\"When Heav'n had overturn'd the Trojan state\nAnd Priam's throne, by too severe a fate;\nWhen ruin'd Troy became the Grecians' prey,\nAnd Ilium's lofty tow'rs in ashes lay;\nWarn'd by celestial omens, we retreat,\nTo seek in foreign lands a happier seat.\nNear old Antandros, and at Ida's foot,\nThe timber of the sacred groves we cut,\nAnd build our fleet; uncertain yet to find\nWhat place the gods for our repose assign'd.\nFriends daily flock; and scarce the kindly spring\nBegan to clothe the ground, and birds to sing,\nWhen old Anchises summon'd all to sea:\nThe crew my father and the Fates obey.\nWith sighs and tears I leave my native shore,\nAnd empty fields, where Ilium stood before.\nMy sire, my son, our less and greater gods,\nAll sail at once, and cleave the briny floods.<\/p>\n
\"Against our coast appears a spacious land,\nWhich once the fierce Lycurgus did command,\n(Thracia the name- the people bold in war;\nVast are their fields, and tillage is their care,)\nA hospitable realm while Fate was kind,\nWith Troy in friendship and religion join'd.\nI land; with luckless omens then adore\nTheir gods, and draw a line along the shore;\nI lay the deep foundations of a wall,\nAnd Aenos, nam'd from me, the city call.\nTo Dionaean Venus vows are paid,\nAnd all the pow'rs that rising labors aid;\nA bull on Jove's imperial altar laid.\nNot far, a rising hillock stood in view;\nSharp myrtles on the sides, and cornels grew.\nThere, while I went to crop the sylvan scenes,\nAnd shade our altar with their leafy greens,\nI pull'd a plant- with horror I relate\nA prodigy so strange and full of fate.\nThe rooted fibers rose, and from the wound\nBlack bloody drops distill'd upon the ground.\nMute and amaz'd, my hair with terror stood;\nFear shrunk my sinews, and congeal'd my blood.\nMann'd once again, another plant I try:\nThat other gush'd with the same sanguine dye.\nThen, fearing guilt for some offense unknown,\nWith pray'rs and vows the Dryads I atone,\nWith all the sisters of the woods, and most\nThe God of Arms, who rules the Thracian coast,\nThat they, or he, these omens would avert,\nRelease our fears, and better signs impart.\nClear'd, as I thought, and fully fix'd at length\nTo learn the cause, I tugged with all my strength:\nI bent my knees against the ground; once more\nThe violated myrtle ran with gore.\nScarce dare I tell the sequel: from the womb\nOf wounded earth, and caverns of the tomb,\nA groan, as of a troubled ghost, renew'd\nMy fright, and then these dreadful words ensued:\n'Why dost thou thus my buried body rend?\nO spare the corpse of thy unhappy friend!\nSpare to pollute thy pious hands with blood:\nThe tears distil not from the wounded wood;\nBut ev'ry drop this living tree contains\nIs kindred blood, and ran in Trojan veins.\nO fly from this unhospitable shore,\nWarn'd by my fate; for I am Polydore!\nHere loads of lances, in my blood embrued,\nAgain shoot upward, by my blood renew'd.'<\/p>\n
\"My falt'ring tongue and shiv'ring limbs declare\nMy horror, and in bristles rose my hair.\nWhen Troy with Grecian arms was closely pent,\nOld Priam, fearful of the war's event,\nThis hapless Polydore to Thracia sent:\nLoaded with gold, he sent his darling, far\nFrom noise and tumults, and destructive war,\nCommitted to the faithless tyrant's care;\nWho, when he saw the pow'r of Troy decline,\nForsook the weaker, with the strong to join;\nBroke ev'ry bond of nature and of truth,\nAnd murder'd, for his wealth, the royal youth.\nO sacred hunger of pernicious gold!\nWhat bands of faith can impious lucre hold?\nNow, when my soul had shaken off her fears,\nI call my father and the Trojan peers;\nRelate the prodigies of Heav'n, require\nWhat he commands, and their advice desire.\nAll vote to leave that execrable shore,\nPolluted with the blood of Polydore;\nBut, ere we sail, his fun'ral rites prepare,\nThen, to his ghost, a tomb and altars rear.\nIn mournful pomp the matrons walk the round,\nWith baleful cypress and blue fillets crown'd,\nWith eyes dejected, and with hair unbound.\nThen bowls of tepid milk and blood we pour,\nAnd thrice invoke the soul of Polydore.<\/p>\n
\"Now, when the raging storms no longer reign,\nBut southern gales invite us to the main,\nWe launch our vessels, with a prosp'rous wind,\nAnd leave the cities and the shores behind.<\/p>\n
\"An island in th' Aegaean main appears;\nNeptune and wat'ry Doris claim it theirs.\nIt floated once, till Phoebus fix'd the sides\nTo rooted earth, and now it braves the tides.\nHere, borne by friendly winds, we come ashore,\nWith needful ease our weary limbs restore,\nAnd the Sun's temple and his town adore.<\/p>\n
\"Anius, the priest and king, with laurel crown'd,\nHis hoary locks with purple fillets bound,\nWho saw my sire the Delian shore ascend,\nCame forth with eager haste to meet his friend;\nInvites him to his palace; and, in sign\nOf ancient love, their plighted hands they join.\nThen to the temple of the god I went,\nAnd thus, before the shrine, my vows present:\n'Give, O Thymbraeus, give a resting place\nTo the sad relics of the Trojan race;\nA seat secure, a region of their own,\nA lasting empire, and a happier town.\nWhere shall we fix? where shall our labors end?\nWhom shall we follow, and what fate attend?\nLet not my pray'rs a doubtful answer find;\nBut in clear auguries unveil thy mind.'\nScarce had I said: he shook the holy ground,\nThe laurels, and the lofty hills around;\nAnd from the tripos rush'd a bellowing sound.\nProstrate we fell; confess'd the present god,\nWho gave this answer from his dark abode:\n'Undaunted youths, go, seek that mother earth\nFrom which your ancestors derive their birth.\nThe soil that sent you forth, her ancient race\nIn her old bosom shall again embrace.\nThro' the wide world th' Aeneian house shall reign,\nAnd children's children shall the crown sustain.'\nThus Phoebus did our future fates disclose:\nA mighty tumult, mix'd with joy, arose.<\/p>\n
\"All are concern'd to know what place the god\nAssign'd, and where determin'd our abode.\nMy father, long revolving in his mind\nThe race and lineage of the Trojan kind,\nThus answer'd their demands: 'Ye princes, hear\nYour pleasing fortune, and dispel your fear.\nThe fruitful isle of Crete, well known to fame,\nSacred of old to Jove's imperial name,\nIn the mid ocean lies, with large command,\nAnd on its plains a hundred cities stand.\nAnother Ida rises there, and we\nFrom thence derive our Trojan ancestry.\nFrom thence, as 't is divulg'd by certain fame,\nTo the Rhoetean shores old Teucrus came;\nThere fix'd, and there the seat of empire chose,\nEre Ilium and the Trojan tow'rs arose.\nIn humble vales they built their soft abodes,\nTill Cybele, the mother of the gods,\nWith tinkling cymbals charm'd th' Idaean woods,\nShe secret rites and ceremonies taught,\nAnd to the yoke the savage lions brought.\nLet us the land which Heav'n appoints, explore;\nAppease the winds, and seek the Gnossian shore.\nIf Jove assists the passage of our fleet,\nThe third propitious dawn discovers Crete.'\nThus having said, the sacrifices, laid\nOn smoking altars, to the gods he paid:\nA bull, to Neptune an oblation due,\nAnother bull to bright Apollo slew;\nA milk-white ewe, the western winds to please,\nAnd one coal-black, to calm the stormy seas.\nEre this, a flying rumor had been spread\nThat fierce Idomeneus from Crete was fled,\nExpell'd and exil'd; that the coast was free\nFrom foreign or domestic enemy.<\/p>\n
\"We leave the Delian ports, and put to sea;\nBy Naxos, fam'd for vintage, make our way;\nThen green Donysa pass; and sail in sight\nOf Paros' isle, with marble quarries white.\nWe pass the scatter'd isles of Cyclades,\nThat, scarce distinguish'd, seem to stud the seas.\nThe shouts of sailors double near the shores;\nThey stretch their canvas, and they ply their oars.\n'All hands aloft! for Crete! for Crete!' they cry,\nAnd swiftly thro' the foamy billows fly.\nFull on the promis'd land at length we bore,\nWith joy descending on the Cretan shore.\nWith eager haste a rising town I frame,\nWhich from the Trojan Pergamus I name:\nThe name itself was grateful; I exhort\nTo found their houses, and erect a fort.\nOur ships are haul'd upon the yellow strand;\nThe youth begin to till the labor'd land;\nAnd I myself new marriages promote,\nGive laws, and dwellings I divide by lot;\nWhen rising vapors choke the wholesome air,\nAnd blasts of noisome winds corrupt the year;\nThe trees devouring caterpillars burn;\nParch'd was the grass, and blighted was the corn:\nNor 'scape the beasts; for Sirius, from on high,\nWith pestilential heat infects the sky:\nMy men- some fall, the rest in fevers fry.\nAgain my father bids me seek the shore\nOf sacred Delos, and the god implore,\nTo learn what end of woes we might expect,\nAnd to what clime our weary course direct.<\/p>\n
\"'T was night, when ev'ry creature, void of cares,\nThe common gift of balmy slumber shares:\nThe statues of my gods (for such they seem'd),\nThose gods whom I from flaming Troy redeem'd,\nBefore me stood, majestically bright,\nFull in the beams of Phoebe's ent'ring light.\nThen thus they spoke, and eas'd my troubled mind:\n'What from the Delian god thou go'st to find,\nHe tells thee here, and sends us to relate.\nThose pow'rs are we, companions of thy fate,\nWho from the burning town by thee were brought,\nThy fortune follow'd, and thy safety wrought.\nThro' seas and lands as we thy steps attend,\nSo shall our care thy glorious race befriend.\nAn ample realm for thee thy fates ordain,\nA town that o'er the conquer'd world shall reign.\nThou, mighty walls for mighty nations build;\nNor let thy weary mind to labors yield:\nBut change thy seat; for not the Delian god,\nNor we, have giv'n thee Crete for our abode.\nA land there is, Hesperia call'd of old,\n(The soil is fruitful, and the natives bold-\nTh' Oenotrians held it once,) by later fame\nNow call'd Italia, from the leader's name.\nlasius there and Dardanus were born;\nFrom thence we came, and thither must return.\nRise, and thy sire with these glad tidings greet.\nSearch Italy; for Jove denies thee Crete.'<\/p>\n
\"Astonish'd at their voices and their sight,\n(Nor were they dreams, but visions of the night;\nI saw, I knew their faces, and descried,\nIn perfect view, their hair with fillets tied;)\nI started from my couch; a clammy sweat\nOn all my limbs and shiv'ring body sate.\nTo heav'n I lift my hands with pious haste,\nAnd sacred incense in the flames I cast.\nThus to the gods their perfect honors done,\nMore cheerful, to my good old sire I run,\nAnd tell the pleasing news. In little space\nHe found his error of the double race;\nNot, as before he deem'd, deriv'd from Crete;\nNo more deluded by the doubtful seat:\nThen said: 'O son, turmoil'd in Trojan fate!\nSuch things as these Cassandra did relate.\nThis day revives within my mind what she\nForetold of Troy renew'd in Italy,\nAnd Latian lands; but who could then have thought\nThat Phrygian gods to Latium should be brought,\nOr who believ'd what mad Cassandra taught?\nNow let us go where Phoebus leads the way.'<\/p>\n
\"He said; and we with glad consent obey,\nForsake the seat, and, leaving few behind,\nWe spread our sails before the willing wind.\nNow from the sight of land our galleys move,\nWith only seas around and skies above;\nWhen o'er our heads descends a burst of rain,\nAnd night with sable clouds involves the main;\nThe ruffling winds the foamy billows raise;\nThe scatter'd fleet is forc'd to sev'ral ways;\nThe face of heav'n is ravish'd from our eyes,\nAnd in redoubled peals the roaring thunder flies.\nCast from our course, we wander in the dark.\nNo stars to guide, no point of land to mark.\nEv'n Palinurus no distinction found\nBetwixt the night and day; such darkness reign'd around.\nThree starless nights the doubtful navy strays,\nWithout distinction, and three sunless days;\nThe fourth renews the light, and, from our shrouds,\nWe view a rising land, like distant clouds;\nThe mountain-tops confirm the pleasing sight,\nAnd curling smoke ascending from their height.\nThe canvas falls; their oars the sailors ply;\nFrom the rude strokes the whirling waters fly.\nAt length I land upon the Strophades,\nSafe from the danger of the stormy seas.\nThose isles are compass'd by th' Ionian main,\nThe dire abode where the foul Harpies reign,\nForc'd by the winged warriors to repair\nTo their old homes, and leave their costly fare.\nMonsters more fierce offended Heav'n ne'er sent\nFrom hell's abyss, for human punishment:\nWith virgin faces, but with wombs obscene,\nFoul paunches, and with ordure still unclean;\nWith claws for hands, and looks for ever lean.<\/p>\n
\"We landed at the port, and soon beheld\nFat herds of oxen graze the flow'ry field,\nAnd wanton goats without a keeper stray'd.\nWith weapons we the welcome prey invade,\nThen call the gods for partners of our feast,\nAnd Jove himself, the chief invited guest.\nWe spread the tables on the greensward ground;\nWe feed with hunger, and the bowls go round;\nWhen from the mountain-tops, with hideous cry,\nAnd clatt'ring wings, the hungry Harpies fly;\nThey snatch the meat, defiling all they find,\nAnd, parting, leave a loathsome stench behind.\nClose by a hollow rock, again we sit,\nNew dress the dinner, and the beds refit,\nSecure from sight, beneath a pleasing shade,\nWhere tufted trees a native arbor made.\nAgain the holy fires on altars burn;\nAnd once again the rav'nous birds return,\nOr from the dark recesses where they lie,\nOr from another quarter of the sky;\nWith filthy claws their odious meal repeat,\nAnd mix their loathsome ordures with their meat.\nI bid my friends for vengeance then prepare,\nAnd with the hellish nation wage the war.\nThey, as commanded, for the fight provide,\nAnd in the grass their glitt'ring weapons hide;\nThen, when along the crooked shore we hear\nTheir clatt'ring wings, and saw the foes appear,\nMisenus sounds a charge: we take th' alarm,\nAnd our strong hands with swords and bucklers arm.\nIn this new kind of combat all employ\nTheir utmost force, the monsters to destroy.\nIn vain- the fated skin is proof to wounds;\nAnd from their plumes the shining sword rebounds.\nAt length rebuff'd, they leave their mangled prey,\nAnd their stretch'd pinions to the skies display.\nYet one remain'd- the messenger of Fate:\nHigh on a craggy cliff Celaeno sate,\nAnd thus her dismal errand did relate:\n'What! not contented with our oxen slain,\nDare you with Heav'n an impious war maintain,\nAnd drive the Harpies from their native reign?\nHeed therefore what I say; and keep in mind\nWhat Jove decrees, what Phoebus has design'd,\nAnd I, the Furies' queen, from both relate-\nYou seek th' Italian shores, foredoom'd by fate:\nTh' Italian shores are granted you to find,\nAnd a safe passage to the port assign'd.\nBut know, that ere your promis'd walls you build,\nMy curses shall severely be fulfill'd.\nFierce famine is your lot for this misdeed,\nReduc'd to grind the plates on which you feed.'\nShe said, and to the neighb'ring forest flew.\nOur courage fails us, and our fears renew.\nHopeless to win by war, to pray'rs we fall,\nAnd on th' offended Harpies humbly call,\nAnd whether gods or birds obscene they were,\nOur vows for pardon and for peace prefer.\nBut old Anchises, off'ring sacrifice,\nAnd lifting up to heav'n his hands and eyes,\nAdor'd the greater gods: 'Avert,' said he,\n'These omens; render vain this prophecy,\nAnd from th' impending curse a pious people free!'<\/p>\n
\"Thus having said, he bids us put to sea;\nWe loose from shore our haulsers, and obey,\nAnd soon with swelling sails pursue the wat'ry way.\nAmidst our course, Zacynthian woods appear;\nAnd next by rocky Neritos we steer:\nWe fly from Ithaca's detested shore,\nAnd curse the land which dire Ulysses bore.\nAt length Leucate's cloudy top appears,\nAnd the Sun's temple, which the sailor fears.\nResolv'd to breathe a while from labor past,\nOur crooked anchors from the prow we cast,\nAnd joyful to the little city haste.\nHere, safe beyond our hopes, our vows we pay\nTo Jove, the guide and patron of our way.\nThe customs of our country we pursue,\nAnd Trojan games on Actian shores renew.\nOur youth their naked limbs besmear with oil,\nAnd exercise the wrastlers' noble toil;\nPleas'd to have sail'd so long before the wind,\nAnd left so many Grecian towns behind.\nThe sun had now fulfill'd his annual course,\nAnd Boreas on the seas display'd his force:\nI fix'd upon the temple's lofty door\nThe brazen shield which vanquish'd Abas bore;\nThe verse beneath my name and action speaks:\n'These arms Aeneas took from conqu'ring Greeks.'\nThen I command to weigh; the seamen ply\nTheir sweeping oars; the smoking billows fly.\nThe sight of high Phaeacia soon we lost,\nAnd skimm'd along Epirus' rocky coast.<\/p>\n
\"Then to Chaonia's port our course we bend,\nAnd, landed, to Buthrotus' heights ascend.\nHere wondrous things were loudly blaz'd fame:\nHow Helenus reviv'd the Trojan name,\nAnd reign'd in Greece; that Priam's captive son\nSucceeded Pyrrhus in his bed and throne;\nAnd fair Andromache, restor'd by fate,\nOnce more was happy in a Trojan mate.\nI leave my galleys riding in the port,\nAnd long to see the new Dardanian court.\nBy chance, the mournful queen, before the gate,\nThen solemniz'd her former husband's fate.\nGreen altars, rais'd of turf, with gifts she crown'd,\nAnd sacred priests in order stand around,\nAnd thrice the name of hapless Hector sound.\nThe grove itself resembles Ida's wood;\nAnd Simois seem'd the well-dissembled flood.\nBut when at nearer distance she beheld\nMy shining armor and my Trojan shield,\nAstonish'd at the sight, the vital heat\nForsakes her limbs; her veins no longer beat:\nShe faints, she falls, and scarce recov'ring strength,\nThus, with a falt'ring tongue, she speaks at length:<\/p>\n
\"'Are you alive, O goddess-born?' she said,\n'Or if a ghost, then where is Hector's shade?'\nAt this, she cast a loud and frightful cry.\nWith broken words I made this brief reply:\n'All of me that remains appears in sight;\nI live, if living be to loathe the light.\nNo phantom; but I drag a wretched life,\nMy fate resembling that of Hector's wife.\nWhat have you suffer'd since you lost your lord?\nBy what strange blessing are you now restor'd?\nStill are you Hector's? or is Hector fled,\nAnd his remembrance lost in Pyrrhus' bed?'\nWith eyes dejected, in a lowly tone,\nAfter a modest pause she thus begun:<\/p>\n
\"'O only happy maid of Priam's race,\nWhom death deliver'd from the foes' embrace!\nCommanded on Achilles' tomb to die,\nNot forc'd, like us, to hard captivity,\nOr in a haughty master's arms to lie.\nIn Grecian ships unhappy we were borne,\nEndur'd the victor's lust, sustain'd the scorn:\nThus I submitted to the lawless pride\nOf Pyrrhus, more a handmaid than a bride.\nCloy'd with possession, he forsook my bed,\nAnd Helen's lovely daughter sought to wed;\nThen me to Trojan Helenus resign'd,\nAnd his two slaves in equal marriage join'd;\nTill young Orestes, pierc'd with deep despair,\nAnd longing to redeem the promis'd fair,\nBefore Apollo's altar slew the ravisher.\nBy Pyrrhus' death the kingdom we regain'd:\nAt least one half with Helenus remain'd.\nOur part, from Chaon, he Chaonia calls,\nAnd names from Pergamus his rising walls.\nBut you, what fates have landed on our coast?\nWhat gods have sent you, or what storms have toss'd?\nDoes young Ascanius life and health enjoy,\nSav'd from the ruins of unhappy Troy?\nO tell me how his mother's loss he bears,\nWhat hopes are promis'd from his blooming years,\nHow much of Hector in his face appears?'\nShe spoke; and mix'd her speech with mournful cries,\nAnd fruitless tears came trickling from her eyes.<\/p>\n
\"At length her lord descends upon the plain,\nIn pomp, attended with a num'rous train;\nReceives his friends, and to the city leads,\nAnd tears of joy amidst his welcome sheds.\nProceeding on, another Troy I see,\nOr, in less compass, Troy's epitome.\nA riv'let by the name of Xanthus ran,\nAnd I embrace the Scaean gate again.\nMy friends in porticoes were entertain'd,\nAnd feasts and pleasures thro' the city reign'd.\nThe tables fill'd the spacious hall around,\nAnd golden bowls with sparkling wine were crown'd.\nTwo days we pass'd in mirth, till friendly gales,\nBlown from the south supplied our swelling sails.\nThen to the royal seer I thus began:\n'O thou, who know'st, beyond the reach of man,\nThe laws of heav'n, and what the stars decree;\nWhom Phoebus taught unerring prophecy,\nFrom his own tripod, and his holy tree;\nSkill'd in the wing'd inhabitants of air,\nWhat auspices their notes and flights declare:\nO say- for all religious rites portend\nA happy voyage, and a prosp'rous end;\nAnd ev'ry power and omen of the sky\nDirect my course for destin'd Italy;\nBut only dire Celaeno, from the gods,\nA dismal famine fatally forebodes-\nO say what dangers I am first to shun,\nWhat toils vanquish, and what course to run.'<\/p>\n
\"The prophet first with sacrifice adores\nThe greater gods; their pardon then implores;\nUnbinds the fillet from his holy head;\nTo Phoebus, next, my trembling steps he led,\nFull of religious doubts and awful dread.\nThen, with his god possess'd, before the shrine,\nThese words proceeded from his mouth divine:\n'O goddess-born, (for Heav'n's appointed will,\nWith greater auspices of good than ill,\nForeshows thy voyage, and thy course directs;\nThy fates conspire, and Jove himself protects,)\nOf many things some few I shall explain,\nTeach thee to shun the dangers of the main,\nAnd how at length the promis'd shore to gain.\nThe rest the fates from Helenus conceal,\nAnd Juno's angry pow'r forbids to tell.\nFirst, then, that happy shore, that seems so nigh,\nWill far from your deluded wishes fly;\nLong tracts of seas divide your hopes from Italy:\nFor you must cruise along Sicilian shores,\nAnd stem the currents with your struggling oars;\nThen round th' Italian coast your navy steer;\nAnd, after this, to Circe's island veer;\nAnd, last, before your new foundations rise,\nMust pass the Stygian lake, and view the nether skies.\nNow mark the signs of future ease and rest,\nAnd bear them safely treasur'd in thy breast.\nWhen, in the shady shelter of a wood,\nAnd near the margin of a gentle flood,\nThou shalt behold a sow upon the ground,\nWith thirty sucking young encompass'd round;\nThe dam and offspring white as falling snow-\nThese on thy city shall their name bestow,\nAnd there shall end thy labors and thy woe.\nNor let the threaten'd famine fright thy mind,\nFor Phoebus will assist, and Fate the way will find.\nLet not thy course to that ill coast be bent,\nWhich fronts from far th' Epirian continent:\nThose parts are all by Grecian foes possess'd;\nThe salvage Locrians here the shores infest;\nThere fierce Idomeneus his city builds,\nAnd guards with arms the Salentinian fields;\nAnd on the mountain's brow Petilia stands,\nWhich Philoctetes with his troops commands.\nEv'n when thy fleet is landed on the shore,\nAnd priests with holy vows the gods adore,\nThen with a purple veil involve your eyes,\nLest hostile faces blast the sacrifice.\nThese rites and customs to the rest commend,\nThat to your pious race they may descend.<\/p>\n
\"'When, parted hence, the wind, that ready waits\nFor Sicily, shall bear you to the straits\nWhere proud Pelorus opes a wider way,\nTack to the larboard, and stand off to sea:\nVeer starboard sea and land. Th' Italian shore\nAnd fair Sicilia's coast were one, before\nAn earthquake caus'd the flaw: the roaring tides\nThe passage broke that land from land divides;\nAnd where the lands retir'd, the rushing ocean rides.\nDistinguish'd by the straits, on either hand,\nNow rising cities in long order stand,\nAnd fruitful fields: so much can time invade\nThe mold'ring work that beauteous Nature made.\nFar on the right, her dogs foul Scylla hides:\nCharybdis roaring on the left presides,\nAnd in her greedy whirlpool sucks the tides;\nThen spouts them from below: with fury driv'n,\nThe waves mount up and wash the face of heav'n.\nBut Scylla from her den, with open jaws,\nThe sinking vessel in her eddy draws,\nThen dashes on the rocks. A human face,\nAnd virgin bosom, hides her tail's disgrace:\nHer parts obscene below the waves descend,\nWith dogs inclos'd, and in a dolphin end.\n'T is safer, then, to bear aloof to sea,\nAnd coast Pachynus, tho' with more delay,\nThan once to view misshapen Scylla near,\nAnd the loud yell of wat'ry wolves to hear.<\/p>\n
\"'Besides, if faith to Helenus be due,\nAnd if prophetic Phoebus tell me true,\nDo not this precept of your friend forget,\nWhich therefore more than once I must repeat:\nAbove the rest, great Juno's name adore;\nPay vows to Juno; Juno's aid implore.\nLet gifts be to the mighty queen design'd,\nAnd mollify with pray'rs her haughty mind.\nThus, at the length, your passage shall be free,\nAnd you shall safe descend on Italy.\nArriv'd at Cumae, when you view the flood\nOf black Avernus, and the sounding wood,\nThe mad prophetic Sibyl you shall find,\nDark in a cave, and on a rock reclin'd.\nShe sings the fates, and, in her frantic fits,\nThe notes and names, inscrib'd, to leafs commits.\nWhat she commits to leafs, in order laid,\nBefore the cavern's entrance are display'd:\nUnmov'd they lie; but, if a blast of wind\nWithout, or vapors issue from behind,\nThe leafs are borne aloft in liquid air,\nAnd she resumes no more her museful care,\nNor gathers from the rocks her scatter'd verse,\nNor sets in order what the winds disperse.\nThus, many not succeeding, most upbraid\nThe madness of the visionary maid,\nAnd with loud curses leave the mystic shade.<\/p>\n
\"'Think it not loss of time a while to stay,\nTho' thy companions chide thy long delay;\nTho' summon'd to the seas, tho' pleasing gales\nInvite thy course, and stretch thy swelling sails:\nBut beg the sacred priestess to relate\nWith willing words, and not to write thy fate.\nThe fierce Italian people she will show,\nAnd all thy wars, and all thy future woe,\nAnd what thou may'st avoid, and what must undergo.\nShe shall direct thy course, instruct thy mind,\nAnd teach thee how the happy shores to find.\nThis is what Heav'n allows me to relate:\nNow part in peace; pursue thy better fate,\nAnd raise, by strength of arms, the Trojan state.'<\/p>\n
\"This when the priest with friendly voice declar'd,\nHe gave me license, and rich gifts prepar'd:\nBounteous of treasure, he supplied my want\nWith heavy gold, and polish'd elephant;\nThen Dodonaean caldrons put on board,\nAnd ev'ry ship with sums of silver stor'd.\nA trusty coat of mail to me he sent,\nThrice chain'd with gold, for use and ornament;\nThe helm of Pyrrhus added to the rest,\nThat flourish'd with a plume and waving crest.\nNor was my sire forgotten, nor my friends;\nAnd large recruits he to my navy sends:\nMen, horses, captains, arms, and warlike stores;\nSupplies new pilots, and new sweeping oars.\nMeantime, my sire commands to hoist our sails,\nLest we should lose the first auspicious gales.<\/p>\n
\"The prophet bless'd the parting crew, and last,\nWith words like these, his ancient friend embrac'd:\n'Old happy man, the care of gods above,\nWhom heav'nly Venus honor'd with her love,\nAnd twice preserv'd thy life, when Troy was lost,\nBehold from far the wish'd Ausonian coast:\nThere land; but take a larger compass round,\nFor that before is all forbidden ground.\nThe shore that Phoebus has design'd for you,\nAt farther distance lies, conceal'd from view.\nGo happy hence, and seek your new abodes,\nBlest in a son, and favor'd by the gods:\nFor I with useless words prolong your stay,\nWhen southern gales have summon'd you away.'<\/p>\n
\"Nor less the queen our parting thence deplor'd,\nNor was less bounteous than her Trojan lord.\nA noble present to my son she brought,\nA robe with flow'rs on golden tissue wrought,\nA phrygian vest; and loads with gifts beside\nOf precious texture, and of Asian pride.\n'Accept,' she said, 'these monuments of love,\nWhich in my youth with happier hands I wove:\nRegard these trifles for the giver's sake;\n'T is the last present Hector's wife can make.\nThou call'st my lost Astyanax to mind;\nIn thee his features and his form I find:\nHis eyes so sparkled with a lively flame;\nSuch were his motions; such was all his frame;\nAnd ah! had Heav'n so pleas'd, his years had been the same.'<\/p>\n
\"With tears I took my last adieu, and said:\n'Your fortune, happy pair, already made,\nLeaves you no farther wish. My diff'rent state,\nAvoiding one, incurs another fate.\nTo you a quiet seat the gods allow:\nYou have no shores to search, no seas to plow,\nNor fields of flying Italy to chase:\n(Deluding visions, and a vain embrace!)\nYou see another Simois, and enjoy\nThe labor of your hands, another Troy,\nWith better auspice than her ancient tow'rs,\nAnd less obnoxious to the Grecian pow'rs.\nIf e'er the gods, whom I with vows adore,\nConduct my steps to Tiber's happy shore;\nIf ever I ascend the Latian throne,\nAnd build a city I may call my own;\nAs both of us our birth from Troy derive,\nSo let our kindred lines in concord live,\nAnd both in acts of equal friendship strive.\nOur fortunes, good or bad, shall be the same:\nThe double Troy shall differ but in name;\nThat what we now begin may never end,\nBut long to late posterity descend.'<\/p>\n
\"Near the Ceraunian rocks our course we bore;\nThe shortest passage to th' Italian shore.\nNow had the sun withdrawn his radiant light,\nAnd hills were hid in dusky shades of night:\nWe land, and, on the bosom Of the ground,\nA safe retreat and a bare lodging found.\nClose by the shore we lay; the sailors keep\nTheir watches, and the rest securely sleep.\nThe night, proceeding on with silent pace,\nStood in her noon, and view'd with equal face\nHer steepy rise and her declining race.\nThen wakeful Palinurus rose, to spy\nThe face of heav'n, and the nocturnal sky;\nAnd listen'd ev'ry breath of air to try;\nObserves the stars, and notes their sliding course,\nThe Pleiads, Hyads, and their wat'ry force;\nAnd both the Bears is careful to behold,\nAnd bright Orion, arm'd with burnish'd gold.\nThen, when he saw no threat'ning tempest nigh,\nBut a sure promise of a settled sky,\nHe gave the sign to weigh; we break our sleep,\nForsake the pleasing shore, and plow the deep.<\/p>\n
\"And now the rising morn with rosy light\nAdorns the skies, and puts the stars to flight;\nWhen we from far, like bluish mists, descry\nThe hills, and then the plains, of Italy.\nAchates first pronounc'd the joyful sound;\nThen, 'Italy!' the cheerful crew rebound.\nMy sire Anchises crown'd a cup with wine,\nAnd, off'ring, thus implor'd the pow'rs divine:\n'Ye gods, presiding over lands and seas,\nAnd you who raging winds and waves appease,\nBreathe on our swelling sails a prosp'rous wind,\nAnd smooth our passage to the port assign'd!'\nThe gentle gales their flagging force renew,\nAnd now the happy harbor is in view.\nMinerva's temple then salutes our sight,\nPlac'd, as a landmark, on the mountain's height.\nWe furl our sails, and turn the prows to shore;\nThe curling waters round the galleys roar.\nThe land lies open to the raging east,\nThen, bending like a bow, with rocks compress'd,\nShuts out the storms; the winds and waves complain,\nAnd vent their malice on the cliffs in vain.\nThe port lies hid within; on either side\nTwo tow'ring rocks the narrow mouth divide.\nThe temple, which aloft we view'd before,\nTo distance flies, and seems to shun the shore.\nScarce landed, the first omens I beheld\nWere four white steeds that cropp'd the flow'ry field.\n'War, war is threaten'd from this foreign ground,'\nMy father cried, 'where warlike steeds are found.\nYet, since reclaim'd to chariots they submit,\nAnd bend to stubborn yokes, and champ the bit,\nPeace may succeed to war.' Our way we bend\nTo Pallas, and the sacred hill ascend;\nThere prostrate to the fierce virago pray,\nWhose temple was the landmark of our way.\nEach with a Phrygian mantle veil'd his head,\nAnd all commands of Helenus obey'd,\nAnd pious rites to Grecian Juno paid.\nThese dues perform'd, we stretch our sails, and stand\nTo sea, forsaking that suspected land.<\/p>\n
\"From hence Tarentum's bay appears in view,\nFor Hercules renown'd, if fame be true.\nJust opposite, Lacinian Juno stands;\nCaulonian tow'rs, and Scylacaean strands,\nFor shipwrecks fear'd. Mount Aetna thence we spy,\nKnown by the smoky flames which cloud the sky.\nFar off we hear the waves with surly sound\nInvade the rocks, the rocks their groans rebound.\nThe billows break upon the sounding strand,\nAnd roll the rising tide, impure with sand.\nThen thus Anchises, in experience old:\n''T is that Charybdis which the seer foretold,\nAnd those the promis'd rocks! Bear off to sea!'\nWith haste the frighted mariners obey.\nFirst Palinurus to the larboard veer'd;\nThen all the fleet by his example steer'd.\nTo heav'n aloft on ridgy waves we ride,\nThen down to hell descend, when they divide;\nAnd thrice our galleys knock'd the stony ground,\nAnd thrice the hollow rocks return'd the sound,\nAnd thrice we saw the stars, that stood with dews around.\nThe flagging winds forsook us, with the sun;\nAnd, wearied, on Cyclopian shores we run.\nThe port capacious, and secure from wind,\nIs to the foot of thund'ring Aetna join'd.\nBy turns a pitchy cloud she rolls on high;\nBy turns hot embers from her entrails fly,\nAnd flakes of mounting flames, that lick the sky.\nOft from her bowels massy rocks are thrown,\nAnd, shiver'd by the force, come piecemeal down.\nOft liquid lakes of burning sulphur flow,\nFed from the fiery springs that boil below.\nEnceladus, they say, transfix'd by Jove,\nWith blasted limbs came tumbling from above;\nAnd, where he fell, th' avenging father drew\nThis flaming hill, and on his body threw.\nAs often as he turns his weary sides,\nHe shakes the solid isle, and smoke the heavens hides.\nIn shady woods we pass the tedious night,\nWhere bellowing sounds and groans our souls affright,\nOf which no cause is offer'd to the sight;\nFor not one star was kindled in the sky,\nNor could the moon her borrow'd light supply;\nFor misty clouds involv'd the firmament,\nThe stars were muffled, and the moon was pent.<\/p>\n
\"Scarce had the rising sun the day reveal'd,\nScarce had his heat the pearly dews dispell'd,\nWhen from the woods there bolts, before our sight,\nSomewhat betwixt a mortal and a sprite,\nSo thin, so ghastly meager, and so wan,\nSo bare of flesh, he scarce resembled man.\nThis thing, all tatter'd, seem'd from far t' implore\nOur pious aid, and pointed to the shore.\nWe look behind, then view his shaggy beard;\nHis clothes were tagg'd with thorns, and filth his limbs\nbesmear'd;\nThe rest, in mien, in habit, and in face,\nAppear'd a Greek, and such indeed he was.\nHe cast on us, from far, a frightful view,\nWhom soon for Trojans and for foes he knew;\nStood still, and paus'd; then all at once began\nTo stretch his limbs, and trembled as he ran.\nSoon as approach'd, upon his knees he falls,\nAnd thus with tears and sighs for pity calls:\n'Now, by the pow'rs above, and what we share\nFrom Nature's common gift, this vital air,\nO Trojans, take me hence! I beg no more;\nBut bear me far from this unhappy shore.\n'T is true, I am a Greek, and farther own,\nAmong your foes besieg'd th' imperial town.\nFor such demerits if my death be due,\nNo more for this abandon'd life I sue;\nThis only favor let my tears obtain,\nTo throw me headlong in the rapid main:\nSince nothing more than death my crime demands,\nI die content, to die by human hands.'\nHe said, and on his knees my knees embrac'd:\nI bade him boldly tell his fortune past,\nHis present state, his lineage, and his name,\nTh' occasion of his fears, and whence he came.\nThe good Anchises rais'd him with his hand;\nWho, thus encourag'd, answer'd our demand:\n'From Ithaca, my native soil, I came\nTo Troy; and Achaemenides my name.\nMe my poor father with Ulysses sent;\n(O had I stay'd, with poverty content!)\nBut, fearful for themselves, my countrymen\nLeft me forsaken in the Cyclops' den.\nThe cave, tho' large, was dark; the dismal floor\nWas pav'd with mangled limbs and putrid gore.\nOur monstrous host, of more than human size,\nErects his head, and stares within the skies;\nBellowing his voice, and horrid is his hue.\nYe gods, remove this plague from mortal view!\nThe joints of slaughter'd wretches are his food;\nAnd for his wine he quaffs the streaming blood.\nThese eyes beheld, when with his spacious hand\nHe seiz'd two captives of our Grecian band;\nStretch'd on his back, he dash'd against the stones\nTheir broken bodies, and their crackling bones:\nWith spouting blood the purple pavement swims,\nWhile the dire glutton grinds the trembling limbs.<\/p>\n
\"'Not unreveng'd Ulysses bore their fate,\nNor thoughtless of his own unhappy state;\nFor, gorg'd with flesh, and drunk with human wine\nWhile fast asleep the giant lay supine,\nSnoring aloud, and belching from his maw\nHis indigested foam, and morsels raw;\nWe pray; we cast the lots, and then surround\nThe monstrous body, stretch'd along the ground:\nEach, as he could approach him, lends a hand\nTo bore his eyeball with a flaming brand.\nBeneath his frowning forehead lay his eye;\nFor only one did the vast frame supply-\nBut that a globe so large, his front it fill'd,\nLike the sun's disk or like a Grecian shield.\nThe stroke succeeds; and down the pupil bends:\nThis vengeance follow'd for our slaughter'd friends.\nBut haste, unhappy wretches, haste to fly!\nYour cables cut, and on your oars rely!\nSuch, and so vast as Polypheme appears,\nA hundred more this hated island bears:\nLike him, in caves they shut their woolly sheep;\nLike him, their herds on tops of mountains keep;\nLike him, with mighty strides, they stalk from steep to steep\nAnd now three moons their sharpen'd horns renew,\nSince thus, in woods and wilds, obscure from view,\nI drag my loathsome days with mortal fright,\nAnd in deserted caverns lodge by night;\nOft from the rocks a dreadful prospect see\nOf the huge Cyclops, like a walking tree:\nFrom far I hear his thund'ring voice resound,\nAnd trampling feet that shake the solid ground.\nCornels and salvage berries of the wood,\nAnd roots and herbs, have been my meager food.\nWhile all around my longing eyes I cast,\nI saw your happy ships appear at last.\nOn those I fix'd my hopes, to these I run;\n'T is all I ask, this cruel race to shun;\nWhat other death you please, yourselves bestow.'<\/p>\n
\"Scarce had he said, when on the mountain's brow\nWe saw the giant shepherd stalk before\nHis following flock, and leading to the shore:\nA monstrous bulk, deform'd, depriv'd of sight;\nHis staff a trunk of pine, to guide his steps aright.\nHis pond'rous whistle from his neck descends;\nHis woolly care their pensive lord attends:\nThis only solace his hard fortune sends.\nSoon as he reach'd the shore and touch'd the waves,\nFrom his bor'd eye the gutt'ring blood he laves:\nHe gnash'd his teeth, and groan'd; thro' seas he strides,\nAnd scarce the topmost billows touch'd his sides.<\/p>\n
\"Seiz'd with a sudden fear, we run to sea,\nThe cables cut, and silent haste away;\nThe well-deserving stranger entertain;\nThen, buckling to the work, our oars divide the main.\nThe giant harken'd to the dashing sound:\nBut, when our vessels out of reach he found,\nHe strided onward, and in vain essay'd\nTh' Ionian deep, and durst no farther wade.\nWith that he roar'd aloud: the dreadful cry\nShakes earth, and air, and seas; the billows fly\nBefore the bellowing noise to distant Italy.\nThe neigh'ring Aetna trembling all around,\nThe winding caverns echo to the sound.\nHis brother Cyclops hear the yelling roar,\nAnd, rushing down the mountains, crowd the shore.\nWe saw their stern distorted looks, from far,\nAnd one-eyed glance, that vainly threaten'd war:\nA dreadful council, with their heads on high;\n(The misty clouds about their foreheads fly;)\nNot yielding to the tow'ring tree of Jove,\nOr tallest cypress of Diana's grove.\nNew pangs of mortal fear our minds assail;\nWe tug at ev'ry oar, and hoist up ev'ry sail,\nAnd take th' advantage of the friendly gale.\nForewarn'd by Helenus, we strive to shun\nCharybdis' gulf, nor dare to Scylla run.\nAn equal fate on either side appears:\nWe, tacking to the left, are free from fears;\nFor, from Pelorus' point, the North arose,\nAnd drove us back where swift Pantagias flows.\nHis rocky mouth we pass, and make our way\nBy Thapsus and Megara's winding bay.\nThis passage Achaemenides had shown,\nTracing the course which he before had run.<\/p>\n
\"Right o'er against Plemmyrium's wat'ry strand,\nThere lies an isle once call'd th' Ortygian land.\nAlpheus, as old fame reports, has found\nFrom Greece a secret passage under ground,\nBy love to beauteous Arethusa led;\nAnd, mingling here, they roll in the same sacred bed.\nAs Helenus enjoin'd, we next adore\nDiana's name, protectress of the shore.\nWith prosp'rous gales we pass the quiet sounds\nOf still Elorus, and his fruitful bounds.\nThen, doubling Cape Pachynus, we survey\nThe rocky shore extended to the sea.\nThe town of Camarine from far we see,\nAnd fenny lake, undrain'd by fate's decree.\nIn sight of the Geloan fields we pass,\nAnd the large walls, where mighty Gela was;\nThen Agragas, with lofty summits crown'd,\nLong for the race of warlike steeds renown'd.\nWe pass'd Selinus, and the palmy land,\nAnd widely shun the Lilybaean strand,\nUnsafe, for secret rocks and moving sand.\nAt length on shore the weary fleet arriv'd,\nWhich Drepanum's unhappy port receiv'd.\nHere, after endless labors, often toss'd\nBy raging storms, and driv'n on ev'ry coast,\nMy dear, dear father, spent with age, I lost:\nEase of my cares, and solace of my pain,\nSav'd thro' a thousand toils, but sav'd in vain\nThe prophet, who my future woes reveal'd,\nYet this, the greatest and the worst, conceal'd;\nAnd dire Celaeno, whose foreboding skill\nDenounc'd all else, was silent of the ill.\nThis my last labor was. Some friendly god\nFrom thence convey'd us to your blest abode.\"<\/p>\n
Thus, to the list'ning queen, the royal guest\nHis wand'ring course and all his toils express'd;\nAnd here concluding, he retir'd to rest.<\/p>","rendered":"
“When Heav’n had overturn’d the Trojan state
\nAnd Priam’s throne, by too severe a fate;
\nWhen ruin’d Troy became the Grecians’ prey,
\nAnd Ilium’s lofty tow’rs in ashes lay;
\nWarn’d by celestial omens, we retreat,
\nTo seek in foreign lands a happier seat.
\nNear old Antandros, and at Ida’s foot,
\nThe timber of the sacred groves we cut,
\nAnd build our fleet; uncertain yet to find
\nWhat place the gods for our repose assign’d.
\nFriends daily flock; and scarce the kindly spring
\nBegan to clothe the ground, and birds to sing,
\nWhen old Anchises summon’d all to sea:
\nThe crew my father and the Fates obey.
\nWith sighs and tears I leave my native shore,
\nAnd empty fields, where Ilium stood before.
\nMy sire, my son, our less and greater gods,
\nAll sail at once, and cleave the briny floods.<\/p>\n
“Against our coast appears a spacious land,
\nWhich once the fierce Lycurgus did command,
\n(Thracia the name- the people bold in war;
\nVast are their fields, and tillage is their care,)
\nA hospitable realm while Fate was kind,
\nWith Troy in friendship and religion join’d.
\nI land; with luckless omens then adore
\nTheir gods, and draw a line along the shore;
\nI lay the deep foundations of a wall,
\nAnd Aenos, nam’d from me, the city call.
\nTo Dionaean Venus vows are paid,
\nAnd all the pow’rs that rising labors aid;
\nA bull on Jove’s imperial altar laid.
\nNot far, a rising hillock stood in view;
\nSharp myrtles on the sides, and cornels grew.
\nThere, while I went to crop the sylvan scenes,
\nAnd shade our altar with their leafy greens,
\nI pull’d a plant- with horror I relate
\nA prodigy so strange and full of fate.
\nThe rooted fibers rose, and from the wound
\nBlack bloody drops distill’d upon the ground.
\nMute and amaz’d, my hair with terror stood;
\nFear shrunk my sinews, and congeal’d my blood.
\nMann’d once again, another plant I try:
\nThat other gush’d with the same sanguine dye.
\nThen, fearing guilt for some offense unknown,
\nWith pray’rs and vows the Dryads I atone,
\nWith all the sisters of the woods, and most
\nThe God of Arms, who rules the Thracian coast,
\nThat they, or he, these omens would avert,
\nRelease our fears, and better signs impart.
\nClear’d, as I thought, and fully fix’d at length
\nTo learn the cause, I tugged with all my strength:
\nI bent my knees against the ground; once more
\nThe violated myrtle ran with gore.
\nScarce dare I tell the sequel: from the womb
\nOf wounded earth, and caverns of the tomb,
\nA groan, as of a troubled ghost, renew’d
\nMy fright, and then these dreadful words ensued:
\n‘Why dost thou thus my buried body rend?
\nO spare the corpse of thy unhappy friend!
\nSpare to pollute thy pious hands with blood:
\nThe tears distil not from the wounded wood;
\nBut ev’ry drop this living tree contains
\nIs kindred blood, and ran in Trojan veins.
\nO fly from this unhospitable shore,
\nWarn’d by my fate; for I am Polydore!
\nHere loads of lances, in my blood embrued,
\nAgain shoot upward, by my blood renew’d.’<\/p>\n
“My falt’ring tongue and shiv’ring limbs declare
\nMy horror, and in bristles rose my hair.
\nWhen Troy with Grecian arms was closely pent,
\nOld Priam, fearful of the war’s event,
\nThis hapless Polydore to Thracia sent:
\nLoaded with gold, he sent his darling, far
\nFrom noise and tumults, and destructive war,
\nCommitted to the faithless tyrant’s care;
\nWho, when he saw the pow’r of Troy decline,
\nForsook the weaker, with the strong to join;
\nBroke ev’ry bond of nature and of truth,
\nAnd murder’d, for his wealth, the royal youth.
\nO sacred hunger of pernicious gold!
\nWhat bands of faith can impious lucre hold?
\nNow, when my soul had shaken off her fears,
\nI call my father and the Trojan peers;
\nRelate the prodigies of Heav’n, require
\nWhat he commands, and their advice desire.
\nAll vote to leave that execrable shore,
\nPolluted with the blood of Polydore;
\nBut, ere we sail, his fun’ral rites prepare,
\nThen, to his ghost, a tomb and altars rear.
\nIn mournful pomp the matrons walk the round,
\nWith baleful cypress and blue fillets crown’d,
\nWith eyes dejected, and with hair unbound.
\nThen bowls of tepid milk and blood we pour,
\nAnd thrice invoke the soul of Polydore.<\/p>\n
“Now, when the raging storms no longer reign,
\nBut southern gales invite us to the main,
\nWe launch our vessels, with a prosp’rous wind,
\nAnd leave the cities and the shores behind.<\/p>\n
“An island in th’ Aegaean main appears;
\nNeptune and wat’ry Doris claim it theirs.
\nIt floated once, till Phoebus fix’d the sides
\nTo rooted earth, and now it braves the tides.
\nHere, borne by friendly winds, we come ashore,
\nWith needful ease our weary limbs restore,
\nAnd the Sun’s temple and his town adore.<\/p>\n
“Anius, the priest and king, with laurel crown’d,
\nHis hoary locks with purple fillets bound,
\nWho saw my sire the Delian shore ascend,
\nCame forth with eager haste to meet his friend;
\nInvites him to his palace; and, in sign
\nOf ancient love, their plighted hands they join.
\nThen to the temple of the god I went,
\nAnd thus, before the shrine, my vows present:
\n‘Give, O Thymbraeus, give a resting place
\nTo the sad relics of the Trojan race;
\nA seat secure, a region of their own,
\nA lasting empire, and a happier town.
\nWhere shall we fix? where shall our labors end?
\nWhom shall we follow, and what fate attend?
\nLet not my pray’rs a doubtful answer find;
\nBut in clear auguries unveil thy mind.’
\nScarce had I said: he shook the holy ground,
\nThe laurels, and the lofty hills around;
\nAnd from the tripos rush’d a bellowing sound.
\nProstrate we fell; confess’d the present god,
\nWho gave this answer from his dark abode:
\n‘Undaunted youths, go, seek that mother earth
\nFrom which your ancestors derive their birth.
\nThe soil that sent you forth, her ancient race
\nIn her old bosom shall again embrace.
\nThro’ the wide world th’ Aeneian house shall reign,
\nAnd children’s children shall the crown sustain.’
\nThus Phoebus did our future fates disclose:
\nA mighty tumult, mix’d with joy, arose.<\/p>\n
“All are concern’d to know what place the god
\nAssign’d, and where determin’d our abode.
\nMy father, long revolving in his mind
\nThe race and lineage of the Trojan kind,
\nThus answer’d their demands: ‘Ye princes, hear
\nYour pleasing fortune, and dispel your fear.
\nThe fruitful isle of Crete, well known to fame,
\nSacred of old to Jove’s imperial name,
\nIn the mid ocean lies, with large command,
\nAnd on its plains a hundred cities stand.
\nAnother Ida rises there, and we
\nFrom thence derive our Trojan ancestry.
\nFrom thence, as ‘t is divulg’d by certain fame,
\nTo the Rhoetean shores old Teucrus came;
\nThere fix’d, and there the seat of empire chose,
\nEre Ilium and the Trojan tow’rs arose.
\nIn humble vales they built their soft abodes,
\nTill Cybele, the mother of the gods,
\nWith tinkling cymbals charm’d th’ Idaean woods,
\nShe secret rites and ceremonies taught,
\nAnd to the yoke the savage lions brought.
\nLet us the land which Heav’n appoints, explore;
\nAppease the winds, and seek the Gnossian shore.
\nIf Jove assists the passage of our fleet,
\nThe third propitious dawn discovers Crete.’
\nThus having said, the sacrifices, laid
\nOn smoking altars, to the gods he paid:
\nA bull, to Neptune an oblation due,
\nAnother bull to bright Apollo slew;
\nA milk-white ewe, the western winds to please,
\nAnd one coal-black, to calm the stormy seas.
\nEre this, a flying rumor had been spread
\nThat fierce Idomeneus from Crete was fled,
\nExpell’d and exil’d; that the coast was free
\nFrom foreign or domestic enemy.<\/p>\n
“We leave the Delian ports, and put to sea;
\nBy Naxos, fam’d for vintage, make our way;
\nThen green Donysa pass; and sail in sight
\nOf Paros’ isle, with marble quarries white.
\nWe pass the scatter’d isles of Cyclades,
\nThat, scarce distinguish’d, seem to stud the seas.
\nThe shouts of sailors double near the shores;
\nThey stretch their canvas, and they ply their oars.
\n‘All hands aloft! for Crete! for Crete!’ they cry,
\nAnd swiftly thro’ the foamy billows fly.
\nFull on the promis’d land at length we bore,
\nWith joy descending on the Cretan shore.
\nWith eager haste a rising town I frame,
\nWhich from the Trojan Pergamus I name:
\nThe name itself was grateful; I exhort
\nTo found their houses, and erect a fort.
\nOur ships are haul’d upon the yellow strand;
\nThe youth begin to till the labor’d land;
\nAnd I myself new marriages promote,
\nGive laws, and dwellings I divide by lot;
\nWhen rising vapors choke the wholesome air,
\nAnd blasts of noisome winds corrupt the year;
\nThe trees devouring caterpillars burn;
\nParch’d was the grass, and blighted was the corn:
\nNor ‘scape the beasts; for Sirius, from on high,
\nWith pestilential heat infects the sky:
\nMy men- some fall, the rest in fevers fry.
\nAgain my father bids me seek the shore
\nOf sacred Delos, and the god implore,
\nTo learn what end of woes we might expect,
\nAnd to what clime our weary course direct.<\/p>\n
“‘T was night, when ev’ry creature, void of cares,
\nThe common gift of balmy slumber shares:
\nThe statues of my gods (for such they seem’d),
\nThose gods whom I from flaming Troy redeem’d,
\nBefore me stood, majestically bright,
\nFull in the beams of Phoebe’s ent’ring light.
\nThen thus they spoke, and eas’d my troubled mind:
\n‘What from the Delian god thou go’st to find,
\nHe tells thee here, and sends us to relate.
\nThose pow’rs are we, companions of thy fate,
\nWho from the burning town by thee were brought,
\nThy fortune follow’d, and thy safety wrought.
\nThro’ seas and lands as we thy steps attend,
\nSo shall our care thy glorious race befriend.
\nAn ample realm for thee thy fates ordain,
\nA town that o’er the conquer’d world shall reign.
\nThou, mighty walls for mighty nations build;
\nNor let thy weary mind to labors yield:
\nBut change thy seat; for not the Delian god,
\nNor we, have giv’n thee Crete for our abode.
\nA land there is, Hesperia call’d of old,
\n(The soil is fruitful, and the natives bold-
\nTh’ Oenotrians held it once,) by later fame
\nNow call’d Italia, from the leader’s name.
\nlasius there and Dardanus were born;
\nFrom thence we came, and thither must return.
\nRise, and thy sire with these glad tidings greet.
\nSearch Italy; for Jove denies thee Crete.’<\/p>\n
“Astonish’d at their voices and their sight,
\n(Nor were they dreams, but visions of the night;
\nI saw, I knew their faces, and descried,
\nIn perfect view, their hair with fillets tied;)
\nI started from my couch; a clammy sweat
\nOn all my limbs and shiv’ring body sate.
\nTo heav’n I lift my hands with pious haste,
\nAnd sacred incense in the flames I cast.
\nThus to the gods their perfect honors done,
\nMore cheerful, to my good old sire I run,
\nAnd tell the pleasing news. In little space
\nHe found his error of the double race;
\nNot, as before he deem’d, deriv’d from Crete;
\nNo more deluded by the doubtful seat:
\nThen said: ‘O son, turmoil’d in Trojan fate!
\nSuch things as these Cassandra did relate.
\nThis day revives within my mind what she
\nForetold of Troy renew’d in Italy,
\nAnd Latian lands; but who could then have thought
\nThat Phrygian gods to Latium should be brought,
\nOr who believ’d what mad Cassandra taught?
\nNow let us go where Phoebus leads the way.’<\/p>\n
“He said; and we with glad consent obey,
\nForsake the seat, and, leaving few behind,
\nWe spread our sails before the willing wind.
\nNow from the sight of land our galleys move,
\nWith only seas around and skies above;
\nWhen o’er our heads descends a burst of rain,
\nAnd night with sable clouds involves the main;
\nThe ruffling winds the foamy billows raise;
\nThe scatter’d fleet is forc’d to sev’ral ways;
\nThe face of heav’n is ravish’d from our eyes,
\nAnd in redoubled peals the roaring thunder flies.
\nCast from our course, we wander in the dark.
\nNo stars to guide, no point of land to mark.
\nEv’n Palinurus no distinction found
\nBetwixt the night and day; such darkness reign’d around.
\nThree starless nights the doubtful navy strays,
\nWithout distinction, and three sunless days;
\nThe fourth renews the light, and, from our shrouds,
\nWe view a rising land, like distant clouds;
\nThe mountain-tops confirm the pleasing sight,
\nAnd curling smoke ascending from their height.
\nThe canvas falls; their oars the sailors ply;
\nFrom the rude strokes the whirling waters fly.
\nAt length I land upon the Strophades,
\nSafe from the danger of the stormy seas.
\nThose isles are compass’d by th’ Ionian main,
\nThe dire abode where the foul Harpies reign,
\nForc’d by the winged warriors to repair
\nTo their old homes, and leave their costly fare.
\nMonsters more fierce offended Heav’n ne’er sent
\nFrom hell’s abyss, for human punishment:
\nWith virgin faces, but with wombs obscene,
\nFoul paunches, and with ordure still unclean;
\nWith claws for hands, and looks for ever lean.<\/p>\n
“We landed at the port, and soon beheld
\nFat herds of oxen graze the flow’ry field,
\nAnd wanton goats without a keeper stray’d.
\nWith weapons we the welcome prey invade,
\nThen call the gods for partners of our feast,
\nAnd Jove himself, the chief invited guest.
\nWe spread the tables on the greensward ground;
\nWe feed with hunger, and the bowls go round;
\nWhen from the mountain-tops, with hideous cry,
\nAnd clatt’ring wings, the hungry Harpies fly;
\nThey snatch the meat, defiling all they find,
\nAnd, parting, leave a loathsome stench behind.
\nClose by a hollow rock, again we sit,
\nNew dress the dinner, and the beds refit,
\nSecure from sight, beneath a pleasing shade,
\nWhere tufted trees a native arbor made.
\nAgain the holy fires on altars burn;
\nAnd once again the rav’nous birds return,
\nOr from the dark recesses where they lie,
\nOr from another quarter of the sky;
\nWith filthy claws their odious meal repeat,
\nAnd mix their loathsome ordures with their meat.
\nI bid my friends for vengeance then prepare,
\nAnd with the hellish nation wage the war.
\nThey, as commanded, for the fight provide,
\nAnd in the grass their glitt’ring weapons hide;
\nThen, when along the crooked shore we hear
\nTheir clatt’ring wings, and saw the foes appear,
\nMisenus sounds a charge: we take th’ alarm,
\nAnd our strong hands with swords and bucklers arm.
\nIn this new kind of combat all employ
\nTheir utmost force, the monsters to destroy.
\nIn vain- the fated skin is proof to wounds;
\nAnd from their plumes the shining sword rebounds.
\nAt length rebuff’d, they leave their mangled prey,
\nAnd their stretch’d pinions to the skies display.
\nYet one remain’d- the messenger of Fate:
\nHigh on a craggy cliff Celaeno sate,
\nAnd thus her dismal errand did relate:
\n‘What! not contented with our oxen slain,
\nDare you with Heav’n an impious war maintain,
\nAnd drive the Harpies from their native reign?
\nHeed therefore what I say; and keep in mind
\nWhat Jove decrees, what Phoebus has design’d,
\nAnd I, the Furies’ queen, from both relate-
\nYou seek th’ Italian shores, foredoom’d by fate:
\nTh’ Italian shores are granted you to find,
\nAnd a safe passage to the port assign’d.
\nBut know, that ere your promis’d walls you build,
\nMy curses shall severely be fulfill’d.
\nFierce famine is your lot for this misdeed,
\nReduc’d to grind the plates on which you feed.’
\nShe said, and to the neighb’ring forest flew.
\nOur courage fails us, and our fears renew.
\nHopeless to win by war, to pray’rs we fall,
\nAnd on th’ offended Harpies humbly call,
\nAnd whether gods or birds obscene they were,
\nOur vows for pardon and for peace prefer.
\nBut old Anchises, off’ring sacrifice,
\nAnd lifting up to heav’n his hands and eyes,
\nAdor’d the greater gods: ‘Avert,’ said he,
\n‘These omens; render vain this prophecy,
\nAnd from th’ impending curse a pious people free!’<\/p>\n
“Thus having said, he bids us put to sea;
\nWe loose from shore our haulsers, and obey,
\nAnd soon with swelling sails pursue the wat’ry way.
\nAmidst our course, Zacynthian woods appear;
\nAnd next by rocky Neritos we steer:
\nWe fly from Ithaca’s detested shore,
\nAnd curse the land which dire Ulysses bore.
\nAt length Leucate’s cloudy top appears,
\nAnd the Sun’s temple, which the sailor fears.
\nResolv’d to breathe a while from labor past,
\nOur crooked anchors from the prow we cast,
\nAnd joyful to the little city haste.
\nHere, safe beyond our hopes, our vows we pay
\nTo Jove, the guide and patron of our way.
\nThe customs of our country we pursue,
\nAnd Trojan games on Actian shores renew.
\nOur youth their naked limbs besmear with oil,
\nAnd exercise the wrastlers’ noble toil;
\nPleas’d to have sail’d so long before the wind,
\nAnd left so many Grecian towns behind.
\nThe sun had now fulfill’d his annual course,
\nAnd Boreas on the seas display’d his force:
\nI fix’d upon the temple’s lofty door
\nThe brazen shield which vanquish’d Abas bore;
\nThe verse beneath my name and action speaks:
\n‘These arms Aeneas took from conqu’ring Greeks.’
\nThen I command to weigh; the seamen ply
\nTheir sweeping oars; the smoking billows fly.
\nThe sight of high Phaeacia soon we lost,
\nAnd skimm’d along Epirus’ rocky coast.<\/p>\n
“Then to Chaonia’s port our course we bend,
\nAnd, landed, to Buthrotus’ heights ascend.
\nHere wondrous things were loudly blaz’d fame:
\nHow Helenus reviv’d the Trojan name,
\nAnd reign’d in Greece; that Priam’s captive son
\nSucceeded Pyrrhus in his bed and throne;
\nAnd fair Andromache, restor’d by fate,
\nOnce more was happy in a Trojan mate.
\nI leave my galleys riding in the port,
\nAnd long to see the new Dardanian court.
\nBy chance, the mournful queen, before the gate,
\nThen solemniz’d her former husband’s fate.
\nGreen altars, rais’d of turf, with gifts she crown’d,
\nAnd sacred priests in order stand around,
\nAnd thrice the name of hapless Hector sound.
\nThe grove itself resembles Ida’s wood;
\nAnd Simois seem’d the well-dissembled flood.
\nBut when at nearer distance she beheld
\nMy shining armor and my Trojan shield,
\nAstonish’d at the sight, the vital heat
\nForsakes her limbs; her veins no longer beat:
\nShe faints, she falls, and scarce recov’ring strength,
\nThus, with a falt’ring tongue, she speaks at length:<\/p>\n
“‘Are you alive, O goddess-born?’ she said,
\n‘Or if a ghost, then where is Hector’s shade?’
\nAt this, she cast a loud and frightful cry.
\nWith broken words I made this brief reply:
\n‘All of me that remains appears in sight;
\nI live, if living be to loathe the light.
\nNo phantom; but I drag a wretched life,
\nMy fate resembling that of Hector’s wife.
\nWhat have you suffer’d since you lost your lord?
\nBy what strange blessing are you now restor’d?
\nStill are you Hector’s? or is Hector fled,
\nAnd his remembrance lost in Pyrrhus’ bed?’
\nWith eyes dejected, in a lowly tone,
\nAfter a modest pause she thus begun:<\/p>\n
“‘O only happy maid of Priam’s race,
\nWhom death deliver’d from the foes’ embrace!
\nCommanded on Achilles’ tomb to die,
\nNot forc’d, like us, to hard captivity,
\nOr in a haughty master’s arms to lie.
\nIn Grecian ships unhappy we were borne,
\nEndur’d the victor’s lust, sustain’d the scorn:
\nThus I submitted to the lawless pride
\nOf Pyrrhus, more a handmaid than a bride.
\nCloy’d with possession, he forsook my bed,
\nAnd Helen’s lovely daughter sought to wed;
\nThen me to Trojan Helenus resign’d,
\nAnd his two slaves in equal marriage join’d;
\nTill young Orestes, pierc’d with deep despair,
\nAnd longing to redeem the promis’d fair,
\nBefore Apollo’s altar slew the ravisher.
\nBy Pyrrhus’ death the kingdom we regain’d:
\nAt least one half with Helenus remain’d.
\nOur part, from Chaon, he Chaonia calls,
\nAnd names from Pergamus his rising walls.
\nBut you, what fates have landed on our coast?
\nWhat gods have sent you, or what storms have toss’d?
\nDoes young Ascanius life and health enjoy,
\nSav’d from the ruins of unhappy Troy?
\nO tell me how his mother’s loss he bears,
\nWhat hopes are promis’d from his blooming years,
\nHow much of Hector in his face appears?’
\nShe spoke; and mix’d her speech with mournful cries,
\nAnd fruitless tears came trickling from her eyes.<\/p>\n
“At length her lord descends upon the plain,
\nIn pomp, attended with a num’rous train;
\nReceives his friends, and to the city leads,
\nAnd tears of joy amidst his welcome sheds.
\nProceeding on, another Troy I see,
\nOr, in less compass, Troy’s epitome.
\nA riv’let by the name of Xanthus ran,
\nAnd I embrace the Scaean gate again.
\nMy friends in porticoes were entertain’d,
\nAnd feasts and pleasures thro’ the city reign’d.
\nThe tables fill’d the spacious hall around,
\nAnd golden bowls with sparkling wine were crown’d.
\nTwo days we pass’d in mirth, till friendly gales,
\nBlown from the south supplied our swelling sails.
\nThen to the royal seer I thus began:
\n‘O thou, who know’st, beyond the reach of man,
\nThe laws of heav’n, and what the stars decree;
\nWhom Phoebus taught unerring prophecy,
\nFrom his own tripod, and his holy tree;
\nSkill’d in the wing’d inhabitants of air,
\nWhat auspices their notes and flights declare:
\nO say- for all religious rites portend
\nA happy voyage, and a prosp’rous end;
\nAnd ev’ry power and omen of the sky
\nDirect my course for destin’d Italy;
\nBut only dire Celaeno, from the gods,
\nA dismal famine fatally forebodes-
\nO say what dangers I am first to shun,
\nWhat toils vanquish, and what course to run.’<\/p>\n
“The prophet first with sacrifice adores
\nThe greater gods; their pardon then implores;
\nUnbinds the fillet from his holy head;
\nTo Phoebus, next, my trembling steps he led,
\nFull of religious doubts and awful dread.
\nThen, with his god possess’d, before the shrine,
\nThese words proceeded from his mouth divine:
\n‘O goddess-born, (for Heav’n’s appointed will,
\nWith greater auspices of good than ill,
\nForeshows thy voyage, and thy course directs;
\nThy fates conspire, and Jove himself protects,)
\nOf many things some few I shall explain,
\nTeach thee to shun the dangers of the main,
\nAnd how at length the promis’d shore to gain.
\nThe rest the fates from Helenus conceal,
\nAnd Juno’s angry pow’r forbids to tell.
\nFirst, then, that happy shore, that seems so nigh,
\nWill far from your deluded wishes fly;
\nLong tracts of seas divide your hopes from Italy:
\nFor you must cruise along Sicilian shores,
\nAnd stem the currents with your struggling oars;
\nThen round th’ Italian coast your navy steer;
\nAnd, after this, to Circe’s island veer;
\nAnd, last, before your new foundations rise,
\nMust pass the Stygian lake, and view the nether skies.
\nNow mark the signs of future ease and rest,
\nAnd bear them safely treasur’d in thy breast.
\nWhen, in the shady shelter of a wood,
\nAnd near the margin of a gentle flood,
\nThou shalt behold a sow upon the ground,
\nWith thirty sucking young encompass’d round;
\nThe dam and offspring white as falling snow-
\nThese on thy city shall their name bestow,
\nAnd there shall end thy labors and thy woe.
\nNor let the threaten’d famine fright thy mind,
\nFor Phoebus will assist, and Fate the way will find.
\nLet not thy course to that ill coast be bent,
\nWhich fronts from far th’ Epirian continent:
\nThose parts are all by Grecian foes possess’d;
\nThe salvage Locrians here the shores infest;
\nThere fierce Idomeneus his city builds,
\nAnd guards with arms the Salentinian fields;
\nAnd on the mountain’s brow Petilia stands,
\nWhich Philoctetes with his troops commands.
\nEv’n when thy fleet is landed on the shore,
\nAnd priests with holy vows the gods adore,
\nThen with a purple veil involve your eyes,
\nLest hostile faces blast the sacrifice.
\nThese rites and customs to the rest commend,
\nThat to your pious race they may descend.<\/p>\n
“‘When, parted hence, the wind, that ready waits
\nFor Sicily, shall bear you to the straits
\nWhere proud Pelorus opes a wider way,
\nTack to the larboard, and stand off to sea:
\nVeer starboard sea and land. Th’ Italian shore
\nAnd fair Sicilia’s coast were one, before
\nAn earthquake caus’d the flaw: the roaring tides
\nThe passage broke that land from land divides;
\nAnd where the lands retir’d, the rushing ocean rides.
\nDistinguish’d by the straits, on either hand,
\nNow rising cities in long order stand,
\nAnd fruitful fields: so much can time invade
\nThe mold’ring work that beauteous Nature made.
\nFar on the right, her dogs foul Scylla hides:
\nCharybdis roaring on the left presides,
\nAnd in her greedy whirlpool sucks the tides;
\nThen spouts them from below: with fury driv’n,
\nThe waves mount up and wash the face of heav’n.
\nBut Scylla from her den, with open jaws,
\nThe sinking vessel in her eddy draws,
\nThen dashes on the rocks. A human face,
\nAnd virgin bosom, hides her tail’s disgrace:
\nHer parts obscene below the waves descend,
\nWith dogs inclos’d, and in a dolphin end.
\n‘T is safer, then, to bear aloof to sea,
\nAnd coast Pachynus, tho’ with more delay,
\nThan once to view misshapen Scylla near,
\nAnd the loud yell of wat’ry wolves to hear.<\/p>\n
“‘Besides, if faith to Helenus be due,
\nAnd if prophetic Phoebus tell me true,
\nDo not this precept of your friend forget,
\nWhich therefore more than once I must repeat:
\nAbove the rest, great Juno’s name adore;
\nPay vows to Juno; Juno’s aid implore.
\nLet gifts be to the mighty queen design’d,
\nAnd mollify with pray’rs her haughty mind.
\nThus, at the length, your passage shall be free,
\nAnd you shall safe descend on Italy.
\nArriv’d at Cumae, when you view the flood
\nOf black Avernus, and the sounding wood,
\nThe mad prophetic Sibyl you shall find,
\nDark in a cave, and on a rock reclin’d.
\nShe sings the fates, and, in her frantic fits,
\nThe notes and names, inscrib’d, to leafs commits.
\nWhat she commits to leafs, in order laid,
\nBefore the cavern’s entrance are display’d:
\nUnmov’d they lie; but, if a blast of wind
\nWithout, or vapors issue from behind,
\nThe leafs are borne aloft in liquid air,
\nAnd she resumes no more her museful care,
\nNor gathers from the rocks her scatter’d verse,
\nNor sets in order what the winds disperse.
\nThus, many not succeeding, most upbraid
\nThe madness of the visionary maid,
\nAnd with loud curses leave the mystic shade.<\/p>\n
“‘Think it not loss of time a while to stay,
\nTho’ thy companions chide thy long delay;
\nTho’ summon’d to the seas, tho’ pleasing gales
\nInvite thy course, and stretch thy swelling sails:
\nBut beg the sacred priestess to relate
\nWith willing words, and not to write thy fate.
\nThe fierce Italian people she will show,
\nAnd all thy wars, and all thy future woe,
\nAnd what thou may’st avoid, and what must undergo.
\nShe shall direct thy course, instruct thy mind,
\nAnd teach thee how the happy shores to find.
\nThis is what Heav’n allows me to relate:
\nNow part in peace; pursue thy better fate,
\nAnd raise, by strength of arms, the Trojan state.’<\/p>\n
“This when the priest with friendly voice declar’d,
\nHe gave me license, and rich gifts prepar’d:
\nBounteous of treasure, he supplied my want
\nWith heavy gold, and polish’d elephant;
\nThen Dodonaean caldrons put on board,
\nAnd ev’ry ship with sums of silver stor’d.
\nA trusty coat of mail to me he sent,
\nThrice chain’d with gold, for use and ornament;
\nThe helm of Pyrrhus added to the rest,
\nThat flourish’d with a plume and waving crest.
\nNor was my sire forgotten, nor my friends;
\nAnd large recruits he to my navy sends:
\nMen, horses, captains, arms, and warlike stores;
\nSupplies new pilots, and new sweeping oars.
\nMeantime, my sire commands to hoist our sails,
\nLest we should lose the first auspicious gales.<\/p>\n
“The prophet bless’d the parting crew, and last,
\nWith words like these, his ancient friend embrac’d:
\n‘Old happy man, the care of gods above,
\nWhom heav’nly Venus honor’d with her love,
\nAnd twice preserv’d thy life, when Troy was lost,
\nBehold from far the wish’d Ausonian coast:
\nThere land; but take a larger compass round,
\nFor that before is all forbidden ground.
\nThe shore that Phoebus has design’d for you,
\nAt farther distance lies, conceal’d from view.
\nGo happy hence, and seek your new abodes,
\nBlest in a son, and favor’d by the gods:
\nFor I with useless words prolong your stay,
\nWhen southern gales have summon’d you away.’<\/p>\n
“Nor less the queen our parting thence deplor’d,
\nNor was less bounteous than her Trojan lord.
\nA noble present to my son she brought,
\nA robe with flow’rs on golden tissue wrought,
\nA phrygian vest; and loads with gifts beside
\nOf precious texture, and of Asian pride.
\n‘Accept,’ she said, ‘these monuments of love,
\nWhich in my youth with happier hands I wove:
\nRegard these trifles for the giver’s sake;
\n‘T is the last present Hector’s wife can make.
\nThou call’st my lost Astyanax to mind;
\nIn thee his features and his form I find:
\nHis eyes so sparkled with a lively flame;
\nSuch were his motions; such was all his frame;
\nAnd ah! had Heav’n so pleas’d, his years had been the same.’<\/p>\n
“With tears I took my last adieu, and said:
\n‘Your fortune, happy pair, already made,
\nLeaves you no farther wish. My diff’rent state,
\nAvoiding one, incurs another fate.
\nTo you a quiet seat the gods allow:
\nYou have no shores to search, no seas to plow,
\nNor fields of flying Italy to chase:
\n(Deluding visions, and a vain embrace!)
\nYou see another Simois, and enjoy
\nThe labor of your hands, another Troy,
\nWith better auspice than her ancient tow’rs,
\nAnd less obnoxious to the Grecian pow’rs.
\nIf e’er the gods, whom I with vows adore,
\nConduct my steps to Tiber’s happy shore;
\nIf ever I ascend the Latian throne,
\nAnd build a city I may call my own;
\nAs both of us our birth from Troy derive,
\nSo let our kindred lines in concord live,
\nAnd both in acts of equal friendship strive.
\nOur fortunes, good or bad, shall be the same:
\nThe double Troy shall differ but in name;
\nThat what we now begin may never end,
\nBut long to late posterity descend.’<\/p>\n
“Near the Ceraunian rocks our course we bore;
\nThe shortest passage to th’ Italian shore.
\nNow had the sun withdrawn his radiant light,
\nAnd hills were hid in dusky shades of night:
\nWe land, and, on the bosom Of the ground,
\nA safe retreat and a bare lodging found.
\nClose by the shore we lay; the sailors keep
\nTheir watches, and the rest securely sleep.
\nThe night, proceeding on with silent pace,
\nStood in her noon, and view’d with equal face
\nHer steepy rise and her declining race.
\nThen wakeful Palinurus rose, to spy
\nThe face of heav’n, and the nocturnal sky;
\nAnd listen’d ev’ry breath of air to try;
\nObserves the stars, and notes their sliding course,
\nThe Pleiads, Hyads, and their wat’ry force;
\nAnd both the Bears is careful to behold,
\nAnd bright Orion, arm’d with burnish’d gold.
\nThen, when he saw no threat’ning tempest nigh,
\nBut a sure promise of a settled sky,
\nHe gave the sign to weigh; we break our sleep,
\nForsake the pleasing shore, and plow the deep.<\/p>\n
“And now the rising morn with rosy light
\nAdorns the skies, and puts the stars to flight;
\nWhen we from far, like bluish mists, descry
\nThe hills, and then the plains, of Italy.
\nAchates first pronounc’d the joyful sound;
\nThen, ‘Italy!’ the cheerful crew rebound.
\nMy sire Anchises crown’d a cup with wine,
\nAnd, off’ring, thus implor’d the pow’rs divine:
\n‘Ye gods, presiding over lands and seas,
\nAnd you who raging winds and waves appease,
\nBreathe on our swelling sails a prosp’rous wind,
\nAnd smooth our passage to the port assign’d!’
\nThe gentle gales their flagging force renew,
\nAnd now the happy harbor is in view.
\nMinerva’s temple then salutes our sight,
\nPlac’d, as a landmark, on the mountain’s height.
\nWe furl our sails, and turn the prows to shore;
\nThe curling waters round the galleys roar.
\nThe land lies open to the raging east,
\nThen, bending like a bow, with rocks compress’d,
\nShuts out the storms; the winds and waves complain,
\nAnd vent their malice on the cliffs in vain.
\nThe port lies hid within; on either side
\nTwo tow’ring rocks the narrow mouth divide.
\nThe temple, which aloft we view’d before,
\nTo distance flies, and seems to shun the shore.
\nScarce landed, the first omens I beheld
\nWere four white steeds that cropp’d the flow’ry field.
\n‘War, war is threaten’d from this foreign ground,’
\nMy father cried, ‘where warlike steeds are found.
\nYet, since reclaim’d to chariots they submit,
\nAnd bend to stubborn yokes, and champ the bit,
\nPeace may succeed to war.’ Our way we bend
\nTo Pallas, and the sacred hill ascend;
\nThere prostrate to the fierce virago pray,
\nWhose temple was the landmark of our way.
\nEach with a Phrygian mantle veil’d his head,
\nAnd all commands of Helenus obey’d,
\nAnd pious rites to Grecian Juno paid.
\nThese dues perform’d, we stretch our sails, and stand
\nTo sea, forsaking that suspected land.<\/p>\n
“From hence Tarentum’s bay appears in view,
\nFor Hercules renown’d, if fame be true.
\nJust opposite, Lacinian Juno stands;
\nCaulonian tow’rs, and Scylacaean strands,
\nFor shipwrecks fear’d. Mount Aetna thence we spy,
\nKnown by the smoky flames which cloud the sky.
\nFar off we hear the waves with surly sound
\nInvade the rocks, the rocks their groans rebound.
\nThe billows break upon the sounding strand,
\nAnd roll the rising tide, impure with sand.
\nThen thus Anchises, in experience old:
\n”T is that Charybdis which the seer foretold,
\nAnd those the promis’d rocks! Bear off to sea!’
\nWith haste the frighted mariners obey.
\nFirst Palinurus to the larboard veer’d;
\nThen all the fleet by his example steer’d.
\nTo heav’n aloft on ridgy waves we ride,
\nThen down to hell descend, when they divide;
\nAnd thrice our galleys knock’d the stony ground,
\nAnd thrice the hollow rocks return’d the sound,
\nAnd thrice we saw the stars, that stood with dews around.
\nThe flagging winds forsook us, with the sun;
\nAnd, wearied, on Cyclopian shores we run.
\nThe port capacious, and secure from wind,
\nIs to the foot of thund’ring Aetna join’d.
\nBy turns a pitchy cloud she rolls on high;
\nBy turns hot embers from her entrails fly,
\nAnd flakes of mounting flames, that lick the sky.
\nOft from her bowels massy rocks are thrown,
\nAnd, shiver’d by the force, come piecemeal down.
\nOft liquid lakes of burning sulphur flow,
\nFed from the fiery springs that boil below.
\nEnceladus, they say, transfix’d by Jove,
\nWith blasted limbs came tumbling from above;
\nAnd, where he fell, th’ avenging father drew
\nThis flaming hill, and on his body threw.
\nAs often as he turns his weary sides,
\nHe shakes the solid isle, and smoke the heavens hides.
\nIn shady woods we pass the tedious night,
\nWhere bellowing sounds and groans our souls affright,
\nOf which no cause is offer’d to the sight;
\nFor not one star was kindled in the sky,
\nNor could the moon her borrow’d light supply;
\nFor misty clouds involv’d the firmament,
\nThe stars were muffled, and the moon was pent.<\/p>\n
“Scarce had the rising sun the day reveal’d,
\nScarce had his heat the pearly dews dispell’d,
\nWhen from the woods there bolts, before our sight,
\nSomewhat betwixt a mortal and a sprite,
\nSo thin, so ghastly meager, and so wan,
\nSo bare of flesh, he scarce resembled man.
\nThis thing, all tatter’d, seem’d from far t’ implore
\nOur pious aid, and pointed to the shore.
\nWe look behind, then view his shaggy beard;
\nHis clothes were tagg’d with thorns, and filth his limbs
\nbesmear’d;
\nThe rest, in mien, in habit, and in face,
\nAppear’d a Greek, and such indeed he was.
\nHe cast on us, from far, a frightful view,
\nWhom soon for Trojans and for foes he knew;
\nStood still, and paus’d; then all at once began
\nTo stretch his limbs, and trembled as he ran.
\nSoon as approach’d, upon his knees he falls,
\nAnd thus with tears and sighs for pity calls:
\n‘Now, by the pow’rs above, and what we share
\nFrom Nature’s common gift, this vital air,
\nO Trojans, take me hence! I beg no more;
\nBut bear me far from this unhappy shore.
\n‘T is true, I am a Greek, and farther own,
\nAmong your foes besieg’d th’ imperial town.
\nFor such demerits if my death be due,
\nNo more for this abandon’d life I sue;
\nThis only favor let my tears obtain,
\nTo throw me headlong in the rapid main:
\nSince nothing more than death my crime demands,
\nI die content, to die by human hands.’
\nHe said, and on his knees my knees embrac’d:
\nI bade him boldly tell his fortune past,
\nHis present state, his lineage, and his name,
\nTh’ occasion of his fears, and whence he came.
\nThe good Anchises rais’d him with his hand;
\nWho, thus encourag’d, answer’d our demand:
\n‘From Ithaca, my native soil, I came
\nTo Troy; and Achaemenides my name.
\nMe my poor father with Ulysses sent;
\n(O had I stay’d, with poverty content!)
\nBut, fearful for themselves, my countrymen
\nLeft me forsaken in the Cyclops’ den.
\nThe cave, tho’ large, was dark; the dismal floor
\nWas pav’d with mangled limbs and putrid gore.
\nOur monstrous host, of more than human size,
\nErects his head, and stares within the skies;
\nBellowing his voice, and horrid is his hue.
\nYe gods, remove this plague from mortal view!
\nThe joints of slaughter’d wretches are his food;
\nAnd for his wine he quaffs the streaming blood.
\nThese eyes beheld, when with his spacious hand
\nHe seiz’d two captives of our Grecian band;
\nStretch’d on his back, he dash’d against the stones
\nTheir broken bodies, and their crackling bones:
\nWith spouting blood the purple pavement swims,
\nWhile the dire glutton grinds the trembling limbs.<\/p>\n
“‘Not unreveng’d Ulysses bore their fate,
\nNor thoughtless of his own unhappy state;
\nFor, gorg’d with flesh, and drunk with human wine
\nWhile fast asleep the giant lay supine,
\nSnoring aloud, and belching from his maw
\nHis indigested foam, and morsels raw;
\nWe pray; we cast the lots, and then surround
\nThe monstrous body, stretch’d along the ground:
\nEach, as he could approach him, lends a hand
\nTo bore his eyeball with a flaming brand.
\nBeneath his frowning forehead lay his eye;
\nFor only one did the vast frame supply-
\nBut that a globe so large, his front it fill’d,
\nLike the sun’s disk or like a Grecian shield.
\nThe stroke succeeds; and down the pupil bends:
\nThis vengeance follow’d for our slaughter’d friends.
\nBut haste, unhappy wretches, haste to fly!
\nYour cables cut, and on your oars rely!
\nSuch, and so vast as Polypheme appears,
\nA hundred more this hated island bears:
\nLike him, in caves they shut their woolly sheep;
\nLike him, their herds on tops of mountains keep;
\nLike him, with mighty strides, they stalk from steep to steep
\nAnd now three moons their sharpen’d horns renew,
\nSince thus, in woods and wilds, obscure from view,
\nI drag my loathsome days with mortal fright,
\nAnd in deserted caverns lodge by night;
\nOft from the rocks a dreadful prospect see
\nOf the huge Cyclops, like a walking tree:
\nFrom far I hear his thund’ring voice resound,
\nAnd trampling feet that shake the solid ground.
\nCornels and salvage berries of the wood,
\nAnd roots and herbs, have been my meager food.
\nWhile all around my longing eyes I cast,
\nI saw your happy ships appear at last.
\nOn those I fix’d my hopes, to these I run;
\n‘T is all I ask, this cruel race to shun;
\nWhat other death you please, yourselves bestow.’<\/p>\n
“Scarce had he said, when on the mountain’s brow
\nWe saw the giant shepherd stalk before
\nHis following flock, and leading to the shore:
\nA monstrous bulk, deform’d, depriv’d of sight;
\nHis staff a trunk of pine, to guide his steps aright.
\nHis pond’rous whistle from his neck descends;
\nHis woolly care their pensive lord attends:
\nThis only solace his hard fortune sends.
\nSoon as he reach’d the shore and touch’d the waves,
\nFrom his bor’d eye the gutt’ring blood he laves:
\nHe gnash’d his teeth, and groan’d; thro’ seas he strides,
\nAnd scarce the topmost billows touch’d his sides.<\/p>\n
“Seiz’d with a sudden fear, we run to sea,
\nThe cables cut, and silent haste away;
\nThe well-deserving stranger entertain;
\nThen, buckling to the work, our oars divide the main.
\nThe giant harken’d to the dashing sound:
\nBut, when our vessels out of reach he found,
\nHe strided onward, and in vain essay’d
\nTh’ Ionian deep, and durst no farther wade.
\nWith that he roar’d aloud: the dreadful cry
\nShakes earth, and air, and seas; the billows fly
\nBefore the bellowing noise to distant Italy.
\nThe neigh’ring Aetna trembling all around,
\nThe winding caverns echo to the sound.
\nHis brother Cyclops hear the yelling roar,
\nAnd, rushing down the mountains, crowd the shore.
\nWe saw their stern distorted looks, from far,
\nAnd one-eyed glance, that vainly threaten’d war:
\nA dreadful council, with their heads on high;
\n(The misty clouds about their foreheads fly;)
\nNot yielding to the tow’ring tree of Jove,
\nOr tallest cypress of Diana’s grove.
\nNew pangs of mortal fear our minds assail;
\nWe tug at ev’ry oar, and hoist up ev’ry sail,
\nAnd take th’ advantage of the friendly gale.
\nForewarn’d by Helenus, we strive to shun
\nCharybdis’ gulf, nor dare to Scylla run.
\nAn equal fate on either side appears:
\nWe, tacking to the left, are free from fears;
\nFor, from Pelorus’ point, the North arose,
\nAnd drove us back where swift Pantagias flows.
\nHis rocky mouth we pass, and make our way
\nBy Thapsus and Megara’s winding bay.
\nThis passage Achaemenides had shown,
\nTracing the course which he before had run.<\/p>\n
“Right o’er against Plemmyrium’s wat’ry strand,
\nThere lies an isle once call’d th’ Ortygian land.
\nAlpheus, as old fame reports, has found
\nFrom Greece a secret passage under ground,
\nBy love to beauteous Arethusa led;
\nAnd, mingling here, they roll in the same sacred bed.
\nAs Helenus enjoin’d, we next adore
\nDiana’s name, protectress of the shore.
\nWith prosp’rous gales we pass the quiet sounds
\nOf still Elorus, and his fruitful bounds.
\nThen, doubling Cape Pachynus, we survey
\nThe rocky shore extended to the sea.
\nThe town of Camarine from far we see,
\nAnd fenny lake, undrain’d by fate’s decree.
\nIn sight of the Geloan fields we pass,
\nAnd the large walls, where mighty Gela was;
\nThen Agragas, with lofty summits crown’d,
\nLong for the race of warlike steeds renown’d.
\nWe pass’d Selinus, and the palmy land,
\nAnd widely shun the Lilybaean strand,
\nUnsafe, for secret rocks and moving sand.
\nAt length on shore the weary fleet arriv’d,
\nWhich Drepanum’s unhappy port receiv’d.
\nHere, after endless labors, often toss’d
\nBy raging storms, and driv’n on ev’ry coast,
\nMy dear, dear father, spent with age, I lost:
\nEase of my cares, and solace of my pain,
\nSav’d thro’ a thousand toils, but sav’d in vain
\nThe prophet, who my future woes reveal’d,
\nYet this, the greatest and the worst, conceal’d;
\nAnd dire Celaeno, whose foreboding skill
\nDenounc’d all else, was silent of the ill.
\nThis my last labor was. Some friendly god
\nFrom thence convey’d us to your blest abode.”<\/p>\n
Thus, to the list’ning queen, the royal guest
\nHis wand’ring course and all his toils express’d;
\nAnd here concluding, he retir’d to rest.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":19,"menu_order":3,"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-113","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\/113","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\/113\/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\/113\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=113"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=113"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=113"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=113"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}