The Aeneid Part 7

BOOK III

"When Heav'n had overturn'd the Trojan state And Priam's throne, by too severe a fate; When ruin'd Troy became the Grecians' prey, And Ilium's lofty tow'rs in ashes lay; Warn'd by celestial omens, we retreat, To seek in foreign lands a happier seat.

Near old Antandros, and at Ida's foot, The timber of the sacred groves we cut, And build our fleet; uncertain yet to find What place the G.o.ds for our repose a.s.sign'd.

Friends daily flock; and scarce the kindly spring Began to clothe the ground, and birds to sing, When old Anchises summon'd all to sea: The crew my father and the Fates obey.

With sighs and tears I leave my native sh.o.r.e, And empty fields, where Ilium stood before.

My sire, my son, our less and greater G.o.ds, All sail at once, and cleave the briny floods.

"Against our coast appears a s.p.a.cious land, Which once the fierce Lycurgus did command, (Thracia the name- the people bold in war; Vast are their fields, and tillage is their care,) A hospitable realm while Fate was kind, With Troy in friendship and religion join'd.

I land; with luckless omens then adore Their G.o.ds, and draw a line along the sh.o.r.e; I lay the deep foundations of a wall, And Aenos, nam'd from me, the city call.

To Dionaean Venus vows are paid, And all the pow'rs that rising labors aid; A bull on Jove's imperial altar laid.

Not far, a rising hillock stood in view; Sharp myrtles on the sides, and cornels grew.

There, while I went to crop the sylvan scenes, And shade our altar with their leafy greens, I pull'd a plant- with horror I relate A prodigy so strange and full of fate.

The rooted fibers rose, and from the wound Black b.l.o.o.d.y drops distill'd upon the ground.

Mute and amaz'd, my hair with terror stood; Fear shrunk my sinews, and congeal'd my blood.

Mann'd once again, another plant I try: That other gush'd with the same sanguine dye.

Then, fearing guilt for some offense unknown, With pray'rs and vows the Dryads I atone, With all the sisters of the woods, and most The G.o.d of Arms, who rules the Thracian coast, That they, or he, these omens would avert, Release our fears, and better signs impart.

Clear'd, as I thought, and fully fix'd at length To learn the cause, I tugged with all my strength: I bent my knees against the ground; once more The violated myrtle ran with gore.

Scarce dare I tell the sequel: from the womb Of wounded earth, and caverns of the tomb, A groan, as of a troubled ghost, renew'd My fright, and then these dreadful words ensued: 'Why dost thou thus my buried body rend?

O spare the corpse of thy unhappy friend!

Spare to pollute thy pious hands with blood: The tears distil not from the wounded wood; But ev'ry drop this living tree contains Is kindred blood, and ran in Trojan veins.

O fly from this unhospitable sh.o.r.e, Warn'd by my fate; for I am Polydore!

Here loads of lances, in my blood embrued, Again shoot upward, by my blood renew'd.'

"My falt'ring tongue and shiv'ring limbs declare My horror, and in bristles rose my hair.

When Troy with Grecian arms was closely pent, Old Priam, fearful of the war's event, This hapless Polydore to Thracia sent: Loaded with gold, he sent his darling, far From noise and tumults, and destructive war, Committed to the faithless tyrant's care; Who, when he saw the pow'r of Troy decline, Forsook the weaker, with the strong to join; Broke ev'ry bond of nature and of truth, And murder'd, for his wealth, the royal youth.

O sacred hunger of pernicious gold!

What bands of faith can impious lucre hold?

Now, when my soul had shaken off her fears, I call my father and the Trojan peers; Relate the prodigies of Heav'n, require What he commands, and their advice desire.

All vote to leave that execrable sh.o.r.e, Polluted with the blood of Polydore; But, ere we sail, his fun'ral rites prepare, Then, to his ghost, a tomb and altars rear.

In mournful pomp the matrons walk the round, With baleful cypress and blue fillets crown'd, With eyes dejected, and with hair unbound.

Then bowls of tepid milk and blood we pour, And thrice invoke the soul of Polydore.

"Now, when the raging storms no longer reign, But southern gales invite us to the main, We launch our vessels, with a prosp'rous wind, And leave the cities and the sh.o.r.es behind.

"An island in th' Aegaean main appears; Neptune and wat'ry Doris claim it theirs.

It floated once, till Phoebus fix'd the sides To rooted earth, and now it braves the tides.

Here, borne by friendly winds, we come ash.o.r.e, With needful ease our weary limbs restore, And the Sun's temple and his town adore.

"Anius, the priest and king, with laurel crown'd, His h.o.a.ry locks with purple fillets bound, Who saw my sire the Delian sh.o.r.e ascend, Came forth with eager haste to meet his friend; Invites him to his palace; and, in sign Of ancient love, their plighted hands they join.

Then to the temple of the G.o.d I went, And thus, before the shrine, my vows present: 'Give, O Thymbraeus, give a resting place To the sad relics of the Trojan race; A seat secure, a region of their own, A lasting empire, and a happier town.

Where shall we fix? where shall our labors end?

Whom shall we follow, and what fate attend?

Let not my pray'rs a doubtful answer find; But in clear auguries unveil thy mind.'

Scarce had I said: he shook the holy ground, The laurels, and the lofty hills around; And from the tripos rush'd a bellowing sound.

Prostrate we fell; confess'd the present G.o.d, Who gave this answer from his dark abode: 'Undaunted youths, go, seek that mother earth From which your ancestors derive their birth.

The soil that sent you forth, her ancient race In her old bosom shall again embrace.

Thro' the wide world th' Aeneian house shall reign, And children's children shall the crown sustain.'

Thus Phoebus did our future fates disclose: A mighty tumult, mix'd with joy, arose.

"All are concern'd to know what place the G.o.d a.s.sign'd, and where determin'd our abode.

My father, long revolving in his mind The race and lineage of the Trojan kind, Thus answer'd their demands: 'Ye princes, hear Your pleasing fortune, and dispel your fear.

The fruitful isle of Crete, well known to fame, Sacred of old to Jove's imperial name, In the mid ocean lies, with large command, And on its plains a hundred cities stand.

Another Ida rises there, and we From thence derive our Trojan ancestry.

From thence, as 't is divulg'd by certain fame, To the Rhoetean sh.o.r.es old Teucrus came; There fix'd, and there the seat of empire chose, Ere Ilium and the Trojan tow'rs arose.

In humble vales they built their soft abodes, Till Cybele, the mother of the G.o.ds, With tinkling cymbals charm'd th' Idaean woods, She secret rites and ceremonies taught, And to the yoke the savage lions brought.

Let us the land which Heav'n appoints, explore; Appease the winds, and seek the Gnossian sh.o.r.e.

If Jove a.s.sists the pa.s.sage of our fleet, The third propitious dawn discovers Crete.'

Thus having said, the sacrifices, laid On smoking altars, to the G.o.ds he paid: A bull, to Neptune an oblation due, Another bull to bright Apollo slew; A milk-white ewe, the western winds to please, And one coal-black, to calm the stormy seas.

Ere this, a flying rumor had been spread That fierce Idomeneus from Crete was fled, Expell'd and exil'd; that the coast was free From foreign or domestic enemy.

"We leave the Delian ports, and put to sea; By Naxos, fam'd for vintage, make our way; Then green Donysa pa.s.s; and sail in sight Of Paros' isle, with marble quarries white.

We pa.s.s the scatter'd isles of Cyclades, That, scarce distinguish'd, seem to stud the seas.

The shouts of sailors double near the sh.o.r.es; They stretch their canvas, and they ply their oars.

'All hands aloft! for Crete! for Crete!' they cry, And swiftly thro' the foamy billows fly.

Full on the promis'd land at length we bore, With joy descending on the Cretan sh.o.r.e.

With eager haste a rising town I frame, Which from the Trojan Pergamus I name: The name itself was grateful; I exhort To found their houses, and erect a fort.

Our ships are haul'd upon the yellow strand; The youth begin to till the labor'd land; And I myself new marriages promote, Give laws, and dwellings I divide by lot; When rising vapors choke the wholesome air, And blasts of noisome winds corrupt the year; The trees devouring caterpillars burn; Parch'd was the gra.s.s, and blighted was the corn: Nor 'scape the beasts; for Sirius, from on high, With pestilential heat infects the sky: My men- some fall, the rest in fevers fry.

Again my father bids me seek the sh.o.r.e Of sacred Delos, and the G.o.d implore, To learn what end of woes we might expect, And to what clime our weary course direct.

"'T was night, when ev'ry creature, void of cares, The common gift of balmy slumber shares: The statues of my G.o.ds (for such they seem'd), Those G.o.ds whom I from flaming Troy redeem'd, Before me stood, majestically bright, Full in the beams of Phoebe's ent'ring light.

Then thus they spoke, and eas'd my troubled mind: 'What from the Delian G.o.d thou go'st to find, He tells thee here, and sends us to relate.

Those pow'rs are we, companions of thy fate, Who from the burning town by thee were brought, Thy fortune follow'd, and thy safety wrought.

Thro' seas and lands as we thy steps attend, So shall our care thy glorious race befriend.

An ample realm for thee thy fates ordain, A town that o'er the conquer'd world shall reign.

Thou, mighty walls for mighty nations build; Nor let thy weary mind to labors yield: But change thy seat; for not the Delian G.o.d, Nor we, have giv'n thee Crete for our abode.

A land there is, Hesperia call'd of old, (The soil is fruitful, and the natives bold- Th' Oenotrians held it once,) by later fame Now call'd Italia, from the leader's name.

lasius there and Darda.n.u.s were born; From thence we came, and thither must return.

Rise, and thy sire with these glad tidings greet.

Search Italy; for Jove denies thee Crete.'

"Astonish'd at their voices and their sight, (Nor were they dreams, but visions of the night; I saw, I knew their faces, and descried, In perfect view, their hair with fillets tied;) I started from my couch; a clammy sweat On all my limbs and shiv'ring body sate.

To heav'n I lift my hands with pious haste, And sacred incense in the flames I cast.

Thus to the G.o.ds their perfect honors done, More cheerful, to my good old sire I run, And tell the pleasing news. In little s.p.a.ce He found his error of the double race; Not, as before he deem'd, deriv'd from Crete; No more deluded by the doubtful seat: Then said: 'O son, turmoil'd in Trojan fate!

Such things as these Ca.s.sandra did relate.

This day revives within my mind what she Foretold of Troy renew'd in Italy, And Latian lands; but who could then have thought That Phrygian G.o.ds to Latium should be brought, Or who believ'd what mad Ca.s.sandra taught?

Now let us go where Phoebus leads the way.'

"He said; and we with glad consent obey, Forsake the seat, and, leaving few behind, We spread our sails before the willing wind.

Now from the sight of land our galleys move, With only seas around and skies above; When o'er our heads descends a burst of rain, And night with sable clouds involves the main; The ruffling winds the foamy billows raise; The scatter'd fleet is forc'd to sev'ral ways; The face of heav'n is ravish'd from our eyes, And in redoubled peals the roaring thunder flies.

Cast from our course, we wander in the dark.

No stars to guide, no point of land to mark.

Ev'n Palinurus no distinction found Betwixt the night and day; such darkness reign'd around.

Three starless nights the doubtful navy strays, Without distinction, and three sunless days; The fourth renews the light, and, from our shrouds, We view a rising land, like distant clouds; The mountain-tops confirm the pleasing sight, And curling smoke ascending from their height.

The canvas falls; their oars the sailors ply; From the rude strokes the whirling waters fly.

At length I land upon the Strophades, Safe from the danger of the stormy seas.

Those isles are compa.s.s'd by th' Ionian main, The dire abode where the foul Harpies reign, Forc'd by the winged warriors to repair To their old homes, and leave their costly fare.

Monsters more fierce offended Heav'n ne'er sent From h.e.l.l's abyss, for human punishment: With virgin faces, but with wombs obscene, Foul paunches, and with ordure still unclean; With claws for hands, and looks for ever lean.