The Aeneids of Virgil Part 7

But I beheld upon the gra.s.s four horses, snowy white, Grazing the meadows far and wide, first omen of my sight.

Father Anchises seeth and saith: 'New land, and bear'st thou war?

For war are horses dight; so these war-threatening herd-beasts are. 540 Yet whiles indeed those four-foot things in car will well refrain, And tamed beneath the yoke will bear the bit and bridle's strain, So there is yet a hope of peace.'

Then on the might we call Of Pallas of the weapon-din, first welcomer of all, And veil our brows before the G.o.ds with cloth of Phrygian dye; And that chief charge of Helenus we do all rightfully, And Argive Juno worship there in such wise as is willed.

We tarry not, but when all vows are duly there fulfilled, Unto the wind our sail-yard horns we fall to turn about, And leave the houses of the Greeks, and nursing fields of doubt. 550 And next is seen Tarentum's bay, the Herculean place If fame tell true; Lacinia then, the house of G.o.ds, we face; And Caulon's towers, and Scylaceum, of old the shipman's bane.

Then see we aetna rise far off above Trinacria's main; Afar the mighty moan of sea, and sea-cliffs beaten sore, We hearken, and the broken voice that cometh from the sh.o.r.e: The sea leaps high upon the shoals, the eddy churns the sand.

Then saith Anchises: 'Lo forsooth, Charybdis is at hand, Those rocks and stones the dread whereof did Helenus foretell.

Save ye, O friends! swing out the oars together now and well!' 560

Nor worser than his word they do, and first the roaring beaks Doth Palinurus leftward wrest; then all the sea-host seeks With sail and oar the waters wild upon the left that lie: Upheaved upon the tossing whirl we fare unto the sky, Then down unto the nether G.o.ds we sink upon the wave: Thrice from the hollow-carven rocks great roar the sea-cliffs gave; Thrice did we see the spray cast forth and stars with sea-dew done; But the wind left us weary folk at sinking of the sun, And on the Cyclops' strand we glide unwitting of the way.

Locked from the wind the haven is, itself an ample bay; 570 But hard at hand mid ruin and fear doth aetna thunder loud; And whiles it blasteth forth on air a black and dreadful cloud, That rolleth on a pitchy wreath, where bright the ashes mix, And heaveth up great globes of flame and heaven's high star-world licks, And other whiles the very cliffs, and riven mountain-maw It belches forth; the molten stones together will it draw Aloft with moan, and boileth o'er from lowest inner vale.

This world of mountain presseth down, as told it is in tale, Enceladus the thunder-scorched; huge aetna on him cast, From all her bursten furnaces breathes out his fiery blast; 580 And whensoe'er his weary side he shifteth, all the sh.o.r.e Trinacrian trembleth murmuring, and heaven is smoke-clad o'er.

In thicket close we wear the night amidst these marvels dread, Nor may we see what thing it is that all that noise hath shed: For neither showed the planet fires, nor was the heaven bright With starry zenith; mirky cloud hung over all the night, In mist of dead untimely tide the moon was hidden close.

But when from earliest Eastern dawn the following day arose, And fair Aurora from the heaven the watery shades had cleared, Lo, suddenly from out the wood new shape of man appeared. 590 Unknown he was, most utter lean, in wretchedest of plight: Sh.o.r.eward he stretched his suppliant hands; we turn back at the sight, And gaze on him: all squalor there, a mat of beard we see, And raiment clasped with wooden thorns; and yet a Greek is he, Yea, sent erewhile to leaguered Troy in Greekish weed of war.

But when he saw our Dardan guise and arms of Troy afar, Feared at the sight he hung aback at first a little s.p.a.ce, But presently ran headlong down into our sea-side place With tears and prayers: 'O Teucrian men, by all the stars,' he cried, 'By all the G.o.ds, by light of heaven ye breathe, O bear me wide 600 Away from here! to whatso land henceforth ye lead my feet It is enough. That I am one from out the Danaan fleet, And that I warred on Ilian house erewhile, most true it is; For which, if I must pay so much wherein I wrought amiss, Then strew me on the flood and sink my body in the sea!

To die by hands of very men shall be a joy to me.'

He spake with arms about our knees, and wallowing still he clung Unto our knees: but what he was and from what blood he sprung We bade him say, and tell withal what fate upon him drave.

His right hand with no tarrying then Father Anchises gave 610 Unto the youth, and heartened him with utter pledge of peace.

So now he spake when fear of us amid his heart did cease:

'Luckless Ulysses' man am I, and Ithaca me bore, Hight Achemenides, who left that Adamastus poor My father (would I still were there!) by leaguered Troy to be.

Here while my mates aquake with dread the cruel threshold flee, They leave me in the Cyclops' den unmindful of their friend; A house of blood and b.l.o.o.d.y meat, most huge from end to end, Mirky within: high up aloft star-smiting to behold Is he himself;--such bane, O G.o.d, keep thou from field and fold! 620 Scarce may a man look on his face; no word to him is good; On wretches' entrails doth he feed and black abundant blood.

Myself I saw him of our folk two hapless bodies take In his huge hand, whom straight he fell athwart a stone to break As there he lay upon his back; I saw the threshold swim With spouted blood, I saw him grind each b.l.o.o.d.y dripping limb, I saw the joints amidst his teeth all warm and quivering still.

--He payed therefore, for never might Ulysses bear such ill, Nor was he worser than himself in such a pinch bestead: For when with victual satiate, deep sunk in wine, his head 630 Fell on his breast, and there he lay enormous through the den, Snorting out gore amidst his sleep, with gobbets of the men And mingled blood and wine; then we sought the great G.o.ds with prayer And drew the lots, and one and all crowded about him there, And bored out with a sharpened pike the eye that used to lurk Enormous lonely 'neath his brow overhanging grim and mirk, As great a shield of Argolis, or Phoebus' lamp on high; And so our murdered fellows' ghosts avenged we joyously.

--But ye, O miserable men, flee forth! make haste to pluck The warping hawser from the sh.o.r.e! 640 For even such, and e'en so great as Polypheme in cave Shuts in the wealth of woolly things and draws the udders' wave, An hundred others commonly dwell o'er these curving bights, Unutterable Cyclop folk, or stray about the heights.

Thrice have the twin horns of the moon fulfilled the circle clear While I have dragged out life in woods and houses of the deer, And gardens of the beasts; and oft from rocky place on high Trembling I note the Cyclops huge, hear foot and voice go by.

And evil meat of wood-berries, and cornel's flinty fruit 649 The bush-boughs give; on gra.s.s at whiles I browse, and plucked-up root So wandering all about, at last I see unto the sh.o.r.e Your ships a-coming: thitherward my steps in haste I bore: Whate'er might hap enough it was to flee this folk of ill; Rather do ye in any wise the life within me spill.'

And scarcely had he said the word ere on the hill above The very shepherd Polypheme his mountain ma.s.s did move, A marvel dread, a shapeless trunk, an eyeless monstrous thing, Who down unto the sh.o.r.e well known his sheep was shepherding; A pine-tree in the hand of him leads on and stays his feet; The woolly sheep his fellows are, his only pleasure sweet, 660 The only solace of his ill.

But when he touched the waters deep, and mid the waves was come, He falls to wash the flowing blood from off his eye dug out; Gnashing his teeth and groaning sore he walks the sea about, But none the less no wave there was up to his flank might win.

Afeard from far we haste to flee, and, having taken in Our suppliant, who had earned it well, cut cable silently, And bending to the eager oars sweep out along the sea.

He heard it, and his feet he set to follow on the sound; But when his right hand failed to reach, and therewithal he found 670 He might not speed as fast as fares the Ionian billow lithe, Then clamour measureless he raised, and ocean quaked therewith Through every wave, and inwardly the land was terrified Of Italy, and aetna boomed from many-hollowed side.

But all the race of Cyclops stirred from woods and lofty hills, Down rushes to the haven-side and all the haven fills; And aetna's gathered brethren there we see; in vain they stand Glowering grim-eyed with heads high up in heaven, a dreadful band Of councillors: they were as when on ridge aloft one sees The oaks stand thick against the sky, and cone-hung cypresses, 680 Jove's lofty woods, or thicket where Diana's footsteps stray.

Then headlong fear fell on our folk in whatsoever way To shake the reefs out spreading sail to any wind that blew; But Helenus had bid us steer a midmost course and true 'Twixt Scylla and Charybdis, lest to death we sail o'er-close: So safest seemed for backward course to let the sails go loose.

But lo, from out Pelorus' strait comes down the northern flaw, And past Pantagia's haven-mouth of living stone we draw, And through the gulf of Megara by Thapsus lying low.

Such names did Achemenides, Ulysses' fellow, show, 690 As now he coasted back again the sh.o.r.e erst wandered by.

In jaws of the Sicanian bay there doth an island lie Against Plemyrium's wavy face; folk called it in old days Ortygia: there, as tells the tale, Alpheus burrowed ways From his own Elis 'neath the sea, and now by mouth of thine, O Arethusa, blendeth him with that Sicilian brine.

We pray the isle's great deities, e'en as we bidden were: And thence we pa.s.s the earth o'erfat about Helorus' mere; Then by Pachynus' lofty crags and thrust-forth rocks we skim, And Camarina showeth next a long way off and dim; 700 Her whom the Fates would ne'er be moved: then comes the plain in sight Of Gela, yea, and Gela huge from her own river hight: Then Acragas the very steep shows great walls far away, Begetter of the herds of horse high-couraged on a day.

Then thee, Selinus of the palms, I leave with happy wind, And coast the Lilybean shoals and tangled skerries blind.

But next the firth of Drepanum, the strand without a joy, Will have me. There I tossed so sore, the tempests' very toy, O woe is me! my father lose, lightener of every care, Of every ill: me all alone, me weary, father dear, 710 There wouldst thou leave; thou borne away from perils all for nought!

Ah, neither Helenus the seer, despite the fears he taught, Nor grim Celaeno in her wrath, this grief of soul forebode.

This was the latest of my toils, the goal of all my road, For me departed thence some G.o.d to this your land did bear."

So did the Father aeneas, with all at stretch to hear, Tell o'er the fateful ways of G.o.d, and of his wanderings teach: But here he hushed him at the last and made an end of speech.

BOOK IV.

ARGUMENT.

HEREIN IS TOLD OF THE GREAT LOVE OF DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE, AND THE WOEFUL ENDING OF HER.

Meanwhile the Queen, long smitten sore with sting of all desire, With very heart's blood feeds the wound and wastes with hidden fire.

And still there runneth in her mind the hero's valiancy, And glorious stock; his words, his face, fast in her heart they lie: Nor may she give her body peace amid that restless pain.

But when the next day Phoebus' lamp lit up the lands again, And now Aurora from the heavens had rent the mist apart, Sick-souled her sister she bespeaks, the sharer of her heart: "Sister, O me, this sleepless pain that fears me with unrest!

O me, within our house and home this new-come wondrous guest! 10 Ah, what a countenance and mien! in arms and heart how strong!

Surely to trow him of the G.o.ds it doth no wisdom wrong; For fear it is shows base-born souls. Woe's me! how tossed about By fortune was he! how he showed war's utter wearing out!

And, but my heart for ever now were set immovably Never to let me long again the wedding bond to tie, Since love betrayed me first of all with him my darling dead, And were I not all weary-sick of torch and bridal bed, This sin alone of all belike my falling heart might trap; For, Anna, I confess it thee, since poor Sychaeus' hap, 20 My husband dead, my hearth acold through murderous brother's deed, This one alone hath touched the quick; this one my heart may lead Unto its fall: I feel the signs of fire of long agone.

And yet I pray the deeps of earth beneath my feet may yawn, I pray the Father send me down bolt-smitten to the shades, The pallid shades of Erebus, the night that never fades, Before, O Shame, I shame thy face, or loose what thou hast tied!

He took away the love from me, who bound me to his side That first of times. Ah, in the tomb let love be with him still!"

The tears arisen as she spake did all her bosom fill. 30 But Anna saith: "Dearer to me than very light of day, Must thou alone and sorrowing wear all thy youth away, Nor see sweet sons, nor know the joys that gentle Venus brings?

Deem'st thou dead ash or buried ghosts have heed of such-like things?

So be it that thy sickened soul no man to yield hath brought In Libya as in Tyre; let be Iarbas set at nought, And other lords, whom Africa, the rich in battle's bliss, Hath nursed: but now, with love beloved,--must thou be foe to this?

Yea, hast thou not within thy mind amidst whose bounds we are?

Here the Gaetulian cities fierce, a folk unmatched in war, 40 And hard Numidia's bitless folk, and Syrtes' guestless sand Lie round thee: there Barcaeans wild, the rovers of the land, Desert for thirst: what need to tell of wars new-born in Tyre, And of thy murderous brother's threats?

Meseems by very will of G.o.ds, by Juno's loving mind, The Ilian keels run down their course before the following wind.

Ah, what a city shalt thou see! how shall the lordship wax With such a spouse! with Teucrian arms our brothers at our backs Unto what glory of great deeds the Punic realm may reach!

But thou, go seek the grace of G.o.ds, with sacrifice beseech; 50 Then take thy fill of guest-serving; weave web of all delays: The wintry raging of the sea, Orion's watery ways, The way-worn ships, the heavens unmeet for playing seaman's part."

So saying, she blew the flame of love within her kindled heart, And gave her doubtful soul a hope and loosed the girth of shame.

Then straight they fare unto the shrines, by every altar's flame Praying for peace; and hosts they slay, chosen as custom would, To Phoebus, Ceres wise of law, Father Lyaeus good, But chiefest unto Juno's might, that wedlock hath in care.

There bowl in hand stands Dido forth, most excellently fair, 60 And pours between the sleek cow's horns; or to and fro doth pace Before the altars fat with prayer, 'neath very G.o.dhead's face, And halloweth in the day with gifts, and, gazing eagerly Amid the host's yet beating heart, for answering rede must try.

--Woe's me! the idle mind of priests! what prayer, what shrine avails The wild with love!--and all the while the smooth flame never fails To eat her heart: the silent wound lives on within her breast: Unhappy Dido burneth up, and, wild with all unrest, For ever strays the city through: as arrow-smitten doe, Unwary, whom some herd from far hath drawn upon with bow 70 Amid the Cretan woods, and left the swift steel in the sore, Unknowing: far in flight she strays the woods and thickets o'er, 'Neath Dictae's heights; but in her flank still bears the deadly reed.

Now midmost of the city-walls aeneas doth she lead, And shows him the Sidonian wealth, the city's guarded ways; And now she falls to speech, and now amidst a word she stays.

Then at the dying of the day the feast she dights again, And, witless, once again will hear the tale of Ilium's pain; And once more hangeth on the lips that tell the tale aloud.

But after they were gone their ways, and the dusk moon did shroud 80 Her light in turn, and setting stars bade all to sleep away, Lone in the empty house she mourns, broods over where he lay, Hears him and sees him, she apart from him that is apart Or, by his father's image smit, Ascanius to her heart She taketh, if her utter love she may thereby beguile.

No longer rise the walls begun, nor play the youth this while In arms, or fashion havens forth, or ramparts of the war: Broken is all that handicraft and mastery; idle are The mighty threatenings of the walls and engines wrought heaven high.

Now when the holy wife of Jove beheld her utterly 90 Held by that plague, whose madness now not e'en her fame might stay, Then unto Venus, Saturn's seed began such words to say: "Most glorious praise ye carry off, meseems, most wealthy spoil, Thou and thy Boy; wondrous the might, and long to tell the toil, Whereas two G.o.ds by dint of craft one woman have o'erthrown.

But well I wot, that through your fear of walls I call mine own, In welcome of proud Carthage doors your hearts may never trow.

But what shall be the end hereof? where wends our contest now?

What if a peace that shall endure, and wedlock surely bound, 99 We fashion? That which all thine heart was set on thou hast found.

For Dido burns: bone of her bone thy madness is today: So let us rule these folks as one beneath an equal sway: Let the doom be that she shall take a Phrygian man for lord, And to thine hand for dowry due her Tyrian folk award."