The Aeneid Part 16

Three graceful troops they form'd upon the green; Three graceful leaders at their head were seen; Twelve follow'd ev'ry chief, and left a s.p.a.ce between.

The first young Priam led; a lovely boy, Whose grandsire was th' unhappy king of Troy; His race in after times was known to fame, New honors adding to the Latian name; And well the royal boy his Thracian steed became.

White were the fetlocks of his feet before, And on his front a snowy star he bore.

Then beauteous Atys, with Iulus bred, Of equal age, the second squadron led.

The last in order, but the first in place, First in the lovely features of his face, Rode fair Ascanius on a fiery steed, Queen Dido's gift, and of the Tyrian breed.

Sure coursers for the rest the king ordains, With golden bits adorn'd, and purple reins.

The pleas'd spectators peals of shouts renew, And all the parents in the children view; Their make, their motions, and their sprightly grace, And hopes and fears alternate in their face.

Th' unfledg'd commanders and their martial train First make the circuit of the sandy plain Around their sires, and, at th' appointed sign, Drawn up in beauteous order, form a line.

The second signal sounds, the troop divides In three distinguish'd parts, with three distinguish'd guides Again they close, and once again disjoin; In troop to troop oppos'd, and line to line.

They meet; they wheel; they throw their darts afar With harmless rage and well-dissembled war.

Then in a round the mingled bodies run: Flying they follow, and pursuing shun; Broken, they break; and, rallying, they renew In other forms the military shew.

At last, in order, undiscern'd they join, And march together in a friendly line.

And, as the Cretan labyrinth of old, With wand'ring ways and many a winding fold, Involv'd the weary feet, without redress, In a round error, which denied recess; So fought the Trojan boys in warlike play, Turn'd and return'd, and still a diff'rent way.

Thus dolphins in the deep each other chase In circles, when they swim around the wat'ry race.

This game, these carousels, Ascanius taught; And, building Alba, to the Latins brought; Shew'd what he learn'd: the Latin sires impart To their succeeding sons the graceful art; From these imperial Rome receiv'd the game, Which Troy, the youths the Trojan troop, they name.

Thus far the sacred sports they celebrate: But Fortune soon resum'd her ancient hate; For, while they pay the dead his annual dues, Those envied rites Saturnian Juno views; And sends the G.o.ddess of the various bow, To try new methods of revenge below; Supplies the winds to wing her airy way, Where in the port secure the navy lay.

Swiftly fair Iris down her arch descends, And, undiscern'd, her fatal voyage ends.

She saw the gath'ring crowd; and, gliding thence, The desart sh.o.r.e, and fleet without defense.

The Trojan matrons, on the sands alone, With sighs and tears Anchises' death bemoan; Then, turning to the sea their weeping eyes, Their pity to themselves renews their cries.

"Alas!" said one, "what oceans yet remain For us to sail! what labors to sustain!"

All take the word, and, with a gen'ral groan, Implore the G.o.ds for peace, and places of their own.

The G.o.ddess, great in mischief, views their pains, And in a woman's form her heav'nly limbs restrains.

In face and shape old Beroe she became, Doryclus' wife, a venerable dame, Once blest with riches, and a mother's name.

Thus chang'd, amidst the crying crowd she ran, Mix'd with the matrons, and these words began: "O wretched we, whom not the Grecian pow'r, Nor flames, destroy'd, in Troy's unhappy hour!

O wretched we, reserv'd by cruel fate, Beyond the ruins of the sinking state!

Now sev'n revolving years are wholly run, Since this improsp'rous voyage we begun; Since, toss'd from sh.o.r.es to sh.o.r.es, from lands to lands, Inhospitable rocks and barren sands, Wand'ring in exile thro' the stormy sea, We search in vain for flying Italy.

Now cast by fortune on this kindred land, What should our rest and rising walls withstand, Or hinder here to fix our banish'd band?

O country lost, and G.o.ds redeem'd in vain, If still in endless exile we remain!

Shall we no more the Trojan walls renew, Or streams of some dissembled Simois view!

Haste, join with me, th' unhappy fleet consume!

Ca.s.sandra bids; and I declare her doom.

In sleep I saw her; she supplied my hands (For this I more than dreamt) with flaming brands: 'With these,' said she, 'these wand'ring ships destroy: These are your fatal seats, and this your Troy.'

Time calls you now; the precious hour employ: Slack not the good presage, while Heav'n inspires Our minds to dare, and gives the ready fires.

See! Neptune's altars minister their brands: The G.o.d is pleas'd; the G.o.d supplies our hands."

Then from the pile a flaming fire she drew, And, toss'd in air, amidst the galleys threw.

Wrapp'd in amaze, the matrons wildly stare: Then Pyrgo, reverenc'd for her h.o.a.ry hair, Pyrgo, the nurse of Priam's num'rous race: "No Beroe this, tho' she belies her face!

What terrors from her frowning front arise!

Behold a G.o.ddess in her ardent eyes!

What rays around her heav'nly face are seen!

Mark her majestic voice, and more than mortal mien!

Beroe but now I left, whom, pin'd with pain, Her age and anguish from these rites detain,"

She said. The matrons, seiz'd with new amaze, Roll their malignant eyes, and on the navy gaze.

They fear, and hope, and neither part obey: They hope the fated land, but fear the fatal way.

The G.o.ddess, having done her task below, Mounts up on equal wings, and bends her painted bow.

Struck with the sight, and seiz'd with rage divine, The matrons prosecute their mad design: They shriek aloud; they s.n.a.t.c.h, with impious hands, The food of altars; fires and flaming brands.

Green boughs and saplings, mingled in their haste, And smoking torches, on the ships they cast.

The flame, unstopp'd at first, more fury gains, And Vulcan rides at large with loosen'd reins: Triumphant to the painted sterns he soars, And seizes, in this way, the banks and crackling oars.

Eumelus was the first the news to bear, While yet they crowd the rural theater.

Then, what they hear, is witness'd by their eyes: A storm of sparkles and of flames arise.

Ascanius took th' alarm, while yet he led His early warriors on his prancing steed, And, spurring on, his equals soon o'erpa.s.s'd; Nor could his frighted friends reclaim his haste.

Soon as the royal youth appear'd in view, He sent his voice before him as he flew: "What madness moves you, matrons, to destroy The last remainders of unhappy Troy!

Not hostile fleets, but your own hopes, you burn, And on your friends your fatal fury turn.

Behold your own Ascanius!" While he said, He drew his glitt'ring helmet from his head, In which the youths to sportful arms he led.

By this, Aeneas and his train appear; And now the women, seiz'd with shame and fear, Dispers'd, to woods and caverns take their flight, Abhor their actions, and avoid the light; Their friends acknowledge, and their error find, And shake the G.o.ddess from their alter'd mind.

Not so the raging fires their fury cease, But, lurking in the seams, with seeming peace, Work on their way amid the smold'ring tow, Sure in destruction, but in motion slow.

The silent plague thro' the green timber eats, And vomits out a tardy flame by fits.

Down to the keels, and upward to the sails, The fire descends, or mounts, but still prevails; Nor buckets pour'd, nor strength of human hand, Can the victorious element withstand.

The pious hero rends his robe, and throws To heav'n his hands, and with his hands his vows.

"O Jove," he cried, "if pray'rs can yet have place; If thou abhorr'st not all the Dardan race; If any spark of pity still remain; If G.o.ds are G.o.ds, and not invok'd in vain; Yet spare the relics of the Trojan train!

Yet from the flames our burning vessels free, Or let thy fury fall alone on me!

At this devoted head thy thunder throw, And send the willing sacrifice below!"

Scarce had he said, when southern storms arise: From pole to pole the forky lightning flies; Loud rattling shakes the mountains and the plain; Heav'n bellies downward, and descends in rain.

Whole sheets of water from the clouds are sent, Which, hissing thro' the planks, the flames prevent, And stop the fiery pest. Four ships alone Burn to the waist, and for the fleet atone.

But doubtful thoughts the hero's heart divide; If he should still in Sicily reside, Forgetful of his fates, or tempt the main, In hope the promis'd Italy to gain.

Then Nautes, old and wise, to whom alone The will of Heav'n by Pallas was foreshown; Vers'd in portents, experienc'd, and inspir'd To tell events, and what the fates requir'd; Thus while he stood, to neither part inclin'd, With cheerful words reliev'd his lab'ring mind: "O G.o.ddess-born, resign'd in ev'ry state, With patience bear, with prudence push your fate.

By suff'ring well, our Fortune we subdue; Fly when she frowns, and, when she calls, pursue.

Your friend Acestes is of Trojan kind; To him disclose the secrets of your mind: Trust in his hands your old and useless train; Too num'rous for the ships which yet remain: The feeble, old, indulgent of their ease, The dames who dread the dangers of the seas, With all the dastard crew, who dare not stand The shock of battle with your foes by land.

Here you may build a common town for all, And, from Acestes' name, Acesta call."

The reasons, with his friend's experience join'd, Encourag'd much, but more disturb'd his mind.

'T was dead of night; when to his slumb'ring eyes His father's shade descended from the skies, And thus he spoke: "O more than vital breath, Lov'd while I liv'd, and dear ev'n after death; O son, in various toils and troubles toss'd, The King of Heav'n employs my careful ghost On his commands: the G.o.d, who sav'd from fire Your flaming fleet, and heard your just desire.

The wholesome counsel of your friend receive, And here the coward train and woman leave: The chosen youth, and those who n.o.bly dare, Transport, to tempt the dangers of the war.

The stern Italians will their courage try; Rough are their manners, and their minds are high.

But first to Pluto's palace you shall go, And seek my shade among the blest below: For not with impious ghosts my soul remains, Nor suffers with the d.a.m.n'd perpetual pains, But breathes the living air of soft Elysian plains.

The chaste Sibylla shall your steps convey, And blood of offer'd victims free the way.

There shall you know what realms the G.o.ds a.s.sign, And learn the fates and fortunes of your line.

But now, farewell! I vanish with the night, And feel the blast of heav'n's approaching light."

He said, and mix'd with shades, and took his airy flight.

"Whither so fast?" the filial duty cried; "And why, ah why, the wish'd embrace denied?"

He said, and rose; as holy zeal inspires, He rakes hot embers, and renews the fires; His country G.o.ds and Vesta then adores With cakes and incense, and their aid implores.

Next, for his friends and royal host he sent, Reveal'd his vision, and the G.o.ds' intent, With his own purpose. All, without delay, The will of Jove, and his desires obey.

They list with women each degenerate name, Who dares not hazard life for future fame.

These they cashier: the brave remaining few, Oars, banks, and cables, half consum'd, renew.

The prince designs a city with the plow; The lots their sev'ral tenements allow.

This part is nam'd from Ilium, that from Troy, And the new king ascends the throne with joy; A chosen senate from the people draws; Appoints the judges, and ordains the laws.

Then, on the top of Eryx, they begin A rising temple to the Paphian queen.

Anchises, last, is honor'd as a G.o.d; A priest is added, annual gifts bestow'd, And groves are planted round his blest abode.

Nine days they pa.s.s in feasts, their temples crown'd; And fumes of incense in the fanes abound.

Then from the south arose a gentle breeze That curl'd the smoothness of the gla.s.sy seas; The rising winds a ruffling gale afford, And call the merry mariners aboard.