Arms, and the man I sing, who, forc'd by fate,\nAnd haughty Juno's unrelenting hate,\nExpell'd and exil'd, left the Trojan shore.\nLong labors, both by sea and land, he bore,\nAnd in the doubtful war, before he won\nThe Latian realm, and built the destin'd town;\nHis banish'd gods restor'd to rites divine,\nAnd settled sure succession in his line,\nFrom whence the race of Alban fathers come,\nAnd the long glories of majestic Rome.<\/p>\n
O Muse! the causes and the crimes relate;\nWhat goddess was provok'd, and whence her hate;\nFor what offense the Queen of Heav'n began\nTo persecute so brave, so just a man;\nInvolv'd his anxious life in endless cares,\nExpos'd to wants, and hurried into wars!\nCan heav'nly minds such high resentment show,\nOr exercise their spite in human woe?<\/p>\n
Against the Tiber's mouth, but far away,\nAn ancient town was seated on the sea;\nA Tyrian colony; the people made\nStout for the war, and studious of their trade:\nCarthage the name; belov'd by Juno more\nThan her own Argos, or the Samian shore.\nHere stood her chariot; here, if Heav'n were kind,\nThe seat of awful empire she design'd.\nYet she had heard an ancient rumor fly,\n(Long cited by the people of the sky,)\nThat times to come should see the Trojan race\nHer Carthage ruin, and her tow'rs deface;\nNor thus confin'd, the yoke of sov'reign sway\nShould on the necks of all the nations lay.\nShe ponder'd this, and fear'd it was in fate;\nNor could forget the war she wag'd of late\nFor conqu'ring Greece against the Trojan state.\nBesides, long causes working in her mind,\nAnd secret seeds of envy, lay behind;\nDeep graven in her heart the doom remain'd\nOf partial Paris, and her form disdain'd;\nThe grace bestow'd on ravish'd Ganymed,\nElectra's glories, and her injur'd bed.\nEach was a cause alone; and all combin'd\nTo kindle vengeance in her haughty mind.\nFor this, far distant from the Latian coast\nShe drove the remnants of the Trojan host;\nAnd sev'n long years th' unhappy wand'ring train\nWere toss'd by storms, and scatter'd thro' the main.\nSuch time, such toil, requir'd the Roman name,\nSuch length of labor for so vast a frame.<\/p>\n
Now scarce the Trojan fleet, with sails and oars,\nHad left behind the fair Sicilian shores,\nEnt'ring with cheerful shouts the wat'ry reign,\nAnd plowing frothy furrows in the main;\nWhen, lab'ring still with endless discontent,\nThe Queen of Heav'n did thus her fury vent:<\/p>\n
\"Then am I vanquish'd? must I yield?\" said she,\n\"And must the Trojans reign in Italy?\nSo Fate will have it, and Jove adds his force;\nNor can my pow'r divert their happy course.\nCould angry Pallas, with revengeful spleen,\nThe Grecian navy burn, and drown the men?\nShe, for the fault of one offending foe,\nThe bolts of Jove himself presum'd to throw:\nWith whirlwinds from beneath she toss'd the ship,\nAnd bare expos'd the bosom of the deep;\nThen, as an eagle gripes the trembling game,\nThe wretch, yet hissing with her father's flame,\nShe strongly seiz'd, and with a burning wound\nTransfix'd, and naked, on a rock she bound.\nBut I, who walk in awful state above,\nThe majesty of heav'n, the sister wife of Jove,\nFor length of years my fruitless force employ\nAgainst the thin remains of ruin'd Troy!\nWhat nations now to Juno's pow'r will pray,\nOr off'rings on my slighted altars lay?\"<\/p>\n
Thus rag'd the goddess; and, with fury fraught.\nThe restless regions of the storms she sought,\nWhere, in a spacious cave of living stone,\nThe tyrant Aeolus, from his airy throne,\nWith pow'r imperial curbs the struggling winds,\nAnd sounding tempests in dark prisons binds.\nThis way and that th' impatient captives tend,\nAnd, pressing for release, the mountains rend.\nHigh in his hall th' undaunted monarch stands,\nAnd shakes his scepter, and their rage commands;\nWhich did he not, their unresisted sway\nWould sweep the world before them in their way;\nEarth, air, and seas thro' empty space would roll,\nAnd heav'n would fly before the driving soul.\nIn fear of this, the Father of the Gods\nConfin'd their fury to those dark abodes,\nAnd lock'd 'em safe within, oppress'd with mountain loads;\nImpos'd a king, with arbitrary sway,\nTo loose their fetters, or their force allay.\nTo whom the suppliant queen her pray'rs address'd,\nAnd thus the tenor of her suit express'd:<\/p>\n
\"O Aeolus! for to thee the King of Heav'n\nThe pow'r of tempests and of winds has giv'n;\nThy force alone their fury can restrain,\nAnd smooth the waves, or swell the troubled main-\nA race of wand'ring slaves, abhorr'd by me,\nWith prosp'rous passage cut the Tuscan sea;\nTo fruitful Italy their course they steer,\nAnd for their vanquish'd gods design new temples there.\nRaise all thy winds; with night involve the skies;\nSink or disperse my fatal enemies.\nTwice sev'n, the charming daughters of the main,\nAround my person wait, and bear my train:\nSucceed my wish, and second my design;\nThe fairest, Deiopeia, shall be thine,\nAnd make thee father of a happy line.\"<\/p>\n
To this the god: \"'T is yours, O queen, to will\nThe work which duty binds me to fulfil.\nThese airy kingdoms, and this wide command,\nAre all the presents of your bounteous hand:\nYours is my sov'reign's grace; and, as your guest,\nI sit with gods at their celestial feast;\nRaise tempests at your pleasure, or subdue;\nDispose of empire, which I hold from you.\"<\/p>\n
He said, and hurl'd against the mountain side\nHis quiv'ring spear, and all the god applied.\nThe raging winds rush thro' the hollow wound,\nAnd dance aloft in air, and skim along the ground;\nThen, settling on the sea, the surges sweep,\nRaise liquid mountains, and disclose the deep.\nSouth, East, and West with mix'd confusion roar,\nAnd roll the foaming billows to the shore.\nThe cables crack; the sailors' fearful cries\nAscend; and sable night involves the skies;\nAnd heav'n itself is ravish'd from their eyes.\nLoud peals of thunder from the poles ensue;\nThen flashing fires the transient light renew;\nThe face of things a frightful image bears,\nAnd present death in various forms appears.\nStruck with unusual fright, the Trojan chief,\nWith lifted hands and eyes, invokes relief;\nAnd, \"Thrice and four times happy those,\" he cried,\n\"That under Ilian walls before their parents died!\nTydides, bravest of the Grecian train!\nWhy could not I by that strong arm be slain,\nAnd lie by noble Hector on the plain,\nOr great Sarpedon, in those bloody fields\nWhere Simois rolls the bodies and the shields\nOf heroes, whose dismember'd hands yet bear\nThe dart aloft, and clench the pointed spear!\"<\/p>\n
Thus while the pious prince his fate bewails,\nFierce Boreas drove against his flying sails,\nAnd rent the sheets; the raging billows rise,\nAnd mount the tossing vessels to the skies:\nNor can the shiv'ring oars sustain the blow;\nThe galley gives her side, and turns her prow;\nWhile those astern, descending down the steep,\nThro' gaping waves behold the boiling deep.\nThree ships were hurried by the southern blast,\nAnd on the secret shelves with fury cast.\nThose hidden rocks th' Ausonian sailors knew:\nThey call'd them Altars, when they rose in view,\nAnd show'd their spacious backs above the flood.\nThree more fierce Eurus, in his angry mood,\nDash'd on the shallows of the moving sand,\nAnd in mid ocean left them moor'd aland.\nOrontes' bark, that bore the Lycian crew,\n(A horrid sight!) ev'n in the hero's view,\nFrom stem to stern by waves was overborne:\nThe trembling pilot, from his rudder torn,\nWas headlong hurl'd; thrice round the ship was toss'd,\nThen bulg'd at once, and in the deep was lost;\nAnd here and there above the waves were seen\nArms, pictures, precious goods, and floating men.\nThe stoutest vessel to the storm gave way,\nAnd suck'd thro' loosen'd planks the rushing sea.\nIlioneus was her chief: Alethes old,\nAchates faithful, Abas young and bold,\nEndur'd not less; their ships, with gaping seams,\nAdmit the deluge of the briny streams.<\/p>\n
Meantime imperial Neptune heard the sound\nOf raging billows breaking on the ground.\nDispleas'd, and fearing for his wat'ry reign,\nHe rear'd his awful head above the main,\nSerene in majesty; then roll'd his eyes\nAround the space of earth, and seas, and skies.\nHe saw the Trojan fleet dispers'd, distress'd,\nBy stormy winds and wintry heav'n oppress'd.\nFull well the god his sister's envy knew,\nAnd what her aims and what her arts pursue.\nHe summon'd Eurus and the western blast,\nAnd first an angry glance on both he cast;\nThen thus rebuk'd: \"Audacious winds! from whence\nThis bold attempt, this rebel insolence?\nIs it for you to ravage seas and land,\nUnauthoriz'd by my supreme command?\nTo raise such mountains on the troubled main?\nWhom I- but first 't is fit the billows to restrain;\nAnd then you shall be taught obedience to my reign.\nHence! to your lord my royal mandate bear-\nThe realms of ocean and the fields of air\nAre mine, not his. By fatal lot to me\nThe liquid empire fell, and trident of the sea.\nHis pow'r to hollow caverns is confin'd:\nThere let him reign, the jailer of the wind,\nWith hoarse commands his breathing subjects call,\nAnd boast and bluster in his empty hall.\"\nHe spoke; and, while he spoke, he smooth'd the sea,\nDispell'd the darkness, and restor'd the day.\nCymothoe, Triton, and the sea-green train\nOf beauteous nymphs, the daughters of the main,\nClear from the rocks the vessels with their hands:\nThe god himself with ready trident stands,\nAnd opes the deep, and spreads the moving sands;\nThen heaves them off the shoals. Where'er he guides\nHis finny coursers and in triumph rides,\nThe waves unruffle and the sea subsides.\nAs, when in tumults rise th' ignoble crowd,\nMad are their motions, and their tongues are loud;\nAnd stones and brands in rattling volleys fly,\nAnd all the rustic arms that fury can supply:\nIf then some grave and pious man appear,\nThey hush their noise, and lend a list'ning ear;\nHe soothes with sober words their angry mood,\nAnd quenches their innate desire of blood:\nSo, when the Father of the Flood appears,\nAnd o'er the seas his sov'reign trident rears,\nTheir fury falls: he skims the liquid plains,\nHigh on his chariot, and, with loosen'd reins,\nMajestic moves along, and awful peace maintains.\nThe weary Trojans ply their shatter'd oars\nTo nearest land, and make the Libyan shores.<\/p>\n
Within a long recess there lies a bay:\nAn island shades it from the rolling sea,\nAnd forms a port secure for ships to ride;\nBroke by the jutting land, on either side,\nIn double streams the briny waters glide.\nBetwixt two rows of rocks a sylvan scene\nAppears above, and groves for ever green:\nA grot is form'd beneath, with mossy seats,\nTo rest the Nereids, and exclude the heats.\nDown thro' the crannies of the living walls\nThe crystal streams descend in murm'ring falls:\nNo haulsers need to bind the vessels here,\nNor bearded anchors; for no storms they fear.\nSev'n ships within this happy harbor meet,\nThe thin remainders of the scatter'd fleet.\nThe Trojans, worn with toils, and spent with woes,\nLeap on the welcome land, and seek their wish'd repose.<\/p>\n
First, good Achates, with repeated strokes\nOf clashing flints, their hidden fire provokes:\nShort flame succeeds; a bed of wither'd leaves\nThe dying sparkles in their fall receives:\nCaught into life, in fiery fumes they rise,\nAnd, fed with stronger food, invade the skies.\nThe Trojans, dropping wet, or stand around\nThe cheerful blaze, or lie along the ground:\nSome dry their corn, infected with the brine,\nThen grind with marbles, and prepare to dine.\nAeneas climbs the mountain's airy brow,\nAnd takes a prospect of the seas below,\nIf Capys thence, or Antheus he could spy,\nOr see the streamers of Caicus fly.\nNo vessels were in view; but, on the plain,\nThree beamy stags command a lordly train\nOf branching heads: the more ignoble throng\nAttend their stately steps, and slowly graze along.\nHe stood; and, while secure they fed below,\nHe took the quiver and the trusty bow\nAchates us'd to bear: the leaders first\nHe laid along, and then the vulgar pierc'd;\nNor ceas'd his arrows, till the shady plain\nSev'n mighty bodies with their blood distain.\nFor the sev'n ships he made an equal share,\nAnd to the port return'd, triumphant from the war.\nThe jars of gen'rous wine (Acestes' gift,\nWhen his Trinacrian shores the navy left)\nHe set abroach, and for the feast prepar'd,\nIn equal portions with the ven'son shar'd.\nThus while he dealt it round, the pious chief\nWith cheerful words allay'd the common grief:\n\"Endure, and conquer! Jove will soon dispose\nTo future good our past and present woes.\nWith me, the rocks of Scylla you have tried;\nTh' inhuman Cyclops and his den defied.\nWhat greater ills hereafter can you bear?\nResume your courage and dismiss your care,\nAn hour will come, with pleasure to relate\nYour sorrows past, as benefits of Fate.\nThro' various hazards and events, we move\nTo Latium and the realms foredoom'd by Jove.\nCall'd to the seat (the promise of the skies)\nWhere Trojan kingdoms once again may rise,\nEndure the hardships of your present state;\nLive, and reserve yourselves for better fate.\"<\/p>\n
These words he spoke, but spoke not from his heart;\nHis outward smiles conceal'd his inward smart.\nThe jolly crew, unmindful of the past,\nThe quarry share, their plenteous dinner haste.\nSome strip the skin; some portion out the spoil;\nThe limbs, yet trembling, in the caldrons boil;\nSome on the fire the reeking entrails broil.\nStretch'd on the grassy turf, at ease they dine,\nRestore their strength with meat, and cheer their souls with\nwine.\nTheir hunger thus appeas'd, their care attends\nThe doubtful fortune of their absent friends:\nAlternate hopes and fears their minds possess,\nWhether to deem 'em dead, or in distress.\nAbove the rest, Aeneas mourns the fate\nOf brave Orontes, and th' uncertain state\nOf Gyas, Lycus, and of Amycus.\nThe day, but not their sorrows, ended thus.<\/p>\n
When, from aloft, almighty Jove surveys\nEarth, air, and shores, and navigable seas,\nAt length on Libyan realms he fix'd his eyes-\nWhom, pond'ring thus on human miseries,\nWhen Venus saw, she with a lowly look,\nNot free from tears, her heav'nly sire bespoke:<\/p>\n
\"O King of Gods and Men! whose awful hand\nDisperses thunder on the seas and land,\nDisposing all with absolute command;\nHow could my pious son thy pow'r incense?\nOr what, alas! is vanish'd Troy's offense?\nOur hope of Italy not only lost,\nOn various seas by various tempests toss'd,\nBut shut from ev'ry shore, and barr'd from ev'ry coast.\nYou promis'd once, a progeny divine\nOf Romans, rising from the Trojan line,\nIn after times should hold the world in awe,\nAnd to the land and ocean give the law.\nHow is your doom revers'd, which eas'd my care\nWhen Troy was ruin'd in that cruel war?\nThen fates to fates I could oppose; but now,\nWhen Fortune still pursues her former blow,\nWhat can I hope? What worse can still succeed?\nWhat end of labors has your will decreed?\nAntenor, from the midst of Grecian hosts,\nCould pass secure, and pierce th' Illyrian coasts,\nWhere, rolling down the steep, Timavus raves\nAnd thro' nine channels disembogues his waves.\nAt length he founded Padua's happy seat,\nAnd gave his Trojans a secure retreat;\nThere fix'd their arms, and there renew'd their name,\nAnd there in quiet rules, and crown'd with fame.\nBut we, descended from your sacred line,\nEntitled to your heav'n and rites divine,\nAre banish'd earth; and, for the wrath of one,\nRemov'd from Latium and the promis'd throne.\nAre these our scepters? these our due rewards?\nAnd is it thus that Jove his plighted faith regards?\"<\/p>\n
To whom the Father of th' immortal race,\nSmiling with that serene indulgent face,\nWith which he drives the clouds and clears the skies,\nFirst gave a holy kiss; then thus replies:<\/p>\n
\"Daughter, dismiss thy fears; to thy desire\nThe fates of thine are fix'd, and stand entire.\nThou shalt behold thy wish'd Lavinian walls;\nAnd, ripe for heav'n, when fate Aeneas calls,\nThen shalt thou bear him up, sublime, to me:\nNo councils have revers'd my firm decree.\nAnd, lest new fears disturb thy happy state,\nKnow, I have search'd the mystic rolls of Fate:\nThy son (nor is th' appointed season far)\nIn Italy shall wage successful war,\nShall tame fierce nations in the bloody field,\nAnd sov'reign laws impose, and cities build,\nTill, after ev'ry foe subdued, the sun\nThrice thro' the signs his annual race shall run:\nThis is his time prefix'd. Ascanius then,\nNow call'd Iulus, shall begin his reign.\nHe thirty rolling years the crown shall wear,\nThen from Lavinium shall the seat transfer,\nAnd, with hard labor, Alba Longa build.\nThe throne with his succession shall be fill'd\nThree hundred circuits more: then shall be seen\nIlia the fair, a priestess and a queen,\nWho, full of Mars, in time, with kindly throes,\nShall at a birth two goodly boys disclose.\nThe royal babes a tawny wolf shall drain:\nThen Romulus his grandsire's throne shall gain,\nOf martial tow'rs the founder shall become,\nThe people Romans call, the city Rome.\nTo them no bounds of empire I assign,\nNor term of years to their immortal line.\nEv'n haughty Juno, who, with endless broils,\nEarth, seas, and heav'n, and Jove himself turmoils;\nAt length aton'd, her friendly pow'r shall join,\nTo cherish and advance the Trojan line.\nThe subject world shall Rome's dominion own,\nAnd, prostrate, shall adore the nation of the gown.\nAn age is ripening in revolving fate\nWhen Troy shall overturn the Grecian state,\nAnd sweet revenge her conqu'ring sons shall call,\nTo crush the people that conspir'd her fall.\nThen Caesar from the Julian stock shall rise,\nWhose empire ocean, and whose fame the skies\nAlone shall bound; whom, fraught with eastern spoils,\nOur heav'n, the just reward of human toils,\nSecurely shall repay with rites divine;\nAnd incense shall ascend before his sacred shrine.\nThen dire debate and impious war shall cease,\nAnd the stern age be soften'd into peace:\nThen banish'd Faith shall once again return,\nAnd Vestal fires in hallow'd temples burn;\nAnd Remus with Quirinus shall sustain\nThe righteous laws, and fraud and force restrain.\nJanus himself before his fane shall wait,\nAnd keep the dreadful issues of his gate,\nWith bolts and iron bars: within remains\nImprison'd Fury, bound in brazen chains;\nHigh on a trophy rais'd, of useless arms,\nHe sits, and threats the world with vain alarms.\"<\/p>\n
He said, and sent Cyllenius with command\nTo free the ports, and ope the Punic land\nTo Trojan guests; lest, ignorant of fate,\nThe queen might force them from her town and state.\nDown from the steep of heav'n Cyllenius flies,\nAnd cleaves with all his wings the yielding skies.\nSoon on the Libyan shore descends the god,\nPerforms his message, and displays his rod:\nThe surly murmurs of the people cease;\nAnd, as the fates requir'd, they give the peace:\nThe queen herself suspends the rigid laws,\nThe Trojans pities, and protects their cause.<\/p>\n
Meantime, in shades of night Aeneas lies:\nCare seiz'd his soul, and sleep forsook his eyes.\nBut, when the sun restor'd the cheerful day,\nHe rose, the coast and country to survey,\nAnxious and eager to discover more.\nIt look'd a wild uncultivated shore;\nBut, whether humankind, or beasts alone\nPossess'd the new-found region, was unknown.\nBeneath a ledge of rocks his fleet he hides:\nTall trees surround the mountain's shady sides;\nThe bending brow above a safe retreat provides.\nArm'd with two pointed darts, he leaves his friends,\nAnd true Achates on his steps attends.\nLo! in the deep recesses of the wood,\nBefore his eyes his goddess mother stood:\nA huntress in her habit and her mien;\nHer dress a maid, her air confess'd a queen.\nBare were her knees, and knots her garments bind;\nLoose was her hair, and wanton'd in the wind;\nHer hand sustain'd a bow; her quiver hung behind.\nShe seem'd a virgin of the Spartan blood:\nWith such array Harpalyce bestrode\nHer Thracian courser and outstripp'd the rapid flood.\n\"Ho, strangers! have you lately seen,\" she said,\n\"One of my sisters, like myself array'd,\nWho cross'd the lawn, or in the forest stray'd?\nA painted quiver at her back she bore;\nVaried with spots, a lynx's hide she wore;\nAnd at full cry pursued the tusky boar.\"<\/p>\n
Thus Venus: thus her son replied again:\n\"None of your sisters have we heard or seen,\nO virgin! or what other name you bear\nAbove that style- O more than mortal fair!\nYour voice and mien celestial birth betray!\nIf, as you seem, the sister of the day,\nOr one at least of chaste Diana's train,\nLet not an humble suppliant sue in vain;\nBut tell a stranger, long in tempests toss'd,\nWhat earth we tread, and who commands the coast?\nThen on your name shall wretched mortals call,\nAnd offer'd victims at your altars fall.\"\n\"I dare not,\" she replied, \"assume the name\nOf goddess, or celestial honors claim:\nFor Tyrian virgins bows and quivers bear,\nAnd purple buskins o'er their ankles wear.\nKnow, gentle youth, in Libyan lands you are-\nA people rude in peace, and rough in war.\nThe rising city, which from far you see,\nIs Carthage, and a Tyrian colony.\nPhoenician Dido rules the growing state,\nWho fled from Tyre, to shun her brother's hate.\nGreat were her wrongs, her story full of fate;\nWhich I will sum in short. Sichaeus, known\nFor wealth, and brother to the Punic throne,\nPossess'd fair Dido's bed; and either heart\nAt once was wounded with an equal dart.\nHer father gave her, yet a spotless maid;\nPygmalion then the Tyrian scepter sway'd:\nOne who condemn'd divine and human laws.\nThen strife ensued, and cursed gold the cause.\nThe monarch, blinded with desire of wealth,\nWith steel invades his brother's life by stealth;\nBefore the sacred altar made him bleed,\nAnd long from her conceal'd the cruel deed.\nSome tale, some new pretense, he daily coin'd,\nTo soothe his sister, and delude her mind.\nAt length, in dead of night, the ghost appears\nOf her unhappy lord: the specter stares,\nAnd, with erected eyes, his bloody bosom bares.\nThe cruel altars and his fate he tells,\nAnd the dire secret of his house reveals,\nThen warns the widow, with her household gods,\nTo seek a refuge in remote abodes.\nLast, to support her in so long a way,\nHe shows her where his hidden treasure lay.\nAdmonish'd thus, and seiz'd with mortal fright,\nThe queen provides companions of her flight:\nThey meet, and all combine to leave the state,\nWho hate the tyrant, or who fear his hate.\nThey seize a fleet, which ready rigg'd they find;\nNor is Pygmalion's treasure left behind.\nThe vessels, heavy laden, put to sea\nWith prosp'rous winds; a woman leads the way.\nI know not, if by stress of weather driv'n,\nOr was their fatal course dispos'd by Heav'n;\nAt last they landed, where from far your eyes\nMay view the turrets of new Carthage rise;\nThere bought a space of ground, which (Byrsa call'd,\nFrom the bull's hide) they first inclos'd, and wall'd.\nBut whence are you? what country claims your birth?\nWhat seek you, strangers, on our Libyan earth?\"<\/p>\n
To whom, with sorrow streaming from his eyes,\nAnd deeply sighing, thus her son replies:\n\"Could you with patience hear, or I relate,\nO nymph, the tedious annals of our fate!\nThro' such a train of woes if I should run,\nThe day would sooner than the tale be done!\nFrom ancient Troy, by force expell'd, we came-\nIf you by chance have heard the Trojan name.\nOn various seas by various tempests toss'd,\nAt length we landed on your Libyan coast.\nThe good Aeneas am I call'd- a name,\nWhile Fortune favor'd, not unknown to fame.\nMy household gods, companions of my woes,\nWith pious care I rescued from our foes.\nTo fruitful Italy my course was bent;\nAnd from the King of Heav'n is my descent.\nWith twice ten sail I cross'd the Phrygian sea;\nFate and my mother goddess led my way.\nScarce sev'n, the thin remainders of my fleet,\nFrom storms preserv'd, within your harbor meet.\nMyself distress'd, an exile, and unknown,\nDebarr'd from Europe, and from Asia thrown,\nIn Libyan desarts wander thus alone.\"<\/p>\n
His tender parent could no longer bear;\nBut, interposing, sought to soothe his care.\n\"Whoe'er you are- not unbelov'd by Heav'n,\nSince on our friendly shore your ships are driv'n-\nHave courage: to the gods permit the rest,\nAnd to the queen expose your just request.\nNow take this earnest of success, for more:\nYour scatter'd fleet is join'd upon the shore;\nThe winds are chang'd, your friends from danger free;\nOr I renounce my skill in augury.\nTwelve swans behold in beauteous order move,\nAnd stoop with closing pinions from above;\nWhom late the bird of Jove had driv'n along,\nAnd thro' the clouds pursued the scatt'ring throng:\nNow, all united in a goodly team,\nThey skim the ground, and seek the quiet stream.\nAs they, with joy returning, clap their wings,\nAnd ride the circuit of the skies in rings;\nNot otherwise your ships, and ev'ry friend,\nAlready hold the port, or with swift sails descend.\nNo more advice is needful; but pursue\nThe path before you, and the town in view.\"<\/p>\n
Thus having said, she turn'd, and made appear\nHer neck refulgent, and dishevel'd hair,\nWhich, flowing from her shoulders, reach'd the ground.\nAnd widely spread ambrosial scents around:\nIn length of train descends her sweeping gown;\nAnd, by her graceful walk, the Queen of Love is known.\nThe prince pursued the parting deity\nWith words like these: \"Ah! whither do you fly?\nUnkind and cruel! to deceive your son\nIn borrow'd shapes, and his embrace to shun;\nNever to bless my sight, but thus unknown;\nAnd still to speak in accents not your own.\"\nAgainst the goddess these complaints he made,\nBut took the path, and her commands obey'd.\nThey march, obscure; for Venus kindly shrouds\nWith mists their persons, and involves in clouds,\nThat, thus unseen, their passage none might stay,\nOr force to tell the causes of their way.\nThis part perform'd, the goddess flies sublime\nTo visit Paphos and her native clime;\nWhere garlands, ever green and ever fair,\nWith vows are offer'd, and with solemn pray'r:\nA hundred altars in her temple smoke;\nA thousand bleeding hearts her pow'r invoke.<\/p>\n
They climb the next ascent, and, looking down,\nNow at a nearer distance view the town.\nThe prince with wonder sees the stately tow'rs,\nWhich late were huts and shepherds' homely bow'rs,\nThe gates and streets; and hears, from ev'ry part,\nThe noise and busy concourse of the mart.\nThe toiling Tyrians on each other call\nTo ply their labor: some extend the wall;\nSome build the citadel; the brawny throng\nOr dig, or push unwieldly stones along.\nSome for their dwellings choose a spot of ground,\nWhich, first design'd, with ditches they surround.\nSome laws ordain; and some attend the choice\nOf holy senates, and elect by voice.\nHere some design a mole, while others there\nLay deep foundations for a theater;\nFrom marble quarries mighty columns hew,\nFor ornaments of scenes, and future view.\nSuch is their toil, and such their busy pains,\nAs exercise the bees in flow'ry plains,\nWhen winter past, and summer scarce begun,\nInvites them forth to labor in the sun;\nSome lead their youth abroad, while some condense\nTheir liquid store, and some in cells dispense;\nSome at the gate stand ready to receive\nThe golden burthen, and their friends relieve;\nAll with united force, combine to drive\nThe lazy drones from the laborious hive:\nWith envy stung, they view each other's deeds;\nThe fragrant work with diligence proceeds.\n\"Thrice happy you, whose walls already rise!\"\nAeneas said, and view'd, with lifted eyes,\nTheir lofty tow'rs; then, entiring at the gate,\nConceal'd in clouds (prodigious to relate)\nHe mix'd, unmark'd, among the busy throng,\nBorne by the tide, and pass'd unseen along.<\/p>\n
Full in the center of the town there stood,\nThick set with trees, a venerable wood.\nThe Tyrians, landing near this holy ground,\nAnd digging here, a prosp'rous omen found:\nFrom under earth a courser's head they drew,\nTheir growth and future fortune to foreshew.\nThis fated sign their foundress Juno gave,\nOf a soil fruitful, and a people brave.\nSidonian Dido here with solemn state\nDid Juno's temple build, and consecrate,\nEnrich'd with gifts, and with a golden shrine;\nBut more the goddess made the place divine.\nOn brazen steps the marble threshold rose,\nAnd brazen plates the cedar beams inclose:\nThe rafters are with brazen cov'rings crown'd;\nThe lofty doors on brazen hinges sound.\nWhat first Aeneas this place beheld,\nReviv'd his courage, and his fear expell'd.\nFor while, expecting there the queen, he rais'd\nHis wond'ring eyes, and round the temple gaz'd,\nAdmir'd the fortune of the rising town,\nThe striving artists, and their arts' renown;\nHe saw, in order painted on the wall,\nWhatever did unhappy Troy befall:\nThe wars that fame around the world had blown,\nAll to the life, and ev'ry leader known.\nThere Agamemnon, Priam here, he spies,\nAnd fierce Achilles, who both kings defies.\nHe stopp'd, and weeping said: \"O friend! ev'n here\nThe monuments of Trojan woes appear!\nOur known disasters fill ev'n foreign lands:\nSee there, where old unhappy Priam stands!\nEv'n the mute walls relate the warrior's fame,\nAnd Trojan griefs the Tyrians' pity claim.\"\nHe said (his tears a ready passage find),\nDevouring what he saw so well design'd,\nAnd with an empty picture fed his mind:\nFor there he saw the fainting Grecians yield,\nAnd here the trembling Trojans quit the field,\nPursued by fierce Achilles thro' the plain,\nOn his high chariot driving o'er the slain.\nThe tents of Rhesus next his grief renew,\nBy their white sails betray'd to nightly view;\nAnd wakeful Diomede, whose cruel sword\nThe sentries slew, nor spar'd their slumb'ring lord,\nThen took the fiery steeds, ere yet the food\nOf Troy they taste, or drink the Xanthian flood.\nElsewhere he saw where Troilus defied\nAchilles, and unequal combat tried;\nThen, where the boy disarm'd, with loosen'd reins,\nWas by his horses hurried o'er the plains,\nHung by the neck and hair, and dragg'd around:\nThe hostile spear, yet sticking in his wound,\nWith tracks of blood inscrib'd the dusty ground.\nMeantime the Trojan dames, oppress'd with woe,\nTo Pallas' fane in long procession go,\nIn hopes to reconcile their heav'nly foe.\nThey weep, they beat their breasts, they rend their hair,\nAnd rich embroider'd vests for presents bear;\nBut the stern goddess stands unmov'd with pray'r.\nThrice round the Trojan walls Achilles drew\nThe corpse of Hector, whom in fight he slew.\nHere Priam sues; and there, for sums of gold,\nThe lifeless body of his son is sold.\nSo sad an object, and so well express'd,\nDrew sighs and groans from the griev'd hero's breast,\nTo see the figure of his lifeless friend,\nAnd his old sire his helpless hand extend.\nHimself he saw amidst the Grecian train,\nMix'd in the bloody battle on the plain;\nAnd swarthy Memnon in his arms he knew,\nHis pompous ensigns, and his Indian crew.\nPenthisilea there, with haughty grace,\nLeads to the wars an Amazonian race:\nIn their right hands a pointed dart they wield;\nThe left, for ward, sustains the lunar shield.\nAthwart her breast a golden belt she throws,\nAmidst the press alone provokes a thousand foes,\nAnd dares her maiden arms to manly force oppose.<\/p>\n
Thus while the Trojan prince employs his eyes,\nFix'd on the walls with wonder and surprise,\nThe beauteous Dido, with a num'rous train\nAnd pomp of guards, ascends the sacred fane.\nSuch on Eurotas' banks, or Cynthus' height,\nDiana seems; and so she charms the sight,\nWhen in the dance the graceful goddess leads\nThe choir of nymphs, and overtops their heads:\nKnown by her quiver, and her lofty mien,\nShe walks majestic, and she looks their queen;\nLatona sees her shine above the rest,\nAnd feeds with secret joy her silent breast.\nSuch Dido was; with such becoming state,\nAmidst the crowd, she walks serenely great.\nTheir labor to her future sway she speeds,\nAnd passing with a gracious glance proceeds;\nThen mounts the throne, high plac'd before the shrine:\nIn crowds around, the swarming people join.\nShe takes petitions, and dispenses laws,\nHears and determines ev'ry private cause;\nTheir tasks in equal portions she divides,\nAnd, where unequal, there by lots decides.\nAnother way by chance Aeneas bends\nHis eyes, and unexpected sees his friends,\nAntheus, Sergestus grave, Cloanthus strong,\nAnd at their backs a mighty Trojan throng,\nWhom late the tempest on the billows toss'd,\nAnd widely scatter'd on another coast.\nThe prince, unseen, surpris'd with wonder stands,\nAnd longs, with joyful haste, to join their hands;\nBut, doubtful of the wish'd event, he stays,\nAnd from the hollow cloud his friends surveys,\nImpatient till they told their present state,\nAnd where they left their ships, and what their fate,\nAnd why they came, and what was their request;\nFor these were sent, commission'd by the rest,\nTo sue for leave to land their sickly men,\nAnd gain admission to the gracious queen.\nEnt'ring, with cries they fill'd the holy fane;\nThen thus, with lowly voice, Ilioneus began:<\/p>\n
\"O queen! indulg'd by favor of the gods\nTo found an empire in these new abodes,\nTo build a town, with statutes to restrain\nThe wild inhabitants beneath thy reign,\nWe wretched Trojans, toss'd on ev'ry shore,\nFrom sea to sea, thy clemency implore.\nForbid the fires our shipping to deface!\nReceive th' unhappy fugitives to grace,\nAnd spare the remnant of a pious race!\nWe come not with design of wasteful prey,\nTo drive the country, force the swains away:\nNor such our strength, nor such is our desire;\nThe vanquish'd dare not to such thoughts aspire.\nA land there is, Hesperia nam'd of old;\nThe soil is fruitful, and the men are bold-\nTh' Oenotrians held it once- by common fame\nNow call'd Italia, from the leader's name.\nTo that sweet region was our voyage bent,\nWhen winds and ev'ry warring element\nDisturb'd our course, and, far from sight of land,\nCast our torn vessels on the moving sand:\nThe sea came on; the South, with mighty roar,\nDispers'd and dash'd the rest upon the rocky shore.\nThose few you see escap'd the Storm, and fear,\nUnless you interpose, a shipwreck here.\nWhat men, what monsters, what inhuman race,\nWhat laws, what barb'rous customs of the place,\nShut up a desart shore to drowning men,\nAnd drive us to the cruel seas again?\nIf our hard fortune no compassion draws,\nNor hospitable rights, nor human laws,\nThe gods are just, and will revenge our cause.\nAeneas was our prince: a juster lord,\nOr nobler warrior, never drew a sword;\nObservant of the right, religious of his word.\nIf yet he lives, and draws this vital air,\nNor we, his friends, of safety shall despair;\nNor you, great queen, these offices repent,\nWhich he will equal, and perhaps augment.\nWe want not cities, nor Sicilian coasts,\nWhere King Acestes Trojan lineage boasts.\nPermit our ships a shelter on your shores,\nRefitted from your woods with planks and oars,\nThat, if our prince be safe, we may renew\nOur destin'd course, and Italy pursue.\nBut if, O best of men, the Fates ordain\nThat thou art swallow'd in the Libyan main,\nAnd if our young Iulus be no more,\nDismiss our navy from your friendly shore,\nThat we to good Acestes may return,\nAnd with our friends our common losses mourn.\"\nThus spoke Ilioneus: the Trojan crew\nWith cries and clamors his request renew.<\/p>\n
The modest queen a while, with downcast eyes,\nPonder'd the speech; then briefly thus replies:\n\"Trojans, dismiss your fears; my cruel fate,\nAnd doubts attending an unsettled state,\nForce me to guard my coast from foreign foes.\nWho has not heard the story of your woes,\nThe name and fortune of your native place,\nThe fame and valor of the Phrygian race?\nWe Tyrians are not so devoid of sense,\nNor so remote from Phoebus' influence.\nWhether to Latian shores your course is bent,\nOr, driv'n by tempests from your first intent,\nYou seek the good Acestes' government,\nYour men shall be receiv'd, your fleet repair'd,\nAnd sail, with ships of convoy for your guard:\nOr, would you stay, and join your friendly pow'rs\nTo raise and to defend the Tyrian tow'rs,\nMy wealth, my city, and myself are yours.\nAnd would to Heav'n, the Storm, you felt, would bring\nOn Carthaginian coasts your wand'ring king.\nMy people shall, by my command, explore\nThe ports and creeks of ev'ry winding shore,\nAnd towns, and wilds, and shady woods, in quest\nOf so renown'd and so desir'd a guest.\"<\/p>\n
Rais'd in his mind the Trojan hero stood,\nAnd long'd to break from out his ambient cloud:\nAchates found it, and thus urg'd his way:\n\"From whence, O goddess-born, this long delay?\nWhat more can you desire, your welcome sure,\nYour fleet in safety, and your friends secure?\nOne only wants; and him we saw in vain\nOppose the Storm, and swallow'd in the main.\nOrontes in his fate our forfeit paid;\nThe rest agrees with what your mother said.\"\nScarce had he spoken, when the cloud gave way,\nThe mists flew upward and dissolv'd in day.<\/p>\n
The Trojan chief appear'd in open sight,\nAugust in visage, and serenely bright.\nHis mother goddess, with her hands divine,\nHad form'd his curling locks, and made his temples shine,\nAnd giv'n his rolling eyes a sparkling grace,\nAnd breath'd a youthful vigor on his face;\nLike polish'd ivory, beauteous to behold,\nOr Parian marble, when enchas'd in gold:\nThus radiant from the circling cloud he broke,\nAnd thus with manly modesty he spoke:<\/p>\n
\"He whom you seek am I; by tempests toss'd,\nAnd sav'd from shipwreck on your Libyan coast;\nPresenting, gracious queen, before your throne,\nA prince that owes his life to you alone.\nFair majesty, the refuge and redress\nOf those whom fate pursues, and wants oppress,\nYou, who your pious offices employ\nTo save the relics of abandon'd Troy;\nReceive the shipwreck'd on your friendly shore,\nWith hospitable rites relieve the poor;\nAssociate in your town a wand'ring train,\nAnd strangers in your palace entertain:\nWhat thanks can wretched fugitives return,\nWho, scatter'd thro' the world, in exile mourn?\nThe gods, if gods to goodness are inclin'd;\nIf acts of mercy touch their heav'nly mind,\nAnd, more than all the gods, your gen'rous heart.\nConscious of worth, requite its own desert!\nIn you this age is happy, and this earth,\nAnd parents more than mortal gave you birth.\nWhile rolling rivers into seas shall run,\nAnd round the space of heav'n the radiant sun;\nWhile trees the mountain tops with shades supply,\nYour honor, name, and praise shall never die.\nWhate'er abode my fortune has assign'd,\nYour image shall be present in my mind.\"\nThus having said, he turn'd with pious haste,\nAnd joyful his expecting friends embrac'd:\nWith his right hand Ilioneus was grac'd,\nSerestus with his left; then to his breast\nCloanthus and the noble Gyas press'd;\nAnd so by turns descended to the rest.<\/p>\n
The Tyrian queen stood fix'd upon his face,\nPleas'd with his motions, ravish'd with his grace;\nAdmir'd his fortunes, more admir'd the man;\nThen recollected stood, and thus began:\n\"What fate, O goddess-born; what angry pow'rs\nHave cast you shipwrack'd on our barren shores?\nAre you the great Aeneas, known to fame,\nWho from celestial seed your lineage claim?<\/p>\n
The same Aeneas whom fair Venus bore\nTo fam'd Anchises on th' Idaean shore?\nIt calls into my mind, tho' then a child,\nWhen Teucer came, from Salamis exil'd,\nAnd sought my father's aid, to be restor'd:\nMy father Belus then with fire and sword\nInvaded Cyprus, made the region bare,\nAnd, conqu'ring, finish'd the successful war.\nFrom him the Trojan siege I understood,\nThe Grecian chiefs, and your illustrious blood.\nYour foe himself the Dardan valor prais'd,\nAnd his own ancestry from Trojans rais'd.\nEnter, my noble guest, and you shall find,\nIf not a costly welcome, yet a kind:\nFor I myself, like you, have been distress'd,\nTill Heav'n afforded me this place of rest;\nLike you, an alien in a land unknown,\nI learn to pity woes so like my own.\"\nShe said, and to the palace led her guest;\nThen offer'd incense, and proclaim'd a feast.\nNor yet less careful for her absent friends,\nTwice ten fat oxen to the ships she sends;\nBesides a hundred boars, a hundred lambs,\nWith bleating cries, attend their milky dams;\nAnd jars of gen'rous wine and spacious bowls\nShe gives, to cheer the sailors' drooping souls.\nNow purple hangings clothe the palace walls,\nAnd sumptuous feasts are made in splendid halls:\nOn Tyrian carpets, richly wrought, they dine;\nWith loads of massy plate the sideboards shine,\nAnd antique vases, all of gold emboss'd\n(The gold itself inferior to the cost),\nOf curious work, where on the sides were seen\nThe fights and figures of illustrious men,\nFrom their first founder to the present queen.<\/p>\n
The good Aeneas, paternal care\nIulus' absence could no longer bear,\nDispatch'd Achates to the ships in haste,\nTo give a glad relation of the past,\nAnd, fraught with precious gifts, to bring the boy,\nSnatch'd from the ruins of unhappy Troy:\nA robe of tissue, stiff with golden wire;\nAn upper vest, once Helen's rich attire,\nFrom Argos by the fam'd adultress brought,\nWith golden flow'rs and winding foliage wrought,\nHer mother Leda's present, when she came\nTo ruin Troy and set the world on flame;\nThe scepter Priam's eldest daughter bore,\nHer orient necklace, and the crown she wore\nOf double texture, glorious to behold,\nOne order set with gems, and one with gold.\nInstructed thus, the wise Achates goes,\nAnd in his diligence his duty shows.<\/p>\n
But Venus, anxious for her son's affairs,\nNew counsels tries, and new designs prepares:\nThat Cupid should assume the shape and face\nOf sweet Ascanius, and the sprightly grace;\nShould bring the presents, in her nephew's stead,\nAnd in Eliza's veins the gentle poison shed:\nFor much she fear'd the Tyrians, double-tongued,\nAnd knew the town to Juno's care belong'd.\nThese thoughts by night her golden slumbers broke,\nAnd thus alarm'd, to winged Love she spoke:\n\"My son, my strength, whose mighty pow'r alone\nControls the Thund'rer on his awful throne,\nTo thee thy much-afflicted mother flies,\nAnd on thy succor and thy faith relies.\nThou know'st, my son, how Jove's revengeful wife,\nBy force and fraud, attempts thy brother's life;\nAnd often hast thou mourn'd with me his pains.\nHim Dido now with blandishment detains;\nBut I suspect the town where Juno reigns.\nFor this 't is needful to prevent her art,\nAnd fire with love the proud Phoenician's heart:\nA love so violent, so strong, so sure,\nAs neither age can change, nor art can cure.\nHow this may be perform'd, now take my mind:\nAscanius by his father is design'd\nTo come, with presents laden, from the port,\nTo gratify the queen, and gain the court.\nI mean to plunge the boy in pleasing sleep,\nAnd, ravish'd, in Idalian bow'rs to keep,\nOr high Cythera, that the sweet deceit\nMay pass unseen, and none prevent the cheat.\nTake thou his form and shape. I beg the grace\nBut only for a night's revolving space:\nThyself a boy, assume a boy's dissembled face;\nThat when, amidst the fervor of the feast,\nThe Tyrian hugs and fonds thee on her breast,\nAnd with sweet kisses in her arms constrains,\nThou may'st infuse thy venom in her veins.\"\nThe God of Love obeys, and sets aside\nHis bow and quiver, and his plumy pride;\nHe walks Iulus in his mother's sight,\nAnd in the sweet resemblance takes delight.<\/p>\n
The goddess then to young Ascanius flies,\nAnd in a pleasing slumber seals his eyes:\nLull'd in her lap, amidst a train of Loves,\nShe gently bears him to her blissful groves,\nThen with a wreath of myrtle crowns his head,\nAnd softly lays him on a flow'ry bed.\nCupid meantime assum'd his form and face,\nFoll'wing Achates with a shorter pace,\nAnd brought the gifts. The queen already sate\nAmidst the Trojan lords, in shining state,\nHigh on a golden bed: her princely guest\nWas next her side; in order sate the rest.\nThen canisters with bread are heap'd on high;\nTh' attendants water for their hands supply,\nAnd, having wash'd, with silken towels dry.\nNext fifty handmaids in long order bore\nThe censers, and with fumes the gods adore:\nThen youths, and virgins twice as many, join\nTo place the dishes, and to serve the wine.\nThe Tyrian train, admitted to the feast,\nApproach, and on the painted couches rest.\nAll on the Trojan gifts with wonder gaze,\nBut view the beauteous boy with more amaze,\nHis rosy-color'd cheeks, his radiant eyes,\nHis motions, voice, and shape, and all the god's disguise;\nNor pass unprais'd the vest and veil divine,\nWhich wand'ring foliage and rich flow'rs entwine.\nBut, far above the rest, the royal dame,\n(Already doom'd to love's disastrous flame,)\nWith eyes insatiate, and tumultuous joy,\nBeholds the presents, and admires the boy.\nThe guileful god about the hero long,\nWith children's play, and false embraces, hung;\nThen sought the queen: she took him to her arms\nWith greedy pleasure, and devour'd his charms.\nUnhappy Dido little thought what guest,\nHow dire a god, she drew so near her breast;\nBut he, not mindless of his mother's pray'r,\nWorks in the pliant bosom of the fair,\nAnd molds her heart anew, and blots her former care.\nThe dead is to the living love resign'd;\nAnd all Aeneas enters in her mind.<\/p>\n
Now, when the rage of hunger was appeas'd,\nThe meat remov'd, and ev'ry guest was pleas'd,\nThe golden bowls with sparkling wine are crown'd,\nAnd thro' the palace cheerful cries resound.\nFrom gilded roofs depending lamps display\nNocturnal beams, that emulate the day.\nA golden bowl, that shone with gems divine,\nThe queen commanded to be crown'd with wine:\nThe bowl that Belus us'd, and all the Tyrian line.\nThen, silence thro' the hall proclaim'd, she spoke:\n\"O hospitable Jove! we thus invoke,\nWith solemn rites, thy sacred name and pow'r;\nBless to both nations this auspicious hour!\nSo may the Trojan and the Tyrian line\nIn lasting concord from this day combine.\nThou, Bacchus, god of joys and friendly cheer,\nAnd gracious Juno, both be present here!\nAnd you, my lords of Tyre, your vows address\nTo Heav'n with mine, to ratify the peace.\"\nThe goblet then she took, with nectar crown'd\n(Sprinkling the first libations on the ground,)\nAnd rais'd it to her mouth with sober grace;\nThen, sipping, offer'd to the next in place.\n'T was Bitias whom she call'd, a thirsty soul;\nHe took challenge, and embrac'd the bowl,\nWith pleasure swill'd the gold, nor ceas'd to draw,\nTill he the bottom of the brimmer saw.\nThe goblet goes around: Iopas brought\nHis golden lyre, and sung what ancient Atlas taught:\nThe various labors of the wand'ring moon,\nAnd whence proceed th' eclipses of the sun;\nTh' original of men and beasts; and whence\nThe rains arise, and fires their warmth dispense,\nAnd fix'd and erring stars dispose their influence;\nWhat shakes the solid earth; what cause delays\nThe summer nights and shortens winter days.\nWith peals of shouts the Tyrians praise the song:\nThose peals are echo'd by the Trojan throng.\nTh' unhappy queen with talk prolong'd the night,\nAnd drank large draughts of love with vast delight;\nOf Priam much enquir'd, of Hector more;\nThen ask'd what arms the swarthy Memnon wore,\nWhat troops he landed on the Trojan shore;\nThe steeds of Diomede varied the discourse,\nAnd fierce Achilles, with his matchless force;\nAt length, as fate and her ill stars requir'd,\nTo hear the series of the war desir'd.\n\"Relate at large, my godlike guest,\" she said,\n\"The Grecian stratagems, the town betray'd:\nThe fatal issue of so long a war,\nYour flight, your wand'rings, and your woes, declare;\nFor, since on ev'ry sea, on ev'ry coast,\nYour men have been distress'd, your navy toss'd,\nSev'n times the sun has either tropic view'd,\nThe winter banish'd, and the spring renew'd.\"<\/p>","rendered":"
Arms, and the man I sing, who, forc’d by fate,
\nAnd haughty Juno’s unrelenting hate,
\nExpell’d and exil’d, left the Trojan shore.
\nLong labors, both by sea and land, he bore,
\nAnd in the doubtful war, before he won
\nThe Latian realm, and built the destin’d town;
\nHis banish’d gods restor’d to rites divine,
\nAnd settled sure succession in his line,
\nFrom whence the race of Alban fathers come,
\nAnd the long glories of majestic Rome.<\/p>\n
O Muse! the causes and the crimes relate;
\nWhat goddess was provok’d, and whence her hate;
\nFor what offense the Queen of Heav’n began
\nTo persecute so brave, so just a man;
\nInvolv’d his anxious life in endless cares,
\nExpos’d to wants, and hurried into wars!
\nCan heav’nly minds such high resentment show,
\nOr exercise their spite in human woe?<\/p>\n
Against the Tiber’s mouth, but far away,
\nAn ancient town was seated on the sea;
\nA Tyrian colony; the people made
\nStout for the war, and studious of their trade:
\nCarthage the name; belov’d by Juno more
\nThan her own Argos, or the Samian shore.
\nHere stood her chariot; here, if Heav’n were kind,
\nThe seat of awful empire she design’d.
\nYet she had heard an ancient rumor fly,
\n(Long cited by the people of the sky,)
\nThat times to come should see the Trojan race
\nHer Carthage ruin, and her tow’rs deface;
\nNor thus confin’d, the yoke of sov’reign sway
\nShould on the necks of all the nations lay.
\nShe ponder’d this, and fear’d it was in fate;
\nNor could forget the war she wag’d of late
\nFor conqu’ring Greece against the Trojan state.
\nBesides, long causes working in her mind,
\nAnd secret seeds of envy, lay behind;
\nDeep graven in her heart the doom remain’d
\nOf partial Paris, and her form disdain’d;
\nThe grace bestow’d on ravish’d Ganymed,
\nElectra’s glories, and her injur’d bed.
\nEach was a cause alone; and all combin’d
\nTo kindle vengeance in her haughty mind.
\nFor this, far distant from the Latian coast
\nShe drove the remnants of the Trojan host;
\nAnd sev’n long years th’ unhappy wand’ring train
\nWere toss’d by storms, and scatter’d thro’ the main.
\nSuch time, such toil, requir’d the Roman name,
\nSuch length of labor for so vast a frame.<\/p>\n
Now scarce the Trojan fleet, with sails and oars,
\nHad left behind the fair Sicilian shores,
\nEnt’ring with cheerful shouts the wat’ry reign,
\nAnd plowing frothy furrows in the main;
\nWhen, lab’ring still with endless discontent,
\nThe Queen of Heav’n did thus her fury vent:<\/p>\n
“Then am I vanquish’d? must I yield?” said she,
\n“And must the Trojans reign in Italy?
\nSo Fate will have it, and Jove adds his force;
\nNor can my pow’r divert their happy course.
\nCould angry Pallas, with revengeful spleen,
\nThe Grecian navy burn, and drown the men?
\nShe, for the fault of one offending foe,
\nThe bolts of Jove himself presum’d to throw:
\nWith whirlwinds from beneath she toss’d the ship,
\nAnd bare expos’d the bosom of the deep;
\nThen, as an eagle gripes the trembling game,
\nThe wretch, yet hissing with her father’s flame,
\nShe strongly seiz’d, and with a burning wound
\nTransfix’d, and naked, on a rock she bound.
\nBut I, who walk in awful state above,
\nThe majesty of heav’n, the sister wife of Jove,
\nFor length of years my fruitless force employ
\nAgainst the thin remains of ruin’d Troy!
\nWhat nations now to Juno’s pow’r will pray,
\nOr off’rings on my slighted altars lay?”<\/p>\n
Thus rag’d the goddess; and, with fury fraught.
\nThe restless regions of the storms she sought,
\nWhere, in a spacious cave of living stone,
\nThe tyrant Aeolus, from his airy throne,
\nWith pow’r imperial curbs the struggling winds,
\nAnd sounding tempests in dark prisons binds.
\nThis way and that th’ impatient captives tend,
\nAnd, pressing for release, the mountains rend.
\nHigh in his hall th’ undaunted monarch stands,
\nAnd shakes his scepter, and their rage commands;
\nWhich did he not, their unresisted sway
\nWould sweep the world before them in their way;
\nEarth, air, and seas thro’ empty space would roll,
\nAnd heav’n would fly before the driving soul.
\nIn fear of this, the Father of the Gods
\nConfin’d their fury to those dark abodes,
\nAnd lock’d ’em safe within, oppress’d with mountain loads;
\nImpos’d a king, with arbitrary sway,
\nTo loose their fetters, or their force allay.
\nTo whom the suppliant queen her pray’rs address’d,
\nAnd thus the tenor of her suit express’d:<\/p>\n
“O Aeolus! for to thee the King of Heav’n
\nThe pow’r of tempests and of winds has giv’n;
\nThy force alone their fury can restrain,
\nAnd smooth the waves, or swell the troubled main-
\nA race of wand’ring slaves, abhorr’d by me,
\nWith prosp’rous passage cut the Tuscan sea;
\nTo fruitful Italy their course they steer,
\nAnd for their vanquish’d gods design new temples there.
\nRaise all thy winds; with night involve the skies;
\nSink or disperse my fatal enemies.
\nTwice sev’n, the charming daughters of the main,
\nAround my person wait, and bear my train:
\nSucceed my wish, and second my design;
\nThe fairest, Deiopeia, shall be thine,
\nAnd make thee father of a happy line.”<\/p>\n
To this the god: “‘T is yours, O queen, to will
\nThe work which duty binds me to fulfil.
\nThese airy kingdoms, and this wide command,
\nAre all the presents of your bounteous hand:
\nYours is my sov’reign’s grace; and, as your guest,
\nI sit with gods at their celestial feast;
\nRaise tempests at your pleasure, or subdue;
\nDispose of empire, which I hold from you.”<\/p>\n
He said, and hurl’d against the mountain side
\nHis quiv’ring spear, and all the god applied.
\nThe raging winds rush thro’ the hollow wound,
\nAnd dance aloft in air, and skim along the ground;
\nThen, settling on the sea, the surges sweep,
\nRaise liquid mountains, and disclose the deep.
\nSouth, East, and West with mix’d confusion roar,
\nAnd roll the foaming billows to the shore.
\nThe cables crack; the sailors’ fearful cries
\nAscend; and sable night involves the skies;
\nAnd heav’n itself is ravish’d from their eyes.
\nLoud peals of thunder from the poles ensue;
\nThen flashing fires the transient light renew;
\nThe face of things a frightful image bears,
\nAnd present death in various forms appears.
\nStruck with unusual fright, the Trojan chief,
\nWith lifted hands and eyes, invokes relief;
\nAnd, “Thrice and four times happy those,” he cried,
\n“That under Ilian walls before their parents died!
\nTydides, bravest of the Grecian train!
\nWhy could not I by that strong arm be slain,
\nAnd lie by noble Hector on the plain,
\nOr great Sarpedon, in those bloody fields
\nWhere Simois rolls the bodies and the shields
\nOf heroes, whose dismember’d hands yet bear
\nThe dart aloft, and clench the pointed spear!”<\/p>\n
Thus while the pious prince his fate bewails,
\nFierce Boreas drove against his flying sails,
\nAnd rent the sheets; the raging billows rise,
\nAnd mount the tossing vessels to the skies:
\nNor can the shiv’ring oars sustain the blow;
\nThe galley gives her side, and turns her prow;
\nWhile those astern, descending down the steep,
\nThro’ gaping waves behold the boiling deep.
\nThree ships were hurried by the southern blast,
\nAnd on the secret shelves with fury cast.
\nThose hidden rocks th’ Ausonian sailors knew:
\nThey call’d them Altars, when they rose in view,
\nAnd show’d their spacious backs above the flood.
\nThree more fierce Eurus, in his angry mood,
\nDash’d on the shallows of the moving sand,
\nAnd in mid ocean left them moor’d aland.
\nOrontes’ bark, that bore the Lycian crew,
\n(A horrid sight!) ev’n in the hero’s view,
\nFrom stem to stern by waves was overborne:
\nThe trembling pilot, from his rudder torn,
\nWas headlong hurl’d; thrice round the ship was toss’d,
\nThen bulg’d at once, and in the deep was lost;
\nAnd here and there above the waves were seen
\nArms, pictures, precious goods, and floating men.
\nThe stoutest vessel to the storm gave way,
\nAnd suck’d thro’ loosen’d planks the rushing sea.
\nIlioneus was her chief: Alethes old,
\nAchates faithful, Abas young and bold,
\nEndur’d not less; their ships, with gaping seams,
\nAdmit the deluge of the briny streams.<\/p>\n
Meantime imperial Neptune heard the sound
\nOf raging billows breaking on the ground.
\nDispleas’d, and fearing for his wat’ry reign,
\nHe rear’d his awful head above the main,
\nSerene in majesty; then roll’d his eyes
\nAround the space of earth, and seas, and skies.
\nHe saw the Trojan fleet dispers’d, distress’d,
\nBy stormy winds and wintry heav’n oppress’d.
\nFull well the god his sister’s envy knew,
\nAnd what her aims and what her arts pursue.
\nHe summon’d Eurus and the western blast,
\nAnd first an angry glance on both he cast;
\nThen thus rebuk’d: “Audacious winds! from whence
\nThis bold attempt, this rebel insolence?
\nIs it for you to ravage seas and land,
\nUnauthoriz’d by my supreme command?
\nTo raise such mountains on the troubled main?
\nWhom I- but first ‘t is fit the billows to restrain;
\nAnd then you shall be taught obedience to my reign.
\nHence! to your lord my royal mandate bear-
\nThe realms of ocean and the fields of air
\nAre mine, not his. By fatal lot to me
\nThe liquid empire fell, and trident of the sea.
\nHis pow’r to hollow caverns is confin’d:
\nThere let him reign, the jailer of the wind,
\nWith hoarse commands his breathing subjects call,
\nAnd boast and bluster in his empty hall.”
\nHe spoke; and, while he spoke, he smooth’d the sea,
\nDispell’d the darkness, and restor’d the day.
\nCymothoe, Triton, and the sea-green train
\nOf beauteous nymphs, the daughters of the main,
\nClear from the rocks the vessels with their hands:
\nThe god himself with ready trident stands,
\nAnd opes the deep, and spreads the moving sands;
\nThen heaves them off the shoals. Where’er he guides
\nHis finny coursers and in triumph rides,
\nThe waves unruffle and the sea subsides.
\nAs, when in tumults rise th’ ignoble crowd,
\nMad are their motions, and their tongues are loud;
\nAnd stones and brands in rattling volleys fly,
\nAnd all the rustic arms that fury can supply:
\nIf then some grave and pious man appear,
\nThey hush their noise, and lend a list’ning ear;
\nHe soothes with sober words their angry mood,
\nAnd quenches their innate desire of blood:
\nSo, when the Father of the Flood appears,
\nAnd o’er the seas his sov’reign trident rears,
\nTheir fury falls: he skims the liquid plains,
\nHigh on his chariot, and, with loosen’d reins,
\nMajestic moves along, and awful peace maintains.
\nThe weary Trojans ply their shatter’d oars
\nTo nearest land, and make the Libyan shores.<\/p>\n
Within a long recess there lies a bay:
\nAn island shades it from the rolling sea,
\nAnd forms a port secure for ships to ride;
\nBroke by the jutting land, on either side,
\nIn double streams the briny waters glide.
\nBetwixt two rows of rocks a sylvan scene
\nAppears above, and groves for ever green:
\nA grot is form’d beneath, with mossy seats,
\nTo rest the Nereids, and exclude the heats.
\nDown thro’ the crannies of the living walls
\nThe crystal streams descend in murm’ring falls:
\nNo haulsers need to bind the vessels here,
\nNor bearded anchors; for no storms they fear.
\nSev’n ships within this happy harbor meet,
\nThe thin remainders of the scatter’d fleet.
\nThe Trojans, worn with toils, and spent with woes,
\nLeap on the welcome land, and seek their wish’d repose.<\/p>\n
First, good Achates, with repeated strokes
\nOf clashing flints, their hidden fire provokes:
\nShort flame succeeds; a bed of wither’d leaves
\nThe dying sparkles in their fall receives:
\nCaught into life, in fiery fumes they rise,
\nAnd, fed with stronger food, invade the skies.
\nThe Trojans, dropping wet, or stand around
\nThe cheerful blaze, or lie along the ground:
\nSome dry their corn, infected with the brine,
\nThen grind with marbles, and prepare to dine.
\nAeneas climbs the mountain’s airy brow,
\nAnd takes a prospect of the seas below,
\nIf Capys thence, or Antheus he could spy,
\nOr see the streamers of Caicus fly.
\nNo vessels were in view; but, on the plain,
\nThree beamy stags command a lordly train
\nOf branching heads: the more ignoble throng
\nAttend their stately steps, and slowly graze along.
\nHe stood; and, while secure they fed below,
\nHe took the quiver and the trusty bow
\nAchates us’d to bear: the leaders first
\nHe laid along, and then the vulgar pierc’d;
\nNor ceas’d his arrows, till the shady plain
\nSev’n mighty bodies with their blood distain.
\nFor the sev’n ships he made an equal share,
\nAnd to the port return’d, triumphant from the war.
\nThe jars of gen’rous wine (Acestes’ gift,
\nWhen his Trinacrian shores the navy left)
\nHe set abroach, and for the feast prepar’d,
\nIn equal portions with the ven’son shar’d.
\nThus while he dealt it round, the pious chief
\nWith cheerful words allay’d the common grief:
\n“Endure, and conquer! Jove will soon dispose
\nTo future good our past and present woes.
\nWith me, the rocks of Scylla you have tried;
\nTh’ inhuman Cyclops and his den defied.
\nWhat greater ills hereafter can you bear?
\nResume your courage and dismiss your care,
\nAn hour will come, with pleasure to relate
\nYour sorrows past, as benefits of Fate.
\nThro’ various hazards and events, we move
\nTo Latium and the realms foredoom’d by Jove.
\nCall’d to the seat (the promise of the skies)
\nWhere Trojan kingdoms once again may rise,
\nEndure the hardships of your present state;
\nLive, and reserve yourselves for better fate.”<\/p>\n
These words he spoke, but spoke not from his heart;
\nHis outward smiles conceal’d his inward smart.
\nThe jolly crew, unmindful of the past,
\nThe quarry share, their plenteous dinner haste.
\nSome strip the skin; some portion out the spoil;
\nThe limbs, yet trembling, in the caldrons boil;
\nSome on the fire the reeking entrails broil.
\nStretch’d on the grassy turf, at ease they dine,
\nRestore their strength with meat, and cheer their souls with
\nwine.
\nTheir hunger thus appeas’d, their care attends
\nThe doubtful fortune of their absent friends:
\nAlternate hopes and fears their minds possess,
\nWhether to deem ’em dead, or in distress.
\nAbove the rest, Aeneas mourns the fate
\nOf brave Orontes, and th’ uncertain state
\nOf Gyas, Lycus, and of Amycus.
\nThe day, but not their sorrows, ended thus.<\/p>\n
When, from aloft, almighty Jove surveys
\nEarth, air, and shores, and navigable seas,
\nAt length on Libyan realms he fix’d his eyes-
\nWhom, pond’ring thus on human miseries,
\nWhen Venus saw, she with a lowly look,
\nNot free from tears, her heav’nly sire bespoke:<\/p>\n
“O King of Gods and Men! whose awful hand
\nDisperses thunder on the seas and land,
\nDisposing all with absolute command;
\nHow could my pious son thy pow’r incense?
\nOr what, alas! is vanish’d Troy’s offense?
\nOur hope of Italy not only lost,
\nOn various seas by various tempests toss’d,
\nBut shut from ev’ry shore, and barr’d from ev’ry coast.
\nYou promis’d once, a progeny divine
\nOf Romans, rising from the Trojan line,
\nIn after times should hold the world in awe,
\nAnd to the land and ocean give the law.
\nHow is your doom revers’d, which eas’d my care
\nWhen Troy was ruin’d in that cruel war?
\nThen fates to fates I could oppose; but now,
\nWhen Fortune still pursues her former blow,
\nWhat can I hope? What worse can still succeed?
\nWhat end of labors has your will decreed?
\nAntenor, from the midst of Grecian hosts,
\nCould pass secure, and pierce th’ Illyrian coasts,
\nWhere, rolling down the steep, Timavus raves
\nAnd thro’ nine channels disembogues his waves.
\nAt length he founded Padua’s happy seat,
\nAnd gave his Trojans a secure retreat;
\nThere fix’d their arms, and there renew’d their name,
\nAnd there in quiet rules, and crown’d with fame.
\nBut we, descended from your sacred line,
\nEntitled to your heav’n and rites divine,
\nAre banish’d earth; and, for the wrath of one,
\nRemov’d from Latium and the promis’d throne.
\nAre these our scepters? these our due rewards?
\nAnd is it thus that Jove his plighted faith regards?”<\/p>\n
To whom the Father of th’ immortal race,
\nSmiling with that serene indulgent face,
\nWith which he drives the clouds and clears the skies,
\nFirst gave a holy kiss; then thus replies:<\/p>\n
“Daughter, dismiss thy fears; to thy desire
\nThe fates of thine are fix’d, and stand entire.
\nThou shalt behold thy wish’d Lavinian walls;
\nAnd, ripe for heav’n, when fate Aeneas calls,
\nThen shalt thou bear him up, sublime, to me:
\nNo councils have revers’d my firm decree.
\nAnd, lest new fears disturb thy happy state,
\nKnow, I have search’d the mystic rolls of Fate:
\nThy son (nor is th’ appointed season far)
\nIn Italy shall wage successful war,
\nShall tame fierce nations in the bloody field,
\nAnd sov’reign laws impose, and cities build,
\nTill, after ev’ry foe subdued, the sun
\nThrice thro’ the signs his annual race shall run:
\nThis is his time prefix’d. Ascanius then,
\nNow call’d Iulus, shall begin his reign.
\nHe thirty rolling years the crown shall wear,
\nThen from Lavinium shall the seat transfer,
\nAnd, with hard labor, Alba Longa build.
\nThe throne with his succession shall be fill’d
\nThree hundred circuits more: then shall be seen
\nIlia the fair, a priestess and a queen,
\nWho, full of Mars, in time, with kindly throes,
\nShall at a birth two goodly boys disclose.
\nThe royal babes a tawny wolf shall drain:
\nThen Romulus his grandsire’s throne shall gain,
\nOf martial tow’rs the founder shall become,
\nThe people Romans call, the city Rome.
\nTo them no bounds of empire I assign,
\nNor term of years to their immortal line.
\nEv’n haughty Juno, who, with endless broils,
\nEarth, seas, and heav’n, and Jove himself turmoils;
\nAt length aton’d, her friendly pow’r shall join,
\nTo cherish and advance the Trojan line.
\nThe subject world shall Rome’s dominion own,
\nAnd, prostrate, shall adore the nation of the gown.
\nAn age is ripening in revolving fate
\nWhen Troy shall overturn the Grecian state,
\nAnd sweet revenge her conqu’ring sons shall call,
\nTo crush the people that conspir’d her fall.
\nThen Caesar from the Julian stock shall rise,
\nWhose empire ocean, and whose fame the skies
\nAlone shall bound; whom, fraught with eastern spoils,
\nOur heav’n, the just reward of human toils,
\nSecurely shall repay with rites divine;
\nAnd incense shall ascend before his sacred shrine.
\nThen dire debate and impious war shall cease,
\nAnd the stern age be soften’d into peace:
\nThen banish’d Faith shall once again return,
\nAnd Vestal fires in hallow’d temples burn;
\nAnd Remus with Quirinus shall sustain
\nThe righteous laws, and fraud and force restrain.
\nJanus himself before his fane shall wait,
\nAnd keep the dreadful issues of his gate,
\nWith bolts and iron bars: within remains
\nImprison’d Fury, bound in brazen chains;
\nHigh on a trophy rais’d, of useless arms,
\nHe sits, and threats the world with vain alarms.”<\/p>\n
He said, and sent Cyllenius with command
\nTo free the ports, and ope the Punic land
\nTo Trojan guests; lest, ignorant of fate,
\nThe queen might force them from her town and state.
\nDown from the steep of heav’n Cyllenius flies,
\nAnd cleaves with all his wings the yielding skies.
\nSoon on the Libyan shore descends the god,
\nPerforms his message, and displays his rod:
\nThe surly murmurs of the people cease;
\nAnd, as the fates requir’d, they give the peace:
\nThe queen herself suspends the rigid laws,
\nThe Trojans pities, and protects their cause.<\/p>\n
Meantime, in shades of night Aeneas lies:
\nCare seiz’d his soul, and sleep forsook his eyes.
\nBut, when the sun restor’d the cheerful day,
\nHe rose, the coast and country to survey,
\nAnxious and eager to discover more.
\nIt look’d a wild uncultivated shore;
\nBut, whether humankind, or beasts alone
\nPossess’d the new-found region, was unknown.
\nBeneath a ledge of rocks his fleet he hides:
\nTall trees surround the mountain’s shady sides;
\nThe bending brow above a safe retreat provides.
\nArm’d with two pointed darts, he leaves his friends,
\nAnd true Achates on his steps attends.
\nLo! in the deep recesses of the wood,
\nBefore his eyes his goddess mother stood:
\nA huntress in her habit and her mien;
\nHer dress a maid, her air confess’d a queen.
\nBare were her knees, and knots her garments bind;
\nLoose was her hair, and wanton’d in the wind;
\nHer hand sustain’d a bow; her quiver hung behind.
\nShe seem’d a virgin of the Spartan blood:
\nWith such array Harpalyce bestrode
\nHer Thracian courser and outstripp’d the rapid flood.
\n“Ho, strangers! have you lately seen,” she said,
\n“One of my sisters, like myself array’d,
\nWho cross’d the lawn, or in the forest stray’d?
\nA painted quiver at her back she bore;
\nVaried with spots, a lynx’s hide she wore;
\nAnd at full cry pursued the tusky boar.”<\/p>\n
Thus Venus: thus her son replied again:
\n“None of your sisters have we heard or seen,
\nO virgin! or what other name you bear
\nAbove that style- O more than mortal fair!
\nYour voice and mien celestial birth betray!
\nIf, as you seem, the sister of the day,
\nOr one at least of chaste Diana’s train,
\nLet not an humble suppliant sue in vain;
\nBut tell a stranger, long in tempests toss’d,
\nWhat earth we tread, and who commands the coast?
\nThen on your name shall wretched mortals call,
\nAnd offer’d victims at your altars fall.”
\n“I dare not,” she replied, “assume the name
\nOf goddess, or celestial honors claim:
\nFor Tyrian virgins bows and quivers bear,
\nAnd purple buskins o’er their ankles wear.
\nKnow, gentle youth, in Libyan lands you are-
\nA people rude in peace, and rough in war.
\nThe rising city, which from far you see,
\nIs Carthage, and a Tyrian colony.
\nPhoenician Dido rules the growing state,
\nWho fled from Tyre, to shun her brother’s hate.
\nGreat were her wrongs, her story full of fate;
\nWhich I will sum in short. Sichaeus, known
\nFor wealth, and brother to the Punic throne,
\nPossess’d fair Dido’s bed; and either heart
\nAt once was wounded with an equal dart.
\nHer father gave her, yet a spotless maid;
\nPygmalion then the Tyrian scepter sway’d:
\nOne who condemn’d divine and human laws.
\nThen strife ensued, and cursed gold the cause.
\nThe monarch, blinded with desire of wealth,
\nWith steel invades his brother’s life by stealth;
\nBefore the sacred altar made him bleed,
\nAnd long from her conceal’d the cruel deed.
\nSome tale, some new pretense, he daily coin’d,
\nTo soothe his sister, and delude her mind.
\nAt length, in dead of night, the ghost appears
\nOf her unhappy lord: the specter stares,
\nAnd, with erected eyes, his bloody bosom bares.
\nThe cruel altars and his fate he tells,
\nAnd the dire secret of his house reveals,
\nThen warns the widow, with her household gods,
\nTo seek a refuge in remote abodes.
\nLast, to support her in so long a way,
\nHe shows her where his hidden treasure lay.
\nAdmonish’d thus, and seiz’d with mortal fright,
\nThe queen provides companions of her flight:
\nThey meet, and all combine to leave the state,
\nWho hate the tyrant, or who fear his hate.
\nThey seize a fleet, which ready rigg’d they find;
\nNor is Pygmalion’s treasure left behind.
\nThe vessels, heavy laden, put to sea
\nWith prosp’rous winds; a woman leads the way.
\nI know not, if by stress of weather driv’n,
\nOr was their fatal course dispos’d by Heav’n;
\nAt last they landed, where from far your eyes
\nMay view the turrets of new Carthage rise;
\nThere bought a space of ground, which (Byrsa call’d,
\nFrom the bull’s hide) they first inclos’d, and wall’d.
\nBut whence are you? what country claims your birth?
\nWhat seek you, strangers, on our Libyan earth?”<\/p>\n
To whom, with sorrow streaming from his eyes,
\nAnd deeply sighing, thus her son replies:
\n“Could you with patience hear, or I relate,
\nO nymph, the tedious annals of our fate!
\nThro’ such a train of woes if I should run,
\nThe day would sooner than the tale be done!
\nFrom ancient Troy, by force expell’d, we came-
\nIf you by chance have heard the Trojan name.
\nOn various seas by various tempests toss’d,
\nAt length we landed on your Libyan coast.
\nThe good Aeneas am I call’d- a name,
\nWhile Fortune favor’d, not unknown to fame.
\nMy household gods, companions of my woes,
\nWith pious care I rescued from our foes.
\nTo fruitful Italy my course was bent;
\nAnd from the King of Heav’n is my descent.
\nWith twice ten sail I cross’d the Phrygian sea;
\nFate and my mother goddess led my way.
\nScarce sev’n, the thin remainders of my fleet,
\nFrom storms preserv’d, within your harbor meet.
\nMyself distress’d, an exile, and unknown,
\nDebarr’d from Europe, and from Asia thrown,
\nIn Libyan desarts wander thus alone.”<\/p>\n
His tender parent could no longer bear;
\nBut, interposing, sought to soothe his care.
\n“Whoe’er you are- not unbelov’d by Heav’n,
\nSince on our friendly shore your ships are driv’n-
\nHave courage: to the gods permit the rest,
\nAnd to the queen expose your just request.
\nNow take this earnest of success, for more:
\nYour scatter’d fleet is join’d upon the shore;
\nThe winds are chang’d, your friends from danger free;
\nOr I renounce my skill in augury.
\nTwelve swans behold in beauteous order move,
\nAnd stoop with closing pinions from above;
\nWhom late the bird of Jove had driv’n along,
\nAnd thro’ the clouds pursued the scatt’ring throng:
\nNow, all united in a goodly team,
\nThey skim the ground, and seek the quiet stream.
\nAs they, with joy returning, clap their wings,
\nAnd ride the circuit of the skies in rings;
\nNot otherwise your ships, and ev’ry friend,
\nAlready hold the port, or with swift sails descend.
\nNo more advice is needful; but pursue
\nThe path before you, and the town in view.”<\/p>\n
Thus having said, she turn’d, and made appear
\nHer neck refulgent, and dishevel’d hair,
\nWhich, flowing from her shoulders, reach’d the ground.
\nAnd widely spread ambrosial scents around:
\nIn length of train descends her sweeping gown;
\nAnd, by her graceful walk, the Queen of Love is known.
\nThe prince pursued the parting deity
\nWith words like these: “Ah! whither do you fly?
\nUnkind and cruel! to deceive your son
\nIn borrow’d shapes, and his embrace to shun;
\nNever to bless my sight, but thus unknown;
\nAnd still to speak in accents not your own.”
\nAgainst the goddess these complaints he made,
\nBut took the path, and her commands obey’d.
\nThey march, obscure; for Venus kindly shrouds
\nWith mists their persons, and involves in clouds,
\nThat, thus unseen, their passage none might stay,
\nOr force to tell the causes of their way.
\nThis part perform’d, the goddess flies sublime
\nTo visit Paphos and her native clime;
\nWhere garlands, ever green and ever fair,
\nWith vows are offer’d, and with solemn pray’r:
\nA hundred altars in her temple smoke;
\nA thousand bleeding hearts her pow’r invoke.<\/p>\n
They climb the next ascent, and, looking down,
\nNow at a nearer distance view the town.
\nThe prince with wonder sees the stately tow’rs,
\nWhich late were huts and shepherds’ homely bow’rs,
\nThe gates and streets; and hears, from ev’ry part,
\nThe noise and busy concourse of the mart.
\nThe toiling Tyrians on each other call
\nTo ply their labor: some extend the wall;
\nSome build the citadel; the brawny throng
\nOr dig, or push unwieldly stones along.
\nSome for their dwellings choose a spot of ground,
\nWhich, first design’d, with ditches they surround.
\nSome laws ordain; and some attend the choice
\nOf holy senates, and elect by voice.
\nHere some design a mole, while others there
\nLay deep foundations for a theater;
\nFrom marble quarries mighty columns hew,
\nFor ornaments of scenes, and future view.
\nSuch is their toil, and such their busy pains,
\nAs exercise the bees in flow’ry plains,
\nWhen winter past, and summer scarce begun,
\nInvites them forth to labor in the sun;
\nSome lead their youth abroad, while some condense
\nTheir liquid store, and some in cells dispense;
\nSome at the gate stand ready to receive
\nThe golden burthen, and their friends relieve;
\nAll with united force, combine to drive
\nThe lazy drones from the laborious hive:
\nWith envy stung, they view each other’s deeds;
\nThe fragrant work with diligence proceeds.
\n“Thrice happy you, whose walls already rise!”
\nAeneas said, and view’d, with lifted eyes,
\nTheir lofty tow’rs; then, entiring at the gate,
\nConceal’d in clouds (prodigious to relate)
\nHe mix’d, unmark’d, among the busy throng,
\nBorne by the tide, and pass’d unseen along.<\/p>\n
Full in the center of the town there stood,
\nThick set with trees, a venerable wood.
\nThe Tyrians, landing near this holy ground,
\nAnd digging here, a prosp’rous omen found:
\nFrom under earth a courser’s head they drew,
\nTheir growth and future fortune to foreshew.
\nThis fated sign their foundress Juno gave,
\nOf a soil fruitful, and a people brave.
\nSidonian Dido here with solemn state
\nDid Juno’s temple build, and consecrate,
\nEnrich’d with gifts, and with a golden shrine;
\nBut more the goddess made the place divine.
\nOn brazen steps the marble threshold rose,
\nAnd brazen plates the cedar beams inclose:
\nThe rafters are with brazen cov’rings crown’d;
\nThe lofty doors on brazen hinges sound.
\nWhat first Aeneas this place beheld,
\nReviv’d his courage, and his fear expell’d.
\nFor while, expecting there the queen, he rais’d
\nHis wond’ring eyes, and round the temple gaz’d,
\nAdmir’d the fortune of the rising town,
\nThe striving artists, and their arts’ renown;
\nHe saw, in order painted on the wall,
\nWhatever did unhappy Troy befall:
\nThe wars that fame around the world had blown,
\nAll to the life, and ev’ry leader known.
\nThere Agamemnon, Priam here, he spies,
\nAnd fierce Achilles, who both kings defies.
\nHe stopp’d, and weeping said: “O friend! ev’n here
\nThe monuments of Trojan woes appear!
\nOur known disasters fill ev’n foreign lands:
\nSee there, where old unhappy Priam stands!
\nEv’n the mute walls relate the warrior’s fame,
\nAnd Trojan griefs the Tyrians’ pity claim.”
\nHe said (his tears a ready passage find),
\nDevouring what he saw so well design’d,
\nAnd with an empty picture fed his mind:
\nFor there he saw the fainting Grecians yield,
\nAnd here the trembling Trojans quit the field,
\nPursued by fierce Achilles thro’ the plain,
\nOn his high chariot driving o’er the slain.
\nThe tents of Rhesus next his grief renew,
\nBy their white sails betray’d to nightly view;
\nAnd wakeful Diomede, whose cruel sword
\nThe sentries slew, nor spar’d their slumb’ring lord,
\nThen took the fiery steeds, ere yet the food
\nOf Troy they taste, or drink the Xanthian flood.
\nElsewhere he saw where Troilus defied
\nAchilles, and unequal combat tried;
\nThen, where the boy disarm’d, with loosen’d reins,
\nWas by his horses hurried o’er the plains,
\nHung by the neck and hair, and dragg’d around:
\nThe hostile spear, yet sticking in his wound,
\nWith tracks of blood inscrib’d the dusty ground.
\nMeantime the Trojan dames, oppress’d with woe,
\nTo Pallas’ fane in long procession go,
\nIn hopes to reconcile their heav’nly foe.
\nThey weep, they beat their breasts, they rend their hair,
\nAnd rich embroider’d vests for presents bear;
\nBut the stern goddess stands unmov’d with pray’r.
\nThrice round the Trojan walls Achilles drew
\nThe corpse of Hector, whom in fight he slew.
\nHere Priam sues; and there, for sums of gold,
\nThe lifeless body of his son is sold.
\nSo sad an object, and so well express’d,
\nDrew sighs and groans from the griev’d hero’s breast,
\nTo see the figure of his lifeless friend,
\nAnd his old sire his helpless hand extend.
\nHimself he saw amidst the Grecian train,
\nMix’d in the bloody battle on the plain;
\nAnd swarthy Memnon in his arms he knew,
\nHis pompous ensigns, and his Indian crew.
\nPenthisilea there, with haughty grace,
\nLeads to the wars an Amazonian race:
\nIn their right hands a pointed dart they wield;
\nThe left, for ward, sustains the lunar shield.
\nAthwart her breast a golden belt she throws,
\nAmidst the press alone provokes a thousand foes,
\nAnd dares her maiden arms to manly force oppose.<\/p>\n
Thus while the Trojan prince employs his eyes,
\nFix’d on the walls with wonder and surprise,
\nThe beauteous Dido, with a num’rous train
\nAnd pomp of guards, ascends the sacred fane.
\nSuch on Eurotas’ banks, or Cynthus’ height,
\nDiana seems; and so she charms the sight,
\nWhen in the dance the graceful goddess leads
\nThe choir of nymphs, and overtops their heads:
\nKnown by her quiver, and her lofty mien,
\nShe walks majestic, and she looks their queen;
\nLatona sees her shine above the rest,
\nAnd feeds with secret joy her silent breast.
\nSuch Dido was; with such becoming state,
\nAmidst the crowd, she walks serenely great.
\nTheir labor to her future sway she speeds,
\nAnd passing with a gracious glance proceeds;
\nThen mounts the throne, high plac’d before the shrine:
\nIn crowds around, the swarming people join.
\nShe takes petitions, and dispenses laws,
\nHears and determines ev’ry private cause;
\nTheir tasks in equal portions she divides,
\nAnd, where unequal, there by lots decides.
\nAnother way by chance Aeneas bends
\nHis eyes, and unexpected sees his friends,
\nAntheus, Sergestus grave, Cloanthus strong,
\nAnd at their backs a mighty Trojan throng,
\nWhom late the tempest on the billows toss’d,
\nAnd widely scatter’d on another coast.
\nThe prince, unseen, surpris’d with wonder stands,
\nAnd longs, with joyful haste, to join their hands;
\nBut, doubtful of the wish’d event, he stays,
\nAnd from the hollow cloud his friends surveys,
\nImpatient till they told their present state,
\nAnd where they left their ships, and what their fate,
\nAnd why they came, and what was their request;
\nFor these were sent, commission’d by the rest,
\nTo sue for leave to land their sickly men,
\nAnd gain admission to the gracious queen.
\nEnt’ring, with cries they fill’d the holy fane;
\nThen thus, with lowly voice, Ilioneus began:<\/p>\n
“O queen! indulg’d by favor of the gods
\nTo found an empire in these new abodes,
\nTo build a town, with statutes to restrain
\nThe wild inhabitants beneath thy reign,
\nWe wretched Trojans, toss’d on ev’ry shore,
\nFrom sea to sea, thy clemency implore.
\nForbid the fires our shipping to deface!
\nReceive th’ unhappy fugitives to grace,
\nAnd spare the remnant of a pious race!
\nWe come not with design of wasteful prey,
\nTo drive the country, force the swains away:
\nNor such our strength, nor such is our desire;
\nThe vanquish’d dare not to such thoughts aspire.
\nA land there is, Hesperia nam’d of old;
\nThe soil is fruitful, and the men are bold-
\nTh’ Oenotrians held it once- by common fame
\nNow call’d Italia, from the leader’s name.
\nTo that sweet region was our voyage bent,
\nWhen winds and ev’ry warring element
\nDisturb’d our course, and, far from sight of land,
\nCast our torn vessels on the moving sand:
\nThe sea came on; the South, with mighty roar,
\nDispers’d and dash’d the rest upon the rocky shore.
\nThose few you see escap’d the Storm, and fear,
\nUnless you interpose, a shipwreck here.
\nWhat men, what monsters, what inhuman race,
\nWhat laws, what barb’rous customs of the place,
\nShut up a desart shore to drowning men,
\nAnd drive us to the cruel seas again?
\nIf our hard fortune no compassion draws,
\nNor hospitable rights, nor human laws,
\nThe gods are just, and will revenge our cause.
\nAeneas was our prince: a juster lord,
\nOr nobler warrior, never drew a sword;
\nObservant of the right, religious of his word.
\nIf yet he lives, and draws this vital air,
\nNor we, his friends, of safety shall despair;
\nNor you, great queen, these offices repent,
\nWhich he will equal, and perhaps augment.
\nWe want not cities, nor Sicilian coasts,
\nWhere King Acestes Trojan lineage boasts.
\nPermit our ships a shelter on your shores,
\nRefitted from your woods with planks and oars,
\nThat, if our prince be safe, we may renew
\nOur destin’d course, and Italy pursue.
\nBut if, O best of men, the Fates ordain
\nThat thou art swallow’d in the Libyan main,
\nAnd if our young Iulus be no more,
\nDismiss our navy from your friendly shore,
\nThat we to good Acestes may return,
\nAnd with our friends our common losses mourn.”
\nThus spoke Ilioneus: the Trojan crew
\nWith cries and clamors his request renew.<\/p>\n
The modest queen a while, with downcast eyes,
\nPonder’d the speech; then briefly thus replies:
\n“Trojans, dismiss your fears; my cruel fate,
\nAnd doubts attending an unsettled state,
\nForce me to guard my coast from foreign foes.
\nWho has not heard the story of your woes,
\nThe name and fortune of your native place,
\nThe fame and valor of the Phrygian race?
\nWe Tyrians are not so devoid of sense,
\nNor so remote from Phoebus’ influence.
\nWhether to Latian shores your course is bent,
\nOr, driv’n by tempests from your first intent,
\nYou seek the good Acestes’ government,
\nYour men shall be receiv’d, your fleet repair’d,
\nAnd sail, with ships of convoy for your guard:
\nOr, would you stay, and join your friendly pow’rs
\nTo raise and to defend the Tyrian tow’rs,
\nMy wealth, my city, and myself are yours.
\nAnd would to Heav’n, the Storm, you felt, would bring
\nOn Carthaginian coasts your wand’ring king.
\nMy people shall, by my command, explore
\nThe ports and creeks of ev’ry winding shore,
\nAnd towns, and wilds, and shady woods, in quest
\nOf so renown’d and so desir’d a guest.”<\/p>\n
Rais’d in his mind the Trojan hero stood,
\nAnd long’d to break from out his ambient cloud:
\nAchates found it, and thus urg’d his way:
\n“From whence, O goddess-born, this long delay?
\nWhat more can you desire, your welcome sure,
\nYour fleet in safety, and your friends secure?
\nOne only wants; and him we saw in vain
\nOppose the Storm, and swallow’d in the main.
\nOrontes in his fate our forfeit paid;
\nThe rest agrees with what your mother said.”
\nScarce had he spoken, when the cloud gave way,
\nThe mists flew upward and dissolv’d in day.<\/p>\n
The Trojan chief appear’d in open sight,
\nAugust in visage, and serenely bright.
\nHis mother goddess, with her hands divine,
\nHad form’d his curling locks, and made his temples shine,
\nAnd giv’n his rolling eyes a sparkling grace,
\nAnd breath’d a youthful vigor on his face;
\nLike polish’d ivory, beauteous to behold,
\nOr Parian marble, when enchas’d in gold:
\nThus radiant from the circling cloud he broke,
\nAnd thus with manly modesty he spoke:<\/p>\n
“He whom you seek am I; by tempests toss’d,
\nAnd sav’d from shipwreck on your Libyan coast;
\nPresenting, gracious queen, before your throne,
\nA prince that owes his life to you alone.
\nFair majesty, the refuge and redress
\nOf those whom fate pursues, and wants oppress,
\nYou, who your pious offices employ
\nTo save the relics of abandon’d Troy;
\nReceive the shipwreck’d on your friendly shore,
\nWith hospitable rites relieve the poor;
\nAssociate in your town a wand’ring train,
\nAnd strangers in your palace entertain:
\nWhat thanks can wretched fugitives return,
\nWho, scatter’d thro’ the world, in exile mourn?
\nThe gods, if gods to goodness are inclin’d;
\nIf acts of mercy touch their heav’nly mind,
\nAnd, more than all the gods, your gen’rous heart.
\nConscious of worth, requite its own desert!
\nIn you this age is happy, and this earth,
\nAnd parents more than mortal gave you birth.
\nWhile rolling rivers into seas shall run,
\nAnd round the space of heav’n the radiant sun;
\nWhile trees the mountain tops with shades supply,
\nYour honor, name, and praise shall never die.
\nWhate’er abode my fortune has assign’d,
\nYour image shall be present in my mind.”
\nThus having said, he turn’d with pious haste,
\nAnd joyful his expecting friends embrac’d:
\nWith his right hand Ilioneus was grac’d,
\nSerestus with his left; then to his breast
\nCloanthus and the noble Gyas press’d;
\nAnd so by turns descended to the rest.<\/p>\n
The Tyrian queen stood fix’d upon his face,
\nPleas’d with his motions, ravish’d with his grace;
\nAdmir’d his fortunes, more admir’d the man;
\nThen recollected stood, and thus began:
\n“What fate, O goddess-born; what angry pow’rs
\nHave cast you shipwrack’d on our barren shores?
\nAre you the great Aeneas, known to fame,
\nWho from celestial seed your lineage claim?<\/p>\n
The same Aeneas whom fair Venus bore
\nTo fam’d Anchises on th’ Idaean shore?
\nIt calls into my mind, tho’ then a child,
\nWhen Teucer came, from Salamis exil’d,
\nAnd sought my father’s aid, to be restor’d:
\nMy father Belus then with fire and sword
\nInvaded Cyprus, made the region bare,
\nAnd, conqu’ring, finish’d the successful war.
\nFrom him the Trojan siege I understood,
\nThe Grecian chiefs, and your illustrious blood.
\nYour foe himself the Dardan valor prais’d,
\nAnd his own ancestry from Trojans rais’d.
\nEnter, my noble guest, and you shall find,
\nIf not a costly welcome, yet a kind:
\nFor I myself, like you, have been distress’d,
\nTill Heav’n afforded me this place of rest;
\nLike you, an alien in a land unknown,
\nI learn to pity woes so like my own.”
\nShe said, and to the palace led her guest;
\nThen offer’d incense, and proclaim’d a feast.
\nNor yet less careful for her absent friends,
\nTwice ten fat oxen to the ships she sends;
\nBesides a hundred boars, a hundred lambs,
\nWith bleating cries, attend their milky dams;
\nAnd jars of gen’rous wine and spacious bowls
\nShe gives, to cheer the sailors’ drooping souls.
\nNow purple hangings clothe the palace walls,
\nAnd sumptuous feasts are made in splendid halls:
\nOn Tyrian carpets, richly wrought, they dine;
\nWith loads of massy plate the sideboards shine,
\nAnd antique vases, all of gold emboss’d
\n(The gold itself inferior to the cost),
\nOf curious work, where on the sides were seen
\nThe fights and figures of illustrious men,
\nFrom their first founder to the present queen.<\/p>\n
The good Aeneas, paternal care
\nIulus’ absence could no longer bear,
\nDispatch’d Achates to the ships in haste,
\nTo give a glad relation of the past,
\nAnd, fraught with precious gifts, to bring the boy,
\nSnatch’d from the ruins of unhappy Troy:
\nA robe of tissue, stiff with golden wire;
\nAn upper vest, once Helen’s rich attire,
\nFrom Argos by the fam’d adultress brought,
\nWith golden flow’rs and winding foliage wrought,
\nHer mother Leda’s present, when she came
\nTo ruin Troy and set the world on flame;
\nThe scepter Priam’s eldest daughter bore,
\nHer orient necklace, and the crown she wore
\nOf double texture, glorious to behold,
\nOne order set with gems, and one with gold.
\nInstructed thus, the wise Achates goes,
\nAnd in his diligence his duty shows.<\/p>\n
But Venus, anxious for her son’s affairs,
\nNew counsels tries, and new designs prepares:
\nThat Cupid should assume the shape and face
\nOf sweet Ascanius, and the sprightly grace;
\nShould bring the presents, in her nephew’s stead,
\nAnd in Eliza’s veins the gentle poison shed:
\nFor much she fear’d the Tyrians, double-tongued,
\nAnd knew the town to Juno’s care belong’d.
\nThese thoughts by night her golden slumbers broke,
\nAnd thus alarm’d, to winged Love she spoke:
\n“My son, my strength, whose mighty pow’r alone
\nControls the Thund’rer on his awful throne,
\nTo thee thy much-afflicted mother flies,
\nAnd on thy succor and thy faith relies.
\nThou know’st, my son, how Jove’s revengeful wife,
\nBy force and fraud, attempts thy brother’s life;
\nAnd often hast thou mourn’d with me his pains.
\nHim Dido now with blandishment detains;
\nBut I suspect the town where Juno reigns.
\nFor this ‘t is needful to prevent her art,
\nAnd fire with love the proud Phoenician’s heart:
\nA love so violent, so strong, so sure,
\nAs neither age can change, nor art can cure.
\nHow this may be perform’d, now take my mind:
\nAscanius by his father is design’d
\nTo come, with presents laden, from the port,
\nTo gratify the queen, and gain the court.
\nI mean to plunge the boy in pleasing sleep,
\nAnd, ravish’d, in Idalian bow’rs to keep,
\nOr high Cythera, that the sweet deceit
\nMay pass unseen, and none prevent the cheat.
\nTake thou his form and shape. I beg the grace
\nBut only for a night’s revolving space:
\nThyself a boy, assume a boy’s dissembled face;
\nThat when, amidst the fervor of the feast,
\nThe Tyrian hugs and fonds thee on her breast,
\nAnd with sweet kisses in her arms constrains,
\nThou may’st infuse thy venom in her veins.”
\nThe God of Love obeys, and sets aside
\nHis bow and quiver, and his plumy pride;
\nHe walks Iulus in his mother’s sight,
\nAnd in the sweet resemblance takes delight.<\/p>\n
The goddess then to young Ascanius flies,
\nAnd in a pleasing slumber seals his eyes:
\nLull’d in her lap, amidst a train of Loves,
\nShe gently bears him to her blissful groves,
\nThen with a wreath of myrtle crowns his head,
\nAnd softly lays him on a flow’ry bed.
\nCupid meantime assum’d his form and face,
\nFoll’wing Achates with a shorter pace,
\nAnd brought the gifts. The queen already sate
\nAmidst the Trojan lords, in shining state,
\nHigh on a golden bed: her princely guest
\nWas next her side; in order sate the rest.
\nThen canisters with bread are heap’d on high;
\nTh’ attendants water for their hands supply,
\nAnd, having wash’d, with silken towels dry.
\nNext fifty handmaids in long order bore
\nThe censers, and with fumes the gods adore:
\nThen youths, and virgins twice as many, join
\nTo place the dishes, and to serve the wine.
\nThe Tyrian train, admitted to the feast,
\nApproach, and on the painted couches rest.
\nAll on the Trojan gifts with wonder gaze,
\nBut view the beauteous boy with more amaze,
\nHis rosy-color’d cheeks, his radiant eyes,
\nHis motions, voice, and shape, and all the god’s disguise;
\nNor pass unprais’d the vest and veil divine,
\nWhich wand’ring foliage and rich flow’rs entwine.
\nBut, far above the rest, the royal dame,
\n(Already doom’d to love’s disastrous flame,)
\nWith eyes insatiate, and tumultuous joy,
\nBeholds the presents, and admires the boy.
\nThe guileful god about the hero long,
\nWith children’s play, and false embraces, hung;
\nThen sought the queen: she took him to her arms
\nWith greedy pleasure, and devour’d his charms.
\nUnhappy Dido little thought what guest,
\nHow dire a god, she drew so near her breast;
\nBut he, not mindless of his mother’s pray’r,
\nWorks in the pliant bosom of the fair,
\nAnd molds her heart anew, and blots her former care.
\nThe dead is to the living love resign’d;
\nAnd all Aeneas enters in her mind.<\/p>\n
Now, when the rage of hunger was appeas’d,
\nThe meat remov’d, and ev’ry guest was pleas’d,
\nThe golden bowls with sparkling wine are crown’d,
\nAnd thro’ the palace cheerful cries resound.
\nFrom gilded roofs depending lamps display
\nNocturnal beams, that emulate the day.
\nA golden bowl, that shone with gems divine,
\nThe queen commanded to be crown’d with wine:
\nThe bowl that Belus us’d, and all the Tyrian line.
\nThen, silence thro’ the hall proclaim’d, she spoke:
\n“O hospitable Jove! we thus invoke,
\nWith solemn rites, thy sacred name and pow’r;
\nBless to both nations this auspicious hour!
\nSo may the Trojan and the Tyrian line
\nIn lasting concord from this day combine.
\nThou, Bacchus, god of joys and friendly cheer,
\nAnd gracious Juno, both be present here!
\nAnd you, my lords of Tyre, your vows address
\nTo Heav’n with mine, to ratify the peace.”
\nThe goblet then she took, with nectar crown’d
\n(Sprinkling the first libations on the ground,)
\nAnd rais’d it to her mouth with sober grace;
\nThen, sipping, offer’d to the next in place.
\n‘T was Bitias whom she call’d, a thirsty soul;
\nHe took challenge, and embrac’d the bowl,
\nWith pleasure swill’d the gold, nor ceas’d to draw,
\nTill he the bottom of the brimmer saw.
\nThe goblet goes around: Iopas brought
\nHis golden lyre, and sung what ancient Atlas taught:
\nThe various labors of the wand’ring moon,
\nAnd whence proceed th’ eclipses of the sun;
\nTh’ original of men and beasts; and whence
\nThe rains arise, and fires their warmth dispense,
\nAnd fix’d and erring stars dispose their influence;
\nWhat shakes the solid earth; what cause delays
\nThe summer nights and shortens winter days.
\nWith peals of shouts the Tyrians praise the song:
\nThose peals are echo’d by the Trojan throng.
\nTh’ unhappy queen with talk prolong’d the night,
\nAnd drank large draughts of love with vast delight;
\nOf Priam much enquir’d, of Hector more;
\nThen ask’d what arms the swarthy Memnon wore,
\nWhat troops he landed on the Trojan shore;
\nThe steeds of Diomede varied the discourse,
\nAnd fierce Achilles, with his matchless force;
\nAt length, as fate and her ill stars requir’d,
\nTo hear the series of the war desir’d.
\n“Relate at large, my godlike guest,” she said,
\n“The Grecian stratagems, the town betray’d:
\nThe fatal issue of so long a war,
\nYour flight, your wand’rings, and your woes, declare;
\nFor, since on ev’ry sea, on ev’ry coast,
\nYour men have been distress’d, your navy toss’d,
\nSev’n times the sun has either tropic view’d,
\nThe winter banish’d, and the spring renew’d.”<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":19,"menu_order":1,"template":"","meta":{"_candela_citation":"[]","CANDELA_OUTCOMES_GUID":"","pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":[],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[],"contributor":[],"license":[],"class_list":["post-111","chapter","type-chapter","status-web-only","hentry"],"part":110,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/111","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/chapter"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/19"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/111\/revisions"}],"part":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/parts\/110"}],"metadata":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/111\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=111"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=111"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=111"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=111"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}