The Aeneids of Virgil Part 14

She spake, and wildly cast herself amidst the hollow cave, But close upon her fearless feet aeneas followeth.

O G.o.ds, who rule the ghosts of men, O silent shades of death, Chaos and Phlegethon, hushed lands that lie beneath the night!

Let me speak now, for I have heard: O aid me with your might To open things deep sunk in earth, and mid the darkness blent.

All dim amid the lonely night on through the dusk they went, On through the empty house of Dis, the land of nought at all.

E'en as beneath the doubtful moon, when n.i.g.g.ard light doth fall 270 Upon some way amid the woods, when G.o.d hath hidden heaven, And black night from the things of earth the colours dear hath driven.

Lo, in the first of Orcus' jaws, close to the doorway side, The Sorrows and Avenging Griefs have set their beds to bide; There the pale kin of Sickness dwells, and Eld, the woeful thing, And Fear, and squalid-fashioned Lack, and witless Hungering, Shapes terrible to see with eye; and Toil of Men, and Death, And Sleep, Death's brother, and the l.u.s.t of Soul that sickeneth: And War, the death-bearer, was set full in the threshold's way, And those Well-willers' iron beds: there heartless Discord lay, 280 Whose viper-breeding hair about was b.l.o.o.d.y-filleted.

But in the midst a mighty elm, dusk as the night, outspread Its immemorial boughs and limbs, where lying dreams there lurk, As tells the tale, still clinging close 'neath every leaf-side mirk.

Withal most wondrous, many-shaped are all the wood-beasts there; The Centaurs stable by the porch, and twi-shaped Scyllas fare, And hundred-folded Briareus, and Lerna's Worm of dread Fell hissing; and Chimaera's length and fire-behelmed head, Gorgons and Harpies, and the shape of that three-bodied Shade.

Then smitten by a sudden fear aeneas caught his blade, 290 And turned the naked point and edge against their drawing nigh; And but for her wise word that these were thin lives flitting by All bodiless, and wrapped about in hollow shape and vain, With idle sword had he set on to cleave the ghosts atwain.

To Acheron of Tartarus from hence the road doth go, That mire-bemingled, whirling wild, rolls on his desert flow, And all amid Cocytus' flood casteth his world of sand.

This flood and river's ferrying doth Charon take in hand, Dread in his squalor: on his chin untrimmed the h.o.a.r hair lies Most plenteous; and unchanging flame bides in his staring eyes: 300 Down from his shoulders hangs his gear in filthy knot upknit; And he himself poles on his ship, and tends the sails of it, And crawls with load of bodies lost in bark all iron-grey, Grown old by now: but fresh and green is G.o.dhead's latter day.

Down thither rushed a mighty crowd, unto the flood-side borne; Mothers and men, and bodies there with all the life outworn Of great-souled heroes; many a boy and never-wedded maid, And youths before their fathers' eyes upon the death-bale laid: As many as the leaves fall down in first of autumn cold; As many as the gathered fowl press on to field and fold, 310 From off the weltering ocean-flood, when the late year and chill Hath driven them across the sea the sunny lands to fill.

There stood the first and prayed him hard to waft their bodies o'er, With hands stretched out for utter love of that far-lying sh.o.r.e.

But that grim sailor now takes these, now those from out the band, While all the others far away he thrusteth from the sand.

aeneas wondered at the press, and moved thereby he spoke: "Say, Maid, what means this river-side, and gathering of the folk?

What seek the souls, and why must some depart the river's rim, While others with the sweep of oars the leaden waters skim?" 320

Thereon the ancient Maid of Days in few words answered thus: "Anchises' seed, thou very child of G.o.dhead glorious, Thou seest the deep Cocytus' pools, thou seest the Stygian mere, By whose might G.o.ds will take the oath, and all forswearing fear: But all the wretched crowd thou seest are they that lack a grave, And Charon is the ferryman: those borne across the wave Are buried: none may ever cross the awful roaring road Until their bones are laid at rest within their last abode.

An hundred years they stray about and wander round the sh.o.r.e, Then they at last have grace to gain the pools desired so sore." 330

There tarried then Anchises' child and stayed awhile his feet, Mid many thoughts, and sore at heart, for such a doom unmeet: And there he saw all sorrowful, without the death-dues dead, Leucaspis, and Orontes, he that Lycian ship-host led; Whom, borne from Troy o'er windy plain, the South wind utterly O'erwhelming, sank him, ships and men, in swallow of the sea.

And lo ye now, where Palinure the helmsman draweth nigh, Who lately on the Libyan sea, noting the starry sky, Fell from the high p.o.o.p headlong down mid wavy waters cast.

His sad face through the plenteous dusk aeneas knew at last, 340 And spake: "What G.o.d, O Palinure, did s.n.a.t.c.h thee so away From us thy friends and drown thee dead amidst the watery way?

Speak out! for Seer Apollo, found no guileful prophet erst, By this one answer in my soul a lying hope hath nursed; Who sang of thee safe from the deep and gaining field and fold Of fair Ausonia: suchwise he his plighted word doth hold!"

The other spake: "Apollo's shrine in nowise lied to thee, King of Anchises, and no G.o.d hath drowned me in the sea: But while I clung unto the helm, its guard ordained of right, And steered thee on, I chanced to fall, and so by very might 350 Seaward I dragged it down with me. By the rough seas I swear My heart, for any hap of mine, had no so great a fear As for thy ship; lest, rudderless, its master from it torn, Amid so great o'ertoppling seas it yet might fail forlorn.

Three nights of storm I drifted on, 'neath wind and water's might, Over the sea-plain measureless; but with the fourth day's light There saw I Italy rise up from welter of the wave.

Then slow I swam unto the land, that me well-nigh did save, But fell the cruel folk on me, heavy with raiment wet, And striving with my hooked hands hold on the rocks to get: 360 The fools, they took me for a prey, and steel against me bore.

Now the waves have me, and the winds on sea-beach roll me o'er.

But by the breath of heaven above, by daylight's joyous ways, By thine own father, by the hope of young Iulus' days, s.n.a.t.c.h me, O dauntless, from these woes, and o'er me cast the earth!

As well thou may'st when thou once more hast gained the Veline firth.

Or if a way there be, if way thy G.o.ddess-mother show,-- For not without the will of G.o.ds meseemeth wouldst thou go O'er so great floods, or have a mind to swim the Stygian mere,-- Then give thine hand, and o'er the wave me woeful with thee bear, 370 That I at least in quiet place may rest when I am dead."

So spake he, but the priestess straight such word unto him said: "O Palinure, what G.o.dless mind hath gotten hold of thee, That thou the grim Well-willers' stream and Stygian flood wouldst see Unburied, and unbidden still the brim wilt draw anear?

Hope not the Fates of very G.o.d to change by any prayer.

But take this memory of my words to soothe thy wretched case: Through all their cities far and wide the people of the place, Driven by mighty signs from heaven, thy bones shall expiate And raise thee tomb, and year by year with worship on thee wait; 380 And there the name of Palinure shall dwell eternally."

So at that word his trouble lulled, his grief of heart pa.s.sed by, A little while he joyed to think of land that bore his name.

So forth upon their way they went and toward the river came; But when from Stygian wave their path the shipman's gaze did meet, As through the dead hush of the grove sh.o.r.eward they turned their feet, He fell upon them first with words and unbid chided them:

"Whoe'er ye be who come in arms unto our river's hem, Say what ye be! yea, speak from thence and stay your steps forthright!

This is the very place of shades, and sleep, and sleepful night; 390 And living bodies am I banned in Stygian keel to bear.

Nor soothly did I gain a joy, giving Alcides fare, Or ferrying of Pirithous and Theseus time agone, Though come of G.o.d they were and matched in valiancy of none: He sought the guard of Tartarus chains on his limbs to lay, And from the King's own seat he dragged the quaking beast away: Those strove to carry off the Queen from great Dis' very bed."

The Amphrysian prophet answering, few words unto him said: "But here are no such guiles as this, so let thy wrath go by: Our weapons bear no war; for us still shall the door-ward lie 400 And bark in den, and fright the ghosts, the bloodless, evermore: Nor shall chaste Proserpine for us pa.s.s through her kinsman's door: Trojan aeneas, great in arms and great in G.o.dly grace, Goes down through dark of Erebus to see his father's face.

But if such guise of piety may move thine heart no whit, At least this bough "--(bared from her weed therewith she showeth it)-- "Know ye!"

Then in his swelling heart adown the anger sank, Nor spake he more; but wondering at that gift a G.o.d might thank, The fateful stem, now seen once more so long a time worn by, He turned about his coal-blue keel and drew the bank anigh 410 The souls upon the long thwarts set therewith he thrusteth out, And clears the gangway, and withal takes in his hollow boat The huge aeneas, 'neath whose weight the seamed boat groans and creaks, And plenteous water of the mere lets in at many leaks.

At last the Hero and the Maid safe o'er the watery way He leaveth on the ugly mire and sedge of sorry grey.

The three-mouthed bark of Cerberus here filleth all the place, As huge he lieth in a den that hath them full in face: But when the adders she beheld upon his crest upborne, A sleepy morsel honey-steeped, and blent of wizards' corn, 420 She cast him: then his threefold throat, all wild with hunger's lack, He opened wide, and caught at it, and sank his monstrous back, And there he lay upon the earth enormous through the cave.

aeneas caught upon the pa.s.s the door-ward's slumber gave, And fled the bank of that sad stream no man may pa.s.s again.

And many sounds they heard therewith, a wailing vast and vain; For weeping souls of speechless babes round the first threshold lay, Whom, without share of life's delight, s.n.a.t.c.hed from the breast away, The black day hurried off, and all in bitter ending hid.

And next were those condemned to die for deed they never did: 430 For neither doom nor judge nor house may any lack in death: The seeker Minos shakes the urn, and ever summoneth The hushed-ones' court, and learns men's lives and what against them stands.

The next place is of woeful ones, who sackless, with their hands Compa.s.sed their death, and weary-sick of light without avail Cast life away; but now how fain to bear the poor man's bale Beneath the heaven, the uttermost of weary toil to bear!

But law forbiddeth: the sad wave of that unlovely mere Is changeless bond; and ninefold Styx compelleth to abide.

Nor far from thence behold the meads far spread on every side, 440 The Mourning Meads--in tale have they such very name and sign.

There those whom hard love ate away with cruel wasting pine Are hidden in the lonely paths with myrtle-groves about, Nor in the very death itself may wear their trouble out: Phaedra he saw, Procris he saw, and Eriphyle sad.

Baring that cruel offspring's wound her loving body had: Evadne and Pasiphae, Laodamia there He saw, and Caenis, once a youth and then a maiden fair, And shifted by the deed of fate to his old shape again.

Midst whom Phoenician Dido now, fresh from the iron bane, 450 Went wandering in the mighty wood: and when the Trojan man First dimly knew her standing by amid the glimmer wan --E'en as in earliest of the month one sees the moon arise, Or seems to see her at the least in cloudy drift of skies-- He spake, and let the tears fall down by all love's sweetness stirred: "Unhappy Dido, was it true, that bitter following word, That thou wert dead, by sword hadst sought the utter end of all?

Was it thy very death I wrought? Ah! on the stars I call, I call the G.o.ds and whatso faith the nether earth may hold, To witness that against my will I left thy field and fold! 460 But that same bidding of the G.o.ds, whereby e'en now I wend Through dark, through deserts rusty-rough, through night without an end, Drave me with doom. Nor held my heart in anywise belief That my departure from thy land might work thee such a grief.

O stay thy feet! nor tear thyself from my beholding thus.

Whom fleest thou? this word is all that Fate shall give to us."

Such were the words aeneas spake to soothe her as she stood With stern eyes flaming, while his heart swelled with the woeful flood: But, turned away, her sick eyes still she fixed upon the earth; Nor was her face moved any more by all his sad words' birth 470 Than if Marpesian crag or flint had held her image so: At last she flung herself away, and fled, his utter foe, Unto the shady wood, where he, her husband of old days, Gives grief for grief, and loving heart beside her loving lays.

Nor less aeneas, smitten sore by her unworthy woes, With tears and pity followeth her as far away she goes.

But thence the meted way they wear, and reach the outer field, Where dwell apart renowned men, the mighty under shield: There Tydeus meets him; there he sees the great fight-glorious man, Parthenopaeus; there withal Adrastus' image wan; 480 And there the Dardans battle-slain, for whom the wailing went To very heaven: their long array he saw with sad lament: Glaucus and Medon there he saw, Thersilochus, the three Antenor-sons, and Polyphoete, by Ceres' mystery Made holy, and Idaeus still in car with armed hand: There on the right side and the left the straying spirits stand.

Nor is one sight of him enough; it joyeth them to stay And pace beside, asking for why he wendeth such a way.

But when the lords of Danaan folk, and Agamemnon's hosts, Behold the man and gleaming arms amid the dusky ghosts, 490 They fall a-quaking full of fear: some turn their back to fly As erst they ran unto the ships; some raise a quavering cry, But never from their gaping vain will swell the shout begun.

And now Dephobus he sees, the glorious Priam's son; But all his body mangled sore, his face all evilly hacked, His face and hands; yea, and his head, laid waste, the ear-lobes lacked, And nostrils cropped unto the root by wicked wound and grim.

Scarcely he knew the trembling man, who strove to hide from him Those torments dire, but thus at last he spake in voice well known:

"O great in arms, Dephobus, from Teucer's blood come down, 500 Who had the heart to work on thee such bitter wicked bale?

Who had the might to deal thee this? Indeed I heard the tale, That, tired with slaying of the Greeks on that last night of all, Upon a heap of mingled death thou didst to slumber fall: And I myself an empty tomb on that Rhoetean coast Set up to thee, and thrice aloud cried blessing on thy ghost: Thy name and arms still keep the place; but thee I found not, friend, To set thee in thy fathers' earth ere I too needs must wend."

To him the child of Priam spake: "Friend, nought thou left'st undone; All things thou gav'st Dephobus, and this dead shadowy one: 510 My Fates and that Laconian Bane, the Woman wicked-fair, Have drowned me in this sea of ills: she set these tokens here.

How midst a lying happiness we wore the last night by 'Thou know'st: yea; overwell belike thou hold'st that memory Now when the baneful Horse of Fate high Pergamus leapt o'er, With womb come nigh unto the birth of weaponed men of war, She, feigning hallowed dance, led on a holy-shouting band Of Phrygian maids, and midst of them, the bale-fire in her hand, Called on the Danaan men to come, high on the castle's steep: But me, outworn with many cares and weighed adown with sleep, 520 The hapless bride-bed held meanwhile, and on me did there press Deep rest and sweet, most like indeed to death's own quietness.

Therewith my glorious wife all arms from out the house withdrew, And stole away from o'er my head the sword whose faith I knew, Called Menelaus to the house and opened him the door, Thinking, forsooth, great gift to give to him who loved so sore, To quench therewith the tale gone by of how she did amiss.

Why linger? They break in on me, and he their fellow is, Ulysses, preacher of all guilt.--O G.o.ds, will ye not pay The Greeks for all? belike with mouth not G.o.dless do I pray. 530 --But tell me, thou, what tidings new have brought thee here alive?

Is it blind strayings o'er the sea that hither doth thee drive, Or bidding of the G.o.ds? Wherein hath Fortune worn thee so, That thou, midst sunless houses sad, confused lands, must go?"

But as they gave and took in talk, Aurora at the last In rosy wain the topmost crown of upper heaven had pa.s.sed, And all the fated time perchance in suchwise had they spent; But warning of few words enow the Sibyl toward him sent: "Night falls, aeneas, weeping here we wear the hours in vain; And hard upon us is the place where cleaves the road atwain; 540 On by the walls of mighty Dis the right-hand highway goes, Our way to that Elysium: the left drags on to woes Ill-doers' souls, and bringeth them to G.o.dless Tartarus."

Then spake Dephobus: "Great seer, be not o'erwroth with us: I will depart and fill the tale, and unto dusk turn back: Go forth, our glory, go and gain the better fate I lack!"

And even with that latest word his feet he tore away.

But suddenly aeneas turned, and lo, a city lay Wide-spread 'neath crags upon the left, girt with a wall threefold; And round about in hurrying flood a flaming river rolled, 550 E'en Phlegethon of Tartarus, with rattling, stony roar: In face with adamantine posts was wrought the mighty door, Such as no force of men nor might of heaven-abiders high May cleave with steel; an iron tower thence riseth to the sky: And there is set Tisiphone, with girded blood-stained gown, Who, sleepless, holdeth night and day the doorway of the town.

Great wail and cruel sound of stripes that city sendeth out, And iron clanking therewithal of fetters dragged about.