girt with iron, she calls furiously to the fleet for more Greek troops. Now turn and look: Tritonian Pallas 830 is planted there; upon the tallest towers she glares with her storm cloud and her grim Gorgon. And he who furnishes the Greeks with force that favors and with spirit is the Father himself, for he himself goads on the gods 83s against the Dardan weapons. Son, be quick to flee, have done with fighting. I shall never desert your side until I set you safe upon your father's threshold.' So she spoke, then hid herself within the night's thick shadows. 840

[622-652] B O O K II 49

Ferocious forms appear—the fearful powers of gods that are the enemies of Troy.

"At this, indeed, I saw all Ilium sink down into the fires; Neptune's Troy is overturned: even as when the woodsmen 845 along a mountaintop are rivals in their striving to bring down an ancient ash, hacked at with many blows of iron and ax; it always threatens falling, nodding with its trembling leaves and tossing crest until, 850 slowly, slowly, the wounds have won; it gives one last great groan, then wrenches from the ridges and crashes into ruin. I go down and, guided by a god, move on among the foes and fires; weapons turn aside, 855 the flames retire where I make my way.

"But now, when I had reached my father's threshold, Anchises' ancient house, our home—and I longed so to carry him to the high mountains and sought him first—he will not let his life 860 be drawn out after Troy has fallen, he will not endure exile: 'You whose lifeblood is fresh, whose force is still intact and tough, you hurry your escape; if heaven's lords had wanted longer life for me, they would 865 have saved my home. It is enough—and more— that I have lived beyond one fall and sack of Troy. Call out your farewell to my body as it is now, thus laid out, thus; and then be gone. I shall find death by my own hand; 870 the enemy will pity me and seek my spoils. The loss of burial is easy. For hated by the gods and useless, I have lingered out my years too long already, since that time when the father of the High Ones 875 and king of men let fly his thunderbolt against me with the winds, touched me with lightning.'

"These were the words he used. He did not move. We stood in tears—my wife, Creiisa, and Ascanius and all the household—begging 880

50 T H E A E N E I D [652-680]

my father not to bring down everything along with him and make our fate more heavy. He will not have it. What he wants is set; he will not leave his place. Again I take to arms and, miserable, long for death. 885 What other stratagem or chance is left? And then I ask: 'My father, had you thought I could go off and leave you here? Could such unholiness fall from a father's lips? For if it please the High Ones that no thing 890 be left of this great city, if your purpose must still persist, if you want so to add yourself and yours to Ilium's destruction— why then, the door to death is open: Pyrrhus— who massacres the son before his father's 895 eyes, and then kills the father at the altars— still hot from Priam's blood, will soon be here. And was it, then, for this, my gracious mother, that you have saved me from the blade, the fire— that I might see the enemy within 900 the heart of home, my son Ascanius, my father, and Creusa at their side, all butchered in each other's blood? My men, bring arms; the last light calls upon the beaten. Let be, and let me at the Greeks again, 905 to make my way back to new battles. Never shall we all die this day without revenge.'

"At that I girded on my sword again and fixed it firm, passing my left hand through my shield strap as I hurried from the house. 910 But suddenly Creusa held me fast beside the threshold; clinging to my feet, she lifted young lulus to his father: 'If you go off to die, then take us, too, to face all things with you; but if your past 915 still lets you put your hope in arms, which now you have put on, then first protect this house. To whom is young lulus left, to whom your father and myself, once called your wife?'

"So did Creusa cry; her wailing filled 920 my father's house. But even then there comes

[680-712] B O O K II 51

a sudden omen—wonderful to tell: between the hands, before the faces of his grieving parents, over lulus' head there leaps a lithe flametip that seems to shed 925 a radiance; the tongue of fire flickers, harmless, and plays about his soft hair, grazes his temples. Shuddering in our alarm, we rush to shake the flames out of his hair and quench the holy fire with water. But 930 Anchises raised his glad eyes to the stars and lifted heavenward his voice and hands: 'O Jupiter, all-able one, if you are moved by any prayers, look on us. 1 only ask you this: if by our goodness 935 we merit it, then, Father, grant to us your help and let your sign confirm these omens.'

"No sooner had the old man spoken so than sudden thunder crashed upon the left, and through the shadows ran a shooting star, 940 its trail a torch of flooding light. It glides above the highest housetops as we watch, until the brightness that has marked its course is buried in the woods of Ida: far and wide the long wake of that furrow shines, 945 and sulphur smokes upon the land. At last, won over by this sign, my father rises, to greet the gods, to adore the sacred star: 'Now my delay is done; I follow; where you lead, I am. Gods of my homeland, save 950 my household, save my grandson. Yours, this omen; and Troy is in your keeping. Yes, I yield. My son, I go with you as your companion.'

"These were his words. But now the fire roars across the walls; the tide of flame flows nearer. 955 'Come then, dear father, mount upon my neck; I'll bear you on my shoulders. That is not too much for me. Whatever waits for us, we both shall share one danger, one salvation. Let young lulus come with me, and let 960 my wife Creiisa follow at a distance. And servants, listen well to what I say:

52 T H E A E N E 1 D [713-744]

along the way, just past the city walls, in an abandoned spot there is a mound, an ancient shrine of Ceres; and nearby 965 an ancient cypress stands, one that our fathers' devotion kept alive for many years. From different directions, we shall meet at this one point. My father, you will carry the holy vessels and our homeland's gods. 970 Filthy with war, just come from slaughter, I must never touch these sacred things until I bathe myself within a running stream.'

"This said, 1 spread a tawny lion skin across my bent neck, over my broad shoulders, 975 and then take up Anchises; small lulus now clutches my right hand; his steps uneven, he is following his father; and my wife moves on behind. We journey through dark places; and I, who just before could not be stirred 980 by any weapons cast at me or by the crowds of Greeks in charging columns, now am terrified by all the breezes, startled by every sound, in fear for son and father.

"And now, as I approached the gates and thought 985 I had found the way of my escape, the sudden and frequent tramp of feet was at my ears; and peering through the shades, Anchises cries: 'My son, take flight; my son, they are upon us. I see their gleaming shields, the flashing bronze.' 990 At this alarm I panicked: some unfriendly god's power ripped away my tangled mind. For while I take a trackless path, deserting the customary roads, fate tears from me my wife Creiisa in my misery. 995 I cannot say if she had halted or had wandered off the road or slumped down, weary. My eyes have never had her back again. I did not look behind for her, astray, or think of her before we reached the mound 1000 and ancient, sacred shrine of Ceres; here at last, when all were gathered, she alone was missing—gone from husband, son, companions.

[745-775] BOOK II 53

"What men, what gods did I in madness not accuse? Did I see anything more cruel 1005 within the fallen city? I commit Ascanius, Anchises, and the gods of Troy to my companions, hiding them inside a winding valley. I myself again seek out the city, girding on 1010 my gleaming arms. I want to meet all risks again, return through all of Troy, again give back my life to danger. First I seek the city walls, the gateway's shadowed thresholds through which I had come before. And I retrace 1015 my footsteps; through the night I make them out. My spirit is held by horror everywhere; even the very silence terrifies. Then I move homeward—if by chance, by chance, she may have made her way there. But the Danaans 1020 had flooded in and held the house. At once the hungry conflagration rolls before the wind, high as the highest rooftop; flames are towering overhead, the boiling tide is raging to the heavens. I go on; 1025 again I see the house of Priam and the fortress. Down the empty porticoes, in Juno's sanctuary, I can see both Phoenix and the fierce Ulysses, chosen as guardians, at watch over the booty. 1030 And here, from every quarter, heaped together, are Trojan treasures torn from burning altars— the tables of the gods, and plundered garments, and bowls of solid gold; and Trojan boys and trembling women stand in a long line. 1035

"And more, I even dared to cast my cries across the shadows; in my sorrow, I— again, again, in vain—called for Creiisa; my shouting filled the streets. But as I rushed and raged among the houses endlessly, 1040 before my eyes there stood the effigy and grieving shade of my Creiisa, image far larger than the real. I was dismayed; my hair stood stiff, my voice held fast within my jaws. She spoke; her words undid my cares: 1045

54 T H E A E N E I D [776-804]

" 'O my sweet husband, is there any use in giving way to such fanatic sorrow? For this could never come to pass without the gods' decree; and you are not to carry Creiisa as your comrade, since the king 1050 of high Olympus does not grant you that. Along your way lie long exile, vast plains of sea that you must plow; but you will reach Hesperia, where Lydian Tiber flows, a tranquil stream, through farmer's fruitful fields. 1055 There days of gladness lie in wait for you: a kingdom and a royal bride. Enough of tears for loved Creiisa. I am not to see the haughty homes of Myrmidons or of Dolopians, or be a slave 1060 to Grecian matrons—I, a Dardan woman and wife of Venus' son. It is the gods' great Mother who keeps me upon these shores. And now farewell, and love the son we share.'

"When she was done with words—I weeping and 1065 wanting to say so many things—she left and vanished in transparent air. Three times I tried to throw my arms around her neck; three times the Shade I grasped in vain escaped my hands—like fleet winds, most like a winged dream. 1070

"And so at last, when night has passed, I go again to my companions. Here I find, to my surprise, new comrades come together, vast numbers, men and women, joined for exile, a crowd of sorrow. Come from every side, 1075 with courage and with riches, they are ready for any lands across the seas where I may lead them. Now the star of morning rose above high Ida's ridges, guiding the day. The Danaans held the gates' blockaded thresholds. 1080 There was no hope of help. Then I gave way and, lifting up my father, made for the mountains."


T he power of Asia and Priam's guiltless raceare overturned, proud Ilium is fallen, and all of Neptune's Troy smokes from the ground; this the Highest Ones were pleased to do. Then we are driven by divine commands 5 and signs to sail in search of fields of exile in distant and deserted lands. We build a fleet beneath Antandros, in the foothills of Phrygian Ida, knowing not where fate will carry us or where we are to settle; 10 and there we gather up our men. No sooner was summer come upon us than my father Anchises bid us spread our sails to fate. Weeping, I must give up the shores, the harbors that were my home, the plain that once was Troy. 15 An exile, I go out across the waters together with my comrades and my son, my gods of hearth and home and the Great Gods.

"The land of Mars is not far off: vast plains the Thracians till, once ruled by fierce Lycurgus, 20 a land that had long been a friend to us, with household gods allied to Troy until

56 T H E A E N E I D [16-48]

our fortunes fell away. I sail to Thrace. Along that curving shore I trace our first walls—but beneath unkindly fates. That city 25 receives its name from mine: Aeneadae.

"So that the gods may guard our undertaking, I offer sacrifices to my mother, Dione's daughter, and to the other powers, slaughtering along that beach a gleaming 30 white bull to the high king of heaven-dwellers.

"Nearby, above a mound, a copse of dogwood and myrtle bushes bristle, thick with shoots. I try to tear a green branch from the soil to serve as leafy cover for our altars— 35 but see an awful omen, terrible to tell. For from that first tree's severed roots drops of black blood drip down. They stain the ground with gore. My body shudders, cold. My blood is frozen now with terror. I try again 40 and tear the tenacious stem of a second shoot that I may reach the deep, the secret root. And from that second bark, black blood flows down.

"Dismayed, I pray both to the rural nymphs and Father Mars, who guards the fields of Thrace, 45 to make the vision kind and not a menace. But when, knees hard against the stubborn sand, I strained, with greater force, to wrestle free a third stem—shall I speak or hold my tongue?— a moan rose from the bottom of the mound, 50 a lamentable voice returned to me: 'Why are you mangling me, Aeneas? Spare my body. I am buried here. Do spare the profanation of your pious hands. I am no stranger to you; I am Trojan. S5 The blood you see does not flow from a stem. Flee from these cruel lands, this greedy shore, for I am Polydorus; here an iron harvest of lances covered my pierced body; for this, sharp javelins have grown above me. ' 60 And then, indeed, my mind weighed down by doubt and dread, I was astounded, and my hair

[48-79] B O O K i l l 57

stood stiff, my voice held fast within my jaws.

"When luckless Priam first despaired of Dardan arms, when he saw the city ringed by siege, 65 he sent young Polydorus out in secret, along with much gold, to the king of Thrace, who was to care for him. But when the might of Troy is shattered and her fortune gone, that king makes common cause with Agamemnon. 70 He breaks with every sacred trust; he murders this Polydorus, takes his gold by force. To what, accursed lust for gold, do you not drive the hearts of men? When fear has left my bones, I bring the omens of the gods 75 before my people's chieftains—with my father Anchises first; I want to hear their judgment. And all are of one mind: to leave that land of crime, a place where friendship was profaned, to let the south winds take our sails. And thus 80 we give fresh funerals to Polydorus and heap earth high upon his mound and build our altars to the Shades, with melancholy dark garlands and black cypress; and around us the Trojan women stand; their streaming hair 85 is loosened as our custom bids. We offer bowls foaming with warm milk and cups of victims' blood; then we lay the spirit in his grave and, for the last time, call his name aloud.

"Then, just as soon as we can trust the sea, 90 as soon as the air allows us tranquil waters and while the south wind, softly whispering, invites to journeying, my comrades crowd the beach to launch our fleet. We leave the harbor. Our eyes have lost the cities and the land. 95

"Midsea a sacred island lies, loved by the Nereids' mother and Aegean Neptune. The grateful Archer God had found it drifting around the coasts and shores; he bound it fast to towering Myconos and Gyaros— 100 stable, habitable, scorning the winds. And there I sail; this island grants calm entry,

58 T H E A E N E I D [78-107]

safe harbor to our weary company. On landing we revere Apollo's city. King Anius, both king of men and priest 105 of Phoebus, garlands on his brow and holy laurel, hurries to meet us, recognizing Anchises, his old friend. We clasp right hands in greeting, and we pass beneath his roof.

"At once 1 offered homage to the temple no of Phoebus, built of ancient stone: 'Give us, o god of Thymbra, our own home; give us— the weary—walls and sons, a lasting city; preserve the second citadel of Troy, the remnant left by Greeks and pitiless 115 Achilles. Whom are we to follow? Where are we to go, to found our home? Father, give us an omen, entering our hearts!'

"No sooner had I spoken so when all— the gateways and the laurels of the gods— 120 seemed suddenly to tremble, and the whole mountain began to sway, the tripod moaned, the sacred shrine lay open. We bow low upon the ground. A voice is carried to us: 'O iron sons of Dardanus, the land 125 that gave you birth, the land of your ancestors, will welcome you again, returned to her generous breast. Seek out your ancient mother. For there Aeneas' house will rule all coasts, as will his sons' sons and those born of them.' 130

"So said Apollo. Our great joy was mixed with turbulence. All ask, 'Where are those walls to which Apollo calls the wanderers, asking for our return?' And then my father thinks back upon his memories of old. 135 'O chieftains, listen, understand your hopes,' he says. 'Out in the middle of the sea lies Crete, the island of great Jupiter. There is Mount Ida, cradle of our people. The Cretans have a hundred splendid cities, 140 the richest realms. If I remember rightly

[107-134] B O O K i n 59

what I have heard, our greatest father, Teucer, sailed out from Crete to the Rhoetean coasts and chose a place fit for his kingdom. Ilium, the towers of Pergamus were not yet built. 145 Men lived deep in the valleys. And from Crete the Mother Goddess came to Cybele, as did the Cory ban tes' brazen cymbals within the grove of Ida; and from Crete she brought the reverential silence of 150 her mysteries; the team of harnessed lions that draw her chariot—a Cretan custom. Then let us follow where the gods have led. Let us appease the winds and seek the shores of Cnossus. They are not too far from here; 155 if only Jupiter be gracious to us, our fleet will land at Crete on the third day.' This said, he slaughtered seemly sacrifices: a bull to Neptune; one to you, Apollo; a black sheep to the Winter, god of storms; 160 and to the favoring west winds, a white.

"We hear a rumor that Idomeneus, the prince of Crete, is exiled from his father's lands, that the coasts of Crete have been abandoned, there are no enemies, deserted houses 165 await us there. We leave the port of Delos and wing across the sea, skimming past Naxos, where on the hills Bacchantes wanton, past the green Donysa and Olearos and snow-white Paros and the Cyclades 170 that stud the waters, through excited seas that foam at frequent islands. And the oarsmen cry out as they contend. My comrades urge: 'Drive on to Crete and to our ancestors!'

"The wind wakes at our stern. At length we glide 175 on to the ancient coasts of the Curetes. There eagerly I raise the longed-for city's walls, and I call it Pergamum. I spur my people, happy in that name, to love their home, to build a citadel on high. 180

60 T H E A E N E 1 D [135-166]

"And now our boats had just been drawn up on dry beaches, with our young men busy at new weddings and new plowings—I was giving us laws, assigning dwellings—when a sudden and wasting pestilence fell on our bodies 185 from some polluted quarter of the sky: death's time, and terrible for trees and crops. Men left sweet life or dragged their tainted bones. The Dog Star burned the fields to barrenness. The grass was parched. Sick grain denied us food. 190

"My father calls on us to cross again the sea to Delos and the oracle of Phoebus at Ortygia, to implore his kindness, ask what end he will allot our tired destinies, where to seek help 195 in our distress, and where to set our course.

"Night. Sleep held every living thing on earth. The sacred statues of the deities, the Phrygian household gods whom I had carried from Troy out of the fires of the city, 200 as I lay sleeping seemed to stand before me. And they were plain to see in the broad light where full moon flowed through windows in the walls. These were their words, and these erased my cares: 'Unasked, Apollo sends us to your threshold; 205 for here he prophesies just as he would had you again traced back the seas to Delos. We followed you, your men, from burning Troy and crossed the swollen waters in your care together with your ships; and we shall raise 210 your children to the stars and build an empire out of their city. For the great make ready great walls, do not desert the tedious trials of your journeying. Your home is elsewhere. For Delian Apollo did not call 215 the coasts of Crete your site for settlement. There is a place the Greeks have named Hesperia— an ancient land with strong arms and fat soil. The men who lived there were Oenotrians; but now it is said that their descendants call 220 the country "Italy" after their leader.

[167-199] B O O K I I I 6 1

That is the home for us. Iasius— our father, founder of the Trojan race— and Dardanus were both born there. Rise up and bring to old Anchises these sure words: 225 to seek out Corythus, Ausonia; for Jupiter denies you Dicte's fields.'

"These visions and the voice of gods were too astonishing: I did not dream, I knew their faces and the fillets in their hair, 230 those trusted images that stood before me. An icy sweat was wrapped around my body. I tear myself from bed and lift my voice and hands to heaven; on the hearth I pour unwatered wine. This ceremony done, 235 I gladly tell Anchises all they said. At this, he saw our double lineage, twin parentage, how he had been mistaken through new confusion over ancient places. 'My son, Cassandra was the only one 240 who saw this destiny for us—Cassandra, so battered by Troy's fates. Now 1 remember: she prophesied what lay in wait, and often she named Hesperia and Italy. But who could then believe the Teucrians 245 would reach the harbors of Hesperia? Who then could heed Cassandra's prophecy? But let us trust in Phoebus; warned by him, let us pursue a better destiny.' His speech is done; in gladness we obey. 250 We leave the walls of Pergamum; only a few remain, the rest of us set sail across the wide seas in our hollow keels.

"But after we were well upon the waters, with land no longer to be seen—the sky 255 was everywhere, and everywhere the sea— a blue-black cloud ran overhead; it brought the night and storm and breakers rough in darkness. The winds roll up the sea, great waters heave. And we are scattered, tossed upon the vast 260 abyss; clouds cloak the day; damp night annuls the heavens; frequent lightning fires flash

62 T H E A E N E I D [199-231]

through tattered clouds; cast from our course, we wander across the blind waves. Even Palinurus can not tell day from night upon the heavens, 265 can not recall our way among the waters.

"We wander for three days in sightless darkness and for as many nights without a star. At last, upon the fourth, the land rose up with twining smoke and mountains seen far off. 270 The sails are dropped. Our crewmen take their oars; they do not wait. The straining rowers lash the spray, they sweep across the blue-gray waters.

"When I am safe at last from waves, the first coast to receive me is the Strophades': 275 the Strophades that bear a Grecian name, islands within the great Ionian sea. They are the home of horrible Celaeno and all her sister Harpies since the time that Phineus shut his house against them and, 280 in fear, they fled their former feasts. No monster is more malevolent than these, no scourge of gods or pestilence more savage ever rose from the Stygian waves. These birds may wear the face of virgins, but their bellies drip 285 with a disgusting discharge, and their hands are talons, and their features pale and famished.

"On entering that harbor, we can see glad herds of cattle scattered through the fields and flocks of goats, unguarded, on the grass. 290 We fall upon them with our swords; we call the gods and Jove himself to share our spoils. Along the curving coast we build our couches. We feast on those rich meats. But suddenly, shaking out their wings with a great clanging, 295 the Harpies, horrible, swoop from the hilltops; and plundering our banquet with the filthy touch of their talons, they foul everything. Their terrifying scream leaps from that stench.

"But in the shelter of a hollowed rock, 300 shut in by trees and trembling shadows, we

[231-263] B O O K III 63

again set out our tables and replace the fire on the altars. But again, though from another quarter of the heavens and from dark dens, the clanging crowd descends; 305 they fall upon their prey with crooked talons, defiling all our feast. I call my comrades to arms, to war against the cruel tribe. They do as they are commanded; all conceal their swords beneath the grass; they hide their shields. 310 And when along the winding shore the shrill Harpies swoop down on us, Misenus signals; his hollow trumpet sounds from his high lookout.

"My comrades now attack in strangest struggle, hacking at these lewd birds come from the sea. 315 No blow can wound their wings or scar their backs. Beneath the stars they glide in headlong flight. They leave behind half-eaten prey and filth.

"One only—prophetess of misery, Celaeno—perches on a towering rock. 320 Her cry breaks out: 'Sons of Laomedon, we let you slaughter oxen, kill our bullocks; but in return you wage a war to drive the guiltless Harpies from their father's kingdom. Therefore, receive these words of mine: fix them 325 within your mind. What the all-able Father foretold to Phoebus, Phoebus unto me, now I, the Furies' chief, reveal to you. The place you seek is Italy, and you will go to Italy with winds that you 330 invoke; you will not be denied its harbors. But you will not wall in your promised city until an awful hunger and your wrong in slaughtering my sisters has compelled your jaws to gnaw as food your very tables.' 335 She spoke and then flew back into the forest.

"My comrades' blood ran cold with sudden fear. Their spirits fell. They'd have me plead for peace with vows and prayers, not weapons—whether these be goddesses or awful, obscene birds. 340 Then from the shore, with hands outstretched, Anchises

64 T H E A E N E I D [264-295]

calls on the great gods, offers sacrifices: 'Gods, keep these threats from us, let such disaster be distant, and be gracious to the pious.' He has us tear our cable free from shore, 345 uncoil our ropes to loosen up the sails. Then south winds stretch our sheets; we flee across the foam, where wind and pilot called our course. And now among the waves we see the wooded Zacynthus and Dulichium and Same 350 and steep-cliffed Neritos. We shun the shoals of Ithaca, Laertes' land, and curse the earth that once had nursed the fierce Ulysses. Soon we can see Apollo's shrine above Leucata's stormy peaks that panic sailors. 355 Now weary, we approach the little city. Our anchor is down, the sterns stand on the shore.

"And having gained unhoped-for land, we kindle the altars with our offerings. We give our gifts to Jupiter and crowd the beaches 360 of Actium with Trojan games. My comrades strip naked; sleek with oil, they try their strength in Ilian wrestling matches, glad to have slipped past so many Argive towns, held fast to flight among a crowd of enemies. 365

"Meanwhile the sun wheels round the full year's circle; the icy winter's north winds bring rough waves. I fasten to the temple door a shield of hollow brass that once belonged to mighty Abas. Beneath it I inscribe this verse: 370 Aeneas took these arms from Grecian victors. I then command my men to leave the harbor, to take their places at the rowing benches. My comrades lash the waves; in rivalry they sweep the plain of sea. We soon lose sight 375 of the airy heights of the Phaeacians; we skirt the coastline of Epirus, then we sail into the harbor of Chaonia, approaching the steep city of Buthrotum.

"A rumor of incredible events 380 awaits us here: that Helenus, the son

[295-325] B O O K i l l 6 5

of Priam, is a king of Grecian cities, that he has won the wife and scepter of Pyrrhus, Achilles' son; that once again Andromache is given to a husband 385 of her own country. And I was amazed. My heart burned with extraordinary longing to speak to him, to learn of such great happenings. Just then—when I had left the harbor and my boat, drawn up along the beaches—there, 390 within a grove that stood before the city, alongside waves that mimed the Simois, Andromache was offering to the ashes a solemn banquet and sad gifts, imploring the Shade of Hector's empty tomb that she 395 had raised out of green tuif with double altars and consecrated as a cause for tears.

"And when, distracted, she caught sight of me and saw our Trojan armor all around her, in terror of these mighty omens, she 400 grew stiff; heat left her bones; she fell, fainting. But after long delay, at last she asks: 'Are you, born of a goddess, a true body, a real messenger who visits me? Are you alive? Or if the gracious light 405 of life has left you, where is Hector?' So she spoke. Her tears were many and her cries filled all the grove. She is so frenzied, I— disquieted—must stammer scattered words: 'Indeed I live and drag my life through all 410 extremities; do not doubt—I am real. But you, what fate has overtaken you, divided from so great a husband, or what kindly fortune comes again to Hector's Andromache? Are you still wed to Pyrrhus?' 415 Her eyes downcast, she spoke with murmured words:

" 'O happy past all others, virgin daughter of Priam, made to die beside our foeman's tomb, underneath the towering walls of Troy; o you, for whom no lots were cast, who never 420 as captive touched the couch of a conquering master! But we, our homeland burned, were carried over

6 6 T H E A E N E I D [325-357]

strange seas, and we endured the arrogance of Pyrrhus and his youthful insolence, to bear him children in our slavery; 425 until he sought Hermione, the daughter of Leda, and a Spartan wedding, handing me to Helenus, a slave to a slave. But then Orestes, goaded by his great passion for his lost bride and fired by 430 the Furies of his crimes, surprises Pyrrhus and cuts him down beside his father's altars. At Pyrrhus' death a portion of his kingdom passed on to Helenus, who named the plains Chaonian—all the land Chaonia, 435 for Trojan Chaon—placing on the heights a Pergamus and this walled Ilium. But what winds and what fates have given you a course to steer? What god has driven you, unknowing, to our shores? Where is your boy 440 Ascanius—while Troy still stood, Creiisa would carry him to you—does he still live and feed upon the air? Is any care for his lost mother still within the boy? Do both his father and his uncle, Hector, 445 urge him to ancient courage, manliness?'

"Andromache was weeping, calling up long, needless tears, when the hero Helenus, the son of Priam, with a crowd behind him, approaches from the city walls. And he 450 knows us as his own kinsmen. Glad, he leads the way up to the thresholds and, between each word, sheds many tears. As I advance, I see a little Troy, a Pergamus that mimes the great one, and a dried-up stream 455 that takes its name from Xanthus. I embrace the portals of the Scaean gates. My Trojans also enjoy the kindly city where the king has welcomed them to spacious porches. They pour the cups of Bacchus in the hall. 460 The feast is served on gold. They lift the goblets.

"Day follows day, the breezes call our canvas, and now the swelling south wind fills our sails.

[358-387] B O O K III 67

And I approach the prophet with these words: 'O son of Troy, interpreter of gods, 465 you who can understand the will of Phoebus, the tripods and the laurel of Apollo, the stars, the tongues of birds, the swift-winged omens, come, tell me—for the heavens have foretold with words of blessing all my voyage, all 470 the gods have counseled me to Italy, to seek out and explore that far-off land: only Celaeno, chieftain of the Harpies, has chanted strange portents, monstrous to tell, predicting awful vengeance, foul starvation— 475 what dangers shall I first avoid? Tell me the course 1 need to overcome such trials.'

"First steers are sacrificed, then Helenus loosens the garlands from his hallowed head; he prays the gods for grace; with his own hand 480 he leads me to your portals, Phoebus, awed before your mighty presence, as he chants these priestly words from his inspired lips:

" 'Aeneas, goddess-born-—since you must surely have crossed the seas beneath high auspices— 485 so does the king of gods allot the fates, revolving every happening, this is the circling order; few things out of many I shall unfold in words, that you may find the waters friendly and the crossing tranquil 490 and reach the harbor of Ausonia. The Fates will not let Helenus know more; Saturnian Juno will not let me speak. But first, the Italy you now think close— preparing, in your ignorance, to rush 495 into its nearby harbors—is far off: a long and pathless way through spacious lands divides you from her. For your oar must bend beneath the waters of Trinacria, your ships must cross Ausonia's salt sea, 500 and you must pass the lakes below the earth, and then the island of Aeaean Circe, before you find safe ground to build your city.

68 T H E A E N E I D [388-417]

" 'I give you signs: hold them fast in your mind. For when, in your perplexity, you find 505 beside the waters of a secret stream, along the banks beneath the branching ilex, a huge white sow stretched out upon the ground together with a new-delivered litter of thirty suckling white pigs at her teats, 510 that place will be the site set for your city; that place will bring sure rest from all your toils. And do not fear your gnawing at the tables that was forewarned; for fate will find a way; Apollo will be present when you call. 515

" 'But shun those lands and that Italian coast nearest to us and washed by our own sea: for all those walls are manned by hostile Greeks; there the Narycian Locrians built their cities and there Idomeneus of Lyctos with 520 his warriors blocks the Sallentini's plains; and there the small Petelia of Philoctetes, the Meliboean chief, stands in its walls. Moreover, when your ships have crossed and anchor along the other coast, when you are pledging 525 your vows upon the altars by the shore, conceal your head beneath a purple mantle, that while you are at worship there, no hostile face may appear to you among the sacred and sacrificial fires to spoil the omens. 530 And let your comrades, too, keep fast this practice of sacrifice; yourself maintain the custom; and may your pious sons continue it.

" 'But when you have departed, when the wind has carried you to the Sicilian coast, 535 just where the strait gates of Pelorus open, then—though the way be long—you must still shun the shoreline and the waters to the right; seek out the left-hand seas, the left-hand coast. When these two lands were an unbroken one 540 in ancient times, they say, a vast convulsion tore them apart by force (through time's long lapse, such overwhelming changes come to pass). Between them violently burst the sea;

[417-447] B O O K i l l 69

waves split apart the shores of Italy 545 and Sicily. Along the severed coasts a narrow tideway bathes the fields and cities.

" 'Now Scylla holds the right; insatiable Charybdis keeps the left. Three times she sucks the vast waves into her abyss, the deepest 550 whirlpool within her vortex, then she hurls the waters high, lashing the stars with spray. But Scylla is confined to blind retreats, a cavern; and her mouths thrust out to drag ships toward the shoals. Her upper parts are human; 55s down to the pubes, she seems a lovely-breasted virgin; but underneath she is a monster come from the sea, a terrifying body: a dolphin's tail that joins a wolfish groins Therefore I tell you: better to be slow— 560 to round the promontory of Pachynus, to take the longer way—than to behold misshapen Scylla in her savage cavern, the rocks that echo with her sea-green dogs.

" 'Above all, if the prophet merit trust, 565 if any prudence be in Helenus and if Apollo fill his soul with truth, then this one thing, Aeneas, goddess-born, this more than any thing, I conjure you, repeating it again, again, as warning: 570 first, do adore the power of mighty Juno with prayers and pledge your vows to mighty Juno with willingness, to win that mighty mistress with pleasing gifts—and then, victorious, to leave Trinacria for Italy. 575

" 'When on your way you reach the town of Cumae, the sacred lakes, the loud wood of Avernus, there you will see the frenzied prophetess. Deep in her cave of rock she charts the fates, consigning to the leaves her words and symbols. 580 Whatever verses she has written down upon the leaves, she puts in place and order and then abandons them inside her cavern. When all is still, that order is not troubled;

70 T H E A E N E I D [448-480]

but when soft winds are stirring and the door, 585 turning upon its hinge, disturbs the tender leaves, then she never cares to catch the verses that flutter through the hollow grotto, never recalls their place or joins them all together. Her visitors, when they have had no counsel, 590 depart, and then detest the Sibyl's cavern. Let no expense of time be counted here, though comrades chide and though the journey urge your sails to take the waves or favoring sea breezes swell their folds for voyaging. 595 But visit her, the prophetess, with prayers, that she reveal the oracles herself and willingly unlock her voice and lips. She will unfold for you who are the peoples of Italy, the wars that are to come, 600 and in what way you are to flee or face each crisis. Worshiped properly, she grants prosperous voyages. These things are all the gods allow my tongue to chant and tell. Now go your way, and with your acts exalt 605 the mightiness of Troy as high as heaven.'

"The seer had finished with his friendly words. He asks that gifts of chiseled ivory and massive gold be carried to our galleys; he stows much silver in the holds, Dodona 610 caldrons, a corselet joined with links of three- ply gold—the gear of Neoptolemus— and presents for my father. Then he adds new oarsmen for our crew and guides and horses; he furnishes my fighting men with weapons. 615

"Meanwhile Anchises has our sails made ready that no delay rob us of driving winds. With deep respect Apollo's spokesman greets him: 'Anchises, honored as high mate of Venus, Anchises, whom the gods care for, twice saved 620 from Troy in ruins: now Ausonia is yours, bear down upon it with your sails. And yet you must bypass the coast you see; Apollo has disclosed a farther country. Go, blessed in the affection of your son. 625

[480-510] BOOK i n 71

But why do I talk on? My tongue must not keep back the surging south winds from your sails.'

"Andromache mourns deeply at our last leavetaking, bringing robes adorned with threads of gold, a Phrygian mantle for my son— 630 she does not yield in doing honor—weighting Ascanius with woven gifts, then tells him: 'Receive these, too, my boy: memorials of my own handiwork; and let them serve as witness to Andromache's long love 635 as wife of Hector. Take with you these last gifts of your people—you, the only image that still is left of my Astyanax: so did he bear his eyes, his hands, his face; so would he now be entering his youth, 640 were he alive, his years the same as yours.'

"My parting words were said with rising tears: 'Your fate is here, then live it happily. But we are called from one fate to another. For you can rest: no need to plow the seas 645 or seek the fleeing fields of Italy. Here you can see the image of new Xanthus and of the Troy your hands have built beneath more kindly auspices, I hope—a city , less open to the Greeks than was old Troy. 650 If ever I shall enter on the Tiber and on the lands that lie along the Tiber and see the ramparts given to my race, then we, in time to come, shall build one Troy in spirit from our sister cities in 655 Epirus and Hesperia and from our kindred peoples—those who share one founder in Dardanus and share one destiny. May this become the care of all our sons.'

"We speed along the sea and past the nearby 660 cliffs of Ceraunia, the shortest passage across the waves, the way to Italy. The sun has set, the hills are dark with shadow. We disembark. When we had assigned by lot our turns to watch the oars, we stretch out on 665

72 T H E A E N E I D [509-542]

the lap of longed-for land beside the water; and all along the dry beach we renew our bodies; sleep is dew for weary limbs.

"Night, driven by the Hours, has not yet reached the middle of her path when Palinurus 670 springs quickly from his couch, takes note of all the winds, and with his keen ear tries to catch the breath of a breeze. He watches all the stars that glide through silent skies: he marks Arcturus, the twin Bears and the rainy Hyades, 675 Orion armed with gold; and seeing all together in the tranquil heavens, loudly he signals from the stern. We break up camp and try our course with spreading canvas wings.

"And now Aurora reddens as the stars 680 take flight. We sight the dim and distant hills, the low coastline of Italy. Achates is first to cry out, 'Italy'; with joy the rest shout, 'Italy.' Anchises crowns a great bowl with a garland, fills it up 685 with wine, and from the steep stern summons all the deities: 'O gods who govern sea and land and tempests, grant us easy passage and breathe upon us with your kindliness.'

"The wished-for winds have quickened now; nearby 690 a harbor opens up. We can make out a temple standing on Minerva's Height. My comrades furl the sails; they turn the prow toward shore. The eastern waves have hollowed out that port into a bow; the thrusting reefs 695 churn up salt spray; the harbor is concealed. Like drooping arms, a double wall runs down from towering crags; the shrine is set far back from shore, and here, as our first omen, I could see four snow-white horses grazing far 700 and wide along the grassy plain. Anchises cries out: 'O stranger land, the tale you tell is war; these horses wear the harnesses of war; these herds mean war. Yet these same stallions have yielded to the chariot beneath 705

[542-572] B O O K i n 73

the yoke and reins of peace. Then there is also some hope for peace.' We pray unto the holy power of Pallas, clangorous with arms, the first to hear our joyous shout. We cover our heads with Trojan veils before the altars; 710 and just as Helenus ordained, we offer burnt sacrifices to the Argive Juno.

"No lingering; our vows are done. We turn to sea our sail-draped spars with tapering horns. We leave behind the homes of the Grecian-born, 715 the fields that we distrust. We sight the town of Hercules—-Tarentum's gulf (if what they tell as tale be true); then, facing us, Lacinian Juno's temple rises; next the fortresses of Caulon; after that 720 the city known for shipwrecks—Scylaceum.

"Then far across the waters we can see Sicilian Etna; far across we hear the mighty moan of breakers, pounded stones and broken echoes on the beach, and shoals 725 that leap and sands that mingle with the surge. Anchises cries, 'This surely is Charybdis; these are the crags, and these the fearful rocks that Helenus predicted. Save yourselves; my comrades, stroke as one upon the oars!' 730

"They do as they are told. First Palinurus turned round the groaning prow to larboard waters; the crew then sought the left with wind and oar. We rise to heaven on the bending wave and, as the surge slips back, we sink again 735 down to the deepest Shades. Three times the crags cried out among the eaves of rock, three times we saw the heaving spray, the dripping stars. But then the sun has set, the wind has left our weary crew; not knowing where we go, 740 we drift upon the beaches of the Cyclops.

"That harbor is wide and free from winds; but Etna is thundering nearby with dread upheavals. At times it belches into upper air

74 T H E A E N E I D [572-606]

dark clouds with tar-black whirlwinds, blazing lava, 745 while lifting balls of flame that lick the stars. At times it vomits boulders as the crater's bowels are torn; it moans and tosses molten stones up to heaven; from its deep bedrock the mountain boils and foams. The tale is told 750 that, charred by lightning bolts, the body of Enceladus lies pressed beneath this mass; that mighty Etna, piled above him, breathes and blazes from its bursting furnaces; and that as often as Enceladus 755 shifts on his weary side, all Sicily shudders and groans, and smoke blots out the sky. That night we hide within the forest, fiendish horrors upon us, but we cannot see the cause of all that clamoring; the stars 760 had lost their fires, the heavens had no brightness. but only mists on darkened skies; the dead of night had clutched the moon within a cloud.

"Tomorrow now was rising with first light, Aurora had banned damp shadows from the sky, 765 when suddenly a tattered stranger, gaunt with final hunger, staggers from the woods and stretches pleading hands toward shore. We turn to look at him: his filth is ghastly—his beard is tangled and his clothing hooked by thoms; 770 and yet he is a Greek—one who was sent to Troy with Argive arms. And when far off he saw our Dardan dress, our Trojan weapons, his terror held him for a time, he stayed his steps, then dashed headlong upon the shore 775 with tears and prayers: 'By stars and gods above, and by the light of heaven that we breathe, I conjure you to take me with you, Trojans, to carry me wherever you may go. I ask no more than this. I know that I 780 am from the ships of Danaans and confess I warred against the gods of Troy; for this, if it be such great wrong, dismember me upon the waters, plunge me in vast seas. For if I must die now, then I shall be 785

[606-636] B O O K i n 75

content to perish at the hands of humans.'

"Such was his outcry. Groveling, he clasped my knees and held me fast. We urge him on, to tell us who he is, who are his people, what fortune harries him. Father Anchises 790 does not wait long to offer him his hand and steadies the young man with that strong pledge. At last he lays aside his fear and says:

" 'I am of Ithaca and sailed for Troy, a comrade of unfortunate Ulysses; 795 my name is Achaemenides, the son of Adamastus, a poor father—would my lot had never changed! My comrades left me, forgotten in the great cave of the Cyclops, while they escaped in haste those savage thresholds. 800

" 'It is a house of gore and gruesome feasts, both black and vast within. The towering Cyclops is tall enough to strike the high stars—gods, keep such a plague away from earth!—and hardly easy to look upon; no one can reach him 805 with speech. He feeds upon the guts and dark blood of his victims. I myself have seen him snatch up a pair of us in his huge paw, then, stretched along the middle of the cavern, bash both of them against a boulder; then 810 the entrance swam with splattered gore. I saw him crunch their limbs that dripped with blood; I saw their warm joints quivering within his jaws.

" 'But he has had to pay for this. Such slaughter was too much for Ulysses; facing it, 815 the Ithacan did not forget himself. As soon as Polyphemus, banquet-bloated, buried in wine, reclined his drooping neck and, monstrous, lay along the cavern, belching his morsels mixed with dripping blood and wine, 820 we prayed to the great gods, we drew our lots; then we surrounded him on every side and with a pointed weapon pierced his eye— hidden, it lay beneath his sullen brow,

76 T H E A E N E I D [636-667]

alone, enormous, like an Argive shield 825 or like the lamp of Phoebus—and at last, in joy, avenged the Shades of our companions.

" 'But, miserable men, cut loose your cable from shore and flee now, flee! For just as huge as Polyphemus—he who pens his herds 830 of woolly sheep within his hollow cavern and squeezes out their teats—there are a hundred other ferocious Cyclops. And they crowd these curving coasts and climb across these mountains. Three times the moon has filled her horns with light 835 since I began to drag out my poor life within the woods, among the desert dens and dwellings of wild beasts, and from a rock to watch the huge Cyclops, to tremble at their tramping feet, their voices' clamoring. 840 I feed on wretched food, on stony cornels and berries from the branches, and I eat roots torn from plants. I have scanned every view, but yours is the first fleet I have seen landing upon these shores. Whatever happens, I 845 am given up to you. It is enough for me to have escaped that cursed tribe. By any death whatever, take this life!'

"His words were hardly ended when we saw upon a peak the shepherd Polyphemus; 850 he lugged his mammoth hulk among the flocks, searching along familiar shores—an awful misshapen monster, huge, his eyelight lost. His steps are steadied by the lopped-off pine he grips. His woolly sheep are at his side— 855 his only joy and comfort for his loss. As soon as he had reached the open sea and touched deep waves, he bathed the blood trickling down from the socket of his dug-out light. Groaning, gnashing his teeth, he strides the waters. 860 The wave has not yet wet his giant thighs.

"Alarmed, we rush our flight. The suppliant, who merited as much, is taken on shipboard. We cut the cable silently

[668-700] B O O K i n 77

and, bending, sweep the waves with straining oars. 865 The monster sensed as much. He wheeled around. He is following our voices, but without a chance to clutch us with his right hand or to match Ionian waves in chasing us. His roaring is tremendous, and the sea 870 and all the waters quake together; far inland a terror takes all Italy, and Etna bellows in her curving caves.

"But down from woods and mountains in alarm the tribe of Cyclops hurry toward the harbor. 875 They crowd the beaches. Brotherhood of Etna, they stand, helpless, with sullen eyes, their heads raised high to heaven—horrible conclave, as when, upon a summit, giant oaks or cypresses, cone-bearing, mass together: 880 Diana's grove or Jupiter's tall forest. Keen terror urges us headlong to shake our rigging where we can, to stretch our sails to favorable winds. But Helenus had warned us we were not to hold our course 885 through Scylla and Charybdis, where each way is neighbor to our death. We must sail back. And from the narrow fastness of Pelorus the north wind comes to meet us. I sail past the mouth of the Pantagias, living rock, 890 the bays of Megara, and then flat Thapsus. These were the coasts that Achaemenides, the comrade of unfortunate Ulysses, showed us as he retraced his former wanderings.

"Along a bay of Sicily there lies 895 the sea-drenched island of Plemyrium. Of old, Ortygia was its name. The story tells us that here Alpheus, Elis' river, forced secret passage underneath the sea, and mingles now with your mouth, Arethusa, 900 in these Sicilian waves. Obedient, we venerate the high gods of that place, then pass Helorus with its fat marshlands. We skirt the high reefs and the thrusting rocks along the promontory of Pachynus; 905

78 T H E A E N E I D [700-718]

then Camarina, whom the Fates forbade to be dislodged, is seen far off; the plains of Gela and the town that also takes its name of Qela from its rushing river. Steep Acragas, which once bred noble horses, 910 next shows its mighty ramparts in the distance. I leave behind Selinus, palmy city, with kindly winds, then skim past Lilybaeum and shallows that are rough with hidden rocks.

"Then Drepanum's unhappy coast and harbor 915 receive me. It is here that—after all the tempests of the sea—I lose my father, Anchises, stay in every care and crisis. For here, o best of fathers, you first left me to my weariness, alone—Anchises, 920 you who were saved in vain from dreadful dangers. Not even Helenus, the prophet, nor the horrible Celaeno, when they warned of many terrors, told this grief to come. And this was my last trial; this was the term 925 of my long journeying. I left that harbor. And then the god drove me upon your shore."

And thus, with all of them intent on him, father Aeneas told of destinies decreed by gods and taught his wanderings. 930 At last he ended here, was silent, rested.


T oo late. The queen is caught between love's painand press. She feeds the wound within her veins; she is eaten by a secret flame. Aeneas' high name, all he has done, again, again come like a flood. His face, his words hold fast 5 her breast. Care strips her limbs of calm and rest.

A new dawn lights the earth with Phoebus' lamp and banishes damp shadows from the sky when restless Dido turns to her heart's sharer: "Anna, my sister, what dreams make me shudder? 10 Who is this stranger guest come to our house? How confident he looks, how strong his chest and arms! I think—and I have cause—that he is born of gods. For in the face of fear the mean must fall. What fates have driven him! 15 What trying wars he lived to tell! Were it not my sure, immovable decision not to marry anyone since my first love turned traitor, when he cheated me by death, were I not weary of the couch and torch, 20 I might perhaps give way to this one fault. For I must tell you, Anna, since the time

8 0 T H E A E N E I D [20-48]

Sychaeus, my poor husband, died and my own brother splashed our household gods with blood, Aeneas is the only man to move 25 my feelings, to overturn my shifting heart. I know too well the signs of the old flame. But I should call upon the earth to gape and close above me, or on the almighty Father to take his thunderbolt, to hurl 30 me down into the shades, the pallid shadows and deepest night of Erebus, before I'd violate you, Shame, or break your laws! For he who first had joined me to himself has carried off my love, and may he keep it 35 and be its guardian within the grave." She spoke. Her breast became a well of tears.

And Anna answers: "Sister, you more dear to me than light itself, are you to lose all of your youth in dreary loneliness, 40 and never know sweet children or the soft rewards of Venus? Do you think that ashes or buried Shades will care about such matters? Until Aeneas came, there was no suitor who moved your sad heart—not in Libya nor, 45 before, in Tyre: you always scorned Iarbas and all the other chiefs that Africa, a region rich in triumphs, had to offer. How can you struggle now against a love that is so acceptable? Have you forgotten 50 the land you settled, those who hem you in? On one side lie the towns of the Gaetulians, a race invincible, and the unbridled Numidians and then the barbarous Syrtis. And on the other lies a barren country, 55 stripped by the drought and by Barcaean raiders, raging both far and near. And I need not remind you of the wars that boil in Tyre and of your brother's menaces and plots. For I am sure it was the work of gods 60 and Juno that has held the Trojan galleys fast to their course and brought them here to Carthage. If you marry Aeneas, what a city

[47-79] . BOOK IV 81

and what a kingdom, sister, you will see! 65 With Trojan arms beside us, so much greatness must lie in wait for Punic glory! Only pray to the gods for their good will, and having presented them with proper sacrifices, be lavish with your Trojan guests and weave excuses for delay while frenzied winter 70 storms out across the sea and shatters ships, while wet Orion blows his tempest squalls beneath a sky that is intractable."

These words of Anna fed the fire in Dido. Hope burned away her doubt, destroyed her shame. 75 First they move on from shrine to shrine, imploring the favor of the gods at every altar. They slaughter chosen sheep, as is the custom, and offer them to Ceres the lawgiver, to Phoebus, Father Bacchus, and—above all— 80 to Juno, guardian of marriage. Lovely Dido holds the cup in her right hand; she pours the offering herself, midway between a milk-white heifer's horns. She studies slit breasts of beasts and reads their throbbing guts. 85 But oh the ignorance of augurs! How can vows and altars help one wild with love? Meanwhile the supple flame devours her marrow; within her breast the silent wound lives on. Unhappy Dido burns. Across the city 90 she wanders in her frenzy—even as a heedless hind hit by an arrow when a shepherd drives for game with darts among the Cretan woods and, unawares, from far leaves winging steel inside her flesh; she roams 95 the forests and the wooded slopes of Dicte, the shaft of death still clinging to her side. So Dido leads Aeneas around the ramparts, displays the wealth of Sidon and the city ready to hand; she starts to speak, then falters 100 and stops in midspeech. Now day glides away. Again, insane, she seeks out that same banquet, again she prays to hear the trials of Troy, again she hangs upon the teller's lips.

8 2 T H E A E N E I D [80-109]

But now the guests are gone. The darkened moon, 105 in turn, conceals its light, the setting stars invite to sleep; inside the vacant hall she grieves alone and falls upon the couch that he has left. Absent, she sees, she hears the absent one or draws Ascanius, n o his son and counterfeit, into her arms, as if his shape might cheat her untellable love.

Her towers rise no more; the young of Carthage no longer exercise at arms or build their harbors or sure battlements for war; 115 the works are idle, broken off; the massive, menacing rampart walls, even the crane, defier of the sky, now lie neglected.

As soon as Jove's dear wife sees that her Dido is in the grip of such a scourge and that 120 no honor can withstand this madness, then the daughter of Saturn faces Venus: "How remarkable indeed: what splendid spoils you carry off, you and your boy; how grand and memorable is the glory if 125 one woman is beaten by the guile of two gods. I have not been blind. I know you fear our fortresses, you have been suspicious of the houses of high Carthage. But what end will come of all this hate? Let us be done 130 with wrangling. Let us make, instead of war, an everlasting peace and plighted wedding. You have what you were bent upon: she burns with love; the frenzy now is in her bones. Then let us rule this people—you and I— 135 with equal auspices; let Dido serve a Phrygian husband, let her give her Tyrians and her pledged dowry into your right hand."

But Venus read behind the words of Juno the motive she had hid: to shunt the kingdom 140 of Italy to Libyan shores. And so she answered Juno: "Who is mad enough to shun the terms you offer? Who would prefer to strive with you in war? If only fortune

[109-139] BOOK IV 83

favor the course you urge. For I am ruled 145 by fates and am unsure if Jupiter would have the Trojans and the men of Tyre become one city, if he likes the mingling of peoples and the writing of such treaties. But you are his wife and it is right for you 150 to try his mind, to entreat him. Go. I'll follow."

Queen Juno answered her: "That task is mine. But listen now while in few words I try to tell you how I mean to bring about this urgent matter. When tomorrow's Titan 155 first shows his rays of light, reveals the world, Aeneas and unhappy Dido plan to hunt together in the forest. Then while horsemen hurry to surround the glades with nets, I shall pour down a black raincloud, 160 in which I have mixed hail, to awaken all the heavens with my thundering. Their comrades will scatter under cover of thick night. Both Dido and the Trojan chief will reach their shelter in the same cave. I shall be there. 165 And if I can rely on your goodwill, I shall unite the two in certain marriage and seal her as Aeneas' very own; and this shall be their wedding." Cytherea said nothing to oppose the plan; she granted 170 what Juno wanted, smiling at its cunning.

Meanwhile Aurora rose; she left the Ocean. And when her brightness fills the air, select young men move from the gates with wide-meshed nets and narrow snares and broad-blade hunting spears, 175 and then Massylian horsemen hurry out with strong, keen-scented hounds. But while the chieftains of Carthage wait at Dido's threshold, she still lingers in her room. Her splendid stallion, in gold and purple, prances, proudly champing 180 his foaming bit. At last the queen appears among the mighty crowd; upon her shoulders she wears a robe of Sidon with embroidered borders. Her quiver is of gold, her hair has knots and ties of gold, a golden clasp 185

8 4 T H E A E N E I D [139-172]

holds fast her purple cloak. Her Trojan comrades and glad Ascanius advance behind her. Aeneas, who is handsome past all others, himself approaches now to join her, linking his hunting band to hers. Just as Apollo, 190 when in the winter he abandons Lycia and Xanthus' streams to visit his maternal Delos, where he renews the dances—Cretans, Dryopians, and painted Agathyrsi, mingling around the altars, shout—advances 195 upon the mountain ridges of high Cynthus and binds his flowing hair with gentle leaves and braids its strands with intertwining gold; his arrows clatter on his shoulder: no less graceful is Aeneas as he goes; 200 an equal beauty fills his splendid face. And when they reach the hills and pathless thickets, the wild she-goats, dislodged from stony summits, run down the ridges; from another slope stags fling themselves across the open fields; 205 they mass their dusty bands in flight, forsaking the hillsides. But the boy Ascanius rides happy in the valleys on his fiery stallion as he passes on his course now stags, now goats; among the lazy herds 210 his prayer is for a foaming boar or that a golden lion come down from the mountain.

Meanwhile confusion takes the sky, tremendous turmoil, and on its heels, rain mixed with hail. The scattered train of Tyre, the youth of Troy, 215 and Venus' Dardan grandson in alarm seek different shelters through the fields; the torrents roar down the mountains. Dido and the Trojan chieftain have reached the same cave. Primal Earth and Juno, queen of marriages, together 220 now give the signal: lightning fires flash, the upper air is witness to their mating, and from the highest hilltops shout the nymphs. That day was her first day of death and ruin. For neither how things seem nor how they are deemed 225 moves Dido now, and she no longer thinks of furtive love. For Dido calls it marriage,

[172-202] BOOK IV 85

and with this name she covers up her fault.

Then, swiftest of all evils, Rumor runs straightway through Libya's mighty cities—Rumor, .230 whose life is speed, whose going gives her force. Timid and small at first, she soon lifts up her body in the air. She stalks the ground; her head is hidden in the clo

Get Coursework Help In Your Essays, Assignments, Homeworks, Dissertation, Thesis Or Coursework

Professional And Experienced Writers - 24/7 Online Support

Similar Questions

  1. The giver ending book
  2. How does the book the giver end
  3. What happens in the end of the giver book
  4. What happened at the end of the giver book
  5. What happens at the end of the book the giver
  6. What happens at the end of the giver book
  7. Eco 372 principles of macroeconomics
  8. President bush executive order 13335
  9. What is the purpose of a crime scene walk through
  10. Why our screens make us less happy ted talk
  11. Composition of the fingroup fund portfolio is as follows
  12. N 3 3 and 5i are zeros f 1 104
  13. What was hacksaw ridge based on
  14. Popular world music by andrew shahriari
  15. Basadur creative problem solving profile
  16. Uses of histogram in daily life
  17. Rapid fire fulfillment harvard business review
  18. Difference between identity conditional and inconsistent equations
  19. Characteristics of international financial markets
  20. Apple firm infrastructure value chain
  21. Silicon valley now wary of iphone readworks answers
  22. Philosophy of law 9th edition pdf
  23. Alpha c chiang mathematical economics pdf download
  24. Business letter asking for information
  25. How to make a voltage divider on a breadboard
  26. Solve 2x 13 8x 7
  27. The dog ate my homework and other tales of woe
  28. How to write a mental status exam
  29. Calculate the formula mass of nahco3
  30. German poem first they came
  31. Shall i wasting in despair paraphrase
  32. Argumentative essay about driverless cars
  33. Child family and community textbook
  34. Develop a resource schedule in the loading chart
  35. Personality psychology 5th edition larson pdf
  36. How to cite aicpa code of professional conduct apa
  37. Controversial issue paper bshs 355
  38. Mcgraw hill connect accounting chapter 8 answers
  39. How to write a purpose statement for a research proposal
  40. Business government and society 13th edition
  41. Sinorama gold 8 deck plan
  42. What are the main considerations in processing big data
  43. Titanic disaster great loss of life
  44. Nystrom herff jones education division answers
  45. Riverview community hospital case study answers
  46. Starbucks employee training and development
  47. 000214a0 0000 0000 c000 000000000046
  48. Health the basics donatelle rebecca j 2019 13th edition
  49. The stanford prison experiment questions and answers
  50. Excel categorize data by text
Top Grade Tutor


Top Grade Writer

10374 Orders Completed

Top Academic Guru


Top Academic Guru

9345 Orders Completed

Top Essay Writer


Top Essay Writer

8379 Orders Completed

A-Grade Writer


A-Grade Writer

7812 Orders Completed

Get Help In Your Essays, Assignments, Homeworks, Dissertation, Thesis Or Coursework