The Aeneid of Virgil Virgil 4716 downloads.pdf

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Aeneid of Virgil
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will
have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using
this eBook.

Title: The Aeneid of Virgil

Author: Virgil

Translator: J. W. Mackail

Release date: August 29, 2007 [eBook #22456]
Most recently updated: September 6, 2021

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/22456

Credits: David Clarke, Lisa Reigel, and the Project Gutenberg Online
Distributed Proofreading Team

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AENEID
OF VIRGIL ***

Transcriber's Note:

Numbers in the left margin refer to line numbers in Virgil's
Aeneid. These numbers appeared at the top of each page
of text and have been retained for reference.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. A
complete list follows the text.

THE

AENEID OF VIRGIL

TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH

BY

J. W. MACKAIL, M.A.
FELLOW OF BALLIOL COLLEGE, OXFORD

London

MACMILLAN AND CO.

1885

Printed by R. & R. Clark, Edinburgh.

PREFACE
There is something grotesque in the idea of a prose translation of a poet,
though the practice is become so common that it has ceased to provoke a
smile or demand an apology. The language of poetry is language in fusion;
that of prose is language fixed and crystallised; and an attempt to copy the
one material in the other must always count on failure to convey what is,
after all, one of the most essential things in poetry,—its poetical quality.
And this is so with Virgil more, perhaps, than with any other poet; for more,
perhaps, than any other poet Virgil depends on his poetical quality from first
to last. Such a translation can only have the value of a copy of some great
painting executed in mosaic, if indeed a copy in Berlin wool is not a closer
analogy; and even at the best all it can have to say for itself will be in
Virgil's own words, Experiar sensus; nihil hic nisi carmina desunt.
In this translation I have in the main followed the text of Conington and
Nettleship. The more important deviations from this text are mentioned in
the notes; but I have not thought it necessary to give a complete list of
various readings, or to mention any change except where it might lead to
misapprehension. Their notes have also been used by me throughout.
Beyond this I have made constant use of the mass of ancient commentary
going under the name of Servius; the most valuable, perhaps, of all, as it is
in many ways the nearest to the poet himself. The explanation given in it
has sometimes been followed against those of the modern editors. To other
commentaries only occasional reference has been made. The sense that
Virgil is his own best interpreter becomes stronger as one studies him more.
My thanks are due to Mr. Evelyn Abbott, Fellow and Tutor of Balliol, and
to the Rev. H. C. Beeching, for much valuable suggestion and criticism.

TABLE OF CONTENTS
PREFACE
BOOK FIRST The Coming of Aeneas to Carthage
BOOK SECOND The Story of the Sack of Troy
BOOK THIRD The Story of the Seven Years' Wandering
BOOK FOURTH The Love of Dido, and Her End
BOOK FIFTH The Games of the Fleet
BOOK SIXTH The Vision of the Under World
The Landing in Latium, and the Roll of the Armies
BOOK SEVENTH
of Italy
BOOK EIGHTH The Embassage to Evander
BOOK NINTH The Siege of the Trojan Camp
BOOK TENTH The Battle on the Beach
BOOK The Council of the Latins, and the Life and Death
ELEVENTH of Camilla
BOOK TWELFTH The Slaying of Turnus
NOTES

THE AENEID

BOOK FIRST
THE COMING OF AENEAS TO CARTHAGE

I sing of arms and the man who of old from the coasts of Troy came, an
exile of fate, to Italy and the shore of Lavinium; hard driven on land and on
the deep by the violence of heaven, for cruel Juno's unforgetful anger, and
hard bestead in war also, ere he might found a city and carry his gods into
Latium; from whom is the Latin race, the lords of Alba, and the stately city
Rome.
Muse, tell me why, for what attaint of her deity, or in what vexation, did the
Queen of heaven drive one so excellent in goodness to circle through so
many afflictions, to face so many toils? Is anger so fierce in celestial spirits?

There was a city of ancient days that Tyrian settlers dwelt in, Carthage, over
against Italy and the Tiber mouths afar; rich of store, and mighty in war's
fierce pursuits; wherein, they say, alone beyond all other lands had Juno her
seat, and held Samos itself less dear. Here was her armour, here her chariot;
even now, if fate permit, the goddess strives to nurture it for queen of the
nations. Nevertheless she had heard a race was issuing of the blood of [20-
53]Troy, which sometime should overthrow her Tyrian citadel; from it
should come a people, lord of lands and tyrannous in war, the destroyer of
Libya: so rolled the destinies. Fearful of that, the daughter of Saturn, the old
war in her remembrance that she fought at Troy for her beloved Argos long
ago,—nor had the springs of her anger nor the bitterness of her vexation yet
gone out of mind: deep stored in her soul lies the judgment of Paris, the
insult of her slighted beauty, the hated race and the dignities of ravished
Ganymede; fired with this also, she tossed all over ocean the Trojan
remnant left of the Greek host and merciless Achilles, and held them afar
from Latium; and many a year were they wandering driven of fate around
all the seas. Such work was it to found the Roman people.

Hardly out of sight of the land of Sicily did they set their sails to sea, and
merrily upturned the salt foam with brazen prow, when Juno, the undying
wound still deep in her heart, thus broke out alone:
'Am I then to abandon my baffled purpose, powerless to keep the Teucrian
king from Italy? and because fate forbids me? Could Pallas lay the Argive
fleet in ashes, and sink the Argives in the sea, for one man's guilt, mad
Oïlean Ajax? Her hand darted Jove's flying fire from the clouds, scattered
their ships, upturned the seas in tempest; him, his pierced breast yet
breathing forth the flame, she caught in a whirlwind and impaled on a spike
of rock. But I, who move queen among immortals, I sister and wife of Jove,
wage warfare all these years with a single people; and is there any who still
adores Juno's divinity, or will kneel to lay sacrifice on her altars?'
Such thoughts inly revolving in her kindled bosom, the goddess reaches
Aeolia, the home of storm-clouds, the land laden with furious southern
gales. Here in a desolate cavern Aeolus keeps under royal dominion and
yokes in [54-85]dungeon fetters the struggling winds and loud storms. They
with mighty moan rage indignant round their mountain barriers. In his lofty
citadel Aeolus sits sceptred, assuages their temper and soothes their rage;
else would they carry with them seas and lands, and the depth of heaven,
and sweep them through space in their flying course. But, fearful of this, the
lord omnipotent hath hidden them in caverned gloom, and laid a mountain
mass high over them, and appointed them a ruler, who should know by
certain law to strain and slacken the reins at command. To him now Juno
spoke thus in suppliant accents:
'Aeolus—for to thee hath the father of gods and king of men given the wind
that lulls and that lifts the waves—a people mine enemy sails the Tyrrhene
sea, carrying into Italy the conquered gods of their Ilian home. Rouse thy
winds to fury, and overwhelm their sinking vessels, or drive them asunder
and strew ocean with their bodies. Mine are twice seven nymphs of passing
loveliness; her who of them all is most excellent in beauty, Deïopea, I will
unite to thee in wedlock to be thine for ever; that for this thy service she
may fulfil all her years at thy side, and make thee father of a beautiful race.'
Aeolus thus returned: 'Thine, O queen, the task to search whereto thou hast
desire; for me it is right to do thy bidding. From thee have I this poor

kingdom, from thee my sceptre and Jove's grace; thou dost grant me to take
my seat at the feasts of the gods, and makest me sovereign over clouds and
storms.'
Even with these words, turning his spear, he struck the side of the hollow
hill, and the winds, as in banded array, pour where passage is given them,
and cover earth with eddying blasts. East wind and west wind together, and
the gusty south-wester, falling prone on the sea, stir it up [86-120]from its
lowest chambers, and roll vast billows to the shore. Behind rises shouting of
men and whistling of cordage. In a moment clouds blot sky and daylight
from the Teucrians' eyes; black night broods over the deep. Pole thunders to
pole, and the air quivers with incessant flashes; all menaces them with
instant death. Straightway Aeneas' frame grows unnerved and chill, and
stretching either hand to heaven, he cries thus aloud: 'Ah, thrice and four
times happy they who found their doom under high Troy town before their
fathers' faces! Ah, son of Tydeus, bravest of the Grecian race, that I could
not have fallen on the Ilian plains, and gasped out this my life beneath thine
hand! where under the spear of Aeacides lies fierce Hector, lies mighty
Sarpedon; where Simoïs so often bore beneath his whirling wave shields
and helmets and brave bodies of men.'
As the cry leaves his lips, a gust of the shrill north strikes full on the sail
and raises the waves up to heaven. The oars are snapped; the prow swings
away and gives her side to the waves; down in a heap comes a broken
mountain of water. These hang on the wave's ridge; to these the yawning
billow shows ground amid the surge, where the sea churns with sand. Three
ships the south wind catches and hurls on hidden rocks, rocks amid the
waves which Italians call the Altars, a vast reef banking the sea. Three the
east forces from the deep into shallows and quicksands, piteous to see,
dashes on shoals and girdles with a sandbank. One, wherein loyal Orontes
and his Lycians rode, before their lord's eyes a vast sea descending strikes
astern. The helmsman is dashed away and rolled forward headlong; her as
she lies the billow sends spinning thrice round with it, and engulfs in the
swift whirl. Scattered swimmers appear in the vast eddy, armour of men,
timbers and Trojan treasure amid the water. Ere now the stout ship of
Ilioneus, ere now of brave Achates, and she wherein [121-152]Abas rode, and
she wherein aged Aletes, have yielded to the storm; through the shaken

fastenings of their sides they all draw in the deadly water, and their opening
seams give way.
Meanwhile Neptune discerned with astonishment the loud roaring of the
vexed sea, the tempest let loose from prison, and the still water boiling up
from its depths, and lifting his head calm above the waves, looked forth
across the deep. He sees all ocean strewn with Aeneas' fleet, the Trojans
overwhelmed by the waves and the ruining heaven. Juno's guile and wrath
lay clear to her brother's eye; east wind and west he calls before him, and
thereon speaks thus:
'Stand you then so sure in your confidence of birth? Careless, O winds, of
my deity, dare you confound sky and earth, and raise so huge a coil? you
whom I—But better to still the aroused waves; for a second sin you shall
pay me another penalty. Speed your flight, and say this to your king: not to
him but to me was allotted the stern trident of ocean empire. His fastness is
on the monstrous rocks where thou and thine, east wind, dwell: there let
Aeolus glory in his palace and reign over the barred prison of his winds.'
Thus he speaks, and ere the words are done he soothes the swollen seas,
chases away the gathered clouds, and restores the sunlight. Cymothoë and
Triton together push the ships strongly off the sharp reef; himself he eases
them with his trident, channels the vast quicksands, and assuages the sea,
gliding on light wheels along the water. Even as when oft in a throng of
people strife hath risen, and the base multitude rage in their minds, and now
brands and stones are flying; madness lends arms; then if perchance they
catch sight of one reverend for goodness and service, they are silent and
stand by with attentive ear; he with [153-190]speech sways their temper and
soothes their breasts; even so hath fallen all the thunder of ocean, when
riding forward beneath a cloudless sky the lord of the sea wheels his
coursers and lets his gliding chariot fly with loosened rein.
The outworn Aeneadae hasten to run for the nearest shore, and turn to the
coast of Libya. There lies a spot deep withdrawn; an island forms a harbour
with outstretched sides, whereon all the waves break from the open sea and
part into the hollows of the bay. On this side and that enormous cliffs rise
threatening heaven, and twin crags beneath whose crest the sheltered water
lies wide and calm; above hangs a background of flickering forest, and the

dark shade of rustling groves. Beneath the seaward brow is a rock-hung
cavern, within it fresh springs and seats in the living stone, a haunt of
nymphs; where tired ships need no fetters to hold nor anchor to fasten them
with crooked bite. Here with seven sail gathered of all his company Aeneas
enters; and disembarking on the land of their desire the Trojans gain the
chosen beach, and set their feet dripping with brine upon the shore. At once
Achates struck a spark from the flint and caught the fire on leaves, and
laying dry fuel round kindled it into flame. Then, weary of fortune, they
fetch out corn spoiled by the sea and weapons of corn-dressing, and begin
to parch over the fire and bruise in stones the grain they had rescued.
Meanwhile Aeneas scales the crag, and seeks the whole view wide over
ocean, if he may see aught of Antheus storm-tossed with his Phrygian
galleys, aught of Capys or of Caïcus' armour high astern. Ship in sight is
none; three stags he espies straying on the shore; behind whole herds
follow, and graze in long train across the valley. Stopping short, he snatched
up a bow and swift arrows, the arms trusty Achates was carrying; and first
the leaders, their stately heads high with branching antlers, then the
common [191-222]herd fall to his hand, as he drives them with his shafts in a
broken crowd through the leafy woods. Nor stays he till seven great victims
are stretched on the sod, fulfilling the number of his ships. Thence he seeks
the harbour and parts them among all his company. The casks of wine that
good Acestes had filled on the Trinacrian beach, the hero's gift at their
departure, he thereafter shares, and calms with speech their sorrowing
hearts:
'O comrades, for not now nor aforetime are we ignorant of ill, O tried by
heavier fortunes, unto this last likewise will God appoint an end. The fury
of Scylla and the roaring recesses of her crags you have been anigh; the
rocks of the Cyclops you have trodden. Recall your courage, put dull fear
away. This too sometime we shall haply remember with delight. Through
chequered fortunes, through many perilous ways, we steer for Latium,
where destiny points us a quiet home. There the realm of Troy may rise
again unforbidden. Keep heart, and endure till prosperous fortune come.'
Such words he utters, and sick with deep distress he feigns hope on his face,
and keeps his anguish hidden deep in his breast. The others set to the spoil
they are to feast upon, tear chine from ribs and lay bare the flesh; some cut

it into pieces and pierce it still quivering with spits; others plant cauldrons
on the beach and feed them with flame. Then they repair their strength with
food, and lying along the grass take their fill of old wine and fat venison.
After hunger is driven from the banquet, and the board cleared, they talk
with lingering regret of their lost companions, swaying between hope and
fear, whether they may believe them yet alive, or now in their last agony
and deaf to mortal call. Most does good Aeneas inly wail the loss now of
valiant Orontes, now of Amycus, the cruel doom of Lycus, of brave Gyas,
and brave Cloanthus. [223-254]And now they ceased; when from the height of
air Jupiter looked down on the sail-winged sea and outspread lands, the
shores and broad countries, and looking stood on the cope of heaven, and
cast down his eyes on the realm of Libya. To him thus troubled at heart
Venus, her bright eyes brimming with tears, sorrowfully speaks:
'O thou who dost sway mortal and immortal things with eternal command
and the terror of thy thunderbolt, how can my Aeneas have transgressed so
grievously against thee? how his Trojans? on whom, after so many deaths
outgone, all the world is barred for Italy's sake. From them sometime in the
rolling years the Romans were to arise indeed; from them were to be rulers
who, renewing the blood of Teucer, should hold sea and land in universal
lordship. This thou didst promise: why, O father, is thy decree reversed?
This was my solace for the wretched ruin of sunken Troy, doom balanced
against doom. Now so many woes are spent, and the same fortune still
pursues them; Lord and King, what limit dost thou set to their agony?
Antenor could elude the encircling Achaeans, could thread in safety the
Illyrian bays and inmost realms of the Liburnians, could climb Timavus'
source, whence through nine mouths pours the bursting tide amid dreary
moans of the mountain, and covers the fields with hoarse waters. Yet here
did he set Patavium town, a dwelling-place for his Teucrians, gave his name
to a nation and hung up the armour of Troy; now settled in peace, he rests
and is in quiet. We, thy children, we whom thou beckonest to the heights of
heaven, our fleet miserably cast away for a single enemy's anger, are
betrayed and severed far from the Italian coasts. Is this the reward of
goodness? Is it thus thou dost restore our throne?'
Smiling on her with that look which clears sky and [255-289]storms, the
parent of men and gods lightly kissed his daughter's lips; then answered
thus:

'Spare thy fear, Cytherean; thy people's destiny abides unshaken. Thine eyes
shall see the city Lavinium, their promised home; thou shalt exalt to the
starry heaven thy noble Aeneas; nor is my decree reversed. He thou lovest
(for I will speak, since this care keeps torturing thee, and will unroll further
the secret records of fate) shall wage a great war in Italy, and crush warrior
nations; he shall appoint his people a law and a city; till the third summer
see him reigning in Latium, and three winters' camps pass over the
conquered Rutulians. But the boy Ascanius, whose surname is now Iülus—
Ilus he was while the Ilian state stood sovereign—thirty great circles of
rolling months shall he fulfil in government; he shall carry the kingdom
from its fastness in Lavinium, and make a strong fortress of Alba the Long.
Here the full space of thrice an hundred years shall the kingdom endure
under the race of Hector's kin, till the royal priestess Ilia from Mars'
embrace shall give birth to a twin progeny. Thence shall Romulus, gay in
the tawny hide of the she-wolf that nursed him, take up their line, and name
them Romans after his own name. I appoint to these neither period nor
boundary of empire: I have given them dominion without end. Nay, harsh
Juno, who in her fear now troubles earth and sea and sky, shall change to
better counsels, and with me shall cherish the lords of the world, the
gowned race of Rome. Thus is it willed. A day will come in the lapse of
cycles, when the house of Assaracus shall lay Phthia and famed Mycenae in
bondage, and reign over conquered Argos. From the fair line of Troy a
Caesar shall arise, who shall limit his empire with ocean, his glory with the
firmament, Julius, inheritor of great Iülus' name. Him one day, thy care
done, thou shalt welcome to heaven loaded [290-321]with Eastern spoils; to
him too shall vows be addressed. Then shall war cease, and the iron ages
soften. Hoar Faith and Vesta, Quirinus and Remus brothers again, shall
deliver statutes. The dreadful steel-riveted gates of war shall be shut fast; on
murderous weapons the inhuman Fury, his hands bound behind him with an
hundred fetters of brass, shall sit within, shrieking with terrible blood-
stained lips.'
So speaking, he sends Maia's son down from above, that the land and
towers of Carthage, the new town, may receive the Trojans with open
welcome; lest Dido, ignorant of doom, might debar them her land. Flying
through the depth of air on winged oarage, the fleet messenger alights on
the Libyan coasts. At once he does his bidding; at once, for a god willed it,

the Phoenicians allay their haughty temper; the queen above all takes to
herself grace and compassion towards the Teucrians.
But good Aeneas, nightlong revolving many and many a thing, issues forth,
so soon as bountiful light is given, to explore the strange country; to what
coasts the wind has borne him, who are their habitants, men or wild beasts,
for all he sees is wilderness; this he resolves to search, and bring back the
certainty to his comrades. The fleet he hides close in embosoming groves
beneath a caverned rock, amid shivering shadow of the woodland; himself,
Achates alone following, he strides forward, clenching in his hand two
broad-headed spears. And amid the forest his mother crossed his way,
wearing the face and raiment of a maiden, the arms of a maiden of Sparta,
or like Harpalyce of Thrace when she tires her coursers and outstrips the
winged speed of Hebrus in her flight. For huntress fashion had she slung the
ready bow from her shoulder, and left her blown tresses free, bared her
knee, and knotted together her garments' flowing folds. 'Ha! my men,' she
begins, 'shew me if [322-355]haply you have seen a sister of mine straying
here girt with quiver and a lynx's dappled fell, or pressing with shouts on
the track of a foaming boar.'
Thus Venus, and Venus' son answering thus began:
'Sound nor sight have I had of sister of thine, O maiden unnamed; for thy
face is not mortal, nor thy voice of human tone; O goddess assuredly! sister
of Phoebus perchance, or one of the nymphs' blood? Be thou gracious,
whoso thou art, and lighten this toil of ours; deign to instruct us beneath
what skies, on what coast of the world, we are thrown. Driven hither by
wind and desolate waves, we wander in a strange land among unknown
men. Many a sacrifice shall fall by our hand before thine altars.'
Then Venus: 'Nay, to no such offerings do I aspire. Tyrian maidens are wont
ever to wear the quiver, to tie the purple buskin high above their ankle.
Punic is the realm thou seest, Tyrian the people, and the city of Agenor's
kin; but their borders are Libyan, a race unassailable in war. Dido sways the
sceptre, who flying her brother set sail from the Tyrian town. Long is the
tale of crime, long and intricate; but I will briefly follow its argument. Her
husband was Sychaeus, wealthiest in lands of the Phoenicians, and loved of
her with ill-fated passion; to whom with virgin rites her father had given her

maidenhood in wedlock. But the kingdom of Tyre was in her brother
Pygmalion's hands, a monster of guilt unparalleled. Between these madness
came; the unnatural brother, blind with lust of gold, and reckless of his
sister's love, lays Sychaeus low before the altars with stealthy unsuspected
weapon; and for long he hid the deed, and by many a crafty pretence
cheated her love-sickness with hollow hope. But in slumber came the very
ghost of her unburied husband; lifting up a face pale in wonderful wise, he
exposed the merciless altars and [356-387]his breast stabbed through with
steel, and unwove all the blind web of household guilt. Then he counsels
hasty flight out of the country, and to aid her passage discloses treasures
long hidden underground, an untold mass of silver and gold. Stirred thereby,
Dido gathered a company for flight. All assemble in whom hatred of the
tyrant was relentless or fear keen; they seize on ships that chanced to lie
ready, and load them with the gold. Pygmalion's hoarded wealth is borne
overseas; a woman leads the work. They came at last to the land where thou
wilt descry a city now great, New Carthage, and her rising citadel, and
bought ground, called thence Byrsa, as much as a bull's hide would encircle.
But who, I pray, are you, or from what coasts come, or whither hold you
your way?'
At her question he, sighing and drawing speech deep from his breast, thus
replied:
'Ah goddess, should I go on retracing from the fountain head, were time
free to hear the history of our woes, sooner would the evening star lay day
asleep in the closed gates of heaven. Us, as from ancient Troy (if the name
of Troy hath haply passed through your ears) we sailed over alien seas, the
tempest at his own wild will hath driven on the Libyan coast. I am Aeneas
the good, who carry in my fleet the household gods I rescued from the
enemy; my fame is known high in heaven. I seek Italy my country, my kin
of Jove's supreme blood. With twenty sail did I climb the Phrygian sea;
oracular tokens led me on; my goddess mother pointed the way; scarce
seven survive the shattering of wave and wind. Myself unknown, destitute,
driven from Europe and Asia, I wander over the Libyan wilderness.'
But staying longer complaint, Venus thus broke in on his half-told sorrows:

'Whoso thou art, not hated I think of the immortals [388-420]dost thou draw
the breath of life, who hast reached the Tyrian city. Only go on, and betake
thee hence to the courts of the queen. For I declare to thee thy comrades are
restored, thy fleet driven back into safety by the shifted northern gales,
except my parents were pretenders, and unavailing the augury they taught
me. Behold these twelve swans in joyous line, whom, stooping from the
tract of heaven, the bird of Jove fluttered over the open sky; now in long
train they seem either to take the ground or already to look down on the
ground they took. As they again disport with clapping wings, and utter their
notes as they circle the sky in company, even so do these ships and crews of
thine either lie fast in harbour or glide under full sail into the harbour
mouth. Only go on, and turn thy steps where the pathway leads thee.'
Speaking she turned away, and her neck shone roseate, her immortal tresses
breathed the fragrance of deity; her raiment fell flowing down to her feet,
and the godhead was manifest in her tread. He knew her for his mother, and
with this cry pursued her flight: 'Thou also merciless! Why mockest thou
thy son so often in feigned likeness? Why is it forbidden to clasp hand in
hand, to hear and utter true speech?' Thus reproaching her he bends his
steps towards the city. But Venus girt them in their going with dull mist, and
shed round them a deep divine clothing of cloud, that none might see them,
none touch them, or work delay, or ask wherefore they came. Herself she
speeds through the sky to Paphos, and joyfully revisits her habitation, where
the temple and its hundred altars steam with Sabaean incense, and are fresh
with fragrance of chaplets in her worship.
They meantime have hasted along where the pathway points, and now were
climbing the hill which hangs enormous over the city, and looks down on
its facing towers. [421-456]Aeneas marvels at the mass of building, pastoral
huts once of old, marvels at the gateways and clatter of the pavements. The
Tyrians are hot at work to trace the walls, to rear the citadel, and roll up
great stones by hand, or to choose a spot for their dwelling and enclose it
with a furrow. They ordain justice and magistrates, and the august senate.
Here some are digging harbours, here others lay the deep foundations of
their theatre, and hew out of the cliff vast columns, the lofty ornaments of
the stage to be: even as bees when summer is fresh over the flowery country
ply their task beneath the sun, when they lead forth their nation's grown
brood, or when they press the liquid honey and strain their cells with

nectarous sweets, or relieve the loaded incomers, or in banded array drive
the idle herd of drones far from their folds; they swarm over their work, and
the odorous honey smells sweet of thyme. 'Happy they whose city already
rises!' cries Aeneas, looking on the town roofs below. Girt in the cloud he
passes amid them, wonderful to tell, and mingling with the throng is
descried of none.
In the heart of the town was a grove deep with luxuriant shade, wherein first
the Phoenicians, buffeted by wave and whirlwind, dug up the token Queen
Juno had appointed, the head of a war horse: thereby was their race to be
through all ages illustrious in war and opulent in living. Here to Juno was
Sidonian Dido founding a vast temple, rich with offerings and the sanctity
of her godhead: brazen steps rose on the threshold, brass clamped the
pilasters, doors of brass swung on grating hinges. First in this grove did a
strange chance meet his steps and allay his fears; first here did Aeneas dare
to hope for safety and have fairer trust in his shattered fortunes. For while
he closely scans the temple that towers above him, while, awaiting the
queen, he admires the fortunate city, the emulous hands and elaborate work
of her craftsmen, he sees ranged in order the [457-491]battles of Ilium, that
war whose fame was already rumoured through all the world, the sons of
Atreus and Priam, and Achilles whom both found pitiless. He stopped and
cried weeping, 'What land is left, Achates, what tract on earth that is not full
of our agony? Behold Priam! Here too is the meed of honour, here mortal
estate touches the soul to tears. Dismiss thy fears; the fame of this will
somehow bring thee salvation.'
So speaks he, and fills his soul with the painted show, sighing often the
while, and his face wet with a full river of tears. For he saw, how warring
round the Trojan citadel here the Greeks fled, the men of Troy hard on their
rear; here the Phrygians, plumed Achilles in his chariot pressing their flight.
Not far away he knows the snowy canvas of Rhesus' tents, which, betrayed
in their first sleep, the blood-stained son of Tydeus laid desolate in heaped
slaughter, and turns the ruddy steeds away to the camp ere ever they tasted
Trojan fodder or drunk of Xanthus. Elsewhere Troïlus, his armour flung
away in flight—luckless boy, no match for Achilles to meet!—is borne
along by his horses, and thrown back entangled with his empty chariot, still
clutching the reins; his neck and hair are dragged over the ground, and his
reversed spear scores the dust. Meanwhile the Ilian women went with

disordered tresses to unfriendly Pallas' temple, and bore the votive garment,
sadly beating breast with palm: the goddess turning away held her eyes fast
on the ground. Thrice had Achilles whirled Hector round the walls of Troy,
and was selling the lifeless body for gold; then at last he heaves a loud and
heart-deep groan, as the spoils, as the chariot, as the dear body met his gaze,
and Priam outstretching unarmed hands. Himself too he knew joining battle
with the foremost Achaeans, knew the Eastern ranks and swart Memnon's
armour. Penthesilea leads her crescent-shielded Amazonian columns in
furious heat with [492-524]thousands around her; clasping a golden belt under
her naked breast, the warrior maiden clashes boldly with men.
While these marvels meet Dardanian Aeneas' eyes, while he dizzily hangs
rapt in one long gaze, Dido the queen entered the precinct, beautiful
exceedingly, a youthful train thronging round her. Even as on Eurotas'
banks or along the Cynthian ridges Diana wheels the dance, while behind
her a thousand mountain nymphs crowd to left and right; she carries quiver
on shoulder, and as she moves outshines them all in deity; Latona's heart is
thrilled with silent joy; such was Dido, so she joyously advanced amid the
throng, urging on the business of her rising empire. Then in the gates of the
goddess, beneath the central vault of the temple roof, she took her seat girt
with arms and high enthroned. And now she gave justice and laws to her
people, and adjusted or allotted their taskwork in due portion; when
suddenly Aeneas sees advancing with a great crowd about them Antheus
and Sergestus and brave Cloanthus, and other of his Trojans, whom the
black squall had sundered at sea and borne far away on the coast. Dizzy
with the shock of joy and fear he and Achates together were on fire with
eagerness to clasp their hands; but in confused uncertainty they keep
hidden, and clothed in the sheltering cloud wait to espy what fortune befalls
them, where they are leaving their fleet ashore, why they now come; for
they advanced, chosen men from all the ships, praying for grace, and held
on with loud cries towards the temple.
After they entered in, and free speech was granted, aged Ilioneus with
placid mien thus began:
'Queen, to whom Jupiter hath given to found this new city, and lay the yoke
of justice upon haughty tribes, we beseech thee, we wretched Trojans
storm-driven over all [525-559]the seas, stay the dreadful flames from our

ships; spare a guiltless race, and bend a gracious regard on our fortunes. We
are not come to deal slaughter through Libyan homes, or to drive plundered
spoils to the coast. Such violence sits not in our mind, nor is a conquered
people so insolent. There is a place Greeks name Hesperia, an ancient land,
mighty in arms and foison of the clod; Oenotrian men dwelt therein; now
rumour is that a younger race from their captain's name have called it Italy.
Thither lay our course . . . when Orion rising on us through the cloudrack
with sudden surf bore us on blind shoals, and scattered us afar with his
boisterous gales and whelming brine over waves and trackless reefs. To
these your coasts we a scanty remnant floated up. What race of men, what
land how barbarous soever, allows such a custom for its own? We are
debarred the shelter of the beach; they rise in war, and forbid us to set foot
on the brink of their land. If you slight human kinship and mortal arms, yet
look for gods unforgetful of innocence and guilt. Aeneas was our king,
foremost of men in righteousness, incomparable in goodness as in warlike
arms; whom if fate still preserves, if he draws the breath of heaven and lies
not yet low in dispiteous gloom, fear we have none; nor mayest thou repent
of challenging the contest of service. In Sicilian territory too is tilth and
town, and famed Acestes himself of Trojan blood. Grant us to draw ashore
our storm-shattered fleet, to shape forest trees into beams and strip them for
oars; so, if to Italy we may steer with our king and comrades found, Italy
and Latium shall we gladly seek; but if salvation is clean gone, if the
Libyan gulf holds thee, dear lord of thy Trojans, and Iülus our hope survives
no more, seek we then at least the straits of Sicily, the open homes whence
we sailed hither, and Acestes for our king.' Thus Ilioneus, and all the
Dardanian company [560-593]murmured assent. . . . Then Dido, with
downcast face, briefly speaks:
'Cheer your anxious hearts, O Teucrians; put by your care. Hard fortune in a
strange realm forces me to this task, to keep watch and ward on my wide
frontiers. Who can be ignorant of the race of Aeneas' people, who of Troy
town and her men and deeds, or of the great war's consuming fire? Not so
dull are the hearts of our Punic wearing, not so far doth the sun yoke his
steeds from our Tyrian town. Whether your choice be broad Hesperia, the
fields of Saturn's dominion, or Eryx for your country and Acestes for your
king, my escort shall speed you in safety, my arsenals supply your need. Or
will you even find rest here with me and share my kingdom? The city I

establish is yours; draw your ships ashore; Trojan and Tyrian shall be held
by me in even balance. And would that he your king, that Aeneas were here,
storm-driven to this same haven! But I will send messengers along the
coast, and bid them trace Libya to its limits, if haply he strays shipwrecked
in forest or town.'
Stirred by these words brave Achates and lord Aeneas both ere now burned
to break through the cloud. Achates first accosts Aeneas: 'Goddess-born,
what purpose now rises in thy spirit? Thou seest all is safe, our fleet and
comrades are restored. One only is wanting, whom our eyes saw whelmed
amid the waves; all else is answerable to thy mother's words.'
Scarce had he spoken when the encircling cloud suddenly parts and melts
into clear air. Aeneas stood discovered in sheen of brilliant light, like a god
in face and shoulders; for his mother's self had shed on her son the grace of
clustered locks, the radiant light of youth, and the lustre of joyous eyes; as
when ivory takes beauty under the artist's hand, or when silver or Parian
stone is inlaid in gold. [594-625]Then breaking in on all with unexpected
speech he thus addresses the queen:
'I whom you seek am here before you, Aeneas of Troy, snatched from the
Libyan waves. O thou who alone hast pitied Troy's untold agonies, thou
who with us the remnant of the Grecian foe, worn out ere now by every
suffering land and sea can bring, with us in our utter want dost share thy
city and home! to render meet recompense is not possible for us, O Dido,
nor for all who scattered over the wide world are left of our Dardanian race.
The gods grant thee worthy reward, if their deity turn any regard on
goodness, if aught avails justice and conscious purity of soul. What happy
ages bore thee? what mighty parents gave thy virtue birth? While rivers run
into the sea, while the mountain shadows move across their slopes, while
the stars have pasturage in heaven, ever shall thine honour, thy name and
praises endure in the unknown lands that summon me.' With these words he
advances his right hand to dear Ilioneus, his left to Serestus; then to the rest,
brave Gyas and brave Cloanthus.
Dido the Sidonian stood astonished, first at the sight of him, then at his
strange fortunes; and these words left her lips:

'What fate follows thee, goddess-born, through perilous ways? what
violence lands thee on this monstrous coast? Art thou that Aeneas whom
Venus the bountiful bore to Dardanian Anchises by the wave of Phrygian
Simoïs? And well I remember how Teucer came to Sidon, when exiled from
his native land he sought Belus' aid to gain new realms; Belus my father
even then ravaged rich Cyprus and held it under his conquering sway. From
that time forth have I known the fall of the Trojan city, known thy name and
the Pelasgian princes. Their very foe would extol the Teucrians with highest
praises, and boasted himself a branch [626-661]of the ancient Teucrian stem.
Come therefore, O men, and enter our house. Me too hath a like fortune
driven through many a woe, and willed at last to find my rest in this land.
Not ignorant of ill do I learn to succour the afflicted.'
With such speech she leads Aeneas into the royal house, and orders sacrifice
in the gods' temples. Therewith she sends his company on the shore twenty
bulls, an hundred great bristly-backed swine, an hundred fat lambs and their
mothers with them, gifts of the day's gladness. . . . But the palace within is
decked with splendour of royal state, and a banquet made ready amid the
halls. The coverings are curiously wrought in splendid purple; on the tables
is massy silver and deeds of ancestral valour graven in gold, all the long
course of history drawn through many a heroic name from the nation's
primal antiquity.
Aeneas—for a father's affection denied his spirit rest—sends Achates
speeding to his ships, to carry this news to Ascanius, and lead him to the
town: in Ascanius is fixed all the parent's loving care. Presents likewise he
bids him bring saved from the wreck of Ilium, a mantle stiff with gold
embroidery, and a veil with woven border of yellow acanthus-flower, that
once decked Helen of Argos, the marvel of her mother Leda's giving; Helen
had borne them from Mycenae, when she sought Troy towers and a lawless
bridal; the sceptre too that Ilione, Priam's eldest daughter, once had worn, a
beaded necklace, and a double circlet of jewelled gold. Achates, hasting on
his message, bent his way towards the ships.
But in the Cytherean's breast new arts, new schemes revolve; if Cupid,
changed in form and feature, may come in sweet Ascanius' room, and his
gifts kindle the queen to madness and set her inmost sense aflame. Verily
she fears the uncertain house, the double-tongued race of Tyre; [662-698]cruel

Juno frets her, and at nightfall her care floods back. Therefore to winged
Love she speaks these words:
'Son, who art alone my strength and sovereignty, son, who scornest the
mighty father's Typhoïan shafts, to thee I fly for succour, and sue humbly to
thy deity. How Aeneas thy brother is driven about all the sea-coasts by
bitter Juno's malignity, this thou knowest, and hast often grieved in our
grief. Now Dido the Phoenician holds him stayed with soft words, and I
tremble to think how the welcome of Juno's house may issue; she will not
be idle in this supreme turn of fortune. Wherefore I counsel to prevent her
wiles and circle the queen with flame, that, unalterable by any deity, she
may be held fast to me by passionate love for Aeneas. Take now my thought
how to do this. The boy prince, my chiefest care, makes ready at his dear
father's summons to go to the Sidonian city, carrying gifts that survive the
sea and the flames of Troy. Him will I hide deep asleep in my holy
habitation, high on Cythera's hills or in Idalium, that he may not know nor
cross our wiles. Do thou but for one night feign his form, and, boy as thou
art, put on the familiar face of a boy; so when in festal cheer, amid royal
dainties and Bacchic juice, Dido shall take thee to her lap, shall fold thee in
her clasp and kiss thee close and sweet, thou mayest imbreathe a hidden fire
and unsuspected poison.'
Love obeys his dear mother's words, lays by his wings, and walks
rejoicingly with Iülus' tread. But Venus pours gentle dew of slumber on
Ascanius' limbs, and lifts him lulled in her lap to the tall Idalian groves of
her deity, where soft amaracus folds him round with the shadowed
sweetness of its odorous blossoms. And now, obedient to her words, Cupid
went merrily in Achates' guiding, with the royal gifts for the Tyrians.
Already at his coming the queen hath sate her down in the midmost on her
golden [699-733]throne under the splendid tapestries; now lord Aeneas, now
too the men of Troy gather, and all recline on the strewn purple. Servants
pour water on their hands, serve corn from baskets, and bring napkins with
close-cut pile. Fifty handmaids are within, whose task is in their course to
keep unfailing store and kindle the household fire. An hundred others, and
as many pages all of like age, load the board with food and array the wine
cups. Therewithal the Tyrians are gathered full in the wide feasting
chamber, and take their appointed places on the broidered cushions. They
marvel at Aeneas' gifts, marvel at Iülus, at the god's face aflame and forged

speech, at the mantle and veil wrought with yellow acanthus-flower. Above
all the hapless Phoenician, victim to coming doom, cannot satiate her soul,
but, stirred alike by the boy and the gifts, she gazes and takes fire. He, when
hanging clasped on Aeneas' neck he had satisfied all the deluded parent's
love, makes his way to the queen; the queen clings to him with her eyes and
all her soul, and ever and anon fondles him in her lap, ah, poor Dido!
witless how mighty a deity sinks into her breast; but he, mindful of his
mother the Acidalian, begins touch by touch to efface Sychaeus, and sows
the surprise of a living love in the long-since-unstirred spirit and
disaccustomed heart. Soon as the noise of banquet ceased and the board was
cleared, they set down great bowls and enwreathe the wine. The house is
filled with hum of voices eddying through the spacious chambers; lit lamps
hang down by golden chainwork, and flaming tapers expel the night. Now
the queen called for a heavy cup of jewelled gold, and filled it with pure
wine; therewith was the use of Belus and all of Belus' race: then the hall
was silenced. 'Jupiter,' she cries, 'for thou art reputed lawgiver of hospitality,
grant that this be a joyful day to the Tyrians and the voyagers from Troy, a
day to live in our children's memory. [734-756]Bacchus, the giver of gladness,
be with us, and Juno the bountiful; and you, O Tyrians, be favourable to our
assembly.' She spoke, and poured liquid libation on the board, which done,
she first herself touched it lightly with her lips, then handed it to Bitias and
bade him speed; he valiantly drained the foaming cup, and flooded him with
the brimming gold. The other princes followed. Long-haired Iopas on his
gilded lyre fills the chamber with songs ancient Atlas taught; he sings of the
wandering moon and the sun's travails; whence is the human race and the
brute, whence water and fire; of Arcturus, the rainy Hyades, and the twin
Oxen; why wintry suns make such haste to dip in ocean, or what delay
makes the nights drag lingeringly. Tyrians and Trojans after them redouble
applause. Therewithal Dido wore the night in changing talk, alas! and drank
long draughts of love, asking many a thing of Priam, many a thing of
Hector; now in what armour the son of the Morning came; now of what
fashion were Diomede's horses; now of mighty Achilles. 'Nay, come,' she
cries, 'tell to us, O guest, from their first beginning the treachery of the
Grecians, thy people's woes, and thine own wanderings; for this is now the
seventh summer that bears thee a wanderer over all the earth and sea.'

BOOK SECOND
THE STORY OF THE SACK OF TROY

All were hushed, and sate with steadfast countenance; thereon, high from
his cushioned seat, lord Aeneas thus began:
'Dreadful, O Queen, is the woe thou bidst me recall, how the Grecians
pitiably overthrew the wealth and lordship of Troy; and I myself saw these
things in all their horror, and I bore great part in them. What Myrmidon or
Dolopian, or soldier of stern Ulysses, could in such a tale restrain his tears!
and now night falls dewy from the steep of heaven, and the setting stars
counsel to slumber. Yet if thy desire be such to know our calamities, and
briefly to hear Troy's last agony, though my spirit shudders at the
remembrance and recoils in pain, I will essay.
'Broken in war and beaten back by fate, and so many years now slid away,
the Grecian captains build by Pallas' divine craft a horse of mountainous
build, ribbed with sawn fir; they feign it vowed for their return, and this
rumour goes about. Within the blind sides they stealthily imprison chosen
men picked out one by one, and fill the vast cavern of its womb full with
armed soldiery.
'There lies in sight an island well known in fame, Tenedos, rich of store
while the realm of Priam endured, [23-55]now but a bay and roadstead
treacherous to ships. Hither they launch forth, and hide on the solitary
shore: we fancied they were gone, and had run down the wind for Mycenae.
So all the Teucrian land put her long grief away. The gates are flung open;
men go rejoicingly to see the Doric camp, the deserted stations and
abandoned shore. Here the Dolopian troops were tented, here cruel
Achilles; here their squadrons lay; here the lines were wont to meet in
battle. Some gaze astonished at the deadly gift of Minerva the Virgin, and
wonder at the horse's bulk; and Thymoetes begins to advise that it be drawn
within our walls and set in the citadel, whether in guile, or that the doom of
Troy was even now setting thus. But Capys and they whose mind was of

better counsel, bid us either hurl sheer into the sea the guileful and sinister
gift of Greece, or heap flames beneath to consume it, or pierce and explore
the hollow hiding-place of its womb. The wavering crowd is torn apart in
high dispute.
'At that, foremost of all and with a great throng about him, Laocoön runs
hotly down from the high citadel, and cries from far: "Ah, wretched
citizens, what height of madness is this? Believe you the foe is gone? or
think you any Grecian gift is free of treachery? is it thus we know Ulysses?
Either Achaeans are hid in this cage of wood, or the engine is fashioned
against our walls to overlook the houses and descend upon the city; some
delusion lurks there: trust not the horse, O Trojans. Be it what it may, I fear
the Grecians even when they offer gifts." Thus speaking, he hurled his
mighty spear with great strength at the creature's side and the curved
framework of the belly: the spear stood quivering, and the jarred cavern of
the womb sounded hollow and uttered a groan. And had divine ordinance,
had a soul not infatuate been with us, he had moved us to lay violent steel
on the Argolic hiding place; [56-90]and Troy would now stand, and you, tall
towers of Priam, yet abide.
'Lo, Dardanian shepherds meanwhile dragged clamorously before the King
a man with hands tied behind his back, who to compass this very thing, to
lay Troy open to the Achaeans, had gone to meet their ignorant approach,
confident in spirit and doubly prepared to spin his snares or to meet assured
death. From all sides, in eagerness to see, the people of Troy run streaming
in, and vie in jeers at their prisoner. Know now the treachery of the
Grecians, and from a single crime learn all. . . . For as he stood amid our
gaze confounded, disarmed, and cast his eyes around the Phrygian columns,
"Alas!" he cried, "what land now, what seas may receive me? or what is the
last doom that yet awaits my misery? who have neither any place among the
Grecians, and likewise the Dardanians clamour in wrath for the forfeit of
my blood." At that lament our spirit was changed, and all assault stayed: we
encourage him to speak, and tell of what blood he is sprung, or what
assurance he brings his captors.
'"In all things assuredly," says he, "O King, befall what may, I will confess
to thee the truth; nor will I deny myself of Argolic birth—this first—nor, if
Fortune hath made Sinon unhappy, shall her malice mould him to a cheat

and a liar. Hath a tale of the name of Palamedes, son of Belus, haply
reached thine ears, and of his glorious rumour and renown; whom under
false evidence the Pelasgians, because he forbade the war, sent innocent to
death by wicked witness; now they bewail him when he hath left the light;
—in his company, being near of blood, my father, poor as he was, sent me
hither to arms from mine earliest years. While he stood unshaken in royalty
and potent in the councils of the kings, we too wore a name and honour.
When by subtle Ulysses' malice (no unknown tale do I tell) [91-124]he left
the upper regions, my shattered life crept on in darkness and grief, inly
indignant at the fate of my innocent friend. Nor in my madness was I silent:
and, should any chance offer, did I ever return a conqueror to my native
Argos, I vowed myself his avenger, and with my words I stirred his bitter
hatred. From this came the first taint of ill; from this did Ulysses ever
threaten me with fresh charges, from this flung dark sayings among the
crowd and sought confederate arms. Nay, nor did he rest, till by Calchas'
service—but yet why do I vainly unroll the unavailing tale, or why hold you
in delay, if all Achaeans are ranked together in your mind, and it is enough
that I bear the name? Take the vengeance deferred; this the Ithacan would
desire, and the sons of Atreus buy at a great ransom."
'Then indeed we press on to ask and inquire the cause, witless of
wickedness so great and Pelasgian craft. Tremblingly the false-hearted one
pursues his speech:
'"Often would the Grecians have taken to flight, leaving Troy behind, and
disbanded in weariness of the long war: and would God they had! as often
the fierce sea-tempest barred their way, and the gale frightened them from
going. Most of all when this horse already stood framed with beams of
maple, storm clouds roared over all the sky. In perplexity we send
Eurypylus to inquire of Phoebus' oracle; and he brings back from the
sanctuary these words of terror: With blood of a slain maiden, O Grecians,
you appeased the winds when first you came to the Ilian coasts; with blood
must you seek your return, and an Argive life be the accepted sacrifice.
When that utterance reached the ears of the crowd, their hearts stood still,
and a cold shudder ran through their inmost sense: for whom is doom
purposed? who is claimed of Apollo? At this the Ithacan with loud clamour
drags Calchas the soothsayer forth amidst them, and demands of him what
is this the gods signify. And now many an one [125-158]foretold me the

villain's craft and cruelty, and silently saw what was to come. Twice five
days he is speechless in his tent, and will not have any one denounced by
his lips, or given up to death. Scarcely at last, at the loud urgence of the
Ithacan, he breaks into speech as was planned, and appoints me for the altar.
All consented; and each one's particular fear was turned, ah me! to my
single destruction. And now the dreadful day was at hand; the rites were
being ordered for me, the salted corn, and the chaplets to wreathe my
temples. I broke away, I confess it, from death; I burst my bonds, and
lurked all night darkling in the sedge of the marshy pool, till they might set
their sails, if haply they should set them. Nor have I any hope more of
seeing my old home nor my sweet children and the father whom I desire. Of
them will they even haply claim vengeance for my flight, and wash away
this crime in their wretched death. By the heavenly powers I beseech thee,
the deities to whom truth is known, by all the faith yet unsullied that is
anywhere left among mortals; pity woes so great; pity an undeserving
sufferer."
'At these his tears we grant him life, and accord our pity. Priam himself at
once commands his shackles and strait bonds to be undone, and thus speaks
with kindly words: "Whoso thou art, now and henceforth dismiss and forget
the Greeks: thou shalt be ours. And unfold the truth to this my question:
wherefore have they reared this vast size of horse? who is their counsellor?
or what their aim? what propitiation, or what engine of war is this?" He
ended; the other, stored with the treacherous craft of Pelasgia, lifts to
heaven his freed hands. "You, everlasting fires," he cries, "and your
inviolable sanctity be my witness; you, O altars and accursed swords I fled,
and chaplets of the gods I wore as victim! unblamed may I break the oath of
Greek allegiance, unblamed hate them and bring all to light that they [159-
191]conceal; nor am I bound by any laws of country. Do thou only keep by
thy promise, O Troy, and preserve faith with thy preserver, as my news shall
be true, as my recompense great.
'"All the hope of Greece, and the confidence in which the war began, ever
centred in Pallas' aid. But since the wicked son of Tydeus, and Ulysses,
forger of crime, made bold to tear the fated Palladium from her sanctuary,
and cut down the sentries on the towered height; since they grasped the holy
image, and dared with bloody hands to touch the maiden chaplets of the
goddess; since then the hope of Greece ebbed and slid away backwards,

their strength was broken, and the mind of the goddess estranged. Whereof
the Tritonian gave token by no uncertain signs. Scarcely was the image set
in the camp; flame shot sparkling from its lifted eyes, and salt sweat started
over its body; thrice, wonderful to tell, it leapt from the ground with shield
and spear quivering. Immediately Calchas prophesies that the seas must be
explored in flight, nor may Troy towers be overthrown by Argive weapons,
except they repeat their auspices at Argos, and bring back that divine
presence they have borne away with them in the curved ships overseas. And
now they have run down the wind for their native Mycenae, to gather arms
and gods to attend them; they will remeasure ocean and be on you
unawares. So Calchas expounds the omens. This image at his warning they
reared in recompense for the Palladium and the injured deity, to expiate the
horror of sacrilege. Yet Calchas bade them raise it to this vast size with
oaken crossbeams, and build it up to heaven, that it may not find entry at
the gates nor be drawn within the city, nor protect your people beneath the
consecration of old. For if hand of yours should violate Minerva's offering,
then utter destruction (the gods turn rather on himself his augury!) should
be upon Priam's empire and [192-226]the Phrygian people. But if under your
hands it climbed into your city, Asia should advance in mighty war to the
walls of Pelops, and a like fate awaited our children's children."
'So by Sinon's wiles and craft and perjury the thing gained belief; and we
were ensnared by treachery and forced tears, we whom neither the son of
Tydeus nor Achilles of Larissa, whom not ten years nor a thousand ships
brought down.
'Here another sight, greater, alas! and far more terrible meets us, and alarms
our thoughtless senses. Laocoön, allotted priest of Neptune, was slaying a
great bull at the accustomed altars. And lo! from Tenedos, over the placid
depths (I shudder as I recall) two snakes in enormous coils press down the
sea and advance together to the shore; their breasts rise through the surge,
and their blood-red crests overtop the waves; the rest trails through the main
behind and wreathes back in voluminous curves; the brine gurgles and
foams. And now they gained the fields, while their bloodshot eyes blazed
with fire, and their tongues lapped and flickered in their hissing mouths. We
scatter, pallid at the sight. They in unfaltering train make towards Laocoön.
And first the serpents twine in their double embrace his two little children,
and bite deep in their wretched limbs; then him likewise, as he comes up to

help with arms in his hand, they seize and fasten in their enormous coils;
and now twice clasping his waist, twice encircling his neck with their scaly
bodies, they tower head and neck above him. He at once strains his hands to
tear their knots apart, his fillets spattered with foul black venom; at once
raises to heaven awful cries; as when, bellowing, a bull shakes the wavering
axe from his neck and runs wounded from the altar. But the two snakes
glide away to the high sanctuary and seek the fierce Tritonian's citadel, [227-
261]and take shelter under the goddess' feet beneath the circle of her shield.
Then indeed a strange terror thrills in all our amazed breasts; and Laocoön,
men say, hath fulfilled his crime's desert, in piercing the consecrated wood
and hurling his guilty spear into its body. All cry out that the image must be
drawn to its home and supplication made to her deity. . . . We sunder the
walls, and lay open the inner city. All set to the work; they fix rolling
wheels under its feet, and tie hempen bands on its neck. The fated engine
climbs our walls, big with arms. Around it boys and unwedded girls chant
hymns and joyfully lay their hand on the rope. It moves up, and glides
menacing into the middle of the town. O native land! O Ilium, house of
gods, and Dardanian city renowned in war! four times in the very gateway
did it come to a stand, and four times armour rang in its womb. Yet we urge
it on, mindless and infatuate, and plant the ill-ominous thing in our
hallowed citadel. Even then Cassandra opens her lips to the coming doom,
lips at a god's bidding never believed by the Trojans. We, the wretched
people, to whom that day was our last, hang the shrines of the gods with
festal boughs throughout the city. Meanwhile the heavens wheel on, and
night rises from the sea, wrapping in her vast shadow earth and sky and the
wiles of the Myrmidons; about the town the Teucrians are stretched in
silence; slumber laps their tired limbs.
'And now the Argive squadron was sailing in order from Tenedos, and in the
favouring stillness of the quiet moon sought the shores it knew; when the
royal galley ran out a flame, and, protected by the gods' malign decrees,
Sinon stealthily lets loose the imprisoned Grecians from their barriers of
pine; the horse opens and restores them to the air; and joyfully issuing from
the hollow wood, Thessander and Sthenelus the captains, and terrible
Ulysses, [262-295]slide down the dangling rope, with Acamas and Thoas and
Neoptolemus son of Peleus, and Machaon first of all, and Menelaus, and
Epeüs himself the artificer of the treachery. They sweep down the city

buried in drunken sleep; the watchmen are cut down, and at the open gates
they welcome all their comrades, and unite their confederate bands.
'It was the time when by the gift of God rest comes stealing first and
sweetest on unhappy men. In slumber, lo! before mine eyes Hector seemed
to stand by, deep in grief and shedding abundant tears; torn by the chariot,
as once of old, and black with gory dust, his swoln feet pierced with the
thongs. Ah me! in what guise was he! how changed from the Hector who
returns from putting on Achilles' spoils, or launching the fires of Phrygia on
the Grecian ships! with ragged beard and tresses clotted with blood, and all
the many wounds upon him that he received around his ancestral walls.
Myself too weeping I seemed to accost him ere he spoke, and utter forth
mournful accents: "O light of Dardania, O surest hope of the Trojans, what
long delay is this hath held thee? from what borders comest thou, Hector
our desire? with what weary eyes we see thee, after many deaths of thy kin,
after divers woes of people and city! What indignity hath marred thy serene
visage? or why discern I these wounds?" He replies naught, nor regards my
idle questioning; but heavily drawing a heart-deep groan, "Ah, fly, goddess-
born," he says, "and rescue thyself from these flames. The foe holds our
walls; from her high ridges Troy is toppling down. Thy country and Priam
ask no more. If Troy towers might be defended by strength of hand, this
hand too had been their defence. Troy commends to thee her holy things
and household gods; take them to accompany thy fate; seek for them a city,
which, after all the seas have known thy wanderings, thou shalt at last
establish in [296-327]might." So speaks he, and carries forth in his hands from
their inner shrine the chaplets and strength of Vesta, and the everlasting fire.
'Meanwhile the city is stirred with mingled agony; and more and more,
though my father Anchises' house lay deep withdrawn and screened by
trees, the noises grow clearer and the clash of armour swells. I shake myself
from sleep and mount over the sloping roof, and stand there with ears
attent: even as when flame catches a corn-field while south winds are
furious, or the racing torrent of a mountain stream sweeps the fields, sweeps
the smiling crops and labours of the oxen, and hurls the forest with it
headlong; the shepherd in witless amaze hears the roar from the cliff-top.
Then indeed proof is clear, and the treachery of the Grecians opens out.
Already the house of Deïphobus hath crashed down in wide ruin amid the
overpowering flames; already our neighbour Ucalegon is ablaze: the broad

Sigean bay is lit with the fire. Cries of men and blare of trumpets rise up.
Madly I seize my arms, nor is there so much purpose in arms; but my spirit
is on fire to gather a band for fighting and charge for the citadel with my
comrades. Fury and wrath drive me headlong, and I think how noble is
death in arms.
'And lo! Panthus, eluding the Achaean weapons, Panthus son of Othrys,
priest of Phoebus in the citadel, comes hurrying with the sacred vessels and
conquered gods and his little grandchild in his hand, and runs distractedly
towards my gates. "How stands the state, O Panthus? what stronghold are
we to occupy?" Scarcely had I said so, when groaning he thus returns: "The
crowning day is come, the irreversible time of the Dardanian land. No more
are we a Trojan people; Ilium and the great glory of the Teucrians is no
more. Angry Jupiter hath cast all into the scale of Argos. The Grecians are
lords of the burning [328-362]town. The horse, standing high amid the city,
pours forth armed men, and Sinon scatters fire, insolent in victory. Some are
at the wide-flung gates, all the thousands that ever came from populous
Mycenae. Others have beset the narrow streets with lowered weapons; edge
and glittering point of steel stand drawn, ready for the slaughter; scarcely at
the entry do the guards of the gates essay battle, and hold out in the blind
fight."
'Heaven's will thus declared by the son of Othrys drives me amid flames
and arms, where the baleful Fury calls, and tumult of shouting rises up.
Rhipeus and Epytus, most mighty in arms, join company with me; Hypanis
and Dymas meet us in the moonlight and attach themselves to our side, and
young Coroebus son of Mygdon. In those days it was he had come to Troy,
fired with mad passion for Cassandra, and bore a son's aid to Priam and the
Phrygians: hapless, that he listened not to his raving bride's counsels. . . .
Seeing them close-ranked and daring for battle, I therewith began thus:
"Men, hearts of supreme and useless bravery, if your desire be fixed to
follow one who dares the utmost; you see what is the fortune of our state:
all the gods by whom this empire was upheld have gone forth, abandoning
shrine and altar; your aid comes to a burning city. Let us die, and rush on
their encircling weapons. The conquered have one safety, to hope for none."
'So their spirit is heightened to fury. Then, like wolves ravening in a black
fog, whom mad malice of hunger hath driven blindly forth, and their cubs

left behind await with throats unslaked; through the weapons of the enemy
we march to certain death, and hold our way straight into the town. Night's
sheltering shadow flutters dark around us. Who may unfold in speech that
night's horror and death-agony, or measure its woes in weeping? The [363-
397]ancient city falls with her long years of sovereignty; corpses lie
stretched stiff all about the streets and houses and awful courts of the gods.
Nor do Teucrians alone pay forfeit of their blood; once and again valour
returns even in conquered hearts, and the victorious Grecians fall.
Everywhere is cruel agony, everywhere terror, and the sight of death at
every turn.
'First, with a great troop of Grecians attending him, Androgeus meets us,
taking us in ignorance for an allied band, and opens on us with friendly
words: "Hasten, my men; why idly linger so late? others plunder and harry
the burning citadel; are you but now on your march from the tall ships?" He
spoke, and immediately (for no answer of any assurance was offered) knew
he was fallen among the foe. In amazement, he checked foot and voice;
even as one who struggling through rough briers hath trodden a snake on
the ground unwarned, and suddenly shrinks fluttering back as it rises in
anger and puffs its green throat out; even thus Androgeus drew away,
startled at the sight. We rush in and encircle them with serried arms, and cut
them down dispersedly in their ignorance of the ground and seizure of
panic. Fortune speeds our first labour. And here Coroebus, flushed with
success and spirit, cries: "O comrades, follow me where fortune points
before us the path of safety, and shews her favour. Let us exchange shields,
and accoutre ourselves in Grecian suits; whether craft or courage, who will
ask of an enemy? the foe shall arm our hands." Thus speaking, he next dons
the plumed helmet and beautifully blazoned shield of Androgeus, and fits
the Argive sword to his side. So does Rhipeus, so Dymas in like wise, and
all our men in delight arm themselves one by one in the fresh spoils. We
advance, mingling with the Grecians, under a protection not our own, and
join many a battle [398-432]with those we meet amid the blind night; many a
Greek we send down to hell. Some scatter to the ships and run for the safety
of the shore; some in craven fear again climb the huge horse, and hide in
the belly they knew. Alas that none may trust at all to estranged gods!
'Lo! Cassandra, maiden daughter of Priam, was being dragged with
disordered tresses from the temple and sanctuary of Minerva, straining to

heaven her blazing eyes in vain; her eyes, for fetters locked her delicate
hands. At this sight Coroebus burst forth infuriate, and flung himself on
death amid their columns. We all follow him up, and charge with massed
arms. Here first from the high temple roof we are overwhelmed with our
own people's weapons, and a most pitiful slaughter begins through the
fashion of our armour and the mistaken Greek crests; then the Grecians,
with angry cries at the maiden's rescue, gather from every side and fall on
us; Ajax in all his valour, and the two sons of Atreus, and the whole
Dolopian army: as oft when bursting in whirlwind West and South clash
with adverse blasts, and the East wind exultant on the coursers of the Dawn;
the forests cry, and fierce in foam Nereus with his trident stirs the seas from
their lowest depth. Those too appear, whom our stratagem routed through
the darkness of dim night and drove all about the town; at once they know
the shields and lying weapons, and mark the alien tone on our lips. We go
down, overwhelmed by numbers. First Coroebus is stretched by Peneleus'
hand at the altar of the goddess armipotent; and Rhipeus falls, the one man
who was most righteous and steadfast in justice among the Teucrians: the
gods' ways are not as ours: Hypanis and Dymas perish, pierced by friendly
hands; nor did all thy goodness, O Panthus, nor Apollo's fillet protect thy
fall. O ashes of Ilium and death flames of my people! you I call to witness
that in your ruin I [433-465]shunned no Grecian weapon or encounter, and my
hand earned my fall, had destiny been thus. We tear ourselves away, I and
Iphitus and Pelias, Iphitus now stricken in age, Pelias halting too under the
wound of Ulysses, called forward by the clamour to Priam's house.
'Here indeed the battle is fiercest, as if all the rest of the fighting were
nowhere, and no slaughter but here throughout the city, so do we descry the
war in full fury, the Grecians rushing on the building, and their shielded
column driving up against the beleaguered threshold. Ladders cling to the
walls; and hard by the doors and planted on the rungs they hold up their
shields in the left hand to ward off our weapons, and with their right clutch
the battlements. The Dardanians tear down turrets and the covering of the
house roof against them; with these for weapons, since they see the end is
come, they prepare to defend themselves even in death's extremity: and hurl
down gilded beams, the stately decorations of their fathers of old. Others
with drawn swords have beset the doorway below and keep it in crowded

column. We renew our courage, to aid the royal dwelling, to support them
with our succour, and swell the force of the conquered.
'There was a blind doorway giving passage through the range of Priam's
halls by a solitary postern, whereby, while our realm endured, hapless
Andromache would often and often glide unattended to her father-in-law's
house, and carry the boy Astyanax to his grandsire. I issue out on the
sloping height of the ridge, whence wretched Teucrian hands were hurling
their ineffectual weapons. A tower stood on the sheer brink, its roof
ascending high into heaven, whence was wont to be seen all Troy and the
Grecian ships and Achaean camp: attacking it with iron round about, where
the joints of the lofty flooring yielded, we wrench it from its deep
foundations and shake it free; it gives way, and [466-498]suddenly falls
thundering in ruin, crashing wide over the Grecian ranks. But others swarm
up; nor meanwhile do stones nor any sort of missile slacken. . . . Right
before the vestibule and in the front doorway Pyrrhus moves rejoicingly in
the sparkle of arms and gleaming brass: like as when a snake fed on
poisonous herbs, whom chill winter kept hid and swollen underground, now
fresh from his weeds outworn and shining in youth, wreathes his slippery
body into the daylight, his upreared breast meets the sun, and his triple-
cloven tongue flickers in his mouth. With him huge Periphas, and
Automedon the armour-bearer, driver of Achilles' horses, with him all his
Scyrian men climb the roof and hurl flames on the housetop. Himself
among the foremost he grasps a poleaxe, bursts through the hard doorway,
and wrenches the brazen-plated doors from the hinge; and now he hath cut
out a plank from the solid oak and pierced a vast gaping hole. The house
within is open to sight, and the long halls lie plain; open to sight are the
secret chambers of Priam and the kings of old, and they see armed men
standing in front of the doorway.
'But the inner house is stirred with shrieks and misery and confusion, and
the court echoes deep with women's wailing; the golden stars are smitten
with the din. Affrighted mothers stray about the vast house, and cling fast to
the doors and print them with kisses. With his father's might Pyrrhus presses
on; nor guards nor barriers can hold out. The gate totters under the hard
driven ram, and the doors fall flat, rent from the hinge. Force makes way;
the Greeks burst through the entrance and pour in, slaughtering the
foremost, and filling the space with a wide stream of soldiers. Not so

furiously when a foaming river bursts his banks and overflows, beating
down the opposing dykes with whirling water, is he borne mounded over
the fields, and sweeps herds and [499-529]pens all about the plains. Myself I
saw in the gateway Neoptolemus mad in slaughter, and the two sons of
Atreus, saw Hecuba and the hundred daughters of her house, and Priam
polluting with his blood the altar fires of his own consecration. The fifty
bridal chambers—so great was the hope of his children's children—their
doors magnificent with spoils of barbaric gold, have sunk in ruin; where the
fire fails the Greeks are in possession.
'Perchance too thou mayest inquire what was Priam's fate. When he saw the
ruin of his captured city, the gates of his house burst open, and the enemy
amid his innermost chambers, the old man idly fastens round his aged
trembling shoulders his long disused armour, girds on the unavailing sword,
and advances on his death among the thronging foe.
'Within the palace and under the bare cope of sky was a massive altar, and
hard on the altar an ancient bay tree leaned clasping the household gods in
its shadow. Here Hecuba and her daughters crowded vainly about the altar-
stones, like doves driven headlong by a black tempest, and crouched
clasping the gods' images. And when she saw Priam her lord with the
armour of youth on him, "What spirit of madness, my poor husband," she
cries, "hath stirred thee to gird on these weapons? or whither dost thou run?
Not such the succour nor these the defenders the time requires: no, were
mine own Hector now beside us. Retire, I beseech thee, hither; this altar
will protect us all, or thou wilt share our death." With these words on her
lips she drew the aged man to her, and set him on the holy seat.
'And lo, escaped from slaughtering Pyrrhus through the weapons of the
enemy, Polites, one of Priam's children, flies wounded down the long
colonnades and circles the empty halls. Pyrrhus pursues him fiercely with
aimed [530-563]wound, just catching at him, and follows hard on him with his
spear. As at last he issued before his parents' eyes and faces, he fell, and
shed his life in a pool of blood. At this Priam, although even now fast in the
toils of death, yet withheld not nor spared a wrathful cry: "Ah, for thy
crime, for this thy hardihood, may the gods, if there is goodness in heaven
to care for aught such, pay thee in full thy worthy meed, and return thee the
reward that is due! who hast made me look face to face on my child's

murder, and polluted a father's countenance with death. Ah, not such to a
foe was the Achilles whose parentage thou beliest; but he revered a
suppliant's right and trust, restored to the tomb Hector's pallid corpse, and
sent me back to my realm." Thus the old man spoke, and launched his weak
and unwounding spear, which, recoiling straight from the jarring brass,
hung idly from his shield above the boss. Thereat Pyrrhus: "Thou then shalt
tell this, and go with the message to my sire the son of Peleus: remember to
tell him of my baleful deeds, and the degeneracy of Neoptolemus. Now
die." So saying, he drew him quivering to the very altar, slipping in the pool
of his child's blood, and wound his left hand in his hair, while in his right
the sword flashed out and plunged to the hilt in his side. This was the end of
Priam's fortunes; thus did allotted fate find him, with burning Troy and her
sunken towers before his eyes, once magnificent lord over so many peoples
and lands of Asia. The great corpse lies along the shore, a head severed
from the shoulders and a body without a name.
'But then an awful terror began to encircle me; I stood in amaze; there rose
before me the likeness of my loved father, as I saw the king, old as he,
sobbing out his life under the ghastly wound; there rose Creüsa forlorn, my
plundered house, and little Iülus' peril. I look back [564-596]and survey what
force is around me. All, outwearied, have given up and leapt headlong to
the ground, or flung themselves wretchedly into the fire:
['Yes, and now I only was left; when I espy the daughter of Tyndarus close
in the courts of Vesta, crouching silently in the fane's recesses; the bright
glow of the fires lights my wandering, as my eyes stray all about. Fearing
the Teucrians' anger for the overthrown towers of Troy, and the Grecians'
vengeance and the wrath of the husband she had abandoned, she, the
common Fury of Troy and her native country, had hidden herself and
cowered unseen by the altars. My spirit kindles to fire, and rises in wrath to
avenge my dying land and take repayment for her crimes. Shall she verily
see Sparta and her native Mycenae unscathed, and depart a queen and
triumphant? Shall she see her spousal and her home, her parents and
children, attended by a crowd of Trojan women and Phrygians to serve her?
and Priam have fallen under the sword? Troy blazed in fire? the shore of
Dardania so often soaked with blood? Not so. For though there is no name
or fame in a woman's punishment, nor honour in the victory, yet shall I have
praise in quenching a guilty life and exacting a just recompense; and it will

be good to fill my soul with the flame of vengeance, and satisfy the ashes of
my people. Thus broke I forth, and advanced infuriate;]
'——When my mother came visibly before me, clear to sight as never till
then, and shone forth in pure radiance through the night, gracious, evident
in godhead, in shape and stature such as she is wont to appear to the
heavenly people; she caught me by the hand and stayed me, and pursued
thus with roseate lips:
'"Son, what overmastering pain thus wakes thy wrath? Why ravest thou? or
whither is thy care for us fled? Wilt thou not first look to it, where thou hast
left Anchises, [597-630]thine aged worn father; or if Creüsa thy wife and the
child Ascanius survive? round about whom all the Greek battalions range;
and without my preventing care, the flames ere this had made them their
portion, and the hostile sword drunk their blood. Not the hated face of the
Laconian woman, Tyndarus' daughter; not Paris is to blame; the gods, the
gods in anger overturn this magnificence, and make Troy topple down.
Look, for all the cloud that now veils thy gaze and dulls mortal vision with
damp encircling mist, I will rend from before thee. Fear thou no commands
of thy mother, nor refuse to obey her counsels. Here, where thou seest
sundered piles of masonry and rocks violently torn from rocks, and smoke
eddying mixed with dust, Neptune with his great trident shakes wall and
foundation out of their places, and upturns all the city from her base. Here
Juno in all her terror holds the Scaean gates at the entry, and, girt with steel,
calls her allied army furiously from their ships. . . . Even now on the
citadel's height, look back! Tritonian Pallas is planted in glittering halo and
Gorgonian terror. Their lord himself pours courage and prosperous strength
on the Grecians, himself stirs the gods against the arms of Dardania. Haste
away, O son, and put an end to the struggle. I will never desert thee; I will
set thee safe in the courts of thy father's house."
'She ended, and plunged in the dense blackness of the night. Awful faces
shine forth, and, set against Troy, divine majesties . . .
'Then indeed I saw all Ilium sinking in flame, and Neptunian Troy uprooted
from her base: even as an ancient ash on the mountain heights, hacked all
about with steel and fast-falling axes, when husbandmen emulously strain
to cut it down: it hangs threateningly, with shaken top and quivering tresses

asway; till gradually, overmastered with [631-662]wounds, it utters one last
groan, and rending itself away, falls in ruin along the ridge. I descend, and
under a god's guidance clear my way between foe and flame; weapons give
ground before me, and flames retire.
'And now, when I have reached the courts of my ancestral dwelling, our
home of old, my father, whom it was my first desire to carry high into the
hills, and whom first I sought, declines, now Troy is rooted out, to prolong
his life through the pains of exile.
'"Ah, you," he cries, "whose blood is at the prime, whose strength stands
firm in native vigour, do you take your flight. . . . Had the lords of heaven
willed to prolong life for me, they should have preserved this my home.
Enough and more is the one desolation we have seen, survivors of a
captured city. Thus, oh thus salute me and depart, as a body laid out for
burial. Mine own hand shall find me death: the foe will be merciful and
seek my spoils: light is the loss of a tomb. This long time hated of heaven, I
uselessly delay the years, since the father of gods and king of men blasted
me with wind of thunder and scathe of flame."
'Thus held he on in utterance, and remained obstinate. We press him,
dissolved in tears, my wife Creüsa, Ascanius, all our household, that our
father involve us not all in his ruin, and add his weight to the sinking scale
of doom. He refuses, and keeps seated steadfast in his purpose. Again I rush
to battle, and choose death in my misery. For what had counsel or chance
yet to give? Thoughtest thou my feet, O father, could retire and abandon
thee? and fell so unnatural words from a parent's lips? "If heaven wills that
naught be left of our mighty city, if this be thy planted purpose, thy pleasure
to cast in thyself and thine to the doom of Troy; for this death indeed the
gate is wide, and even now Pyrrhus will be here newly bathed in Priam's
[663-695]blood, Pyrrhus who slaughters the son before the father's face, the
father upon his altars. For this was it, bountiful mother, thou dost rescue me
amid fire and sword, to see the foe in my inmost chambers, and Ascanius
and my father, Creüsa by their side, hewn down in one another's blood? My
arms, men, bring my arms! the last day calls on the conquered. Return me
to the Greeks; let me revisit and renew the fight. Never to-day shall we all
perish unavenged."

'Thereat I again gird on my sword, and fitting my left arm into the clasps of
the shield, strode forth of the palace. And lo! my wife clung round my feet
on the threshold, and held little Iülus up to his father's sight. "If thou goest
to die, let us too hurry with thee to the end. But if thou knowest any hope to
place in arms, be this household thy first defence. To what is little Iülus and
thy father, to what am I left who once was called thy wife?"
'So she shrieked, and filled all the house with her weeping; when a sign
arises sudden and marvellous to tell. For, between the hands and before the
faces of his sorrowing parents, lo! above Iülus' head there seemed to stream
a light luminous cone, and a flame whose touch hurt not to flicker in his
soft hair and play round his brows. We in a flutter of affright shook out the
blazing hair and quenched the holy fires with spring water. But lord
Anchises joyfully upraised his eyes; and stretching his hands to heaven:
"Jupiter omnipotent," he cries, "if thou dost relent at any prayers, look on us
this once alone; and if our goodness deserve it, give thine aid hereafter, O
lord, and confirm this thine omen."
'Scarcely had the aged man spoken thus, when with sudden crash it
thundered on the left, and a star gliding through the dusk shot from heaven
drawing a bright trail of light. We watch it slide over the palace roof,
leaving [696-730]the mark of its pathway, and bury its brilliance in the wood
of Ida; the long drawn track shines, and the region all about fumes with
sulphur. Then conquered indeed my father rises to address the gods and
worship the holy star. "Now, now delay is done with: I follow, and where
you lead, I come. Gods of my fathers, save my house, save my grandchild.
Yours is this omen, and in your deity Troy stands. I yield, O my son, and
refuse not to go in thy company."
'He ended; and now more loudly the fire roars along the city, and the
burning tides roll nearer. "Up then, beloved father, and lean on my neck;
these shoulders of mine will sustain thee, nor will so dear a burden weigh
me down. Howsoever fortune fall, one and undivided shall be our peril, one
the escape of us twain. Little Iülus shall go along with me, and my wife
follow our steps afar. You of my household, give heed to what I say. As you
leave the city there is a mound and ancient temple of Ceres lonely on it, and
hard by an aged cypress, guarded many years in ancestral awe: to this
resting-place let us gather from diverse quarters. Thou, O father, take the

sacred things and the household gods of our ancestors in thine hand. For
me, just parted from the desperate battle, with slaughter fresh upon me, to
handle them were guilt, until I wash away in a living stream the
soilure. . . ." So spoke I, and spread over my neck and broad shoulders a
tawny lion-skin for covering, and stoop to my burden. Little Iülus, with his
hand fast in mine, keeps uneven pace after his father. Behind my wife
follows. We pass on in the shadows. And I, lately moved by no weapons
launched against me, nor by the thronging bands of my Grecian foes, am
now terrified at every breath, startled by every noise, thrilling with fear
alike for my companion and my burden.
'And now I was nearing the gates, and thought I had [731-764]outsped all the
way; when suddenly the crowded trampling of feet came to our ears, and
my father, looking forth into the darkness, cries: "My son, my son, fly; they
draw near. I espy the gleaming shields and the flicker of brass." At this, in
my flurry and confusion, some hostile god bereft me of my senses. For
while I plunge down byways, and swerve from where the familiar streets
ran, Creüsa, alas! whether, torn by fate from her unhappy husband, she
stood still, or did she mistake the way, or sink down outwearied? I know
not; and never again was she given back to our eyes; nor did I turn to look
for my lost one, or cast back a thought, ere we were come to ancient Ceres'
mound and hallowed seat; here at last, when all gathered, one was missing,
vanished from her child's and her husband's company. What man or god did
I spare in frantic reproaches? or what crueller sight met me in our city's
overthrow? I charge my comrades with Ascanius and lord Anchises, and the
gods of Teucria, hiding them in the winding vale. Myself I regain the city,
girding on my shining armour; fixed to renew every danger, to retrace my
way throughout Troy, and fling myself again on its perils. First of all I
regain the walls and the dim gateway whence my steps had issued; I scan
and follow back my footprints with searching gaze in the night. Everywhere
my spirit shudders, dismayed at the very silence. Thence I pass on home, if
haply her feet (if haply!) had led her thither. The Grecians had poured in,
and filled the palace. The devouring fire goes rolling before the wind high
as the roof; the flames tower over it, and the heat surges up into the air. I
move on, and revisit the citadel and Priam's dwelling; where now in the
spacious porticoes of Juno's sanctuary, Phoenix and accursed Ulysses,
chosen sentries, were guarding the spoil. Hither from all quarters is flung in

masses the treasure of Troy torn from burning shrines, [765-798]tables of the
gods, bowls of solid gold, and raiment of the captives. Boys and cowering
mothers in long file stand round. . . . Yes, and I dared to cry abroad through
the darkness; I filled the streets with calling, and again and yet again with
vain reiterance cried piteously on Creüsa. As I stormed and sought her
endlessly among the houses of the town, there rose before mine eyes a
melancholy phantom, the ghost of very Creüsa, in likeness larger than her
wont. I was motionless; my hair stood up, and the accents faltered on my
tongue. Then she thus addressed me, and with this speech allayed my
distresses: "What help is there in this mad passion of grief, sweet my
husband? not without divine influence does this come to pass: nor may it
be, nor does the high lord of Olympus allow, that thou shouldest carry
Creüsa hence in thy company. Long shall be thine exile, and weary spaces
of sea must thou furrow through; and thou shalt come to the land Hesperia,
where Lydian Tiber flows with soft current through rich and populous
fields. There prosperity awaits thee, and a kingdom, and a king's daughter
for thy wife. Dispel these tears for thy beloved Creüsa. Never will I look on
the proud homes of the Myrmidons or Dolopians, or go to be the slave of
Greek matrons, I a daughter of Dardania, a daughter-in-law of Venus the
goddess. . . . But the mighty mother of the gods keeps me in these her
borders. And now farewell, and still love thy child and mine." This speech
uttered, while I wept and would have said many a thing, she left me and
retreated into thin air. Thrice there was I fain to lay mine arms round her
neck; thrice the vision I vainly clasped fled out of my hands, even as the
light breezes, or most like to fluttering sleep. So at last, when night is spent,
I revisit my comrades.
'And here I find a marvellous great company, newly flocked in, mothers and
men, a people gathered for exile, [799-804]a pitiable crowd. From all quarters
they are assembled, ready in heart and fortune, to whatsoever land I will
conduct them overseas. And now the morning star rose over the high ridges
of Ida, and led on the day; and the Grecians held the gateways in leaguer,
nor was any hope of help given. I withdrew, and raising my father up, I
sought the mountain.'

BOOK THIRD
THE STORY OF THE SEVEN YEARS' WANDERING

'After heaven's lords pleased to overthrow the state of Asia and Priam's
guiltless people, and proud Ilium fell, and Neptunian Troy smokes all along
the ground, we are driven by divine omens to seek distant places of exile in
waste lands. Right under Antandros and the mountains of Phrygian Ida we
build a fleet, uncertain whither the fates carry us or where a resting-place is
given, and gather the people together. Scarcely had the first summer set in,
when lord Anchises bids us spread our sails to fortune, and weeping I leave
the shores and havens of my country, and the plains where once was Troy. I
sail to sea an exile, with my comrades and son and the gods of household
and state.
'A land of vast plains lies apart, the home of Mavors, in Thracian tillage,
and sometime under warrior Lycurgus' reign; friendly of old to Troy, and
their gods in alliance while our fortune lasted. Hither I pass, and on the
winding shore I lay under thwarting fates the first foundations of a city, and
from my own name fashion its name, Aeneadae.
'I was paying sacrifice to my mother, daughter of Dione, and to all the gods,
so to favour the work begun, and slew a shining bull on the shore to the
high lord of [22-54]the heavenly people. Haply there lay a mound hard at
hand, crowned with cornel thickets and bristling dense with shafts of
myrtle. I drew near; and essaying to tear up the green wood from the soil,
that I might cover the altar with leafy boughs, I see a portent ominous and
wonderful to tell. For from the first tree whose roots are rent away and
broken from the ground, drops of black blood trickle, and gore stains the
earth. An icy shudder shakes my limbs, and my blood curdles chill with
terror. Yet from another I go on again to tear away a tough shoot, fully to
fathom its secret; yet from another black blood follows out of the bark.
With many searchings of heart I prayed the woodland nymphs, and lord
Gradivus, who rules in the Getic fields, to make the sight propitious as was
meet and lighten the omen. But when I assail a third spearshaft with a

stronger effort, pulling with knees pressed against the sand; shall I speak or
be silent? from beneath the mound is heard a pitiable moan, and a voice is
uttered to my ears: "Woe's me, why rendest thou me, Aeneas? spare me at
last in the tomb, spare pollution to thine innocent hands. Troy bore me; not
alien to thee am I, nor this blood that oozes from the stem. Ah, fly the cruel
land, fly the greedy shore! For I am Polydorus; here the iron harvest of
weapons hath covered my pierced body, and shot up in sharp javelins."
Then indeed, borne down with dubious terror, I was motionless, my hair
stood up, and the accents faltered on my tongue.
'This Polydorus once with great weight of gold had hapless Priam sent in
secret to the nurture of the Thracian king, when now he was losing trust in
the arms of Dardania, and saw his city leaguered round about. The king,
when the Teucrian power was broken and fortune withdrew, following
Agamemnon's estate and triumphant arms, [55-87]severs every bond of duty;
murders Polydorus, and lays strong hands on the gold. O accursed hunger
of gold, to what dost thou not compel human hearts! When the terror left
my senses, I lay the divine tokens before the chosen princes of the people,
with my father at their head, and demand their judgment. All are of one
mind, to leave the guilty land, and abandoning a polluted home, to let the
gales waft our fleets. So we bury Polydorus anew, and the earth is heaped
high over his mound; altars are reared to his ghost, sad with dusky chaplets
and black cypress; and around are the Ilian women with hair unbound in
their fashion. We offer bubbling bowls of warm milk and cups of
consecrated blood, and lay the spirit to rest in her tomb, and with loud voice
utter the last call.
'Thereupon, so soon as ocean may be trusted, and the winds leave the seas
in quiet, and the soft whispering south wind calls seaward, my comrades
launch their ships and crowd the shores. We put out from harbour, and lands
and towns sink away. There lies in mid sea a holy land, most dear to the
mother of the Nereids and Neptune of Aegae, which strayed about coast and
strand till the Archer god in his affection chained it fast from high Myconos
and Gyaros, and made it lie immoveable and slight the winds. Hither I steer;
and it welcomes my weary crew to the quiet shelter of a safe haven. We
disembark and worship Apollo's town. Anius the king, king at once of the
people and priest of Phoebus, his brows garlanded with fillets and
consecrated laurel, comes to meet us; he knows Anchises, his friend of old;

we clasp hands in welcome, and enter his palace. I worshipped the god's
temple, an ancient pile of stone. "Lord of Thymbra, give us an enduring
dwelling-place; grant a house and family to thy weary servants, and a city
to abide: keep Troy's second fortress, the remnant left of the Grecians and
merciless Achilles. Whom follow [88-121]we? or whither dost thou bid us go,
where fix our seat? Grant an omen, O lord, and inspire our minds."
'Scarcely had I spoken thus; suddenly all seemed to shake, all the courts and
laurels of the god, the whole hill to be stirred round about, and the cauldron
to moan in the opening sanctuary. We sink low on the ground, and a voice is
borne to our ears: "Stubborn race of Dardanus, the same land that bore you
by parentage of old shall receive you again on her bountiful breast. Seek out
your ancient mother; hence shall the house of Aeneas sway all regions, his
children's children and they who shall be born of them." Thus Phoebus; and
mingled outcries of great gladness uprose; all ask, what is that city? whither
calls Phoebus our wandering, and bids us return? Then my father, unrolling
the records of men of old, "Hear, O princes," says he, "and learn your
hopes. In mid ocean lies Crete, the island of high Jove, wherein is mount
Ida, the cradle of our race. An hundred great towns are inhabited in that
opulent realm; from it our forefather Teucer of old, if I recall the tale aright,
sailed to the Rhoetean coasts and chose a place for his kingdom. Not yet
was Ilium nor the towers of Pergama reared; they dwelt in the valley
bottoms. Hence came our Lady, haunter of Cybele, the Corybantic cymbals
and the grove of Ida; hence the rites of inviolate secrecy, and the lions
yoked under the chariot of their mistress. Up then, and let us follow where
divine commandments lead; let us appease the winds, and seek the realm of
Gnosus. Nor is it a far journey away. Only be Jupiter favourable, the third
day shall bring our fleet to anchor on the Cretan coast." So spoke he, and
slew fit sacrifice on the altars, a bull to Neptune, a bull to thee, fair Apollo,
a black sheep to Tempest, a white to the prosperous West winds.
'Rumour flies that Idomeneus the captain is driven [122-154]forth of his
father's realm, and the shores of Crete are abandoned, that the houses are
void of foes and the dwellings lie empty to our hand. We leave the harbour
of Ortygia, and fly along the main, by the revel-trod ridges of Naxos, by
green Donusa, Olearos and snow-white Paros, and the sea-strewn Cyclades,
threading the racing channels among the crowded lands. The seamen's
clamour rises in emulous dissonance; each cheers his comrade: Seek we

Crete and our forefathers. A wind rising astern follows us forth on our way,
and we glide at last to the ancient Curetean coast. So I set eagerly to work
on the walls of my chosen town, and call it Pergamea, and exhort my
people, joyful at the name, to cherish their homes and rear the castle
buildings. And even now the ships were drawn up on the dry beach; the
people were busy in marriages and among their new fields; I was giving
statutes and homesteads; when suddenly from a tainted space of sky came,
noisome on men's bodies and pitiable on trees and crops, pestilence and a
year of death. They left their sweet lives or dragged themselves on in
misery; Sirius scorched the fields into barrenness; the herbage grew dry,
and the sickly harvest denied sustenance. My father counsels to remeasure
the sea and go again to Phoebus in his Ortygian oracle, to pray for grace
and ask what issue he ordains to our exhausted state; whence he bids us
search for aid to our woes, whither bend our course.
'Night fell, and sleep held all things living on the earth. The sacred images
of the gods and the household deities of Phrygia, that I had borne with me
from Troy out of the midst of the burning city, seemed to stand before mine
eyes as I lay sleepless, clear in the broad light where the full moon poured
through the latticed windows; then thus addressed me, and with this speech
allayed my distresses: "What Apollo hath to tell thee when thou dost [155-
188]reach Ortygia, he utters here, and sends us unsought to thy threshold. We
who followed thee and thine arms when Dardania went down in fire; we
who under thee have traversed on shipboard the swelling sea; we in like
wise will exalt to heaven thy children to be, and give empire to their city.
Do thou prepare a mighty town for a mighty people, nor draw back from the
long wearisome chase. Thou must change thy dwelling. Not to these shores
did the god at Delos counsel thee, or Apollo bid thee find rest in Crete.
There is a region Greeks name Hesperia, an ancient land, mighty in arms
and foison of the clod; Oenotrian men dwell therein; now rumour is that a
younger race have called it Italy after their captain's name. This is our true
dwelling place; hence is Dardanus sprung, and lord Iasius, the first source
of our race. Up, arise, and tell with good cheer to thine aged parent this
plain tale, to seek Corythus and the lands of Ausonia. Jupiter denies thee the
Dictaean fields."
'Astonished at this vision and divine utterance (nor was that slumber; but
openly I seemed to know their countenances, their veiled hair and gracious

faces, and therewith a cold sweat broke out all over me) I spring from my
bed and raise my voice and upturned hands skyward and pay pure offering
on the hearth. The sacrifice done, I joyfully tell Anchises, and relate all in
order. He recognises the double descent and twofold parentage, and the later
wanderings that had deceived him among ancient lands. Then he speaks: "O
son, hard wrought by the destinies of Ilium, Cassandra only foretold me this
fortune. Now I recall how she prophesied this was fated to our race, and
often cried of Hesperia, often of an Italian realm. But who was to believe
that Teucrians should come to Hesperian shores? or whom might Cassandra
then move by prophecy? Yield we to Phoebus, and follow the better [189-
222]way he counsels." So says he, and we all rejoicingly obey his speech.
This dwelling likewise we abandon; and leaving some few behind, spread
our sails and run over the waste sea in our hollow wood.
'After our ships held the high seas, nor any land yet appears, the sky all
round us and all round us the deep, a dusky shower drew up overhead
carrying night and tempest, and the wave shuddered and gloomed.
Straightway the winds upturn the main, and great seas rise; we are tossed
asunder over the dreary gulf. Stormclouds enwrap the day, and rainy gloom
blots out the sky; out of the clouds bursts fire fast upon fire. Driven from
our course, we go wandering on the blind waves. Palinurus himself
professes he cannot tell day from night on the sky, nor remember the way
amid the waters. Three dubious days of blind darkness we wander on the
deep, as many nights without a star. Not till the fourth day was land at last
seen to rise, discovering distant hills and sending up wreaths of smoke. The
sails drop; we swing back to the oars; without delay the sailors strongly toss
up the foam, and sweep through the green water. The shores of the
Strophades first receive me thus won from the waves, Strophades the Greek
name they bear, islands lying in the great Ionian sea, which boding Celaeno
and the other Harpies inhabit since Phineus' house was shut on them, and
they fled in terror from the board of old. Than these no deadlier portent nor
any fiercer plague of divine wrath hath issued from the Stygian waters;
winged things with maidens' countenance, bellies dropping filth, and
clawed hands and faces ever wan with hunger. . . .
'When borne hitherward we enter the haven, lo! we see goodly herds of
oxen scattered on the plains, and goats flocking untended over the grass. We
attack them with the sword, and call the gods and Jove himself to share our

[223-258]spoil. Then we build seats on the winding shore and banquet on the
dainty food. But suddenly the Harpies are upon us, swooping awfully from
the mountains, and shaking their wings with loud clangour, plunder the
feast, and defile everything with unclean touch, spreading a foul smell, and
uttering dreadful cries. Again, in a deep recess under a caverned rock, shut
in with waving shadows of woodland, we array the board and renew the
altar fires; again, from their blind ambush in diverse quarters of the sky, the
noisy crowd flutter with clawed feet around their prey, defiling the feast
with their lips. Then I bid my comrades take up arms, and proclaim war on
the accursed race. Even as I bade they do, range their swords in cover
among the grass, and hide their shields out of sight. So when they swooped
clamorously down along the winding shore, Misenus from his watch-tower
on high signals on the hollow brass; my comrades rush in and essay the
strange battle, to set the stain of steel on the winged horrors of the sea. But
they take no violence on their plumage, nor wounds on their bodies; and
soaring into the firmament with rapid flight, leave their foul traces on the
spoil they had half consumed. Celaeno alone, prophetess of ill, alights on a
towering cliff, and thus breaks forth in deep accents:
'"War is it for your slaughtered oxen and steers cut down, O children of
Laomedon, war is it you would declare, and drive the guiltless Harpies from
their ancestral kingdom? Take then to heart and fix fast these words of
mine; which the Lord omnipotent foretold to Phoebus, Phoebus Apollo to
me, I eldest born of the Furies reveal to you. Italy is your goal; wooing the
winds you shall go to Italy, and enter her harbours unhindered. Yet shall you
not wall round your ordained city, ere this murderous outrage on us compel
you, in portentous hunger, to eat your tables with gnawing teeth."
'She spoke, and winged her way back to the shelter of [259-293]the wood. But
my comrades' blood froze chill with sudden affright; their spirits fell; and
no longer with arms, nay with vows and prayers they bid me entreat favour,
whether these be goddesses, or winged things ill-ominous and foul. And
lord Anchises from the beach calls with outspread hands on the mighty
gods, ordering fit sacrifices: "Gods, avert their menaces! Gods, turn this
woe away, and graciously save the righteous!" Then he bids pluck the cable
from the shore and shake loose the sheets. Southern winds stretch the sails;
we scud over the foam-flecked waters, whither wind and pilot called our
course. Now wooded Zacynthos appears amid the waves, and Dulichium

and Same and Neritos' sheer rocks. We fly past the cliffs of Ithaca, Laërtes'
realm, and curse the land, fostress of cruel Ulysses. Soon too Mount
Leucata's cloudy peaks are sighted, and Apollo dreaded of sailors. Hither
we steer wearily, and stand in to the little town. The anchor is cast from the
prow; the sterns are grounded on the beach.
'So at last having attained to land beyond our hopes, we purify ourselves in
Jove's worship, and kindle altars of offering, and make the Actian shore gay
with the games of Ilium. My comrades strip, and, slippery with oil, exercise
their ancestral contests; glad to have got past so many Argive towns, and
held on their flight through the encircling foe. Meanwhile the sun rounds
the great circle of the year, and icy winter ruffles the waters with Northern
gales. I fix against the doorway a hollow shield of brass, that tall Abas had
borne, and mark the story with a verse: These arms Aeneas from the
conquering Greeks. Then I bid leave the harbour and sit down at the
thwarts; emulously my comrades strike the water, and sweep through the
seas. Soon we see the cloud-capped Phaeacian towers sink away, skirt the
shores of Epirus, and enter the Chaonian haven and approach high
Buthrotum town.
[294-328]'Here the rumour of a story beyond belief comes on our ears;
Helenus son of Priam is reigning over Greek towns, master of the bride and
sceptre of Pyrrhus the Aeacid; and Andromache hath again fallen to a
husband of her people. I stood amazed; and my heart kindled with
marvellous desire to accost him and learn of so strange a fortune. I advance
from the harbour, leaving the fleet ashore; just when haply Andromache, in
a grove before the town, by the waters of a feigned Simoïs, was pouring
libation to the dust, and calling Hector's ghost to a tomb with his name, on
an empty turfed green with two altars that she had consecrated, a wellspring
of tears. When she caught sight of me coming, and saw distractedly the
encircling arms of Troy, terror-stricken at the vision marvellously shewn,
her gaze fixed, and the heat left her frame. She swoons away, and hardly at
last speaks after long interval: "Comest thou then a real face, a real
messenger to me, goddess-born? livest thou? or if sweet light is fled, ah,
where is Hector?" She spoke, and bursting into tears filled all the place with
her crying. Just a few words I force up, and deeply moved gasp out in
broken accents: "I live indeed, I live on through all extremities; doubt not,
for real are the forms thou seest . . . Alas! after such an husband, what fate

receives thy fall? or what worthier fortune revisits thee? Dost thou, Hector's
Andromache, keep bonds of marriage with Pyrrhus?" She cast down her
countenance, and spoke with lowered voice:
'"O single in happy eminence that maiden daughter of Priam, sentenced to
die under high Troy town at an enemy's grave, who never bore the shame of
the lot, nor came a captive to her victorious master's bed! We, sailing over
alien seas from our burning land, have endured the haughty youthful pride
of Achilles' seed, and borne children in slavery: he thereafter, wooing
Leda's Hermione and a Lacedaemonian [329-363]marriage, passed me over to
Helenus' keeping, a bondwoman to a bondman. But him Orestes, aflame
with passionate desire for his stolen bride, and driven by the furies of crime,
catches unguarded and murders at his ancestral altars. At Neoptolemus'
death a share of his realm fell to Helenus' hands, who named the plains
Chaonian, and called all the land Chaonia after Chaon of Troy, and built
withal a Pergama and this Ilian citadel on the hills. But to thee how did
winds, how fates give passage? or whose divinity landed thee all unwitting
on our coasts? what of the boy Ascanius? lives he yet, and draws breath, thy
darling, whom Troy's . . . Yet hath the child affection for his lost mother? is
he roused to the valour of old and the spirit of manhood by his father
Aeneas, by his uncle Hector?"
'Such words she poured forth weeping, and prolonged the vain wail; when
the hero Helenus son of Priam approaches from the town with a great
company, knows us for his kin, and leads us joyfully to his gates, shedding
a many tears at every word. I advance and recognise a little Troy, and a
copy of the great Pergama, and a dry brook with the name of Xanthus, and
clasp a Scaean gateway. Therewithal my Teucrians make holiday in the
friendly town. The king entertained them in his spacious colonnades; in the
central hall they poured goblets of wine in libation, and held the cups while
the feast was served on gold.
'And now a day and another day hath sped; the breezes woo our sails, and
the canvas blows out to the swelling south. With these words I accost the
prophet, and thus make request:
'"Son of Troy, interpreter of the gods, whose sense is open to Phoebus'
influences, his tripods and laurels, to stars and tongues of birds and auguries

of prosperous flight, tell me now,—for the voice of revelation was all
favourable to my course, and all divine influence counselled me to [364-
396]seek Italy and explore remote lands; only Celaeno the Harpy prophesies
of strange portents, a horror to tell, and cries out of wrath and bale and foul
hunger,—what perils are the first to shun? or in what guidance may I
overcome these sore labours?"
'Hereat Helenus, first suing for divine favour with fit sacrifice of steers, and
unbinding from his head the chaplets of consecration, leads me in his hand
to thy courts, O Phoebus, thrilled with the fulness of the deity, and then
utters these prophetic words from his augural lips:
'"Goddess-born: since there is clear assurance that under high omens thou
dost voyage through the deep; so the king of the gods allots destiny and
unfolds change; this is the circle of ordinance; a few things out of many I
will unfold to thee in speech, that so thou mayest more safely traverse the
seas of thy sojourn, and find rest in the Ausonian haven; for Helenus is
forbidden by the destinies to know, and by Juno daughter of Saturn to utter
more: first of all, the Italy thou deemest now nigh, and close at hand,
unwitting! the harbours thou wouldst enter, far are they sundered by a long
and trackless track through length of lands. First must the Trinacrian wave
clog thine oar, and thy ships traverse the salt Ausonian plain, by the infernal
pools and Aeaean Circe's isle, ere thou mayest build thy city in safety on a
peaceful land. I will tell thee the token, and do thou keep it close in thine
heart. When in thy perplexity, beside the wave of a sequestered river, a great
sow shall be discovered lying under the oaks on the brink, with her
newborn litter of thirty, couched white on the ground, her white brood about
her teats; that shall be the place of the city, that the appointed rest from thy
toils. Neither shrink thou at the gnawn tables that await thee; the fates will
find a way, and Apollo aid thy call. These lands moreover, on this nearest
border of the Italian shore [397-432]that our own sea's tide washes, flee thou:
evil Greeks dwell in all their towns. Here the Locrians of Narycos have set
their city, and here Lyctian Idomeneus beset the Sallentine plains with
soldiery; here is the town of the Meliboean captain, Philoctetes' little Petelia
fenced by her wall. Nay, when thy fleets have crossed overseas and lie at
anchor, when now thou rearest altars and payest vows on the beach, veil
thine hair with a purple garment for covering, that no hostile face at thy
divine worship may meet thee amid the holy fires and make void the

omens. This fashion of sacrifice keep thou, thyself and thy comrades, and
let thy children abide in this pure observance. But when at thy departure the
wind hath borne thee to the Sicilian coast, and the barred straits of Pelorus
open out, steer for the left-hand country and the long circuit of the seas on
the left hand; shun the shore and water on thy right. These lands, they say,
of old broke asunder, torn and upheaved by vast force, when either country
was one and undivided; the ocean burst in between, cutting off with its
waves the Hesperian from the Sicilian coast, and with narrow tide washes
tilth and town along the severance of shore. On the right Scylla keeps
guard, on the left unassuaged Charybdis, who thrice swallows the vast flood
sheer down her swirling gulf, and ever again hurls it upward, lashing the
sky with water. But Scylla lies prisoned in her cavern's blind recesses,
thrusting forth her mouth and drawing ships upon the rocks. In front her
face is human, and her breast fair as a maiden's to the waist down; behind
she is a sea-dragon of monstrous frame, with dolphins' tails joined on her
wolf-girt belly. Better to track the goal of Trinacrian Pachynus, lingering
and wheeling round through long spaces, than once catch sight of
misshapen Scylla deep in her dreary cavern, and of the rocks that ring to her
sea-coloured hounds. Moreover, if [433-466]Helenus hath aught of foresight
or his prophecy of assurance, if Apollo fills his spirit with the truth, this one
thing, goddess-born, one thing for all will I foretell thee, and again and
again repeat my counsel: to great Juno's deity be thy first prayer and
worship; to Juno utter thy willing vows, and overcome thy mighty mistress
with gifts and supplications; so at last thou shalt leave Trinacria behind, and
be sped in triumph to the Italian borders. When borne hither thou drawest
nigh the Cymaean city, the haunted lakes and rustling woods of Avernus,
thou shalt behold the raving prophetess who deep in the rock chants of fate,
and marks down her words on leaves. What verses she writes down on
them, the maiden sorts into order and shuts behind her in the cave; they stay
in their places unstirred and quit not their rank. But when at the turn of the
hinge the light wind from the doorway stirs them, and disarranges the
delicate foliage, never after does she trouble to capture them as they flutter
about the hollow rock, nor restore their places or join the verses; men depart
without counsel, and hate the Sibyl's dwelling. Here let no waste in delay be
of such account to thee (though thy company chide, and the passage call thy
sails strongly to the deep, and thou mayest fill out their folds to thy desire)
that thou do not approach the prophetess, and plead with prayers that she

herself utter her oracles and deign to loose the accents from her lips. The
nations of Italy and the wars to come, and the fashion whereby every toil
may be avoided or endured, she shall unfold to thee, and grant her
worshipper prosperous passage. Thus far is our voice allowed to counsel
thee: go thy way, and exalt Troy to heaven by thy deeds."
'This the seer uttered with friendly lips; then orders gifts to be carried to my
ships, of heavy gold and sawn ivory, and loads the hulls with massy silver
and cauldrons [467-502]of Dodona, a mail coat triple-woven with hooks of
gold, and a helmet splendid with spike and tressed plumes, the armour of
Neoptolemus. My father too hath his gifts. Horses besides he brings, and
grooms . . . fills up the tale of our oarsmen, and equips my crews with arms.
'Meanwhile Anchises bade the fleet set their sails, that the fair wind might
meet no delay. Him Phoebus' interpreter accosts with high courtesy:
"Anchises, honoured with the splendour of Venus' espousal, the gods'
charge, twice rescued from the fallen towers of Troy, lo! the land of
Ausonia is before thee: sail thou and seize it. And yet needs must thou float
past it on the sea; far away lies the quarter of Ausonia that is revealed of
Apollo. Go," he continues, "happy in thy son's affection: why do I run on
further, and delay the rising winds in talk?" Andromache too, sad at this last
parting, brings figured raiment with woof of gold, and a Phrygian scarf for
Ascanius, and wearies not in courtesy, loading him with gifts from the
loom. "Take these too," so says she, "my child, to be memorials to thee of
my hands, and testify long hence the love of Andromache wife of Hector.
Take these last gifts of thy kinsfolk, O sole surviving likeness to me of my
own Astyanax! Such was he, in eyes and hands and features; and now his
equal age were growing into manhood like thine."
'To them as I departed I spoke with starting tears: "Live happily, as they do
whose fortunes are perfected! We are summoned ever from fate to fate. For
you there is rest in store, and no ocean floor to furrow, no ever-retreating
Ausonian fields to pursue. You see a pictured Xanthus, and a Troy your own
hands have built; with better omens, I pray, and to be less open to the
Greeks. If ever I enter Tiber and Tiber's bordering fields, and see a city
granted to my nation, then of these kindred towns [503-537]and allied peoples
in Epirus and Hesperia, which have the same Dardanus for founder, and

whose story is one, of both will our hearts make a single Troy. Let that
charge await our posterity."
'We put out to sea, keeping the Ceraunian mountains close at hand, whence
is the shortest passage and seaway to Italy. The sun sets meanwhile, and the
dusky hills grow dim. We choose a place, and fling ourselves on the lap of
earth at the water's edge, and, allotting the oars, spread ourselves on the dry
beach for refreshment: the dew of slumber falls on our weary limbs. Not yet
had Night driven of the Hours climbed her mid arch; Palinurus rises lightly
from his couch, explores all the winds, and listens to catch a breeze; he
marks the constellations gliding together through the silent sky, Arcturus,
the rainy Hyades and the twin Oxen, and scans Orion in his armour of gold.
When he sees the clear sky quite unbroken, he gives from the stern his shrill
signal; we disencamp and explore the way, and spread the wings of our
sails. And now reddening Dawn had chased away the stars, when we descry
afar dim hills and the low line of Italy. Achates first raises the cry of Italy;
and with joyous shouts my comrades salute Italy. Then lord Anchises
enwreathed a great bowl and filled it up with wine; and called on the gods,
standing high astern . . . "Gods sovereign over sea and land and weather!
bring wind to ease our way, and breathe favourably." The breezes freshen at
his prayer, and now the harbour opens out nearer at hand, and a temple
appears on the Fort of Minerva. My comrades furl the sails and swing the
prows to shore. The harbour is scooped into an arch by the Eastern flood;
reefs run out and foam with the salt spray; itself it lies concealed; turreted
walls of rock let down their arms on either hand, and the temple retreats
from the beach. Here, an inaugural sight, four horses of snowy [538-
570]whiteness are grazing abroad on the grassy plain. And lord Anchises:
"War dost thou carry, land of our sojourn; horses are armed in war, and
menace of war is in this herd. But yet these same beasts are wont in time to
enter harness, and carry yoke and bit in concord; there is hope of peace
too," says he. Then we pray to the holy deity, Pallas of the clangorous arms,
the first to welcome our cheers. And before the altars we veil our heads in
Phrygian garments, and duly, after the counsel Helenus had urged deepest
on us, pay the bidden burnt-sacrifice to Juno of Argos.
'Without delay, once our vows are fully paid, we round to the arms of our
sailyards and leave the dwellings and menacing fields of the Grecian
people. Next is descried the bay of Tarentum, town, if rumour is true, of

Hercules. Over against it the goddess of Lacinium rears her head, with the
towers of Caulon, and Scylaceum wrecker of ships. Then Trinacrian Aetna
is descried in the distance rising from the waves, and we hear from afar a
great roaring of the sea on beaten rocks, and broken noises by the shore: the
channels boil up, and the surge churns with sand. And lord Anchises: "Of a
surety this is that Charybdis; of these cliffs, these awful rocks did Helenus
prophesy. Out, O comrades, and rise together to the oars." Even as bidden
they do; and first Palinurus swung the gurgling prow leftward through the
water; to the left all our squadron bent with oar and wind. We are lifted
skyward on the crescent wave, and again sunk deep into the nether world as
the water is sucked away. Thrice amid their rocky caverns the cliffs uttered
a cry; thrice we see the foam flung out, and the stars through a dripping
veil. Meanwhile the wind falls with sundown; and weary and ignorant of
the way we glide on to the Cyclopes' coast.
'There lies a harbour large and unstirred by the winds' [571-604]entrance; but
nigh it Aetna thunders awfully in wrack, and ever and again hurls a black
cloud into the sky, smoking with boiling pitch and embers white hot, and
heaves balls of flame flickering up to the stars: ever and again vomits out
on high crags from the torn entrails of the mountain, tosses up masses of
molten rock with a groan, and boils forth from the bottom. Rumour is that
this mass weighs down the body of Enceladus, half-consumed by the
thunderbolt, and mighty Aetna laid over him suspires the flame that bursts
from her furnaces; and so often as he changes his weary side, all Trinacria
shudders and moans, veiling the sky in smoke. That night we spend in cover
of the forest among portentous horrors, and see not from what source the
noise comes. For neither did the stars show their fires, nor was the vault of
constellated sky clear; but vapours blotted heaven, and the moon was held
in a storm-cloud through dead of night.
'And now the morrow was rising in the early east, and the dewy darkness
rolled away from the sky by Dawn, when sudden out of the forest advances
a human shape strange and unknown, worn with uttermost hunger and
pitiably attired, and stretches entreating hands towards the shore. We look
back. Filthy and wretched, with shaggy beard and a coat pinned together
with thorns, he was yet a Greek, and had been sent of old to Troy in his
father's arms. And he, when he saw afar the Dardanian habits and armour of
Troy, hung back a little in terror at the sight, and stayed his steps; then ran

headlong to the shore with weeping and prayers: "By the heavens I beseech
you, by the heavenly powers and this luminous sky that gives us breath,
take me up, O Trojans, carry me away to any land soever, and it will be
enough. I know I am one out of the Grecian fleets, I confess I warred
against the household gods of Ilium; for that, if our wrong and guilt is so
great, throw [605-639]me piecemeal on the flood or plunge me in the waste
sea. If I do perish, gladly will I perish at human hands." He ended; and
clung clasping our knees and grovelling at them. We encourage him to tell
who he is and of what blood born, and reveal how Fortune pursues him
since then. Lord Anchises after little delay gives him his hand, and
strengthens his courage by visible pledge. At last, laying aside his terror, he
speaks thus:
'"I am from an Ithacan home, Achemenides by name, set out for Troy in
luckless Ulysses' company; poor was my father Adamastus, and would God
fortune had stayed thus! Here my comrades abandoned me in the Cyclops'
vast cave, mindless of me while they hurry away from the barbarous gates.
It is a house of gore and blood-stained feasts, dim and huge within. Himself
he is great of stature and knocks at the lofty sky (gods, take away a curse
like this from earth!) to none gracious in aspect or courteous of speech. He
feeds on the flesh and dark blood of wretched men. I myself saw, when he
caught the bodies of two of us with his great hand, and lying back in the
middle of the cave crushed them on the rock, and the courts splashed and
swam with gore; I saw when he champed the flesh adrip with dark clots of
blood, and the warm limbs quivered under his teeth. Yet not unavenged.
Ulysses brooked not this, nor even in such straits did the Ithacan forget
himself. For so soon as he, gorged with his feast and buried in wine, lay
with bent neck sprawling huge over the cave, in his sleep vomiting gore and
gobbets mixed with wine and blood, we, praying to the great gods and with
parts allotted, pour at once all round him, and pierce with a sharp weapon
the huge eye that lay sunk single under his savage brow, in fashion of an
Argolic shield or the lamp of the moon; and at last we exultingly avenge the
ghosts of our comrades. But fly, O wretched men, fly [640-674]and pluck the
cable from the beach. . . . For even in the shape and stature of Polyphemus,
when he shuts his fleeced flocks and drains their udders in the cave's covert,
an hundred other horrible Cyclopes dwell all about this shore and stray on
the mountain heights. Thrice now does the horned moon fill out her light,

while I linger in life among desolate lairs and haunts of wild beasts in the
woodland, and from a rock survey the giant Cyclopes and shudder at their
cries and echoing feet. The boughs yield a miserable sustenance, berries and
stony sloes, and plants torn up by the root feed me. Sweeping all the view, I
at last espied this fleet standing in to shore. On it, whatsoever it were, I cast
myself; it is enough to have escaped the accursed tribe. Do you rather, by
any death you will, destroy this life of mine."
'Scarcely had he spoken thus, when on the mountain top we see shepherding
his flocks a vast moving mass, Polyphemus himself seeking the shores he
knew, a horror ominous, shapeless, huge, bereft of sight. A pine lopped by
his hand guides and steadies his footsteps. His fleeced sheep attend him,
this his single delight and solace in ill. . . . After he hath touched the deep
flood and come to the sea, he washes in it the blood that oozes from his eye-
socket, grinding his teeth with groans; and now he strides through the sea
up to his middle, nor yet does the wave wet his towering sides. We hurry far
away in precipitate flight, with the suppliant who had so well merited
rescue; and silently cut the cable, and bending forward sweep the sea with
emulous oars. He heard, and turned his steps towards the echoing sound.
But when he may in no wise lay hands on us, nor can fathom the Ionian
waves in pursuit, he raises a vast cry, at which the sea and all his waves
shuddered, and the deep land of Italy was startled, and Aetna's vaulted
caverns moaned. But the tribe of the [675-709]Cyclopes, roused from the high
wooded hills, run to the harbour and fill the shore. We descry the Aetnean
brotherhood standing impotent with scowling eye, their stately heads up to
heaven, a dreadful consistory; even as on a mountain summit stand oaks
high in air or coned cypresses, a high forest of Jove or covert of Diana.
Sharp fear urges us to shake out the sheets in reckless haste, and spread our
sails to the favouring wind. Yet Helenus' commands counsel that our course
keep not the way between Scylla and Charybdis, the very edge of death on
either hand. We are resolved to turn our canvas back. And lo! from the
narrow fastness of Pelorus the North wind comes down and reaches us. I
sail past Pantagias' mouth with its living stone, the Megarian bay, and low-
lying Thapsus. Such names did Achemenides, of luckless Ulysses'
company, point out as he retraced his wanderings along the returning
shores.

'Stretched in front of a bay of Sicily lies an islet over against wavebeat
Plemyrium; they of old called it Ortygia. Hither Alpheus the river of Elis, so
rumour runs, hath cloven a secret passage beneath the sea, and now through
thy well-head, Arethusa, mingles with the Sicilian waves. We adore as
bidden the great deities of the ground; and thence I cross the fertile soil of
Helorus in the marsh. Next we graze the high reefs and jutting rocks of
Pachynus; and far off appears Camarina, forbidden for ever by oracles to
move, and the Geloan plains, and vast Gela named after its river. Then
Acragas on the steep, once the breeder of noble horses, displays its massive
walls in the distance; and with granted breeze I leave thee behind, palm-girt
Selinus, and thread the difficult shoals and blind reefs of Lilybaeum.
Thereon Drepanum receives me in its haven and joyless border. Here, so
many tempestuous seas outgone, alas! my father, the solace of every care
and chance, Anchises is [710-718]lost to me. Here thou, dear lord, abandonest
me in weariness, alas! rescued in vain from peril and doom. Not Helenus
the prophet, though he counselled of many a terror, not boding Celaeno
foretold me of this grief. This was the last agony, this the goal of the long
ways; thence it was I had departed when God landed me on your coasts.'
Thus lord Aeneas with all attent retold alone the divine doom and the
history of his goings. At last he was hushed, and here in silence made an
end.

BOOK FOURTH
THE LOVE OF DIDO, AND HER END

But the Queen, long ere now pierced with sore distress, feeds the wound
with her life-blood, and catches the fire unseen. Again and again his own
valiance and his line's renown flood back upon her spirit; look and accent
cling fast in her bosom, and the pain allows not rest or calm to her limbs.
The morrow's dawn bore the torch of Phoebus across the earth, and had
rolled away the dewy darkness from the sky, when, scarce herself, she thus
opens her confidence to her sister:
'Anna, my sister, such dreams of terror thrill me through! What guest
unknown is this who hath entered our dwelling? How high his mien! how
brave in heart as in arms! I believe it well, with no vain assurance, his blood
is divine. Fear proves the vulgar spirit. Alas, by what destinies is he driven!
what wars outgone he chronicled! Were my mind not planted, fixed and
immoveable, to ally myself to none in wedlock since my love of old was
false to me in the treachery of death; were I not sick to the heart of bridal
torch and chamber, to this temptation alone I might haply yield. Anna, I will
confess it; since Sychaeus mine husband met his piteous doom, and our
household was shattered by a brother's murder, he only hath [22-55]touched
mine heart and stirred the balance of my soul. I know the prints of the
ancient flame. But rather, I pray, may earth first yawn deep for me, or the
Lord omnipotent hurl me with his thunderbolt into gloom, the pallid gloom
and profound night of Erebus, ere I soil thee, mine honour, or unloose thy
laws. He took my love away who made me one with him long ago; he shall
keep it with him, and guard it in the tomb.' She spoke, and welling tears
filled the bosom of her gown.
Anna replies: 'O dearer than the daylight to thy sister, wilt thou waste, sad
and alone, all thy length of youth, and know not the sweetness of
motherhood, nor love's bounty? Deemest thou the ashes care for that, or the
ghost within the tomb? Be it so: in days gone by no wooers bent thy sorrow,
not in Libya, not ere then in Tyre; Iarbas was slighted, and other princes

nurtured by the triumphal land of Africa; wilt thou contend so with a love to
thy liking? nor does it cross thy mind whose are these fields about thy
dwelling? On this side are the Gaetulian towns, a race unconquerable in
war; the reinless Numidian riders and the grim Syrtis hem thee in; on this
lies a thirsty tract of desert, swept by the raiders of Barca. Why speak of the
war gathering from Tyre, and thy brother's menaces? . . . With gods'
auspices to my thinking, and with Juno's favour, hath the Ilian fleet held on
hither before the gale. What a city wilt thou discern here, O sister! what a
realm will rise on such a union! the arms of Troy ranged with ours, what
glory will exalt the Punic state! Do thou only, asking divine favour with
peace-offerings, be bounteous in welcome and draw out reasons for delay,
while the storm rages at sea and Orion is wet, and his ships are shattered
and the sky unvoyageable.' With these words she made the fire of love
flame up in her spirit, put hope in her wavering soul, and let honour slip
away.
[56-90]First they visit the shrines, and desire grace from altar to altar; they
sacrifice sheep fitly chosen to Ceres the Lawgiver, to Phoebus and lord
Lyaeus, to Juno before all, guardian of the marriage bond. Dido herself,
excellent in beauty, holds the cup in her hand, and pours libation between
the horns of a milk-white cow, or moves in state to the rich altars before the
gods' presences, day by day renewing her gifts, and gazing athirst into the
breasts of cattle laid open to take counsel from the throbbing entrails. Ah,
witless souls of soothsayers! how may vows or shrines help her madness?
all the while the subtle flame consumes her inly, and deep in her breast the
wound is silent and alive. Stung to misery, Dido wanders in frenzy all down
the city, even as an arrow-stricken deer, whom, far and heedless amid the
Cretan woodland, a shepherd archer hath pierced and left the flying steel in
her unaware; she ranges in flight the Dictaean forest lawns; fast in her side
clings the deadly reed. Now she leads Aeneas with her through the town,
and displays her Sidonian treasure and ordered city; she essays to speak,
and breaks off half-way in utterance. Now, as day wanes, she seeks the
repeated banquet, and again madly pleads to hear the agonies of Ilium, and
again hangs on the teller's lips. Thereafter, when all are gone their ways,
and the dim moon in turn quenches her light, and the setting stars counsel to
sleep, alone in the empty house she mourns, and flings herself on the couch
he left: distant she hears and sees him in the distance; or enthralled by the

look he has of his father, she holds Ascanius on her lap, if so she may steal
the love she may not utter. No more do the unfinished towers rise, no more
do the people exercise in arms, nor work for safety in war on harbour or
bastion; the works hang broken off, vast looming walls and engines
towering into the sky.
So soon as she perceives her thus fast in the toils, and [91-124]madly careless
of her name, Jove's beloved wife, daughter of Saturn, accosts Venus thus:
'Noble indeed is the fame and splendid the spoils you win, thou and that
boy of thine, and mighty the renown of deity, if two gods have vanquished
one woman by treachery. Nor am I so blind to thy terror of our town, thine
old suspicion of the high house of Carthage. But what shall be the end? or
why all this contest now? Nay, rather let us work an enduring peace and a
bridal compact. Thou hast what all thy soul desired; Dido is on fire with
love, and hath caught the madness through and through. Then rule we this
people jointly in equal lordship; allow her to be a Phrygian husband's slave,
and to lay her Tyrians for dowry in thine hand.'
To her—for she knew the dissembled purpose of her words, to turn the
Teucrian kingdom away to the coasts of Libya—Venus thus began in
answer: 'Who so mad as to reject these terms, or choose rather to try the
fortune of war with thee? if only when done, as thou sayest, fortune follow.
But I move in uncertainty of Jove's ordinance, whether he will that Tyrians
and wanderers from Troy be one city, or approve the mingling of peoples
and the treaty of union. Thou art his wife, and thy prayers may essay his
soul. Go on; I will follow.'
Then Queen Juno thus rejoined: 'That task shall be mine. Now, by what
means the present need may be fulfilled, attend and I will explain in brief.
Aeneas and Dido (alas and woe for her!) are to go hunting together in the
woodland when to-morrow's rising sun goes forth and his rays unveil the
world. On them, while the beaters run up and down, and the lawns are girt
with toils, will I pour down a blackening rain-cloud mingled with hail, and
startle all the sky in thunder. Their company will scatter for shelter in the
dim darkness; Dido and the Trojan captain [125-159]shall take refuge in the
same cavern. I will be there, and if thy goodwill is assured me, I will unite
them in wedlock, and make her wholly his; here shall Hymen be present.'

The Cytherean gave ready assent to her request, and laughed at the wily
invention.
Meanwhile Dawn rises forth of ocean. A chosen company issue from the
gates while the morning star is high; they pour forth with meshed nets, toils,
broad-headed hunting spears, Massylian horsemen and sinewy sleuth-
hounds. At her doorway the chief of Carthage await their queen, who yet
lingers in her chamber, and her horse stands splendid in gold and purple
with clattering feet and jaws champing on the foamy bit. At last she comes
forth amid a great thronging train, girt in a Sidonian mantle, broidered with
needlework; her quiver is of gold, her tresses knotted into gold, a golden
buckle clasps up her crimson gown. Therewithal the Phrygian train
advances with joyous Iülus. Himself first and foremost of all, Aeneas joins
her company and unites his party to hers: even as Apollo, when he leaves
wintry Lycia and the streams of Xanthus to visit his mother's Delos, and
renews the dance, while Cretans and Dryopes and painted Agathyrsians
mingle clamorous about his altars: himself he treads the Cynthian ridges,
and plaits his flowing hair with soft heavy sprays and entwines it with gold;
the arrows rattle on his shoulder: as lightly as he went Aeneas; such glow
and beauty is on his princely face. When they are come to the mountain
heights and pathless coverts, lo, wild goats driven from the cliff-tops run
down the ridge; in another quarter stags speed over the open plain and
gather their flying column in a cloud of dust as they leave the hills. But the
boy Ascanius is in the valleys, exultant on his fiery horse, and gallops past
one and another, praying that among the unwarlike herds a foaming boar
may issue or a tawny lion descend the hill.
[160-194]Meanwhile the sky begins to thicken and roar aloud. A rain-cloud
comes down mingled with hail; the Tyrian train and the men of Troy, and
the Dardanian boy of Venus' son scatter in fear, and seek shelter far over the
fields. Streams pour from the hills. Dido and the Trojan captain take refuge
in the same cavern. Primeval Earth and Juno the bridesmaid give the sign;
fires flash out high in air, witnessing the union, and Nymphs cry aloud on
the mountain-top. That day opened the gate of death and the springs of ill.
For now Dido recks not of eye or tongue, nor sets her heart on love in
secret: she calls it marriage, and with this name veils her fall.

Straightway Rumour runs through the great cities of Libya,—Rumour, than
whom none other is more swift to mischief; she thrives on restlessness and
gains strength by going: at first small and timorous; soon she lifts herself on
high and paces the ground with head hidden among the clouds. Her, one
saith, Mother Earth, when stung by wrath against the gods, bore last sister
to Coeus and Enceladus, fleet-footed and swift of wing, ominous, awful,
vast; for every feather on her body is a waking eye beneath, wonderful to
tell, and a tongue, and as many loud lips and straining ears. By night she
flits between sky and land, shrilling through the dusk, and droops not her
lids in sweet slumber; in daylight she sits on guard upon tall towers or the
ridge of the house-roof, and makes great cities afraid; obstinate in
perverseness and forgery no less than messenger of truth. She then
exultingly filled the countries with manifold talk, and blazoned alike what
was done and undone: one Aeneas is come, born of Trojan blood; on him
beautiful Dido thinks no shame to fling herself; now they hold their winter,
long-drawn through mutual caresses, regardless of their realms and
enthralled by passionate dishonour. This the pestilent goddess [195-
227]spreads abroad in the mouths of men, and bends her course right on to
King Iarbas, and with her words fires his spirit and swells his wrath.
He, the seed of Ammon by a ravished Garamantian Nymph, had built to
Jove in his wide realms an hundred great temples, an hundred altars, and
consecrated the wakeful fire that keeps watch by night before the gods
perpetually, where the soil is fat with blood of beasts and the courts
blossom with pied garlands. And he, distracted and on fire at the bitter
tidings, before his altars, amid the divine presences, often, it is said, bowed
in prayer to Jove with uplifted hands:
'Jupiter omnipotent, to whom from the broidered cushions of their
banqueting halls the Maurusian people now pour Lenaean offering, lookest
thou on this? or do we shudder vainly when our father hurls the thunderbolt,
and do blind fires in the clouds and idle rumblings appal our soul? The
woman who, wandering in our coasts, planted a small town on purchased
ground, to whom we gave fields by the shore and laws of settlement, she
hath spurned our alliance and taken Aeneas for lord of her realm. And now
that Paris, with his effeminate crew, his chin and oozy hair swathed in the
turban of Maeonia, takes and keeps her; since to thy temples we bear
oblation, and hallow an empty name.'

In such words he pleaded, clasping the altars; the Lord omnipotent heard,
and cast his eye on the royal city and the lovers forgetful of their fairer
fame. Then he addresses this charge to Mercury:
'Up and away, O son! call the breezes and slide down them on thy wings:
accost the Dardanian captain who now loiters in Tyrian Carthage and casts
not a look on destined cities; carry down my words through the fleet air.
Not such an one did his mother most beautiful vouch him to [228-264]us, nor
for this twice rescue him from Grecian arms; but he was to rule an Italy
teeming with empire and loud with war, to transmit the line of Teucer's
royal blood, and lay all the world beneath his law. If such glories kindle him
in nowise, and he take no trouble for his own honour, does a father grudge
his Ascanius the towers of Rome? with what device or in what hope loiters
he among a hostile race, and casts not a glance on his Ausonian children
and the fields of Lavinium? Let him set sail: this is the sum: thereof be thou
our messenger.'
He ended: his son made ready to obey his high command. And first he laces
to his feet the shoes of gold that bear him high winging over seas or land as
fleet as the gale; then takes the rod wherewith he calls wan souls forth of
Orcus, or sends them again to the sad depth of hell, gives sleep and takes it
away and unseals dead eyes; in whose strength he courses the winds and
swims across the tossing clouds. And now in flight he descries the peak and
steep sides of toiling Atlas, whose crest sustains the sky; Atlas, whose pine-
clad head is girt alway with black clouds and beaten by wind and rain; snow
is shed over his shoulders for covering; rivers tumble over his aged chin;
and his rough beard is stiff with ice. Here the Cyllenian, poised evenly on
his wings, made a first stay; hence he shot himself sheer to the water. Like a
bird that flies low, skirting the sea about the craggy shores of its fishery,
even thus the brood of Cyllene left his mother's father, and flew, cutting the
winds between sky and land, along the sandy Libyan shore. So soon as his
winged feet reached the settlement, he espies Aeneas founding towers and
ordering new dwellings; his sword twinkled with yellow jasper, and a cloak
hung from his shoulders ablaze with Tyrian sea-purple, a gift that Dido had
made costly and shot the warp with thin gold. Straightway [265-299]he breaks
in: 'Layest thou now the foundations of tall Carthage, and buildest up a fair
city in dalliance? ah, forgetful of thine own kingdom and state! From bright
Olympus I descend to thee at express command of heaven's sovereign,

whose deity sways sky and earth; expressly he bids me carry this charge
through the fleet air: with what device or in what hope dost thou loiter idly
on Libyan lands? if such glories kindle thee in nowise, yet cast an eye on
growing Ascanius, on Iülus thine hope and heir, to whom the kingdom of
Italy and the Roman land are due.' As these words left his lips the
Cyllenian, yet speaking, quitted mortal sight and vanished into thin air away
out of his eyes.
But Aeneas in truth gazed in dumb amazement, his hair thrilled up, and the
accents faltered on his tongue. He burns to flee away and leave the pleasant
land, aghast at the high warning and divine ordinance. Alas, what shall he
do? how venture to smooth the tale to the frenzied queen? what prologue
shall he find? and this way and that he rapidly throws his mind, and turns it
on all hands in swift change of thought. In his perplexity this seemed the
better counsel; he calls Mnestheus and Sergestus, and brave Serestus, and
bids them silently equip the fleet, gather their crews on shore, and order
their armament, keeping the cause of the commotion hid; himself
meanwhile, since Dido the gracious knows not nor looks for severance to so
strong a love, will essay to approach her when she may be told most gently,
and the way for it be fair. All at once gladly do as bidden, and obey his
command.
But the Queen—who may delude a lover?—foreknew his devices, and at
once caught the presaging stir. Safety's self was fear; to her likewise had
evil Rumour borne the maddening news that they equip the fleet and
prepare [300-334]for passage. Helpless at heart, she reels aflame with rage
throughout the city, even as the startled Thyiad in her frenzied triennial
orgies, when the holy vessels move forth and the cry of Bacchus re-echoes,
and Cithaeron calls her with nightlong din. Thus at last she opens out upon
Aeneas:
'And thou didst hope, traitor, to mask the crime, and slip away in silence
from my land? Our love holds thee not, nor the hand thou once gavest, nor
the bitter death that is left for Dido's portion? Nay, under the wintry star
thou labourest on thy fleet, and hastenest to launch into the deep amid
northern gales; ah, cruel! Why, were thy quest not of alien fields and
unknown dwellings, did thine ancient Troy remain, should Troy be sought
in voyages over tossing seas? Fliest thou from me? me who by these tears

and thine own hand beseech thee, since naught else, alas! have I kept mine
own—by our union and the marriage rites preparing; if I have done thee any
grace, or aught of mine hath once been sweet in thy sight,—pity our sinking
house, and if there yet be room for prayers, put off this purpose of thine. For
thy sake Libyan tribes and Nomad kings are hostile; my Tyrians are
estranged; for thy sake, thine, is mine honour perished, and the former
fame, my one title to the skies. How leavest thou me to die, O my guest?
since to this the name of husband is dwindled down. For what do I wait? till
Pygmalion overthrow his sister's city, or Gaetulian Iarbas lead me to
captivity? At least if before thy flight a child of thine had been clasped in
my arms,—if a tiny Aeneas were playing in my hall, whose face might yet
image thine,—I would not think myself ensnared and deserted utterly.'
She ended; he by counsel of Jove held his gaze unstirred, and kept his
distress hard down in his heart. At last he briefly answers:
'Never, O Queen, will I deny that thy goodness hath [335-368]gone high as
thy words can swell the reckoning; nor will my memory of Elissa be
ungracious while I remember myself, and breath sways this body. Little will
I say in this. I never hoped to slip away in stealthy flight; fancy not that; nor
did I ever hold out the marriage torch or enter thus into alliance. Did fate
allow me to guide my life by mine own government, and calm my sorrows
as I would, my first duty were to the Trojan city and the dear remnant of my
kindred; the high house of Priam should abide, and my hand had set up
Troy towers anew for a conquered people. But now for broad Italy hath
Apollo of Grynos bidden me steer, for Italy the oracles of Lycia. Here is my
desire; this is my native country. If thy Phoenician eyes are stayed on
Carthage towers and thy Libyan city, what wrong is it, I pray, that we
Trojans find our rest on Ausonian land? We too may seek a foreign realm
unforbidden. In my sleep, often as the dank shades of night veil the earth,
often as the stars lift their fires, the troubled phantom of my father Anchises
comes in warning and dread; my boy Ascanius, how I wrong one so dear in
cheating him of an Hesperian kingdom and destined fields. Now even the
gods' interpreter, sent straight from Jove—I call both to witness—hath
borne down his commands through the fleet air. Myself in broad daylight I
saw the deity passing within the walls, and these ears drank his utterance.
Cease to madden me and thyself alike with plaints. Not of my will do I
follow Italy. . . .'

Long ere he ended she gazes on him askance, turning her eyes from side to
side and perusing him with silent glances; then thus wrathfully speaks:
'No goddess was thy mother, nor Dardanus founder of thy line, traitor! but
rough Caucasus bore thee on his iron crags, and Hyrcanian tigresses gave
thee suck. For why do I conceal it? For what further outrage do I wait? [369-
400]Hath our weeping cost him a sigh, or a lowered glance? Hath he broken
into tears, or had pity on his lover? Where, where shall I begin? Now
neither doth Queen Juno nor our Saturnian lord regard us with righteous
eyes. Nowhere is trust safe. Cast ashore and destitute I welcomed him, and
madly gave him place and portion in my kingdom; I found him his lost fleet
and drew his crews from death. Alas, the fire of madness speeds me on.
Now prophetic Apollo, now oracles of Lycia, now the very gods' interpreter
sent straight from Jove through the air carries these rude commands! Truly
that is work for the gods, that a care to vex their peace! I detain thee not,
nor gainsay thy words: go, follow thine Italy down the wind; seek thy realm
overseas. Yet midway my hope is, if righteous gods can do aught at all, thou
wilt drain the cup of vengeance on the rocks, and re-echo calls on Dido's
name. In murky fires I will follow far away, and when chill death hath
severed body from soul, my ghost will haunt thee in every region. Wretch,
thou shalt repay! I will hear; and the rumour of it shall reach me deep in the
under world.'
Even on these words she breaks off her speech unfinished, and, sick at
heart, escapes out of the air and sweeps round and away out of sight,
leaving him in fear and much hesitance, and with much on his mind to say.
Her women catch her in their arms, and carry her swooning to her marble
chamber and lay her on her bed.
But good Aeneas, though he would fain soothe and comfort her grief, and
talk away her distress, with many a sigh, and melted in soul by his great
love, yet fulfils the divine commands and returns to his fleet. Then indeed
the Teucrians set to work, and haul down their tall ships all along the shore.
The hulls are oiled and afloat; they carry from the woodland green boughs
for oars and massy logs unhewn, in hot haste to go. . . . One might descry
them shifting [401-433]their quarters and pouring out of all the town: even as
ants, mindful of winter, plunder a great heap of wheat and store it in their
house; a black column advances on the plain as they carry home their spoil

on a narrow track through the grass. Some shove and strain with their
shoulders at big grains, some marshal the ranks and chastise delay; all the
path is aswarm with work. What then were thy thoughts, O Dido, as thou
sawest it? What sighs didst thou utter, viewing from the fortress roof the
broad beach aswarm, and seeing before thine eyes the whole sea stirred
with their noisy din? Injurious Love, to what dost thou not compel mortal
hearts! Again, she must needs break into tears, again essay entreaty, and
bow her spirit down to love, not to leave aught untried and go to death in
vain.
'Anna, thou seest the bustle that fills the shore. They have gathered round
from every quarter; already their canvas woos the breezes, and the merry
sailors have garlanded the sterns. This great pain, my sister, I shall have
strength to bear, as I have had strength to foresee. Yet this one thing, Anna,
for love and pity's sake—for of thee alone was the traitor fain, to thee even
his secret thoughts were confided, alone thou knewest his moods and tender
fits—go, my sister, and humbly accost the haughty stranger: I did not take
the Grecian oath in Aulis to root out the race of Troy; I sent no fleet against
her fortresses; neither have I disentombed his father Anchises' ashes and
ghost, that he should refuse my words entrance to his stubborn ears.
Whither does he run? let him grant this grace—alas, the last!—to his lover,
and await fair winds and an easy passage. No more do I pray for the old
delusive marriage, nor that he give up fair Latium and abandon a kingdom.
A breathing-space I ask, to give my madness rest and room, till my very
[434-469]fortune teach my grief submission. This last favour I implore: sister,
be pitiful; grant this to me, and I will restore it in full measure when I die.'
So she pleaded, and so her sister carries and recarries the piteous tale of
weeping. But by no weeping is he stirred, inflexible to all the words he
hears. Fate withstands, and lays divine bars on unmoved mortal ears. Even
as when the eddying blasts of northern Alpine winds are emulous to uproot
the secular strength of a mighty oak, it wails on, and the trunk quivers and
the high foliage strews the ground; the tree clings fast on the rocks, and
high as her top soars into heaven, so deep strike her roots to hell; even thus
is the hero buffeted with changeful perpetual accents, and distress thrills his
mighty breast, while his purpose stays unstirred, and tears fall in vain.

Then indeed, hapless and dismayed by doom, Dido prays for death, and is
weary of gazing on the arch of heaven. The more to make her fulfil her
purpose and quit the light, she saw, when she laid her gifts on the altars
alight with incense, awful to tell, the holy streams blacken, and the wine
turn as it poured into ghastly blood. Of this sight she spoke to none—no,
not to her sister. Likewise there was within the house a marble temple of her
ancient lord, kept of her in marvellous honour, and fastened with snowy
fleeces and festal boughs. Forth of it she seemed to hear her husband's voice
crying and calling when night was dim upon earth, and alone on the house-
tops the screech-owl often made moan with funeral note and long-drawn
sobbing cry. Therewithal many a warning of wizards of old terrifies her
with appalling presage. In her sleep fierce Aeneas drives her wildly, and
ever she seems being left by herself alone, ever going uncompanioned on a
weary way, and seeking her Tyrians in a solitary land: even as frantic
Pentheus sees the [470-503]arrayed Furies and a double sun, and Thebes
shows herself twofold to his eyes: or Agamemnonian Orestes, renowned in
tragedy, when his mother pursues him armed with torches and dark
serpents, and the Fatal Sisters crouch avenging in the doorway.
So when, overcome by her pangs, she caught the madness and resolved to
die, she works out secretly the time and fashion, and accosts her sorrowing
sister with mien hiding her design and hope calm on her brow.
'I have found a way, mine own—wish me joy, sisterlike—to restore him to
me or release me of my love for him. Hard by the ocean limit and the set of
sun is the extreme Aethiopian land, where ancient Atlas turns on his
shoulders the starred burning axletree of heaven. Out of it hath been shown
to me a priestess of Massylian race, warder of the temple of the Hesperides,
even she who gave the dragon his food, and kept the holy boughs on the
tree, sprinkling clammy honey and slumberous poppy-seed. She professes
with her spells to relax the purposes of whom she will, but on others to
bring passion and pain; to stay the river-waters and turn the stars backward:
she calls up ghosts by night; thou shalt see earth moaning under foot and
mountain-ashes descending from the hills. I take heaven, sweet, to witness,
and thee, mine own darling sister, I do not willingly arm myself with the
arts of magic. Do thou secretly raise a pyre in the inner court, and let them
lay on it the arms that the accursed one left hanging in our chamber, and all
the dress he wore, and the bridal bed where I fell. It is good to wipe out all

the wretch's traces, and the priestess orders thus.' So speaks she, and is
silent, while pallor overruns her face. Yet Anna deems not her sister veils
death behind these strange rites, and grasps not her wild purpose, nor fears
aught deeper than at Sychaeus' death. So she makes ready as bidden. . . .
[504-538]But the Queen, the pyre being built up of piled faggots and sawn
ilex in the inmost of her dwelling, hangs the room with chaplets and
garlands it with funeral boughs: on the pillow she lays the dress he wore,
the sword he left, and an image of him, knowing what was to come. Altars
are reared around, and the priestess, with hair undone, thrice peals from her
lips the hundred gods of Erebus and Chaos, and the triform Hecate, the
triple-faced maidenhood of Diana. Likewise she had sprinkled pretended
waters of Avernus' spring, and rank herbs are sought mown by moonlight
with brazen sickles, dark with milky venom, and sought is the talisman torn
from a horse's forehead at birth ere the dam could snatch it. . . . Herself, the
holy cake in her pure hands, hard by the altars, with one foot unshod and
garments flowing loose, she invokes the gods ere she die, and the stars that
know of doom; then prays to whatsoever deity looks in righteousness and
remembrance on lovers ill allied.
Night fell; weary creatures took quiet slumber all over earth, and woodland
and wild waters had sunk to rest; now the stars wheel midway on their
gliding path, now all the country is silent, and beasts and gay birds that
haunt liquid levels of lake or thorny rustic thicket lay couched asleep under
the still night. But not so the distressed Phoenician, nor does she ever sink
asleep or take the night upon eyes or breast; her pain redoubles, and her
love swells to renewed madness, as she tosses on the strong tide of wrath.
Even so she begins, and thus revolves with her heart alone:
'See, what do I? Shall I again make trial of mine old wooers that will scorn
me? and stoop to sue for a Numidian marriage among those whom already
over and over I have disdained for husbands? Then shall I follow the Ilian
fleets and the uttermost bidding of the Teucrians? because it is good to think
they were once raised up by my [539-570]succour, or the grace of mine old
kindness is fresh in their remembrance? And how should they let me, if I
would? or take the odious woman on their haughty ships? art thou ignorant,
ah me, even in ruin, and knowest not yet the forsworn race of Laomedon?
And then? shall I accompany the triumphant sailors, a lonely fugitive? or

plunge forth girt with all my Tyrian train? so hardly severed from Sidon
city, shall I again drive them seaward, and bid them spread their sails to the
tempest? Nay die thou, as thou deservest, and let the steel end thy pain.
With thee it began; overborne by my tears, thou, O my sister, dost load me
with this madness and agony, and layest me open to the enemy. I could not
spend a wild life without stain, far from a bridal chamber, and free from
touch of distress like this! O faith ill kept, that was plighted to Sychaeus'
ashes!' Thus her heart broke in long lamentation.
Now Aeneas was fixed to go, and now, with all set duly in order, was taking
hasty sleep on his high stern. To him as he slept the god appeared once
again in the same fashion of countenance, and thus seemed to renew his
warning, in all points like to Mercury, voice and hue and golden hair and
limbs gracious in youth. 'Goddess-born, canst thou sleep on in such danger?
and seest not the coming perils that hem thee in, madman! nor hearest the
breezes blowing fair? She, fixed on death, is revolving craft and crime
grimly in her bosom, and swells the changing surge of wrath. Fliest thou not
hence headlong, while headlong flight is yet possible? Even now wilt thou
see ocean weltering with broken timbers, see the fierce glare of torches and
the beach in a riot of flame, if dawn break on thee yet dallying in this land.
Up ho! linger no more! Woman is ever a fickle and changing thing.' So
spoke he, and melted in the black night.
[571-603]Then indeed Aeneas, startled by the sudden phantom, leaps out of
slumber and bestirs his crew. 'Haste and awake, O men, and sit down to the
thwarts; shake out sail speedily. A god sent from high heaven, lo! again
spurs us to speed our flight and cut the twisted cables. We follow thee, holy
one of heaven, whoso thou art, and again joyfully obey thy command. O be
favourable; give gracious aid and bring fair sky and weather.' He spoke, and
snatching his sword like lightning from the sheath, strikes at the hawser
with the drawn steel. The same zeal catches all at once; rushing and tearing
they quit the shore; the sea is hidden under their fleets; strongly they toss up
the foam and sweep the blue water.
And now Dawn broke, and, leaving the saffron bed of Tithonus, shed her
radiance anew over the world; when the Queen saw from her watch-tower
the first light whitening, and the fleet standing out under squared sail, and
discerned shore and haven empty of all their oarsmen. Thrice and four times

she struck her hand on her lovely breast and rent her yellow hair: 'God!' she
cries, 'shall he go? shall an alien make mock of our realm? Will they not
issue in armed pursuit from all the city, and some launch ships from the
dockyards? Go; bring fire in haste, serve weapons, swing out the oars! What
do I talk? or where am I? what mad change is on my purpose? Alas, Dido!
now thou dost feel thy wickedness; that had graced thee once, when thou
gavest away thy crown. Behold the faith and hand of him! who, they say,
carries his household's ancestral gods about with him! who stooped his
shoulders to a father outworn with age! Could I not have riven his body in
sunder and strewn it on the waves? and slain with the sword his comrades
and his dear Ascanius, and served him for the banquet at his father's table?
But the chance of battle had been dubious. If it had! whom did I fear [604-
635]with my death upon me? I should have borne firebrands into his camp
and filled his decks with flame, blotted out father and son and race together,
and flung myself atop of all. Sun, whose fires lighten all the works of the
world, and thou, Juno, mediatress and witness of these my distresses, and
Hecate, cried on by night in crossways of cities, and you, fatal avenging
sisters and gods of dying Elissa, hear me now; bend your just deity to my
woes, and listen to our prayers. If it must needs be that the accursed one
touch his haven and float up to land, if thus Jove's decrees demand, and this
is the appointed term,—yet, distressed in war by an armed and gallant
nation, driven homeless from his borders, rent from Iülus' embrace, let him
sue for succour and see death on death untimely on his people; nor when he
hath yielded him to the terms of a harsh peace, may he have joy of his
kingdom or the pleasant light; but let him fall before his day and without
burial on a waste of sand. This I pray; this and my blood with it I pour for
the last utterance. And you, O Tyrians, hunt his seed with your hatred for all
ages to come; send this guerdon to our ashes. Let no kindness nor truce be
between the nations. Arise out of our dust, O unnamed avenger, to pursue
the Dardanian settlement with firebrand and steel. Now, then, whensoever
strength shall be given, I invoke the enmity of shore to shore, wave to
water, sword to sword; let their battles go down to their children's children.'
So speaks she as she kept turning her mind round about, seeking how
soonest to break away from the hateful light. Thereon she speaks briefly to
Barce, nurse of Sychaeus; for a heap of dusky ashes held her own, in her
country of long ago:

'Sweet nurse, bring Anna my sister hither to me. Bid her haste and sprinkle
river water over her body, and bring [636-667]with her the beasts ordained for
expiation: so let her come: and thou likewise veil thy brows with a pure
chaplet. I would fulfil the rites of Stygian Jove that I have fitly ordered and
begun, so to set the limit to my distresses and give over to the flames the
funeral pyre of the Dardanian.'
So speaks she; the old woman went eagerly with quickened pace. But Dido,
fluttered and fierce in her awful purpose, with bloodshot restless gaze, and
spots on her quivering cheeks burning through the pallor of imminent death,
bursts into the inner courts of the house, and mounts in madness the high
funeral pyre, and unsheathes the sword of Dardania, a gift asked for no use
like this. Then after her eyes fell on the Ilian raiment and the bed she knew,
dallying a little with her purpose through her tears, she sank on the pillow
and spoke the last words of all:
'Dress he wore, sweet while doom and deity allowed! receive my spirit now,
and release me from my distresses. I have lived and fulfilled Fortune's
allotted course; and now shall I go a queenly phantom under the earth. I
have built a renowned city; I have seen my ramparts rise; by my brother's
punishment I have avenged my husband of his enemy; happy, ah me! and
over happy, had but the keels of Dardania never touched our shores!' She
spoke; and burying her face in the pillow, 'Death it will be,' she cries, 'and
unavenged; but death be it. Thus, thus is it good to pass into the dark. Let
the pitiless Dardanian's gaze drink in this fire out at sea, and my death be
the omen he carries on his way.'
She ceased; and even as she spoke her people see her sunk on the steel, and
blood reeking on the sword and spattered on her hands. A cry rises in the
high halls; Rumour riots down the quaking city. The house resounds with
lamentation and sobbing and bitter crying of women; [668-700]heaven echoes
their loud wails; even as though all Carthage or ancient Tyre went down as
the foe poured in, and the flames rolled furious over the roofs of house and
temple. Swooning at the sound, her sister runs in a flutter of dismay, with
torn face and smitten bosom, and darts through them all, and calls the dying
woman by her name. 'Was it this, mine own? Was my summons a snare?
Was it this thy pyre, ah me, this thine altar fires meant? How shall I begin
my desolate moan? Didst thou disdain a sister's company in death? Thou

shouldst have called me to share thy doom; in the self-same hour, the self-
same pang of steel had been our portion. Did these very hands build it, did
my voice call on our father's gods, that with thee lying thus I should be
away as one without pity? Thou hast destroyed thyself and me together, O
my sister, and the Sidonian lords and people, and this thy city. Give her
wounds water: I will bathe them and catch on my lips the last breath that
haply yet lingers.' So speaking she had climbed the high steps, and, wailing,
clasped and caressed her half-lifeless sister in her bosom, and stanched the
dark streams of blood with her gown. She, essaying to lift her heavy eyes,
swoons back; the deep-driven wound gurgles in her breast. Thrice she rose,
and strained to lift herself on her elbow; thrice she rolled back on the
pillow, and with wandering eyes sought the light of high heaven, and
moaned as she found it.
Then Juno omnipotent, pitying her long pain and difficult decease, sent Iris
down from heaven to unloose the struggling life from the body where it
clung. For since neither by fate did she perish, nor as one who had earned
her death, but woefully before her day, and fired by sudden madness, not
yet had Proserpine taken her lock from the golden head, nor sentenced her
to the Stygian under world. So Iris on dewy saffron pinions flits down
through the sky [701-705]athwart the sun in a trail of a thousand changing
dyes, and stopping over her head: 'This hair, sacred to Dis, I take as bidden,
and release thee from that body of thine.' So speaks she, and cuts it with her
hand. And therewith all the warmth ebbed forth from her, and the life
passed away upon the winds.

BOOK FIFTH
THE GAMES OF THE FLEET

Meanwhile Aeneas and his fleet in unwavering track now held mid passage,
and cleft the waves that blackened under the North, looking back on the city
that even now gleams with hapless Elissa's funeral flame. Why the broad
blaze is lit lies unknown; but the bitter pain of a great love trampled, and
the knowledge of what woman can do in madness, draw the Teucrians'
hearts to gloomy guesses.
When their ships held the deep, nor any land farther appears, the seas all
round, and all round the sky, a dusky shower drew up overhead, carrying
night and storm, and the wave shuddered and gloomed. Palinurus, master of
the fleet, cries from the high stern: 'Alas, why have these heavy storm-
clouds girt the sky? lord Neptune, what wilt thou?' Then he bids clear the
rigging and bend strongly to the oars, and brings the sails across the wind,
saying thus:
'Noble Aeneas, not did Jupiter give word and warrant would I hope to reach
Italy under such a sky. The shifting winds roar athwart our course, and blow
stronger out of the black west, and the air thickens into mist: nor are we fit
to force our way on and across. Fortune is the stronger; let us follow her,
and turn our course whither she calls. [23-55]Not far away, I think, are the
faithful shores of thy brother Eryx, and the Sicilian haven, if only my
memory retraces rightly the stars I watched before.'
Then good Aeneas: 'Even I ere now discern the winds will have it so, and
thou urgest against them in vain. Turn thou the course of our sailing. Could
any land be welcomer to me, or where I would sooner choose to put in my
weary ships, than this that hath Dardanian Acestes to greet me, and laps in
its embrace lord Anchises' dust?' This said, they steer for harbour, while the
following west wind stretches their sails; the fleet runs fast down the flood,
and at last they land joyfully on the familiar beach. But Acestes high on a
hill-top, amazed at the friendly squadron approaching from afar, hastens

towards them, weaponed and clad in the shaggy skin of a Libyan she-bear.
Him a Trojan mother conceived and bore to Crimisus river; not forgetful of
his parentage, he wishes them joy of their return, and gladly entertains them
on his rustic treasure and comforts their weariness with his friendly store.
So soon as the morrow's clear daylight had chased the stars out of the east,
Aeneas calls his comrades along the beach together, and from a mounded
hillock speaks:
'Great people of Dardanus, born of the high blood of gods, the yearly circle
of the months is measured out to fulfilment since we laid the dust in earth,
all that was left of my divine father, and sadly consecrated our altars. And
now the day is at hand (this, O gods, was your will), which I will ever keep
in grief, ever in honour. Did I spend it an exile on Gaetulian quicksands, did
it surprise me on the Argolic sea or in Mycenae town, yet would I fulfil the
yearly vows and annual ordinance of festival, and pile the altars with their
due gifts. Now we are led hither, to the very dust and ashes of our father,
not as I deem without [56-90]divine purpose and influence, and borne home
into the friendly haven. Up then and let us all gather joyfully to the
sacrifice: pray we for winds, and may he deign that I pay these rites to him
year by year in an established city and consecrated temple. Two head of
oxen Acestes, the seed of Troy, gives to each of your ships by tale: invite to
the feast your own ancestral gods of the household, and those whom our
host Acestes worships. Further, so the ninth Dawn uplift the gracious day
upon men, and her shafts unveil the world, I will ordain contests for my
Trojans; first for swift ships; then whoso excels in the foot-race, and whoso,
confident in strength and skill, comes to shoot light arrows, or adventures to
join battle with gloves of raw hide; let all be here, and let merit look for the
prize and palm. Now all be hushed, and twine your temples with boughs.'
So speaks he, and shrouds his brows with his mother's myrtle. So Helymus
does, so Aletes ripe of years, so the boy Ascanius, and the rest of the people
follow. He advances from the assembly to the tomb among a throng of
many thousands that crowd about him; here he pours on the ground in fit
libation two goblets of pure wine, two of new milk, two of consecrated
blood, and flings bright blossoms, saying thus: 'Hail, holy father, once
again; hail, ashes of him I saved in vain, and soul and shade of my sire!
Thou wert not to share the search for Italian borders and destined fields, nor
the dim Ausonian Tiber.' Thus had he spoken; when from beneath the

sanctuary a snake slid out in seven vast coils and sevenfold slippery spires,
quietly circling the grave and gliding from altar to altar, his green chequered
body and the spotted lustre of his scales ablaze with gold, as the bow in the
cloud darts a thousand changing dyes athwart the sun: Aeneas stood amazed
at the sight. At last he wound [91-126]his long train among the vessels and
polished cups, and tasted the feast, and again leaving the altars where he
had fed, crept harmlessly back beneath the tomb. Doubtful if he shall think
it the Genius of the ground or his father's ministrant, he slays, as is fit, two
sheep of two years old, as many swine and dark-backed steers, pouring the
while cups of wine, and calling on the soul of great Anchises and the ghost
rearisen from Acheron. Therewithal his comrades, as each hath store, bring
gifts to heap joyfully on the altars, and slay steers in sacrifice: others set
cauldrons arow, and, lying along the grass, heap live embers under spits and
roast the flesh.
The desired day came, and now the ninth Dawn rode up clear and bright
behind Phaëthon's coursers; and the name and renown of illustrious Acestes
had stirred up all the bordering people; their holiday throng filled the shore,
to see Aeneas' men, and some ready to join in contest. First of all the prizes
are laid out to view in the middle of the racecourse; tripods of sacrifice,
green garlands and palms, the reward of the conquerors, armour and
garments dipped in purple, talents of silver and gold: and from a hillock in
the midst the trumpet sounds the games begun. First is the contest of
rowing, and four ships matched in weight enter, the choice of all the fleet.
Mnestheus' keen oarsmen drive the swift Dragon, Mnestheus the Italian to
be, from whose name is the Memmian family; Gyas the huge bulk of the
huge Chimaera, a floating town, whom her triple-tiered Dardanian crew
urge on with oars rising in threefold rank; Sergestus, from whom the
Sergian house holds her name, sails in the tall Centaur; and in the sea-
coloured Scylla Cloanthus, whence is thy family, Cluentius of Rome.
Apart in the sea and over against the foaming beach, lies a rock that the
swoln waves beat and drown what time the [127-159]north-western gales of
winter blot out the stars; in calm it rises silent out of the placid water, flat-
topped, and a haunt where cormorants love best to take the sun. Here lord
Aeneas set up a goal of leafy ilex, a mark for the sailors to know whence to
return, where to wheel their long course round. Then they choose stations
by lot, and on the sterns their captains glitter afar, beautiful in gold and

purple; the rest of the crews are crowned with poplar sprays, and their
naked shoulders glisten wet with oil. They sit down at the thwarts, and their
arms are tense on the oars; at full strain they wait the signal, while
throbbing fear and heightened ambition drain their riotous blood. Then,
when the clear trumpet-note rang, all in a moment leap forward from their
line; the shouts of the sailors strike up to heaven, and the channels are swept
into foam by the arms as they swing backward. They cleave their furrows
together, and all the sea is torn asunder by oars and triple-pointed prows.
Not with speed so headlong do racing pairs whirl the chariots over the
plain, as they rush streaming from the barriers; not so do their charioteers
shake the wavy reins loose over their team, and hang forward on the whip.
All the woodland rings with clapping and shouts of men that cheer their
favourites, and the sheltered beach eddies back their cries; the noise buffets
and re-echoes from the hills. Gyas shoots out in front of the noisy crowd,
and glides foremost along the water; whom Cloanthus follows next, rowing
better, but held back by his dragging weight of pine. After them, at equal
distance, the Dragon and the Centaur strive to win the foremost room; and
now the Dragon has it, now the vast Centaur outstrips and passes her; now
they dart on both together, their stems in a line, and their keels driving long
furrows through the salt water-ways. And now they drew nigh the rock, and
were hard [160-193]on the goal; when Gyas as he led, winner over half the
flood, cries aloud to Menoetes, the ship's steersman: 'Whither away so far to
the right? This way direct her path; kiss the shore, and let the oarblade graze
the leftward reefs. Others may keep to deep water.' He spoke; but Menoetes,
fearing blind rocks, turns the bow away towards the open sea. 'Whither
wanderest thou away? to the rocks, Menoetes!' again shouts Gyas to bring
him back; and lo! glancing round he sees Cloanthus passing up behind and
keeping nearer. Between Gyas' ship and the echoing crags he scrapes
through inside on his left, flashes past his leader, and leaving the goal
behind is in safe water. Then indeed grief burned fierce through his strong
frame, and tears sprung out on his cheeks; heedless of his own dignity and
his crew's safety, he flings the too cautious Menoetes sheer into the sea
from the high stern, himself succeeds as guide and master of the helm, and
cheers on his men, and turns his tiller in to shore. But Menoetes, when at
last he rose struggling from the bottom, heavy with advancing years and
wet in his dripping clothes, makes for the top of the crag, and sits down on
a dry rock. The Teucrians laughed out as he fell and as he swam, and laugh

to see him spitting the salt water from his chest. At this a joyful hope
kindled in the two behind, Sergestus and Mnestheus, of catching up Gyas'
wavering course. Sergestus slips forward as he nears the rock, yet not all in
front, nor leading with his length of keel; part is in front, part pressed by the
Dragon's jealous prow. But striding amidships between his comrades,
Mnestheus cheers them on: 'Now, now swing back, oarsmen who were
Hector's comrades, whom I chose to follow me in Troy's extremity; now put
forth the might and courage you showed in Gaetulian quicksands, amid
Ionian seas and Malea's chasing waves. Not the first [194-227]place do I now
seek for Mnestheus, nor strive for victory; though ah!—yet let them win, O
Neptune, to whom thou givest it. But the shame of coming in last! Win but
this, fellow-citizens, and avert that disaster!' His men bend forward,
straining every muscle; the brasswork of the ship quivers to their mighty
strokes, and the ground runs from under her; limbs and parched lips shake
with their rapid panting, and sweat flows in streams all over them. Mere
chance brought the crew the glory they desired. For while Sergestus drives
his prow furiously in towards the rocks and comes up with too scanty room,
alas! he caught on a rock that ran out; the reef ground, the oars struck and
shivered on the jagged teeth, and the bows crashed and hung. The sailors
leap up and hold her with loud cries, and get out iron-shod poles and sharp-
pointed boathooks, and pick up their broken oars out of the eddies. But
Mnestheus, rejoicing and flushed by his triumph, with oars fast-dipping and
winds at his call, issues into the shelving water and runs down the open sea.
As a pigeon whose house and sweet nestlings are in the rock's recesses, if
suddenly startled from her cavern, wings her flight over the fields and
rushes frightened from her house with loud clapping pinions; then gliding
noiselessly through the air, slides on her liquid way and moves not her rapid
wings; so Mnestheus, so the Dragon under him swiftly cleaves the last
space of sea, so her own speed carries her flying on. And first Sergestus is
left behind, struggling on the steep rock and shoal water, and shouting in
vain for help and learning to race with broken oars. Next he catches up
Gyas and the vast bulk of the Chimaera; she gives way, without her
steersman. And now on the very goal Cloanthus alone is left; him he
pursues and presses hard, straining all his strength. Then indeed the shouts
redouble, as all together eagerly cheer on the pursuer, and [228-264]the sky
echoes their din. These scorn to lose the honour that is their own, the glory
in their grasp, and would sell life for renown; to these success lends life;

power comes with belief in it. And haply they had carried the prize with
prows abreast, had not Cloanthus, stretching both his open hands over the
sea, poured forth prayers and called the gods to hear his vows: 'Gods who
are sovereign on the sea, over whose waters I run, to your altars on this
beach will I bring a snow-white bull, my vow's glad penalty, and will cast
his entrails into the salt flood and pour liquid wine.' He spoke, and far
beneath the flood maiden Panopea heard him, with all Phorcus' choir of
Nereids, and lord Portunus with his own mighty hand pushed him on his
way. The ship flies to land swifter than the wind or an arrow's flight, and
shoots into the deep harbour. Then the seed of Anchises, summoning all in
order, declares Cloanthus conqueror by herald's outcry, and dresses his
brows in green bay, and gives gifts to each crew, three bullocks of their
choice, and wine, and a large talent of silver to take away. For their captains
he adds special honours; to the winner a scarf wrought with gold, encircled
by a double border of deep Meliboean purple; woven in it is the kingly boy
on leafy Ida, chasing swift stags with javelin and racing feet, keen and as
one panting; him Jove's swooping armour-bearer hath caught up from Ida in
his talons; his aged guardians stretch their hands vainly upwards, and the
barking of hounds rings fierce into the air. But to him who, next in merit,
held the second place, he gives to wear a corslet triple-woven with hooks of
polished gold, stripped by his own conquering hand from Demoleos under
tall Troy by the swift Simoïs, an ornament and safeguard among arms.
Scarce could the straining shoulders of his servants Phegeus and Sagaris
carry its heavy folds; yet with it on, Demoleos at [265-302]full speed would
chase the scattered Trojans. The third prize he makes twin cauldrons of
brass, and bowls wrought in silver and rough with tracery. And now all
moved away in the pride and wealth of their prizes, their brows bound with
scarlet ribbons; when, hardly torn loose by all his art from the cruel rock,
his oars lost, rowing feebly with a single tier, Sergestus brought in his ship
jeered at and unhonoured. Even as often a serpent caught on a highway, if a
brazen wheel hath gone aslant over him or a wayfarer left him half dead and
mangled with the blow of a heavy stone, wreathes himself slowly in vain
effort to escape, in part undaunted, his eyes ablaze and his hissing throat
lifted high; in part the disabling wound keeps him coiling in knots and
twisting back on his own body; so the ship kept rowing slowly on, yet
hoists sail and under full sail glides into the harbour mouth. Glad that the
ship is saved and the crew brought back, Aeneas presents Sergestus with his

promised reward. A slave woman is given him not unskilled in Minerva's
labours, Pholoë the Cretan, with twin boys at her breast.
This contest sped, good Aeneas moved to a grassy plain girt all about with
winding wooded hills, and amid the valley an amphitheatre, whither, with a
concourse of many thousands, the hero advanced and took his seat on a
mound. Here he allures with rewards and offer of prizes those who will try
their hap in the fleet foot-race. Trojans and Sicilians gather mingling from
all sides, Nisus and Euryalus foremost . . . Euryalus in the flower of youth
and famed for beauty, Nisus for pure love of the boy. Next follows
renowned Diores, of Priam's royal line; after him Salius and Patron
together, the one Acarnanian, the other Tegean by family and of Arcadian
blood; next two men of Sicily, Helymus and Panopes, foresters and
attendants on old Acestes; many besides whose fame is hid in [303-
338]obscurity. Then among them all Aeneas spoke thus: 'Hearken to this, and
attend in good cheer. None out of this number will I let go without a gift. To
each will I give two glittering Gnosian spearheads of polished steel, and an
axe chased with silver to bear away; one and all shall be honoured thus. The
three foremost shall receive prizes, and have pale olive bound about their
head. The first shall have a caparisoned horse as conqueror; the second an
Amazonian quiver filled with arrows of Thrace, girt about by a broad belt of
gold, and on the link of the clasp a polished gem; let the third depart with
this Argolic helmet for recompense.' This said, they take their place, and the
signal once heard, dart over the course and leave the line, pouring forth like
a storm-cloud while they mark the goal. Nisus gets away first, and shoots
out far in front of the throng, fleeter than the winds or the winged
thunderbolt. Next to him, but next by a long gap, Salius follows; then, left a
space behind him, Euryalus third . . . and Helymus comes after Euryalus;
and close behind him, lo! Diores goes flying, just grazing foot with foot,
hard on his shoulder; and if a longer space were left, he would creep out
past him and win the tie. And now almost in the last space, they began to
come up breathless to the goal, when unfortunate Nisus trips on the slippery
blood of the slain steers, where haply it had spilled over the ground and
wetted the green grass. Here, just in the flush of victory, he lost his feet;
they slid away on the ground they pressed, and he fell forward right among
the ordure and blood of the sacrifice. Yet forgot he not his darling Euryalus;
for rising, he flung himself over the slippery ground in front of Salius, and

he rolled over and lay all along on the hard sand. Euryalus shoots by, wins
and holds the first place his friend gave, and flies on amid prosperous
clapping and cheers. Behind Helymus comes [339-373]up, and Diores, now
third for the palm. At this Salius fills with loud clamour the whole
concourse of the vast theatre, and the lords who looked on in front,
demanding restoration of his defrauded prize. Euryalus is strong in favour,
and beauty in tears, and the merit that gains grace from so fair a form.
Diores supports him, who succeeded to the palm, so he loudly cries, and
bore off the last prize in vain, if the highest honours be restored to Salius.
Then lord Aeneas speaks: 'For you, O boys, your rewards remain assured,
and none alters the prizes' order: let me be allowed to pity a friend's
innocent mischance.' So speaking, he gives to Salius a vast Gaetulian lion-
skin, with shaggy masses of hair and claws of gold. 'If this,' cries Nisus, 'is
the reward of defeat, and thy pity is stirred for the fallen, what fit
recompense wilt thou give to Nisus? to my excellence the first crown was
due, had not I, like Salius, met Fortune's hostility.' And with the words he
displayed his face and limbs foul with the wet dung. His lord laughed
kindly on him, and bade a shield be brought forth, the workmanship of
Didymaon, torn by him from the hallowed gates of Neptune's Grecian
temple; with this special prize he rewards his excellence.
Thereafter, when the races are finished and the gifts fulfilled: 'Now,' he
cries, 'come, whoso hath in him valour and ready heart, and lift up his arms
with gauntleted hands.' So speaks he, and sets forth a double prize of battle;
for the conqueror a bullock gilt and garlanded; a sword and beautiful helmet
to console the conquered. Straightway without pause Dares issues to view
in his vast strength, rising amid loud murmurs of the people; he who alone
was wont to meet Paris in combat; he who, at the mound where princely
Hector lies, struck down as he came the vast bulk upborne by conquering
Butes, of Amycus' Bebrycian line, and stretched him in [374-410]death on the
yellow sand. Such was Dares; at once he raises his head high for battle,
displays his broad shoulders, and stretches and swings his arms right and
left, lashing the air with blows. For him another is required; but none out of
all the train durst approach or put the gloves on his hands. So he takes his
stand exultant before Aeneas' feet, deeming he excelled all in victories; and
thereon without more delay grasps the bull's horn with his left hand, and
speaks thus: 'Goddess-born, if no man dare trust himself to battle, to what

conclusion shall I stand? how long is it seemly to keep me? bid me carry off
thy gifts.' Therewith all the Dardanians murmured assent, and bade yield
him the promised prize. At this aged Acestes spoke sharply to Entellus, as
he sate next him on the green cushion of grass: 'Entellus, bravest of heroes
once of old in vain, wilt thou thus idly let a gift so great be borne away
uncontested? Where now prithee is divine Eryx, thy master of fruitless
fame? where thy renown over all Sicily, and those spoils hanging in thine
house?' Thereat he: 'Desire of glory is not gone, nor ambition checked by
fear; but torpid age dulls my chilly blood, and my strength of limb is numb
and outworn. If I had what once was mine, if I had now that prime of years,
yonder braggart's boast and confidence, it had taken no prize of goodly
bullock to allure me; nor heed I these gifts.' So he spoke, and on that flung
down a pair of gloves of giant weight, with whose hard hide bound about
his wrists valiant Eryx was wont to come to battle. They stood amazed; so
stiff and grim lay the vast sevenfold oxhide sewed in with lead and iron.
Dares most of all shrinks far back in horror, and the noble son of Anchises
turns round this way and that their vast weight and voluminous folds. Then
the old man spoke thus in deep accents: 'How, had they seen the gloves [411-
444]that were Hercules' own armour, and the fatal fight on this very beach?
These arms thy brother Eryx once wore; thou seest them yet stained with
blood and spattered brains. In them he stood to face great Alcides; to them
was I used while fuller blood supplied me strength, and envious old age had
not yet strewn her snows on either temple. But if Dares of Troy will have
none of these our arms, and good Aeneas is resolved on it, and my patron
Acestes approves, let us make the battle even. See, I give up the gauntlets of
Eryx; dismiss thy fears; and do thou put off thy Trojan gloves.' So spoke he,
and throwing back the fold of his raiment from his shoulders, he bares the
massive joints and limbs, the great bones and muscles, and stands up huge
in the middle of the ground. Then Anchises' lordly seed brought out equal
gloves and bound the hands of both in matched arms. Straightway each took
his stand on tiptoe, and undauntedly raised his arms high in air. They lift
their heads right back and away out of reach of blows, and make hand play
through hand, inviting attack; the one nimbler of foot and confident in his
youth, the other mighty in mass of limb, but his knees totter tremulous and
slow, and sick panting shakes his vast frame. Many a mutual blow they
deliver in vain, many an one they redouble on chest and side, sounding
hollow and loud: hands play fast about ear and temple, and jawbones clash

under the hard strokes. Old Entellus stands immoveable and astrain, only
parrying hits with body and watchful eye. The other, as one who casts
mounts against some high city or blockades a hill-fort in arms, tries this and
that entrance, and ranges cunningly over all the ground, and presses many
an attack in vain. Entellus rose and struck clean out with his right
downwards; his quick opponent saw the descending blow before it came,
[445-481]and slid his body rapidly out of its way. Entellus hurled his strength
into the air, and all his heavy mass, overreaching, fell heavily to the earth;
as sometime on Erymanthus or mighty Ida a hollow pine falls torn out by
the roots. Teucrians and men of Sicily rise eagerly; a cry goes up, and
Acestes himself runs forward, and pityingly lifts his friend and birthmate
from the ground. But the hero, not dulled nor dismayed by his mishap,
returns the keener to battle, and grows violent in wrath, while shame and
resolved valour kindle his strength. All afire, he hunts Dares headlong over
the lists, and redoubles his blows now with right hand, now with left; no
breath nor pause; heavy as hailstones rattle on the roof from a storm-cloud,
so thickly shower the blows from both his hands as he buffets Dares to and
fro. Then lord Aeneas allowed not wrath to swell higher or Entellus to rage
out his bitterness, but stopped the fight and rescued the exhausted Dares,
saying thus in soothing words: 'Unhappy! what height of madness hath
seized thy mind? Knowest thou not the strength is another's and the gods
are changed? Yield thou to Heaven.' And with the words he proclaimed the
battle over. But him his faithful mates lead to the ships dragging his knees
feebly, swaying his head from side to side, and spitting from his mouth
clotted blood mingled with teeth. At summons they bear away the helmet
and shield, and leave palm and bull to Entellus. At this the conqueror,
swelling in pride over the bull, cries: 'Goddess-born, and you, O Trojans!
learn thus what my strength of body was in its prime, and from what a death
Dares is saved by your recall.' He spoke, and stood right opposite in face of
the bullock as it stood by, the prize of battle; then drew back his hand, and
swinging the hard gauntlet sheer down between the horns, smashed the
bones in upon the shattered brain. The ox rolls over, and quivering and [482-
516]lifeless lies along the ground. Above it he utters these deep accents:
'This life, Eryx, I give to thee, a better payment than Dares' death; here I lay
down my gloves and unconquered skill.'

Forthwith Aeneas invites all that will to the contest of the swift arrow, and
proclaims the prizes. With his strong hand he uprears the mast of Serestus'
ship, and on a cord crossing it hangs from the masthead a fluttering pigeon
as mark for their steel. They gather, and a helmet of brass takes the lots as
they throw them in. First in rank, and before them all, amid prosperous
cheers, comes out Hippocoön son of Hyrtacus; and Mnestheus follows on
him, but now conqueror in the ship race, Mnestheus with his chaplet of
green olive. Third is Eurytion, thy brother, O Pandarus, great in renown,
thou who of old, when prompted to shatter the truce, didst hurl the first
shaft amid the Achaeans. Last of all, and at the bottom of the helmet, sank
Acestes, he too venturing to set hand to the task of youth. Then each and all
they strongly bend their bows into a curve and pull shafts from their
quivers. And first the arrow of the son of Hyrtacus, flying through heaven
from the sounding string, whistles through the fleet breezes, and reaches
and sticks fast full in the mast's wood: the mast quivered, and the bird
fluttered her feathers in affright, and the whole ground rang with loud
clapping. Next valiant Mnestheus took his stand with bow bent, aiming high
with levelled eye and arrow; yet could not, unfortunate! hit the bird herself
with his steel, but cut the knotted hempen bands that tied her foot as she
hung from the masthead; she winged her flight into the dark windy clouds.
Then Eurytion, who ere now held the arrow ready on his bended bow,
swiftly called in prayer to his brother, marked the pigeon as she now went
down the empty sky exultant on clapping wings; and as she passed under a
dark cloud, [517-553]struck her: she fell breathless, and, leaving her life in the
aery firmament, slid down carrying the arrow that pierced her. Acestes
alone was over, and the prize lost; yet he sped his arrow up into the air, to
display his lordly skill and resounding bow. At this a sudden sign meets
their eyes, mighty in augural presage, as the high event taught thereafter,
and in late days boding seers prophesied of the omen. For the flying reed
blazed out amid the swimming clouds, traced its path in flame, and burned
away on the light winds; even as often stars shooting from their sphere draw
a train athwart the sky. Trinacrians and Trojans hung in astonishment,
praying to the heavenly powers; neither did great Aeneas reject the omen,
but embraces glad Acestes and loads him with lavish gifts, speaking thus:
'Take, my lord: for the high King of heaven by these signs hath willed thee
to draw the lot of peculiar honour. This gift shalt thou have as from aged
Anchises' own hand, a bowl embossed with figures, that once Cisseus of

Thrace gave my father Anchises to bear, in high token and guerdon of
affection.' So speaking, he twines green bay about his brows, and proclaims
Acestes conqueror first before them all. Nor did gentle Eurytion, though he
alone struck the bird down from the lofty sky, grudge him to be preferred in
honour. Next comes for his prize he who cut the cord; he last, who pierced
the mast with his winged reed.
But lord Aeneas, ere yet the contest is sped, calls to him Epytides, guardian
and attendant of ungrown Iülus, and thus speaks into his faithful ear: 'Up
and away, and tell Ascanius, if he now holds his band of boys ready, and
their horses arrayed for the charge, to defile his squadrons to his grandsire's
honour in bravery of arms.' So says he, and himself bids all the crowding
throng withdraw from the long racecourse and leave the lists free. The boys
move in before their parents' faces, glittering in rank on their [554-590]bitted
horses; as they go all the people of Troy and Trinacria murmur and admire.
On the hair of them all rests a garland fitly trimmed; each carries two cornel
spear-shafts tipped with steel; some have polished quivers on their
shoulders; above their breast and round their neck goes a flexible circlet of
twisted gold. Three in number are the troops of riders, and three captains
gallop up and down; following each in equal command rides a glittering
division of twelve boys. One youthful line goes rejoicingly behind little
Priam, renewer of his grandsire's name, thy renowned seed, O Polites, and
destined to people Italy; he rides a Thracian horse dappled with spots of
white, showing white on his pacing pasterns and white on his high
forehead. Second is Atys, from whom the Latin Atii draw their line, little
Atys, boy beloved of the boy Iülus. Last and excellent in beauty before
them all, Iülus rode in on a Sidonian horse that Dido the bright had given
him for token and pledge of love. The rest of them are mounted on old
Acestes' Sicilian horses. . . . The Dardanians greet their shy entrance with
applause, and rejoice at the view, and recognise the features of their parents
of old. When they have ridden merrily round all the concourse of their
gazing friends, Epytides shouts from afar the signal they await, and sounds
his whip. They gallop apart in equal numbers, and open their files three and
three in deploying bands, and again at the call wheel about and bear down
with levelled arms. Next they start on other charges and other retreats in
corresponsive spaces, and interlink circle with circle, and wage the armed
phantom of battle. And now they bare their backs in flight, now turn their

lances to the charge, now plight peace and ride on side by side. As once of
old, they say, the labyrinth in high Crete had a tangled path between blind
walls, and a thousand ways of doubling treachery, where tokens to follow
failed in the [591-625]maze unmastered and irrecoverable: even in such a
track do the children of Troy entangle their footsteps and weave the game of
flight and battle; like dolphins who, swimming through the wet seas, cut
Carpathian or Libyan. . . .
This fashion of riding, these games Ascanius first revived, when he girt
Alba the Long about with walls, and taught their celebration to the Old
Latins in the way of his own boyhood, with the youth of Troy about him.
The Albans taught it their children; on from them mighty Rome received it
and kept the ancestral observance; and now it is called Troy, and the boys
the Trojan troop.
Thus far sped the sacred contests to their holy lord. Just at this Fortune
broke faith and grew estranged. While they pay the due rites to the tomb
with diverse games, Juno, daughter of Saturn, sends Iris down the sky to the
Ilian fleet, and breathes a gale to speed her on, revolving many a thought,
and not yet satiate of the ancient pain. She, speeding her way along the
thousand-coloured bow, runs swiftly, seen of none, down her maiden path.
She discerns the vast concourse, and traverses the shore, and sees the haven
abandoned and the fleet left alone. But far withdrawn by the solitary verge
of the sea the Trojan women wept their lost Anchises, and as they wept
gazed all together on the fathomless flood. 'Alas! after all those weary
waterways, that so wide a sea is yet to come!' such is the single cry of all.
They pray for a city, sick of the burden of their sea-sorrow. So she darts
among them, not witless to harm, and lays by face and raiment of a
goddess: she becomes Beroë, the aged wife of Tmarian Doryclus, who had
once had birth and name and children, and in this guise goes among the
Dardanian matrons. 'Ah, wretched we,' she cries, 'whom hostile Achaean
hands did not drag to death beneath our native city! ah hapless race, for
what destruction does Fortune hold thee back? The [626-660]seventh summer
now declines since Troy's overthrow, while we pass measuring out by so
many stars the harbourless rocks over every water and land, pursuing all the
while over the vast sea an Italy that flies us, and tossing on the waves. Here
are our brother Eryx' borders, and Acestes' welcome: who denies us to cast
up walls and give our citizens a city? O country, O household gods vainly

rescued from the foe! shall there never be a Trojan town to tell of? shall I
nowhere see a Xanthus and a Simoïs, the rivers of Hector? Nay, up and join
me in burning with fire these ill-ominous ships. For in sleep the phantom of
Cassandra the soothsayer seemed to give me blazing brands: Here seek your
Troy, she said; here is your home. Now is the time to do it; nor do these
high portents allow delay. Behold four altars to Neptune; the god himself
lends the firebrand and the nerve.' Speaking thus, at once she strongly
seizes the fiery weapon, and with straining hand whirls it far upreared, and
flings: the souls of the Ilian women are startled and their wits amazed. At
this one of their multitude, and she the eldest, Pyrgo, nurse in the palace to
all Priam's many children: 'This is not Beroë, I tell you, O mothers; this is
not the wife of Doryclus of Rhoeteum. Mark the lineaments of divine grace
and the gleaming eyes, what a breath is hers, what a countenance, and the
sound of her voice and the steps of her going. I, I time agone left Beroë
apart, sick and fretting that she alone must have no part in this our service,
nor pay Anchises his due sacrifice.' So spoke she. . . . But the matrons at
first, dubious and wavering, gazed on the ships with malignant eyes,
between the wretched longing for the land they trod and the fated realm that
summoned them: when the goddess rose through the sky on poised wings,
and in her flight drew a vast bow beneath the clouds. Then indeed, amazed
at the tokens and driven by madness, they raise a cry and snatch fire from
the [661-694]hearths within; others plunder the altars, and cast on brushwood
boughs and brands. The Fire-god rages with loose rein over thwarts and
oars and hulls of painted fir. Eumelus carries the news of the burning ships
to the grave of Anchises and the ranges of the theatre; and looking back,
their own eyes see the floating cloud of dark ashes. And in a moment
Ascanius, as he rode gaily before his cavalry, spurred his horse to the
disordered camp; nor can his breathless guardians hold him back. 'What
strange madness is this?' he cries; 'whither now hasten you, whither, alas
and woe! O citizens? not on the foe nor on some hostile Argive camp; it is
your own hopes you burn. Behold me, your Ascanius!' and he flung before
his feet the empty helmet, put on when he roused the mimicry of war.
Aeneas and the Trojan train together hurry to the spot. But the women
scatter apart in fear all over the beach, and stealthily seek the woods and the
hollow rocks they find: they loathe their deed and the daylight, and with
changed eyes know their people, and Juno is startled out of their breast. But
not thereby do the flames of the burning lay down their unconquered

strength; under the wet oak the seams are alive, spouting slow coils of
smoke; the creeping heat devours the hulls, and the destroyer takes deep
hold of all: nor does the heroes' strength avail nor the floods they pour in.
Then good Aeneas rent away the raiment from his shoulders and called the
gods to aid, stretching forth his hands: 'Jupiter omnipotent, if thou hatest not
Troy yet wholly to her last man, if thine ancient pity looks at all on human
woes, now, O Lord, grant our fleet to escape the flame, and rescue from
doom the slender Teucrian estate. Or do thou plunge to death this remnant,
if I deserve it, with levelled thunderbolt, and here with thine own hand
smite us down.' Scarce had he uttered this, when a black tempest rages in
streaming showers; earth trembles [695-726]to the thunder on plain and steep;
the water-flood rushes in torrents from the whole heaven amid black
darkness and volleying blasts of the South. The ships are filled from
overhead, the half-burnt timbers are soaking; till all the heat is quenched,
and all the hulls, but four that are lost, are rescued from destruction.
But lord Aeneas, dismayed by the bitter mischance, revolved at heart this
way and that his shifting weight of care, whether, forgetting fate, he should
rest in Sicilian fields, or reach forth to the borders of Italy. Then old Nautes,
whom Tritonian Pallas taught like none other, and made famous in
eminence of art—she granted him to reply what the gods' heavy anger
menaced or what the order of fate claimed—he then in accents of comfort
thus speaks to Aeneas:
'Goddess-born, follow we fate's ebb and flow, whatsoever it shall be;
fortune must be borne to be overcome. Acestes is of thine own divine
Dardanian race; take him, for he is willing, to join thee in common counsel;
deliver to him those who are over, now these ships are lost, and those who
are quite weary of thy fortunes and the great quest. Choose out the old men
stricken in years, and the matrons sick of the sea, and all that is weak and
fearful of peril in thy company. Let this land give a city to the weary; they
shall be allowed to call their town Acesta by name.'
Then, indeed, kindled by these words of his aged friend, his spirit is
distracted among all his cares. And now black Night rose chariot-borne, and
held the sky; when the likeness of his father Anchises seemed to descend
from heaven and suddenly utter thus:

'O son, more dear to me than life once of old while life was yet mine; O
son, hard wrought by the destinies of Ilium! I come hither by Jove's
command, who drove the [727-760]fire from thy fleets, and at last had pity out
of high heaven. Obey thou the fair counsel aged Nautes now gives. Carry
through to Italy thy chosen men and bravest souls; in Latium must thou war
down a people hard and rough in living. Yet ere then draw thou nigh the
nether chambers of Dis, and in the deep tract of hell come, O son, to meet
me. For I am not held in cruel Tartarus among wailing ghosts, but inhabit
Elysium and the sweet societies of the good. Hither with much blood of
dark cattle shall the holy Sibyl lead thee. Then shalt thou learn of all thy
line, and what city is given thee. And now farewell; dank Night wheels her
mid-career, and even now I feel the stern breath of the panting horses of the
East.' He ended, and retreated like a vapour into thin air. 'Ah, whither
hurriest thou?' cries Aeneas; 'whither so fast away? From whom fliest thou?
or who withholds thee from our embrace?' So speaking, he kindles the
sleeping embers of the fire, and with holy meal and laden censer does
sacrifice to the tutelar of Pergama and hoar Vesta's secret shrine.
Straightway he summons his crews and Acestes first of all, and instructs
them of Jove's command and his beloved father's precepts, and what is now
his fixed mind and purpose. They linger not in counsel, nor does Acestes
decline his bidden duty: they enrol the matrons in their town, and plant a
people there, souls that will have none of glory. The rest repair the thwarts
and replace the ships' timbers that the flames had gnawed upon, and fit up
oars and rigging, little in number, but alive and valiant for war. Meanwhile
Aeneas traces the town with the plough and allots the homesteads; this he
bids be Ilium, and these lands Troy. Trojan Acestes, rejoicing in his
kingdom, appoints a court and gathers his senators to give them statutes.
Next, where the crest of Eryx is neighbour to the stars, a dwelling is
founded to Venus the Idalian; [761-793]and a priest and breadth of holy wood
is attached to Anchises' grave.
And now for nine days all the people hath feasted, and offering been paid at
the altars; quiet breezes have smoothed the ocean floor, and the gathering
south wind blows, calling them again to sea. A mighty weeping arises along
the winding shore; a night and a day they linger in mutual embraces. The
very mothers now, the very men to whom once the sight of the sea seemed
cruel and the name intolerable, would go on and endure the journey's travail

to the end. These Aeneas comforts with kindly words, and commends with
tears to his kinsman Acestes' care. Then he bids slay three steers to Eryx
and a she-lamb to the Tempests, and loose the hawser as is due. Himself, his
head bound with stripped leaves of olive, he stands apart on the prow
holding the cup, and casts the entrails into the salt flood and pours liquid
wine. A wind rising astern follows them forth on their way. Emulously the
crews strike the water, and sweep through the seas.
But Venus meanwhile, wrought upon with distress, accosts Neptune, and
thus pours forth her heart's complaint: 'Juno's bitter wrath and heart
insatiable compel me, O Neptune, to sink to the uttermost of entreaty:
neither length of days nor any goodness softens her, nor doth Jove's
command and fate itself break her to desistence. It is not enough that her
accursed hatred hath devoured the Phrygian city from among the people,
and exhausted on it the stores of vengeance; still she pursues this remnant,
the bones and ashes of murdered Troy. I pray she know why her passion is
so fierce. Thyself art my witness what a sudden stir she raised of late on the
Libyan waters, flinging all the seas to heaven in vain reliance on Aeolus'
blasts; this she dared in thy realm. . . . Lo too, driving the Trojan matrons
into guilt, she hath foully [794-826]burned their ships, and forced them, their
fleet lost, to leave the crews to an unknown land. Let the remnant, I beseech
thee, give their sails to thy safe keeping across the seas; let them reach
Laurentine Tiber; if I ask what is permitted, if fate grants them a city there.'
Then the son of Saturn, compeller of the ocean deep, uttered thus: 'It is
wholly right, O Cytherean, that thy trust should be in my realm, whence
thou drawest birth; and I have deserved it: often have I allayed the rage and
full fury of sky and sea. Nor less on land, I call Xanthus and Simoïs to
witness, hath been my care of thine Aeneas. When Achilles pursued the
Trojan armies and hurled them breathless on their walls, and sent many
thousands to death,—when the choked rivers groaned and Xanthus could
not find passage or roll out to sea,—then I snatched Aeneas away in
sheltering mist as he met the brave son of Peleus outmatched in strength
and gods, eager as I was to overthrow the walls of perjured Troy that mine
own hands had built. Now too my mind rests the same; dismiss thy fear. In
safety, as thou desirest, shall he reach the haven of Avernus. One will there
be alone whom on the flood thou shalt lose and require; one life shall be
given for many. . . .'

With these words the goddess' bosom is soothed to joy. Then their lord
yokes his wild horses with gold and fastens the foaming bits, and letting all
the reins run slack in his hand, flies lightly in his sea-coloured chariot over
the ocean surface. The waves sink to rest, and the swoln water-ways smooth
out under the thundering axle; the storm-clouds scatter from the vast sky.
Diverse shapes attend him, monstrous whales, and Glaucus' aged choir, and
Palaemon, son of Ino, the swift Tritons, and Phorcus with all his army.
Thetis and Melite keep the left, and maiden Panopea, Nesaea and Spio,
Thalia and Cymodoce.
[827-860]At this lord Aeneas' soul is thrilled with soft counterchange of
delight. He bids all the masts be upreared with speed, and the sails stretched
on the yards. Together all set their sheets, and all at once slacken their
canvas to left and again to right; together they brace and unbrace the yard-
arms aloft; prosperous gales waft the fleet along. First, in front of all,
Palinurus steered the close column; the rest under orders ply their course by
his. And now dewy Night had just reached heaven's mid-cone; the sailors,
stretched on their hard benches under the oars, relaxed their limbs in quiet
rest: when Sleep, sliding lightly down from the starry sky, parted the
shadowy air and cleft the dark, seeking thee, O Palinurus, carrying dreams
of bale to thee who dreamt not of harm, and lit on the high stern, a god in
Phorbas' likeness, dropping this speech from his lips: 'Palinurus son of
Iasus, the very seas bear our fleet along; the breezes breathe steadily; for an
hour rest is given. Lay down thine head, and steal thy worn eyes from their
toil. I myself for a little will take thy duty in thy stead.' To whom Palinurus,
scarcely lifting his eyes, returns: 'Wouldst thou have me ignorant what the
calm face of the brine means, and the waves at rest? Shall I have faith in
this perilous thing? How shall I trust Aeneas to deceitful breezes, and the
placid treachery of sky that hath so often deceived me?' Such words he
uttered, and, clinging fast to the tiller, slackened hold no whit, and looked
up steadily on the stars. Lo! the god shakes over either temple a bough
dripping with Lethean dew and made slumberous with the might of Styx,
and makes his swimming eyes relax their struggles. Scarcely had sleep
begun to slacken his limbs unaware, when bending down, he flung him
sheer into the clear water, tearing rudder and half the stern away with him,
and many a time crying vainly on his comrades: himself [861-871]he rose on
flying wings into the thin air. None the less does the fleet run safe on its sea

path, and glides on unalarmed in lord Neptune's assurance. Yes, and now
they were sailing in to the cliffs of the Sirens, dangerous once of old and
white with the bones of many a man; and the hoarse rocks echoed afar in
the ceaseless surf; when her lord felt the ship rocking astray for loss of her
helmsman, and himself steered her on over the darkling water, sighing often
the while, and heavy at heart for his friend's mischance. 'Ah too trustful in
sky's and sea's serenity, thou shalt lie, O Palinurus, naked on an alien sand!'

BOOK SIXTH
THE VISION OF THE UNDER WORLD

So speaks he weeping, and gives his fleet the rein, and at last glides in to
Euboïc Cumae's coast. They turn the prows seaward; the ships grounded
fast on their anchors' teeth, and the curving ships line the beach. The
warrior band leaps forth eagerly on the Hesperian shore; some seek the
seeds of flame hidden in veins of flint, some scour the woods, the thick
coverts of wild beasts, and find and shew the streams. But good Aeneas
seeks the fortress where Apollo sits high enthroned, and the lone mystery of
the awful Sibyl's cavern depth, over whose mind and soul the prophetic
Delian breathes high inspiration and reveals futurity.
Now they draw nigh the groves of Trivia and the roof of gold. Daedalus, as
the story runs, when in flight from Minos' realm he dared to spread his fleet
wings to the sky, glided on his unwonted way towards the icy northern star,
and at length lit gently on the Chalcidian fastness. Here, on the first land he
retrod, he dedicated his winged oarage to thee, O Phoebus, in the vast
temple he built. On the doors is Androgeus' death; thereby the children of
Cecrops, bidden, ah me! to pay for yearly ransom seven souls of their sons;
the urn stands there, and the lots are drawn. Right [23-55]opposite the land of
Gnosus rises from the sea; on it is the cruel love of the bull, the disguised
stealth of Pasiphaë, and the mingled breed and double issue of the
Minotaur, record of a shameful passion; on it the famous dwelling's
laborious inextricable maze; but Daedalus, pitying the great love of the
princess, himself unlocked the tangled treachery of the palace, guiding with
the clue her lover's blind footsteps. Thou too hadst no slight part in the work
he wrought, O Icarus, did grief allow. Twice had he essayed to portray thy
fate in gold; twice the father's hands dropped down. Nay, their eyes would
scan all the story in order, were not Achates already returned from his
errand, and with him the priestess of Phoebus and Trivia, Deïphobe
daughter of Glaucus, who thus accosts the king: 'Other than this are the
sights the time demands: now were it well to sacrifice seven unbroken
bullocks of the herd, as many fitly chosen sheep of two years old.' Thus

speaks she to Aeneas; nor do they delay to do her sacred bidding; and the
priestess calls the Teucrians into the lofty shrine.
A vast cavern is scooped in the side of the Euboïc cliff, whither lead an
hundred wide passages by an hundred gates, whence peal forth as manifold
the responses of the Sibyl. They had reached the threshold, when the
maiden cries: It is time to enquire thy fate: the god, lo! the god! And even as
she spoke thus in the gateway, suddenly countenance nor colour nor ranged
tresses stayed the same; her wild heart heaves madly in her panting bosom;
and she expands to sight, and her voice is more than mortal, now the god
breathes on her in nearer deity. 'Lingerest thou to vow and pray,' she cries,
'Aeneas of Troy? lingerest thou? for not till then will the vast portals of the
spellbound house swing open.' So spoke she, and sank to silence. A cold
shiver ran through the Teucrians' iron frames, and the king pours heart-deep
supplication:
[56-89]'Phoebus, who hast ever pitied the sore travail of Troy, who didst
guide the Dardanian shaft from Paris' hand full on the son of Aeacus, in thy
leading have I pierced all these seas that skirt mighty lands, the Massylian
nations far withdrawn, and the fields the Syrtes fringe; thus far let the
fortune of Troy follow us. You too may now unforbidden spare the nation of
Pergama, gods and goddesses to whomsoever Ilium and the great glory of
Dardania did wrong. And thou, O prophetess most holy, foreknower of the
future, grant (for no unearned realm does my destiny claim) a resting-place
in Latium to the Teucrians, to their wandering gods and the storm-tossed
deities of Troy. Then will I ordain to Phoebus and Trivia a temple of solid
marble, and festal days in Phoebus' name. Thee likewise a mighty sanctuary
awaits in our realm. For here will I place thine oracles and the secrets of
destiny uttered to my people, and consecrate chosen men, O gracious one.
Only commit not thou thy verses to leaves, lest they fly disordered, the
sport of rushing winds; thyself utter them, I beseech thee.' His lips made an
end of utterance.
But the prophetess, not yet tame to Phoebus' hand, rages fiercely in the
cavern, so she may shake the mighty godhead from her breast; so much the
more does he tire her maddened mouth and subdue her wild breast and
shape her to his pressure. And now the hundred mighty portals of the house

open of their own accord, and bring through the air the answer of the
soothsayer:
'O past at length with the great perils of the sea! though heavier yet by land
await thee, the Dardanians shall come to the realm of Lavinium; relieve thy
heart of this care; but not so shall they have joy of their coming. Wars, grim
wars I discern, and Tiber afoam with streams of blood. A Simoïs shall not
fail thee, a Xanthus, a Dorian camp; another Achilles is already found for
Latium, he too [90-123]goddess-born; nor shall Juno's presence ever leave the
Teucrians; while thou in thy need, to what nations or what towns of Italy
shalt thou not sue! Again is an alien bride the source of all that Teucrian
woe, again a foreign marriage-chamber. . . . Yield not thou to distresses, but
all the bolder go forth to meet them, as thy fortune shall allow thee way.
The path of rescue, little as thou deemest it, shall first open from a Grecian
town.'
In such words the Sibyl of Cumae chants from the shrine her perplexing
terrors, echoing through the cavern truth wrapped in obscurity: so does
Apollo clash the reins and ply the goad in her maddened breast. So soon as
the spasm ceased and the raving lips sank to silence, Aeneas the hero
begins: 'No shape of toil, O maiden, rises strange or sudden on my sight; all
this ere now have I guessed and inly rehearsed in spirit. One thing I pray;
since here is the gate named of the infernal king, and the darkling marsh of
Acheron's overflow, be it given me to go to my beloved father, to see him
face to face; teach thou the way, and open the consecrated portals. Him on
these shoulders I rescued from encircling flames and a thousand pursuing
weapons, and brought him safe from amid the enemy; he accompanied my
way over all the seas, and bore with me all the threats of ocean and sky, in
weakness, beyond his age's strength and due. Nay, he it was who besought
and enjoined me to seek thy grace and draw nigh thy courts. Have pity, I
beseech thee, on son and father, O gracious one! for thou art all-powerful,
nor in vain hath Hecate given thee rule in the groves of Avernus. If Orpheus
could call up his wife's ghost in the strength of his Thracian lyre and the
music of the strings,—if Pollux redeemed his brother by exchange of death,
and passes and repasses so often,—why make mention of great Theseus,
why of Alcides? I too am of Jove's sovereign race.'

[124-157]Insuch words he pleaded and clasped the altars; when the
soothsayer thus began to speak:
'O sprung of gods' blood, child of Anchises of Troy, easy is the descent into
hell; all night and day the gate of dark Dis stands open; but to recall thy
steps and issue to upper air, this is the task and burden. Some few of gods'
lineage have availed, such as Jupiter's gracious favour or virtue's ardour
hath upborne to heaven. Midway all is muffled in forest, and the black coils
of Cocytus circle it round. Yet if thy soul is so passionate and so desirous
twice to float across the Stygian lake, twice to see dark Tartarus, and thy
pleasure is to plunge into the mad task, learn what must first be
accomplished. Hidden in a shady tree is a bough with leafage and pliant
shoot all of gold, consecrate to nether Juno, wrapped in the depth of
woodland and shut in by dim dusky vales. But to him only who first hath
plucked the golden-tressed fruitage from the tree is it given to enter the
hidden places of the earth. This hath beautiful Proserpine ordained to be
borne to her for her proper gift. The first torn away, a second fills the place
in gold, and the spray burgeons with even such ore again. So let thine eyes
trace it home, and thine hand pluck it duly when found; for lightly and
unreluctant will it follow if thine is fate's summons; else will no strength of
thine avail to conquer it nor hard steel to cut it away. Yet again, a friend of
thine lies a lifeless corpse, alas! thou knowest it not, and defiles all the fleet
with death, while thou seekest our counsel and lingerest in our courts. First
lay him in his resting-place and hide him in the tomb; lead thither black
cattle; be this first thine expiation; so at last shalt thou behold the Stygian
groves and the realm untrodden of the living.' She spoke, and her lips shut
to silence.
Aeneas goes forth, and leaves the cavern with fixed eyes and sad
countenance, his soul revolving inly the unseen [158-194]issues. By his side
goes faithful Achates, and plants his footsteps in equal perplexity. Long
they ran on in mutual change of talk; of what lifeless comrade spoke the
soothsayer, of what body for burial? And even as they came, they see on the
dry beach Misenus cut off by untimely death, Misenus the Aeolid, excelled
of none other in stirring men with brazen breath and kindling battle with his
trumpet-note. He had been attendant on mighty Hector; in Hector's train he
waged battle, renowned alike for bugle and spear: after victorious Achilles
robbed him of life the valiant hero had joined Dardanian Aeneas' company,

and followed no meaner leader. But now, while he makes his hollow shell
echo over the seas, ah fool! and calls the gods to rival his blast, jealous
Triton, if belief is due, had caught him among the rocks and sunk him in the
foaming waves. So all surrounded him with loud murmur and cries, good
Aeneas the foremost. Then weeping they quickly hasten on the Sibyl's
orders, and work hard to pile trees for the altar of burial, and heap it up into
the sky. They move into the ancient forest, the deep coverts of game; pitch-
pines fall flat, ilex rings to the stroke of axes, and ashen beams and oak are
split in clefts with wedges; they roll in huge mountain-ashes from the hills.
Aeneas likewise is first in the work, and cheers on his crew and arms
himself with their weapons. And alone with his sad heart he ponders it all,
gazing on the endless forest, and utters this prayer: 'If but now that bough of
gold would shew itself to us on the tree in this depth of woodland! since all
the soothsayer's tale of thee, Misenus, was, alas! too truly spoken.' Scarcely
had he said thus, when twin doves haply came flying down the sky, and lit
on the green sod right under his eyes. Then the kingly hero knows them for
his mother's birds, and joyfully prays: 'Ah, be my guides, if way there be,
and direct your aëry passage into the groves [195-230]where the rich bough
overshadows the fertile ground! and thou, O goddess mother, fail not our
wavering fortune.' So spoke he and stayed his steps, marking what they
signify, whither they urge their way. Feeding and flying they advance at
such distance as following eyes could keep them in view; then, when they
came to Avernus' pestilent gorge, they tower swiftly, and sliding down
through the liquid air, choose their seat and light side by side on a tree,
through whose boughs shone out the contrasting flicker of gold. As in chill
mid-winter the woodland is wont to blossom with the strange leafage of the
mistletoe, sown on an alien tree and wreathing the smooth stems with
burgeoning saffron; so on the shadowy ilex seemed that leafy gold, so the
foil tinkled in the light breeze. Immediately Aeneas seizes it and eagerly
breaks off its resistance, and carries it beneath the Sibyl's roof.
And therewithal the Teucrians on the beach wept Misenus, and bore the last
rites to the thankless ashes. First they build up a vast pyre of resinous billets
and sawn oak, whose sides they entwine with dark leaves and plant funereal
cypresses in front, and adorn it above with his shining armour. Some
prepare warm water in cauldrons bubbling over the flames, and wash and
anoint the chill body, and make their moan; then, their weeping done, lay

his limbs on the pillow, and spread over it crimson raiment, the accustomed
pall. Some uplift the heavy bier, a melancholy service, and with averted
faces in their ancestral fashion hold and thrust in the torch. Gifts of
frankincense, food, and bowls of olive oil, are poured and piled upon the
fire. After the embers sank in and the flame died away, they soaked with
wine the remnant of thirsty ashes, and Corynaeus gathered the bones and
shut them in an urn of brass; and he too thrice encircled his comrades with
fresh water, and cleansed them with light spray sprinkled from a [231-
267]bough of fruitful olive, and spoke the last words of all. But good Aeneas
heaps a mighty mounded tomb over him, with his own armour and his oar
and trumpet, beneath a skyey mountain that now is called Misenus after
him, and keeps his name immortal from age to age.
This done, he hastens to fulfil the Sibyl's ordinance. A deep cave yawned
dreary and vast, shingle-strewn, sheltered by the black lake and the gloom
of the forests; over it no flying things could wing their way unharmed, such
a vapour streamed from the dark gorge and rose into the overarching sky.
Here the priestess first arrays four black-bodied bullocks and pours wine
upon their forehead; and plucking the topmost hairs from between the
horns, lays them on the sacred fire for first-offering, calling aloud on
Hecate, mistress of heaven and hell. Others lay knives beneath, and catch
the warm blood in cups. Aeneas himself smites with the sword a black-
fleeced she-lamb to the mother of the Eumenides and her mighty sister, and
a barren heifer, Proserpine, to thee. Then he uprears darkling altars to the
Stygian king, and lays whole carcases of bulls upon the flames, pouring fat
oil over the blazing entrails. And lo! about the first rays of sunrise the
ground moaned underfoot, and the woodland ridges began to stir, and dogs
seemed to howl through the dusk as the goddess came. 'Apart, ah keep
apart, O ye unsanctified!' cries the soothsayer; 'retire from all the grove; and
thou, stride on and unsheath thy steel; now is need of courage, O Aeneas,
now of strong resolve.' So much she spoke, and plunged madly into the
cavern's opening; he with unflinching steps keeps pace with his advancing
guide.
Gods who are sovereign over souls! silent ghosts, and Chaos and
Phlegethon, the wide dumb realm of night! as I have heard, so let me tell,
and according to your will unfold things sunken deep under earth in gloom.

[268-303]They went darkling through the dusk beneath the solitary night,
through the empty dwellings and bodiless realm of Dis; even as one walks
in the forest beneath the jealous light of a doubtful moon, when Jupiter
shrouds the sky in shadow and black night blots out the world. Right in
front of the doorway and in the entry of the jaws of hell Grief and avenging
Cares have made their bed; there dwell wan Sicknesses and gloomy Eld,
and Fear, and ill-counselling Hunger, and loathly Want, shapes terrible to
see; and Death and Travail, and thereby Sleep, Death's kinsman, and the
Soul's guilty Joys, and death-dealing War full in the gateway, and the Furies
in their iron cells, and mad Discord with bloodstained fillets enwreathing
her serpent locks.
Midway an elm, shadowy and high, spreads her boughs and secular arms,
where, one saith, idle Dreams dwell clustering, and cling under every leaf.
And monstrous creatures besides, many and diverse, keep covert at the
gates, Centaurs and twy-shaped Scyllas, and the hundredfold Briareus, and
the beast of Lerna hissing horribly, and the Chimaera armed with flame,
Gorgons and Harpies, and the body of the triform shade. Here Aeneas
snatches at his sword in a sudden flutter of terror, and turns the naked edge
on them as they come; and did not his wise fellow-passenger remind him
that these lives flit thin and unessential in the hollow mask of body, he
would rush on and vainly lash through phantoms with his steel.
Hence a road leads to Tartarus and Acheron's wave. Here the dreary pool
swirls thick in muddy eddies and disgorges into Cocytus with its load of
sand. Charon, the dread ferryman, guards these flowing streams, ragged and
awful, his chin covered with untrimmed masses of hoary hair, and his
glassy eyes aflame; his soiled raiment hangs knotted from his shoulders.
Himself he plies the pole and trims the sails of his vessel, the steel-blue
galley with freight [304-336]of dead; stricken now in years, but a god's old
age is lusty and green. Hither all crowded, and rushed streaming to the
bank, matrons and men and high-hearted heroes dead and done with life,
boys and unwedded girls, and children laid young on the bier before their
parents' eyes, multitudinous as leaves fall dropping in the forests at
autumn's earliest frost, or birds swarm landward from the deep gulf, when
the chill of the year routs them overseas and drives them to sunny lands.
They stood pleading for the first passage across, and stretched forth
passionate hands to the farther shore. But the grim sailor admits now one

and now another, while some he pushes back far apart on the strand. Moved
with marvel at the confused throng: 'Say, O maiden,' cries Aeneas, 'what
means this flocking to the river? of what are the souls so fain? or what
difference makes these retire from the banks, those go with sweeping oars
over the leaden waterways?'
To him the long-lived priestess thus briefly returned: 'Seed of Anchises,
most sure progeny of gods, thou seest the deep pools of Cocytus and the
Stygian marsh, by whose divinity the gods fear to swear falsely. All this
crowd thou discernest is helpless and unsepultured; Charon is the ferryman;
they who ride on the wave found a tomb. Nor is it given to cross the awful
banks and hoarse streams ere the dust hath found a resting-place. An
hundred years they wander here flitting about the shore; then at last they
gain entrance, and revisit the pools so sorely desired.'
Anchises' son stood still, and ponderingly stayed his footsteps, pitying at
heart their cruel lot. There he discerns, mournful and unhonoured dead,
Leucaspis and Orontes, captains of the Lycian squadron, whom, as they
sailed together from Troy over gusty seas, the south wind overwhelmed and
wrapped the waters round ship and men.
[337-369]Lo, there went by Palinurus the steersman, who of late, while he
watched the stars on their Libyan passage, had slipped from the stern and
fallen amid the waves. To him, when he first knew the melancholy form in
that depth of shade, he thus opens speech: 'What god, O Palinurus, reft thee
from us and sank thee amid the seas? forth and tell. For in this single
answer Apollo deceived me, never found false before, when he prophesied
thee safety on ocean and arrival on the Ausonian coasts. See, is this his
promise-keeping?'
And he: 'Neither did Phoebus on his oracular seat delude thee, O prince,
Anchises' son, nor did any god drown me in the sea. For while I clung to
my appointed charge and governed our course, I pulled the tiller with me in
my fall, and the shock as I slipped wrenched it away. By the rough seas I
swear, fear for myself never wrung me so sore as for thy ship, lest, the
rudder lost and the pilot struck away, those gathering waves might master it.
Three wintry nights in the water the blustering south drove me over the
endless sea; scarcely on the fourth dawn I descried Italy as I rose on the

climbing wave. Little by little I swam shoreward; already I clung safe; but
while, encumbered with my dripping raiment, I caught with crooked fingers
at the jagged needles of mountain rock, the barbarous people attacked me in
arms and ignorantly deemed me a prize. Now the wave holds me, and the
winds toss me on the shore. By heaven's pleasant light and breezes I
beseech thee, by thy father, by Iülus thy rising hope, rescue me from these
distresses, O unconquered one! Either do thou, for thou canst, cast earth
over me and again seek the haven of Velia; or do thou, if in any wise that
may be, if in any wise the goddess who bore thee shews a way,—for not
without divine will do I deem thou wilt float across these vast rivers and the
Stygian pool,—lend me a pitying [370-403]hand, and bear me over the waves
in thy company, that at least in death I may find a quiet resting-place.'
Thus he ended, and the soothsayer thus began: 'Whence, O Palinurus, this
fierce longing of thine? Shalt thou without burial behold the Stygian waters
and the awful river of the Furies? Cease to hope prayers may bend the
decrees of heaven. But take my words to thy memory, for comfort in thy
woeful case: far and wide shall the bordering cities be driven by celestial
portents to appease thy dust; they shall rear a tomb, and pay the tomb a
yearly offering, and for evermore shall the place keep Palinurus' name.' The
words soothed away his distress, and for a while drove grief away from his
sorrowing heart; he is glad in the land of his name.
So they complete their journey's beginning, and draw nigh the river. Just
then the waterman descried them from the Stygian wave advancing through
the silent woodland and turning their feet towards the bank, and opens on
them in these words of challenge: 'Whoso thou art who marchest in arms
towards our river, forth and say, there as thou art, why thou comest, and
stay thine advance. This is the land of Shadows, of Sleep, and slumberous
Night; no living body may the Stygian hull convey. Nor truly had I joy of
taking Alcides on the lake for passenger, nor Theseus and Pirithoüs, born of
gods though they were and unconquered in might. He laid fettering hand on
the warder of Tartarus, and dragged him cowering from the throne of my
lord the King; they essayed to ravish our mistress from the bridal chamber
of Dis.' Thereto the Amphrysian soothsayer made brief reply: 'No such plot
is here; be not moved; nor do our weapons offer violence; the huge
gatekeeper may bark on for ever in his cavern and affright the bloodless
ghosts; Proserpine may keep her honour within her uncle's gates. Aeneas of

Troy, renowned [404-437]in goodness as in arms, goes down to meet his
father in the deep shades of Erebus. If the sight of such affection stirs thee
in nowise, yet this bough' (she discovers the bough hidden in her raiment)
'thou must know.' Then his heaving breast allays its anger, and he says no
more; but marvelling at the awful gift, the fated rod so long unseen, he
steers in his dusky vessel and draws to shore. Next he routs out the souls
that sate on the long benches, and clears the thwarts, while he takes mighty
Aeneas on board. The galley groaned under the weight in all her seams, and
the marsh-water leaked fast in. At length prophetess and prince are landed
unscathed on the ugly ooze and livid sedge.
This realm rings with the triple-throated baying of vast Cerberus, couched
huge in the cavern opposite; to whom the prophetess, seeing the serpents
already bristling up on his neck, throws a cake made slumberous with
honey and drugged grain. He, with threefold jaws gaping in ravenous
hunger, catches it when thrown, and sinks to earth with monstrous body
outstretched, and sprawling huge over all his den. The warder
overwhelmed, Aeneas makes entrance, and quickly issues from the bank of
the irremeable wave.
Immediately wailing voices are loud in their ears, the souls of babies crying
on the doorway sill, whom, torn from the breast and portionless in life's
sweetness, a dark day cut off and drowned in bitter death. Hard by them are
those condemned to death on false accusation. Neither indeed are these
dwellings assigned without lot and judgment; Minos presides and shakes
the urn; he summons a council of the silent people, and inquires of their
lives and charges. Next in order have these mourners their place whose own
innocent hands dealt them death, who flung away their souls in hatred of
the day. How fain were they now in upper air to endure their poverty and
[438-472]sore travail! It may not be; the unlovely pool locks them in her
gloomy wave, and Styx pours her ninefold barrier between. And not far
from here are shewn stretching on every side the Wailing Fields; so they
call them by name. Here they whom pitiless love hath wasted in cruel decay
hide among untrodden ways, shrouded in embosoming myrtle thickets; not
death itself ends their distresses. In this region he discerns Phaedra and
Procris and woeful Eriphyle, shewing on her the wounds of her merciless
son, and Evadne and Pasiphaë; Laodamia goes in their company, and she
who was once Caeneus and a man, now woman, and again returned by fate

into her shape of old. Among whom Dido the Phoenician, fresh from her
death-wound, wandered in the vast forest; by her the Trojan hero stood, and
knew the dim form through the darkness, even as the moon at the month's
beginning to him who sees or thinks he sees her rising through the vapours;
he let tears fall, and spoke to her lovingly and sweet:
'Alas, Dido! so the news was true that reached me; thou didst perish, and
the sword sealed thy doom! Ah me, was I cause of thy death? By the stars I
swear, by the heavenly powers and all that is sacred beneath the earth,
unwillingly, O queen, I left thy shore. But the gods, at whose orders now I
pass through this shadowy place, this land of mouldering overgrowth and
deep night, the gods' commands drove me forth; nor could I deem my
departure would bring thee pain so great as this. Stay thy footstep, and
withdraw not from our gaze. From whom fliest thou? the last speech of thee
fate ordains me is this.'
In such words and with starting tears Aeneas soothed the burning and
fierce-eyed soul. She turned away with looks fixed fast on the ground,
stirred no more in countenance by the speech he essays than if she stood in
iron flint or Marpesian stone. At length she started, and fled wrathfully [473-
508]into the shadowy woodland, where Sychaeus, her ancient husband,
responds to her distresses and equals her affection. Yet Aeneas, dismayed by
her cruel doom, follows her far on her way with pitying tears.
Thence he pursues his appointed path. And now they trod those utmost
fields where the renowned in war have their haunt apart. Here Tydeus meets
him; here Parthenopaeus, glorious in arms, and the pallid phantom of
Adrastus; here the Dardanians long wept on earth and fallen in the war;
sighing he discerns all their long array, Glaucus and Medon and
Thersilochus, the three children of Antenor, and Polyphoetes, Ceres' priest,
and Idaeus yet charioted, yet grasping his arms. The souls throng round him
to right and left; nor is one look enough; lingering delighted, they pace by
his side and enquire wherefore he is come. But the princes of the Grecians
and Agamemnon's armies, when they see him glittering in arms through the
gloom, hurry terror-stricken away; some turn backward, as when of old they
fled to the ships; some raise their voice faintly, and gasp out a broken
ineffectual cry.

And here he saw Deïphobus son of Priam, with face cruelly torn, face and
both hands, and ears lopped from his mangled temples, and nostrils maimed
by a shameful wound. Barely he knew the cowering form that hid its
dreadful punishment; then he springs to accost it in familiar speech:
'Deïphobus mighty in arms, seed of Teucer's royal blood, whose wantonness
of vengeance was so cruel? who was allowed to use thee thus? Rumour
reached me that on that last night, outwearied with endless slaughter, thou
hadst sunk on the heap of mingled carnage. Then mine own hand reared an
empty tomb on the Rhoetean shore, mine own voice thrice called aloud
upon thy ghost. Thy name and armour keep the spot; thee, O my friend, I
could not see nor lay in the native earth I left.'
[509-541]Whereto the son of Priam: 'In nothing, O my friend, wert thou
wanting; thou hast paid the full to Deïphobus and the dead man's shade. But
me my fate and the Laconian woman's murderous guilt thus dragged down
to doom; these are the records of her leaving. For how we spent that last
night in delusive gladness thou knowest, and must needs remember too
well. When the fated horse leapt down on the steep towers of Troy, bearing
armed infantry for the burden of its womb, she, in feigned procession, led
round our Phrygian women with Bacchic cries; herself she upreared a
mighty flame amid them, and called the Grecians out of the fortress height.
Then was I fast in mine ill-fated bridal chamber, deep asleep and outworn
with my charge, and lay overwhelmed in slumber sweet and profound and
most like to easeful death. Meanwhile that crown of wives removes all the
arms from my dwelling, and slips out the faithful sword from beneath my
head: she calls Menelaus into the house and flings wide the gateway: be
sure she hoped her lover would magnify the gift, and so she might quench
the fame of her ill deeds of old. Why do I linger? They burst into the
chamber, they and the Aeolid, counsellor of crime, in their company. Gods,
recompense the Greeks even thus, if with righteous lips I call for
vengeance! But come, tell in turn what hap hath brought thee hither yet
alive. Comest thou driven on ocean wanderings, or by promptings from
heaven? or what fortune keeps thee from rest, that thou shouldst draw nigh
these sad sunless dwellings, this disordered land?'
In this change of talk Dawn had already crossed heaven's mid axle on her
rose-charioted way; and haply had they thus drawn out all the allotted time;

but the Sibyl made brief warning speech to her companion: 'Night falls,
Aeneas; we waste the hours in weeping. Here is the place where the road
disparts; by this that runs to the right [542-574]under great Dis' city is our path
to Elysium; but the leftward wreaks vengeance on the wicked and sends
them to unrelenting hell.' But Deïphobus: 'Be not angered, mighty priestess;
I will depart, I will refill my place and return into darkness. Go, glory of our
people, go, enjoy a fairer fate than mine.' Thus much he spoke, and on the
word turned away his footsteps.
Aeneas looks swiftly back, and sees beneath the cliff on the left hand a wide
city, girt with a triple wall and encircled by a racing river of boiling flame,
Tartarean Phlegethon, that echoes over its rolling rocks. In front is the gate,
huge and pillared with solid adamant, that no warring force of men nor the
very habitants of heaven may avail to overthrow; it stands up a tower of
iron, and Tisiphone sitting girt in bloodstained pall keeps sleepless watch at
the entry by night and day. Hence moans are heard and fierce lashes
resound, with the clank of iron and dragging chains. Aeneas stopped and
hung dismayed at the tumult. 'What shapes of crime are here? declare, O
maiden; or what the punishment that pursues them, and all this upsurging
wail?' Then the soothsayer thus began to speak: 'Illustrious chief of Troy, no
pure foot may tread these guilty courts; but to me Hecate herself, when she
gave me rule over the groves of Avernus, taught how the gods punish, and
guided me through all her realm. Gnosian Rhadamanthus here holds
unrelaxing sway, chastises secret crime revealed, and exacts confession,
wheresoever in the upper world one vainly exultant in stolen guilt hath till
the dusk of death kept clear from the evil he wrought. Straightway avenging
Tisiphone, girt with her scourge, tramples down the shivering sinners,
menaces them with the grim snakes in her left hand, and summons forth her
sisters in merciless train. Then at last the sacred gates are flung open and
grate on the jarring hinge. Markest thou what sentry is seated in [575-609]the
doorway? what shape guards the threshold? More grim within sits the
monstrous Hydra with her fifty black yawning throats: and Tartarus' self
gapes sheer and strikes into the gloom through twice the space that one
looks upward to Olympus and the skyey heaven. Here Earth's ancient
children, the Titans' brood, hurled down by the thunderbolt, lie wallowing
in the abyss. Here likewise I saw the twin Aloïds, enormous of frame, who
essayed with violent hands to pluck down high heaven and thrust Jove from

his upper realm. Likewise I saw Salmoneus in the cruel payment he gives
for mocking Jove's flame and Olympus' thunders. Borne by four horses and
brandishing a torch, he rode in triumph midway through the populous city
of Grecian Elis, and claimed for himself the worship of deity; madman!
who would mimic the storm-cloud and the inimitable bolt with brass that
rang under his trampling horse-hoofs. But the Lord omnipotent hurled his
shaft through thickening clouds (no firebrand his nor smoky glare of
torches) and dashed him headlong in the fury of the whirlwind. Therewithal
Tityos might be seen, fosterling of Earth the mother of all, whose body
stretches over nine full acres, and a monstrous vulture with crooked beak
eats away the imperishable liver and the entrails that breed in suffering, and
plunges deep into the breast that gives it food and dwelling; nor is any rest
given to the fibres that ever grow anew. Why tell of the Lapithae, of Ixion
and Pirithoüs? over whom a stone hangs just slipping and just as though it
fell; or the high banqueting couches gleam golden-pillared, and the feast is
spread in royal luxury before their faces; couched hard by, the eldest of the
Furies wards the tables from their touch and rises with torch upreared and
thunderous lips. Here are they who hated their brethren while life endured,
or struck a parent or entangled a client in wrong, or who brooded [610-
643]alone over found treasure and shared it not with their fellows, this the
greatest multitude of all; and they who were slain for adultery, and who
followed unrighteous arms, and feared not to betray their masters' plighted
hand. Imprisoned they await their doom. Seek not to be told that doom, that
fashion of fortune wherein they are sunk. Some roll a vast stone, or hang
outstretched on the spokes of wheels; hapless Theseus sits and shall sit for
ever, and Phlegyas in his misery gives counsel to all and witnesses aloud
through the gloom, Learn by this warning to do justly and not to slight the
gods. This man sold his country for gold, and laid her under a tyrant's sway;
he set up and pulled down laws at a price; this other forced his daughter's
bridal chamber and a forbidden marriage; all dared some monstrous
wickedness, and had success in what they dared. Not had I an hundred
tongues, an hundred mouths, and a voice of iron, could I sum up all the
shapes of crime or name over all their punishments.'
Thus spoke Phoebus' long-lived priestess; then 'But come now,' she cries;
'haste on the way and perfect the service begun; let us go faster; I descry the
ramparts cast in Cyclopean furnaces, and in front the arched gateway where

they bid us lay the gifts foreordained.' She ended, and advancing side by
side along the shadowy ways, they pass over and draw nigh the gates.
Aeneas makes entrance, and sprinkling his body with fresh water, plants the
bough full in the gateway.
Now at length, this fully done, and the service of the goddess perfected,
they came to the happy place, the green pleasances and blissful seats of the
Fortunate Woodlands. Here an ampler air clothes the meadows in lustrous
sheen, and they know their own sun and a starlight of their own. Some
exercise their limbs in tournament on the greensward, contend in games,
and wrestle on the yellow sand. Some [644-676]dance with beating footfall
and lips that sing; with them is the Thracian priest in sweeping robe, and
makes music to their measures with the notes' sevenfold interval, the notes
struck now with his fingers, now with his ivory rod. Here is Teucer's ancient
brood, a generation excellent in beauty, high-hearted heroes born in happier
years, Ilus and Assaracus, and Dardanus, founder of Troy. Afar he marvels
at the armour and chariots empty of their lords: their spears stand fixed in
the ground, and their unyoked horses pasture at large over the plain: their
life's delight in chariot and armour, their care in pasturing their sleek horses,
follows them in like wise low under earth. Others, lo! he beholds feasting
on the sward to right and left, and singing in chorus the glad Paean-cry,
within a scented laurel-grove whence Eridanus river surges upward full-
volumed through the wood. Here is the band of them who bore wounds in
fighting for their country, and they who were pure in priesthood while life
endured, and the good poets whose speech abased not Apollo; and they who
made life beautiful by the arts of their invention, and who won by service a
memory among men, the brows of all girt with the snow-white fillet. To
their encircling throng the Sibyl spoke thus, and to Musaeus before them
all; for he is midmost of all the multitude, and stands out head and
shoulders among their upward gaze:
'Tell, O blissful souls, and thou, poet most gracious, what region, what place
hath Anchises for his own? For his sake are we come, and have sailed
across the wide rivers of Erebus.'
And to her the hero thus made brief reply: 'None hath a fixed dwelling; we
live in the shady woodlands; soft-swelling banks and meadows fresh with
streams are our habitation. But you, if this be your heart's desire, scale this

ridge, and I will even now set you on an easy [677-708]pathway.' He spoke,
and paced on before them, and from above shews the shining plains;
thereafter they leave the mountain heights.
But lord Anchises, deep in the green valley, was musing in earnest survey
over the imprisoned souls destined to the daylight above, and haply
reviewing his beloved children and all the tale of his people, them and their
fates and fortunes, their works and ways. And he, when he saw Aeneas
advancing to meet him over the greensward, stretched forth both hands
eagerly, while tears rolled over his cheeks, and his lips parted in a cry: 'Art
thou come at last, and hath thy love, O child of my desire, conquered the
difficult road? Is it granted, O my son, to gaze on thy face and hear and
answer in familiar tones? Thus indeed I forecast in spirit, counting the days
between; nor hath my care misled me. What lands, what space of seas hast
thou traversed to reach me, through what surge of perils, O my son! How I
dreaded the realm of Libya might work thee harm!'
And he: 'Thy melancholy phantom, thine, O my father, came before me
often and often, and drove me to steer to these portals. My fleet is anchored
on the Tyrrhenian brine. Give thine hand to clasp, O my father, give it, and
withdraw not from our embrace.'
So spoke he, his face wet with abundant weeping. Thrice there did he essay
to fling his arms about his neck; thrice the phantom vainly grasped fled out
of his hands even as light wind, and most like to fluttering sleep.
Meanwhile Aeneas sees deep withdrawn in the covert of the vale a
woodland and rustling forest thickets, and the river of Lethe that floats past
their peaceful dwellings. Around it flitted nations and peoples innumerable;
even as in the meadows when in clear summer weather bees settle on the
variegated flowers and stream round the snow-white [709-742]lilies, all the
plain is murmurous with their humming. Aeneas starts at the sudden view,
and asks the reason he knows not; what are those spreading streams, or who
are they whose vast train fills the banks? Then lord Anchises: 'Souls, for
whom second bodies are destined and due, drink at the wave of the Lethean
stream the heedless water of long forgetfulness. These of a truth have I long
desired to tell and shew thee face to face, and number all the generation of
thy children, that so thou mayest the more rejoice with me in finding

Italy.'—'O father, must we think that any souls travel hence into upper air,
and return again to bodily fetters? why this their strange sad longing for the
light?' 'I will tell,' rejoins Anchises, 'nor will I hold thee in suspense, my
son.' And he unfolds all things in order one by one.
'First of all, heaven and earth and the liquid fields, the shining orb of the
moon and the Titanian star, doth a spirit sustain inly, and a soul shed abroad
in them sways all their members and mingles in the mighty frame. Thence
is the generation of man and beast, the life of winged things, and the
monstrous forms that ocean breeds under his glittering floor. Those seeds
have fiery force and divine birth, so far as they are not clogged by taint of
the body and dulled by earthy frames and limbs ready to die. Hence is it
they fear and desire, sorrow and rejoice; nor can they pierce the air while
barred in the blind darkness of their prison-house. Nay, and when the last
ray of life is gone, not yet, alas! does all their woe, nor do all the plagues of
the body wholly leave them free; and needs must be that many a long
ingrained evil should take root marvellously deep. Therefore they are
schooled in punishment, and pay all the forfeit of a lifelong ill; some are
hung stretched to the viewless winds; some have the taint of guilt washed
out beneath the dreary deep, or burned away in fire. We [743-777]suffer, each
a several ghost; thereafter we are sent to the broad spaces of Elysium, some
few of us to possess the happy fields; till length of days completing time's
circle takes out the ingrained soilure and leaves untainted the ethereal sense
and pure spiritual flame. All these before thee, when the wheel of a
thousand years hath come fully round, a God summons in vast train to the
river of Lethe, that so they may regain in forgetfulness the slopes of upper
earth, and begin to desire to return again into the body.'
Anchises ceased, and leads his son and the Sibyl likewise amid the
assembled murmurous throng, and mounts a hillock whence he might scan
all the long ranks and learn their countenances as they came.
'Now come, the glory hereafter to follow our Dardanian progeny, the
posterity to abide in our Italian people, illustrious souls and inheritors of our
name to be, these will I rehearse, and instruct thee of thy destinies. He
yonder, seest thou? the warrior leaning on his pointless spear, holds the
nearest place allotted in our groves, and shall rise first into the air of heaven
from the mingling blood of Italy, Silvius of Alban name, the child of thine

age, whom late in thy length of days thy wife Lavinia shall nurture in the
woodland, king and father of kings; from him in Alba the Long shall our
house have dominion. He next him is Procas, glory of the Trojan race; and
Capys and Numitor; and he who shall renew thy name, Silvius Aeneas,
eminent alike in goodness or in arms, if ever he shall receive his kingdom in
Alba. Men of men! see what strength they display, and wear the civic oak
shading their brows. They shall establish Nomentum and Gabii and Fidena
city, they the Collatine hill-fortress, Pometii and the Fort of Inuus, Bola and
Cora: these shall be names that are now nameless lands. Nay, Romulus
likewise, seed of Mavors, shall join [778-810]his grandsire's company, from
his mother Ilia's nurture and Assaracus' blood. Seest thou how the twin
plumes straighten on his crest, and his father's own emblazonment already
marks him for upper air? Behold, O son! by his augury shall Rome the
renowned fill earth with her empire and heaven with her pride, and gird
about seven fortresses with her single wall, prosperous mother of men; even
as our lady of Berecyntus rides in her chariot turret-crowned through the
Phrygian cities, glad in the gods she hath borne, clasping an hundred of her
children's children, all habitants of heaven, all dwellers on the upper
heights. Hither now bend thy twin-eyed gaze; behold this people, the
Romans that are thine. Here is Caesar and all Iülus' posterity that shall arise
under the mighty cope of heaven. Here is he, he of whose promise once and
again thou hearest, Caesar Augustus, a god's son, who shall again establish
the ages of gold in Latium over the fields that once were Saturn's realm, and
carry his empire afar to Garamant and Indian, to the land that lies beyond
our stars, beyond the sun's yearlong ways, where Atlas the sky-bearer
wheels on his shoulder the glittering star-spangled pole. Before his coming
even now the kingdoms of the Caspian shudder at oracular answers, and the
Maeotic land and the mouths of sevenfold Nile flutter in alarm. Nor indeed
did Alcides traverse such spaces of earth, though he pierced the brazen-
footed deer, or though he stilled the Erymanthian woodlands and made
Lerna tremble at his bow: nor he who sways his team with reins of vine,
Liber the conqueror, when he drives his tigers from Nysa's lofty crest. And
do we yet hesitate to give valour scope in deeds, or shrink in fear from
setting foot on Ausonian land? Ah, and who is he apart, marked out with
sprays of olive, offering sacrifice? I know the locks and hoary chin of the
king of Rome who shall establish the infant city in his [811-843]laws, sent
from little Cures' sterile land to the majesty of empire. To him Tullus shall

next succeed, who shall break the peace of his country and stir to arms men
rusted from war and armies now disused to triumphs; and hard on him over-
vaunting Ancus follows, even now too elate in popular breath. Wilt thou see
also the Tarquin kings, and the haughty soul of Brutus the Avenger, and the
fasces regained? He shall first receive a consul's power and the merciless
axes, and when his children would stir fresh war, the father, for fair
freedom's sake, shall summon them to doom. Unhappy! yet howsoever
posterity shall take the deed, love of country and limitless passion for
honour shall prevail. Nay, behold apart the Decii and the Drusi, Torquatus
with his cruel axe, and Camillus returning with the standards. Yonder souls
likewise, whom thou discernest gleaming in equal arms, at one now, while
shut in Night, ah me! what mutual war, what battle-lines and bloodshed
shall they arouse, so they attain the light of the living! father-in-law
descending from the Alpine barriers and the fortress of the Dweller Alone,
son-in-law facing him with the embattled East. Nay, O my children, harden
not your hearts to such warfare, neither turn upon her own heart the
mastering might of your country; and thou, be thou first to forgive, who
drawest thy descent from heaven; cast down the weapons from thy hand, O
blood of mine. . . . He shall drive his conquering chariot to the Capitoline
height triumphant over Corinth, glorious in Achaean slaughter. He shall
uproot Argos and Agamemnonian Mycenae, and the Aeacid's own heir, the
seed of Achilles mighty in arms, avenging his ancestors in Troy and
Minerva's polluted temple. Who might leave thee, lordly Cato, or thee,
Cossus, to silence? who the Gracchan family, or these two sons of the
Scipios, a double thunderbolt of war, Libya's bale? and Fabricius potent in
poverty, or [844-875]thee, Serranus, sowing in the furrow? Whither whirl you
me all breathless, O Fabii? thou art he, the most mighty, the one man whose
lingering retrieves our State. Others shall beat out the breathing bronze to
softer lines, I believe it well; shall draw living lineaments from the marble;
the cause shall be more eloquent on their lips; their pencil shall portray the
pathways of heaven, and tell the stars in their arising: be thy charge, O
Roman, to rule the nations in thine empire; this shall be thine art, to lay
down the law of peace, to be merciful to the conquered and beat the
haughty down.'
Thus lord Anchises, and as they marvel, he so pursues: 'Look how
Marcellus the conqueror marches glorious in the splendid spoils, towering

high above them all! He shall stay the Roman State, reeling beneath the
invading shock, shall ride down Carthaginian and insurgent Gaul, and a
third time hang up the captured armour before lord Quirinus.'
And at this Aeneas, for he saw going by his side one excellent in beauty and
glittering in arms, but his brow had little cheer, and his eyes looked down:
'Who, O my father, is he who thus attends him on his way? son, or other of
his children's princely race? How his comrades murmur around him! how
goodly of presence he is! but dark Night flutters round his head with
melancholy shade.'
Then lord Anchises with welling tears began: 'O my son, ask not of the
great sorrow of thy people. Him shall fate but shew to earth, and suffer not
to stay further. Too mighty, lords of heaven, did you deem the brood of
Rome, had this your gift been abiding. What moaning of men shall arise
from the Field of Mavors by the imperial city! what a funeral train shalt
thou see, O Tiber, as thou flowest by the new-made grave! Neither shall the
boyhood of any [876-901]of Ilian race raise his Latin forefathers' hope so
high; nor shall the land of Romulus ever boast of any fosterling like this.
Alas his goodness, alas his antique honour, and right hand invincible in
war! none had faced him unscathed in armed shock, whether he met the foe
on foot, or ran his spurs into the flanks of his foaming horse. Ah me, the
pity of thee, O boy! if in any wise thou breakest the grim bar of fate, thou
shalt be Marcellus. Give me lilies in full hands; let me strew bright
blossoms, and these gifts at least let me lavish on my descendant's soul, and
do the unavailing service.'
Thus they wander up and down over the whole region of broad vaporous
plains, and scan all the scene. And when Anchises had led his son over it,
each point by each, and kindled his spirit with passion for the glories on
their way, he tells him thereafter of the war he next must wage, and
instructs him of the Laurentine peoples and the city of Latinus, and in what
wise each task may be turned aside or borne.
There are twin portals of Sleep, whereof the one is fabled of horn, and by it
real shadows are given easy outlet; the other shining white of polished
ivory, but false visions issue upward from the ghostly world. With these
words then Anchises follows forth his son and the Sibyl together there, and

dismisses them by the ivory gate. He pursues his way to the ships and
revisits his comrades; then bears on to Caieta's haven straight along the
shore. The anchor is cast from the prow; the sterns are grounded on the
beach.

BOOK SEVENTH
THE LANDING IN LATIUM, AND THE ROLL OF THE
ARMIES OF ITALY

Thou also, Caieta, nurse of Aeneas, gavest our shores an everlasting renown
in death; and still thine honour haunts thy resting-place, and a name in
broad Hesperia, if that be glory, marks thy dust. But when the last rites are
duly paid, and the mound smoothed over the grave, good Aeneas, now the
high seas are hushed, bears on under sail and leaves his haven. Breezes
blow into the night, and the white moonshine speeds them on; the sea
glitters in her quivering radiance. Soon they skirt the shores of Circe's land,
where the rich daughter of the Sun makes her untrodden groves echo with
ceaseless song; and her stately house glows nightlong with burning odorous
cedarwood, as she runs over her delicate web with the ringing comb. Hence
are heard afar angry cries of lions chafing at their fetters and roaring in the
deep night; bears and bristly swine rage in their pens, and vast shapes of
wolves howl; whom with her potent herbs the deadly divine Circe had
disfashioned, face and body, into wild beasts from the likeness of men. But
lest the good Trojans might suffer so dread a change, might enter her haven
or draw nigh the ominous shores, Neptune filled [23-55]their sails with
favourable winds, and gave them escape, and bore them past the seething
shallows.
And now the sea reddened with shafts of light, and high in heaven the
yellow dawn shone rose-charioted; when the winds fell, and every breath
sank suddenly, and the oar-blades toil through the heavy ocean-floor. And
on this Aeneas descries from sea a mighty forest. Midway in it the pleasant
Tiber stream breaks to sea in swirling eddies, laden with yellow sand.
Around and above fowl many in sort, that haunt his banks and river-
channel, solaced heaven with song and flew about the forest. He orders his
crew to bend their course and turn their prows to land, and glides joyfully
into the shady river.

Forth now, Erato! and I will unfold who were the kings, what the tides of
circumstance, how it was with ancient Latium when first that foreign army
drew their fleet ashore on Ausonia's coast; I will recall the preluding of
battle. Thou, divine one, inspire thou thy poet. I will tell of grim wars, tell
of embattled lines, of kings whom honour drove on death, of the Tyrrhenian
forces, and all Hesperia enrolled in arms. A greater history opens before me,
a greater work I essay.
Latinus the King, now growing old, ruled in a long peace over quiet tilth
and town. He, men say, was sprung of Faunus and the nymph Marica of
Laurentum. Faunus' father was Picus; and he boasts himself, Saturn, thy
son; thou art the first source of their blood. Son of his, by divine ordinance,
and male descent was none, cut off in the early spring of youth. One alone
kept the household and its august home, a daughter now ripe for a husband
and of full years for marriage. Many wooed her from wide Latium and all
Ausonia. Fairest and foremost of all [56-93]is Turnus, of long and lordly
ancestry; but boding signs from heaven, many and terrible, bar the way.
Within the palace, in the lofty inner courts, was a laurel of sacred foliage,
guarded in awe through many years, which lord Latinus, it was said,
himself found and dedicated to Phoebus when first he would build his
citadel; and from it gave his settlers their name, Laurentines. High atop of
it, wonderful to tell, bees borne with loud humming across the liquid air girt
it thickly about, and with interlinked feet hung in a sudden swarm from the
leafy bough. Straightway the prophet cries: 'I see a foreigner draw nigh, an
army from the same quarter seek the same quarter, and reign high in our
fortress.' Furthermore, while maiden Lavinia stands beside her father
feeding the altars with holy fuel, she was seen, oh, horror! to catch fire in
her long tresses, and burn with flickering flame in all her array, her queenly
hair lit up, lit up her jewelled circlet; till, enwreathed in smoke and lurid
light, she scattered fire over all the palace. That sight was rumoured
wonderful and terrible. Herself, they prophesied, she should be glorious in
fame and fortune; but a great war was foreshadowed for her people. But the
King, troubled by the omen, visits the oracle of his father Faunus the
soothsayer, and the groves deep under Albunea, where, queen of the woods,
she echoes from her holy well, and breathes forth a dim and deadly vapour.
Hence do the tribes of Italy and all the Oenotrian land seek answers in

perplexity; hither the priest bears his gifts, and when he hath lain down and
sought slumber under the silent night on the spread fleeces of slaughtered
sheep, sees many flitting phantoms of wonderful wise, hears manifold
voices, and attains converse of the gods, and hath speech with Acheron and
the deep tract of hell. Here then, likewise seeking an answer, lord Latinus
paid fit sacrifice of an hundred woolly ewes, and [94-127]lay couched on the
strewn fleeces they had worn. Out of the lofty grove a sudden voice was
uttered: 'Seek not, O my child, to unite thy daughter in Latin espousals, nor
trust her to the bridal chambers ready to thine hand; foreigners shall come
to be thy sons, whose blood shall raise our name to heaven, and the children
of whose race shall see, where the circling sun looks on either ocean, all the
rolling world swayed beneath their feet.' This his father Faunus' answer and
counsel given in the silent night Latinus restrains not in his lips; but wide-
flitting Rumour had already borne it round among the Ausonian cities,
when the children of Laomedon moored their fleet to the grassy slope of the
river bank.
Aeneas, with the foremost of his captains and fair Iülus, lay them down
under the boughs of a high tree and array the feast. They spread wheaten
cakes along the sward under their meats—so Jove on high prompted—and
crown the platter of corn with wilding fruits. Here haply when the rest was
spent, and scantness of food set them to eat their thin bread, and with hand
and venturous teeth do violence to the round cakes fraught with fate and
spare not the flattened squares: Ha! Are we eating our tables too? cries
Iülus jesting, and stops. At once that accent heard set their toils a limit; and
at once as he spoke his father caught it from his lips and hushed him, in
amazement at the omen. Straightway 'Hail, O land!' he cries, 'my destined
inheritance! and hail, O household gods, faithful to your Troy! here is
home; this is our native country. For my father Anchises, now I remember
it, bequeathed me this secret of fate: "When hunger shall drive thee, O son,
to consume thy tables where the feast fails, on the unknown shores whither
thou shalt sail; then, though outwearied, hope for home, and there at last let
thine hand remember to set thy house's foundations and bulwarks." This
was [128-162]the hunger, this the last that awaited us, to set the promised end
to our desolations . . . Up then, and, glad with the first sunbeam, let us
explore and search all abroad from our harbour, what is the country, who its
habitants, where is the town of the nation. Now pour your cups to Jove, and

call in prayer on Anchises our father, setting the wine again upon the board.'
So speaks he, and binding his brows with a leafy bough, he makes
supplication to the Genius of the ground, and Earth first of deities, and the
Nymphs, and the Rivers yet unknown; then calls on Night and Night's
rising signs, and next on Jove of Ida, and our lady of Phrygia, and on his
twain parents, in heaven and in the under world. At this the Lord
omnipotent thrice thundered sharp from high heaven, and with his own
hand shook out for a sign in the sky a cloud ablaze with luminous shafts of
gold. A sudden rumour spreads among the Trojan array, that the day is come
to found their destined city. Emulously they renew the feast, and, glad at the
high omen, array the flagons and engarland the wine.
Soon as the morrow bathed the lands in its dawning light, they part to
search out the town, and the borders and shores of the nation: these are the
pools and spring of Numicus; this is the Tiber river; here dwell the brave
Latins. Then the seed of Anchises commands an hundred envoys chosen of
every degree to go to the stately royal city, all with the wreathed boughs of
Pallas, to bear him gifts and desire grace for the Teucrians. Without delay
they hasten on their message, and advance with swift step. Himself he
traces the city walls with a shallow trench, and builds on it; and in fashion
of a camp girdles this first settlement on the shore with mound and
battlements. And now his men had traversed their way; they espied the
towers and steep roofs of the Latins, and drew near the wall. Before the city
boys and men in their early [163-196]bloom exercise on horseback, and break
in their teams on the dusty ground, or draw ringing bows, or hurl tough
javelins from the shoulder, and contend in running and boxing: when a
messenger riding forward brings news to the ears of the aged King that
mighty men are come thither in unknown raiment. He gives orders to call
them within his house, and takes his seat in the midst on his ancestral
throne. His house, stately and vast, crowned the city, upreared on an
hundred columns, once the palace of Laurentian Picus, amid awful groves
of ancestral sanctity. Here their kings receive the inaugural sceptre, and
have the fasces first raised before them; this temple was their senate-house;
this their sacred banqueting-hall; here, after sacrifice of rams, the elders
were wont to sit down at long tables. Further, there stood arow in the entry
images of the forefathers of old in ancient cedar, Italus, and lord Sabinus,
planter of the vine, still holding in show the curved pruning-hook, and gray

Saturn, and the likeness of Janus the double-facing, and the rest of their
primal kings, and they who had borne wounds of war in fighting for their
country. Armour besides hangs thickly on the sacred doors, captured
chariots and curved axes, helmet-crests and massy gateway-bars, lances and
shields, and beaks torn from warships. He too sat there, with the divining-
rod of Quirinus, girt in the short augural gown, and carrying on his left arm
the sacred shield, Picus the tamer of horses; he whom Circe, desperate with
amorous desire, smote with her golden rod and turned by her poisons into a
bird with patches of colour on his wings. Of such wise was the temple of
the gods wherein Latinus, sitting on his father's seat, summoned the
Teucrians to his house and presence; and when they entered in, he thus
opened with placid mien:
'Tell, O Dardanians, for we are not ignorant of your city and race, nor
unheard of do you bend your course [197-228]overseas, what seek you? what
the cause or whereof the need that hath borne you over all these blue
waterways to the Ausonian shore? Whether wandering in your course, or
tempest-driven (such perils manifold on the high seas do sailors suffer), you
have entered the river banks and lie in harbour; shun not our welcome, and
be not ignorant that the Latins are Saturn's people, whom no laws fetter to
justice, upright of their own free will and the custom of the god of old. And
now I remember, though the story is dimmed with years, thus Auruncan
elders told, how Dardanus, born in this our country, made his way to the
towns of Phrygian Ida and to the Thracian Samos that is now called
Samothrace. Here was the home he left, Tyrrhenian Corythus; now the
palace of heaven, glittering with golden stars, enthrones and adds him to the
ranged altars of the gods.'
He ended; and Ilioneus pursued his speech with these words:
'King, Faunus' illustrious progeny, neither hath black tempest driven us with
stress of waves to shelter in your lands, nor hath star or shore misled us on
the way we went. Of set purpose and willing mind do we draw nigh this thy
city, outcasts from a realm once the greatest that the sun looked on as he
came from Olympus' utmost border. From Jove hath our race beginning; in
Jove the men of Dardania rejoice as ancestor; our King himself of Jove's
supreme race, Aeneas of Troy, hath sent us to thy courts. How terrible the
tempest that burst from fierce Mycenae over the plains of Ida, driven by

what fate Europe and Asia met in the shock of two worlds, even he hath
heard who is sundered in the utmost land where the ocean surge recoils, and
he whom stretching midmost of the four zones the zone of the intolerable
sun holds in severance. Borne by that flood over many desolate seas, we
crave a scant dwelling [229-261]for our country's gods, an unmolested
landing-place, and the air and water that are free to all. We shall not
disgrace the kingdom; nor will the rumour of your renown be lightly gone
or the grace of all you have done fade away; nor will Ausonia be sorry to
have taken Troy to her breast. By the fortunes of Aeneas I swear, by that
right hand mighty, whether tried in friendship or in warlike arms, many and
many a people and nation—scorn us not because we advance with hands
proffering chaplets and words of supplication—hath sought us for itself and
desired our alliance; but yours is the land that heaven's high ordinance
drove us forth to find. Hence sprung Dardanus: hither Apollo recalls us, and
pushes us on with imperious orders to Tyrrhenian Tiber and the holy pools
of Numicus' spring. Further, he presents to thee these small guerdons of our
past estate, relics saved from burning Troy. From this gold did lord
Anchises pour libation at the altars; this was Priam's array when he
delivered statutes to the nations assembled in order; the sceptre, the sacred
mitre, the raiment wrought by the women of Ilium. . . .'
At these words of Ilioneus Latinus holds his countenance in a steady gaze,
and stays motionless on the floor, casting his intent eyes around. Nor does
the embroidered purple so move the King, nor the sceptre of Priam, as his
daughter's marriage and the bridal chamber absorb him, and the oracle of
ancient Faunus stirs deep in his heart. This is he, the wanderer from a
foreign home, foreshewn of fate for his son, and called to a realm of equal
dominion, whose race should be excellent in valour and their might
overbear all the world. At last he speaks with good cheer:
'The gods prosper our undertaking and their own augury! What thou
desirest, Trojan, shall be given; nor do I spurn your gifts. While Latinus
reigns you shall not [262-294]lack foison of rich land nor Troy's own riches.
Only let Aeneas himself come hither, if desire of us be so strong, if he be in
haste to join our friendship and be called our ally. Let him not shrink in
terror from a friendly face. A term of the peace for me shall be to touch your
monarch's hand. Do you now convey in answer my message to your King. I
have a daughter whom the oracles of my father's shrine and many a celestial

token alike forbid me to unite to one of our own nation; sons shall come,
they prophesy, from foreign coasts, such is the destiny of Latium, whose
blood shall exalt our name to heaven. He it is on whom fate calls; this I
think, this I choose, if there be any truth in my soul's foreshadowing.'
Thus he speaks, and chooses horses for all the company. Three hundred
stood sleek in their high stalls; for all the Teucrians in order he straightway
commands them to be led forth, fleet-footed, covered with embroidered
purple: golden chains hang drooping over their chests, golden their
housings, and they champ on bits of ruddy gold: for the absent Aeneas a
chariot and pair of chariot horses of celestial breed, with nostrils breathing
flame; of the race of those which subtle Circe bred by sleight on her father,
the bastard issue of a stolen union. With these gifts and words the Aeneadae
ride back from Latinus carrying peace.
And lo! the fierce wife of Jove was returning from Inachian Argos, and held
her way along the air, when out of the distant sky, far as from Sicilian
Pachynus, she espied the rejoicing of Aeneas and the Dardanian fleet. She
sees them already house-building, already trusting in the land, their ships
left empty. She stops, shot with sharp pain; then shaking her head, she pours
forth these words:
'Ah, hated brood, and doom of the Phrygians that thwarts our doom! Could
they perish on the Sigean [295-326]plains? Could they be ensnared when
taken? Did the fires of Troy consume her people? Through the midst of
armies and through the midst of flames they have found their way. But, I
think, my deity lies at last outwearied, or my hatred sleeps and is satisfied?
Nay, it is I who have been fierce to follow them over the waves when
hurled from their country, and on all the seas have crossed their flight.
Against the Teucrians the forces of sky and sea are spent. What hath availed
me Syrtes or Scylla, what desolate Charybdis? they find shelter in their
desired Tiber-bed, careless of ocean and of me. Mars availed to destroy the
giant race of the Lapithae; the very father of the gods gave over ancient
Calydon to Diana's wrath: for forfeit of what crime in the Lapithae, what in
Calydon? But I, Jove's imperial consort, who have borne, ah me! to leave
naught undared, who have shifted to every device, I am vanquished by
Aeneas. If my deity is not great enough, I will not assuredly falter to seek
succour where it may be; if the powers of heaven are inflexible, I will stir

up Acheron. It may not be to debar him of a Latin realm; well; and Lavinia
is destined his bride unalterably. But it may be yet to defer, to make all this
action linger; but it may be yet to waste away the nation of either king; at
such forfeit of their people may son-in-law and father-in-law enter into
union. Blood of Troy and Rutulia shall be thy dower, O maiden, and
Bellona is the bridesmaid who awaits thee. Nor did Cisseus' daughter alone
conceive a firebrand and travail of bridal flames. Nay, even such a birth
hath Venus of her own, a second Paris, another balefire for Troy towers
reborn.'
These words uttered, she descends to earth in all her terrors, and calls
dolorous Allecto from the home of the Fatal Sisters in nether gloom, whose
delight is in woeful wars, in wrath and treachery and evil feuds: hateful to
[327-360]lord Pluto himself, hateful and horrible to her hell-born sisters; into
so many faces does she turn, so savage the guise of each, so thick and black
bristles she with vipers. And her Juno spurs on with words, saying thus:
'Grant me, virgin born of Night, this thy proper task and service, that the
rumour of our renown may not crumble away, nor the Aeneadae have power
to win Latinus by marriage or beset the borders of Italy. Thou canst set
brothers once united in armed conflict, and overturn families with hatreds;
thou canst launch into houses thy whips and deadly brands; thine are a
thousand names, a thousand devices of injury. Stir up thy teeming breast,
sunder the peace they have joined, and sow seeds of quarrel; let all at once
desire and demand and seize on arms.'
Thereon Allecto, steeped in Gorgonian venom, first seeks Latium and the
high house of the Laurentine monarch, and silently sits down before
Amata's doors, whom a woman's distress and anger heated to frenzy over
the Teucrians' coming and the marriage of Turnus. At her the goddess flings
a snake out of her dusky tresses, and slips it into her bosom to her very
inmost heart, that she may embroil all her house under its maddening
magic. Sliding between her raiment and smooth breasts, it coils without
touch, and instils its viperous breath unseen; the great serpent turns into the
twisted gold about her neck, turns into the long ribbon of her chaplet,
inweaves her hair, and winds slippery over her body. And while the gliding
infection of the clammy poison begins to penetrate her sense and run in fire
through her frame, nor as yet hath all her breast caught fire, softly she spoke

and in mothers' wonted wise, with many a tear over her daughter and the
Phrygian bridal:
'Is it to exiles, to Teucrians, that Lavinia is proffered in marriage, O father?
and hast thou no compassion on [361-392]thy daughter and on thyself? no
compassion on her mother, whom with the first northern wind the
treacherous rover will abandon, steering to sea with his maiden prize? Is it
not thus the Phrygian herdsman wound his way to Lacedaemon, and carried
Leda's Helen to the Trojan towns? Where is thy plighted faith? Where thine
ancient care for thy people, and the hand Turnus thy kinsman hath so often
clasped? If one of alien race from the Latins is sought for our son, if this
stands fixed, and thy father Faunus' commands are heavy upon thee, all the
land whose freedom severs it from our sway is to my mind alien, and of this
is the divine word. And Turnus, if one retrace the earliest source of his line,
is born of Inachus and Acrisius, and of the midmost of Mycenae.'
When in this vain essay of words she sees Latinus fixed against her, and the
serpent's maddening poison is sunk deep in her vitals and runs through and
through her, then indeed, stung by infinite horrors, hapless and frenzied, she
rages wildly through the endless city. As whilome a top flying under the
twisted whipcord, which boys busy at their play drive circling wide round
an empty hall, runs before the lash and spins in wide gyrations; the witless
ungrown band hang wondering over it and admire the whirling boxwood;
the strokes lend it life: with pace no slacker is she borne midway through
towns and valiant nations. Nay, she flies into the woodland under feigned
Bacchic influence, assumes a greater guilt, arouses a greater frenzy, and
hides her daughter in the mountain coverts to rob the Teucrians of their
bridal and stay the marriage torches. 'Hail, Bacchus!' she shrieks and
clamours; 'thou only art worthy of the maiden; for to thee she takes up the
lissom wands, thee she circles in the dance, to thee she trains and
consecrates her tresses.' Rumour flies abroad; and the matrons, their breasts
kindled by the furies, run all at once [393-426]with a single ardour to seek out
strange dwellings. They have left their homes empty, they throw neck and
hair free to the winds; while others fill the air with ringing cries, girt about
with fawnskins, and carrying spears of vine. Amid them the infuriate queen
holds her blazing pine-torch on high, and chants the wedding of Turnus and
her daughter; and rolling her bloodshot gaze, cries sudden and harsh: 'Hear,
O mothers of Latium, wheresoever you be; if unhappy Amata hath yet any

favour in your affection, if care for a mother's right pierces you, untie the
chaplets from your hair, begin the orgies with me.' Thus, amid woods and
wild beasts' solitary places, does Allecto goad the queen with the encircling
Bacchic madness.
When their frenzy seemed heightened and her first task complete, the
purpose and all the house of Latinus turned upside down, the dolorous
goddess flies on thence, soaring on dusky wing, to the walls of the gallant
Rutulian, the city which Danaë, they say, borne down on the boisterous
south wind, built and planted with Acrision's people. The place was called
Ardea once of old; and still Ardea remains a mighty name; but its fortune is
no more. Here in his high house Turnus now took rest in the black
midnight. Allecto puts off her grim feature and the body of a Fury; she
transforms her face to an aged woman's, and furrows her brow with ugly
wrinkles; she puts on white tresses chaplet-bound, and entwines them with
an olive spray; she becomes aged Calybe, priestess of Juno's temple, and
presents herself before his eyes, uttering thus:
'Turnus, wilt thou brook all these toils poured out in vain, and the
conveyance of thy crown to Dardanian settlers? The King denies thee thy
bride and the dower thy blood had earned; and a foreigner is sought for heir
to the kingdom. Forth now, dupe, and face thankless perils; forth, cut down
the Tyrrhenian lines; give the [427-458]Latins peace in thy protection. This
Saturn's omnipotent daughter in very presence commanded me to
pronounce to thee, as thou wert lying in the still night. Wherefore arise, and
make ready with good cheer to arm thy people and march through thy gates
to battle; consume those Phrygian captains that lie with their painted hulls
in the beautiful river. All the force of heaven orders thee on. Let King
Latinus himself know of it, unless he consents to give thee thy bridal, and
abide by his words, when he shall at last make proof of Turnus' arms.'
But he, deriding her inspiration, with the words of his mouth thus answers
her again:
'The fleets ride on the Tiber wave; that news hath not, as thou deemest,
escaped mine ears. Frame not such terrors before me. Neither is Queen Juno
forgetful of us. . . . But thee, O mother, overworn old age, exhausted and
untrue, frets with vain distress, and amid embattled kings mocks thy

presage with false dismay. Thy charge it is to keep the divine image and
temple; war and peace shall be in the hands of men and warriors.'
At such words Allecto's wrath blazed out. But amid his utterance a quick
shudder overruns his limbs; his eyes are fixed in horror; so thickly hiss the
snakes of the Fury, so vast her form expands. Then rolling her fiery eyes,
she thrust him back as he would stammer out more, raised two serpents in
her hair, and, sounding her whip, resumed with furious tone:
'Behold me the overworn! me whom old age, exhausted and untrue, mocks
with false dismay amid embattled kings! Look on this! I am come from the
home of the Dread Sisters: war and death are in my hand. . . .'
So speaking, she hurled her torch at him, and pierced his breast with the
lurid smoking brand. He breaks from sleep in overpowering fear, his limbs
and body bathed in [459-494]sweat that breaks out all over him; he shrieks
madly for arms, searches for arms on his bed and in his palace. The passion
of the sword rages high, the accursed fury of war, and wrath over all: even
as when flaming sticks are heaped roaring loud under the sides of a seething
cauldron, and the boiling water leaps up; the river of water within smokes
furiously and swells high in overflowing foam, and now the wave contains
itself no longer; the dark steam flies aloft. So, for the stain of the broken
peace, he orders his chief warriors to march on King Latinus, and bids
prepare for battle, to defend Italy and drive the foe from their borders;
himself will suffice for Trojans and Latins together. When he uttered these
words and called the gods to hear his vows, the Rutulians stir one another
up to arms. One is moved by the splendour of his youthful beauty, one by
his royal ancestry, another by the noble deeds of his hand.
While Turnus fills the Rutulian minds with valour, Allecto on Stygian wing
hastens towards the Trojans. With fresh wiles she marked the spot where
beautiful Iülus was trapping and coursing game on the bank; here the
infernal maiden suddenly crosses his hounds with the maddening touch of a
familiar scent, and drives them hotly on the stag-hunt. This was the source
and spring of ill, and kindled the country-folk to war. The stag, beautiful
and high-antlered, was stolen from his mother's udder and bred by Tyrrheus'
boys and their father Tyrrheus, master of the royal herds, and ranger of the
plain. Their sister Silvia tamed him to her rule, and lavished her care on his

adornment, twining his antlers with delicate garlands, and combed his wild
coat and washed him in the clear spring. Tame to her hand, and familiar to
his master's table, he would wander the woods, and, however late the night,
return home to the door he knew. Far astray, he floated idly down the
stream, and allayed his heat on the green bank, when Iülus' [495-528]mad
hounds started him in their hunting; and Ascanius himself, kindled with
desire of the chief honour, aimed a shaft from his bended bow. A present
deity suffered not his hand to stray, and the loud whistling reed came driven
through his belly and flanks. But the wounded beast fled within the familiar
roof and crept moaning to the courtyard, dabbled with blood, and filling all
the house with moans as of one beseeching. Sister Silvia, smiting her arms
with open hands, begins to call for aid, and gathers the hardy rustics with
her cries. They, for a fell destroyer is hidden in the silent woodland, are
there before her expectation, one armed with a stake hardened in the fire,
one with a heavy knotted trunk; what each one searches and finds, wrath
turns into a weapon. Tyrrheus cheers on his array, panting hard, with his axe
caught up in his hand, as he was haply splitting an oaken log in four clefts
with cross-driven wedges.
But the grim goddess, seizing from her watch-tower the moment of
mischief, seeks the steep farm-roof and sounds the pastoral war-note from
the ridge, straining the infernal cry on her twisted horn; it spread shuddering
over all the woodland, and echoed through the deep forests: the lake of
Trivia heard it afar; Nar river heard it with white sulphurous water, and the
springs of Velinus; and fluttered mothers clasped their children to their
breast. Then, hurrying to the voice of the terrible trumpet-note, on all sides
the wild rustics snatch their arms and stream in: therewithal the men of Troy
pour out from their camp's open gates to succour Ascanius. The lines are
ranged; not now in rustic strife do they fight with hard trunks or burned
stakes; the two-edged steel sways the fight, the broad cornfields bristle dark
with drawn swords, and brass flashes smitten by the sunlight, and casts a
gleam high into the cloudy air: as when the wind begins to blow and the
flood [529-560]to whiten, gradually the sea lifts his waves higher and yet
higher, then rises from the bottom right into the air. Here in the front rank
young Almo, once Tyrrheus' eldest son, is struck down by a whistling
arrow; for the wound, staying in his throat, cut off in blood the moist voice's
passage and the thin life. Around many a one lies dead, aged Galaesus

among them, slain as he throws himself between them for a peacemaker,
once incomparable in justice and wealth of Ausonian fields; for him five
flocks bleated, a five-fold herd returned from pasture, and an hundred
ploughs upturned the soil.
But while thus in even battle they fight on the broad plain, the goddess, her
promise fulfilled, when she hath dyed the war in blood, and mingled death
in the first encounter, quits Hesperia, and, glancing through the sky,
addresses Juno in exultant tone:
'Lo, discord is ripened at thy desire into baleful war: tell them now to mix in
amity and join alliance. Insomuch as I have imbued the Trojans in Ausonian
blood, this likewise will I add, if I have assurance of thy will. With my
rumours I will sweep the bordering towns into war, and kindle their spirit
with furious desire for battle, that from all quarters help may come; I will
sow the land with arms.'
Then Juno answering: 'Terror and harm is wrought abundantly. The springs
of war are aflow: they fight with arms in their grasp, the arms that chance
first supplied, that fresh blood stains. Let this be the union, this the bridal
that Venus' illustrious progeny and Latinus the King shall celebrate. Our
Lord who reigns on Olympus' summit would not have thee stray too freely
in heaven's upper air. Withdraw thy presence. Whatsoever future remains in
the struggle, that I myself will sway.'
Such accents uttered the daughter of Saturn; and the [561-594]other raises her
rustling snaky wings and darts away from the high upper air to Cocytus her
home. There is a place midmost of Italy, deep in the hills, notable and
famed of rumour in many a country, the Vale of Amsanctus; on either hand
a wooded ridge, dark with thick foliage, hems it in, and midway a torrent in
swirling eddies shivers and echoes over the rocks. Here is shewn a ghastly
pool, a breathing-hole of the grim lord of hell, and a vast chasm breaking
into Acheron yawns with pestilential throat. In it the Fury sank, and relieved
earth and heaven of her hateful influence.
But therewithal the queenly daughter of Saturn puts the last touch to war.
The shepherds pour in full tale from the battlefield into the town, bearing
back their slain, the boy Almo and Galaesus' disfigured face, and cry on the
gods and call on Latinus. Turnus is there, and amid the heat and outcry at

the slaughter redoubles his terrors, crying that Teucrians are bidden to the
kingdom, that a Phrygian race is mingling its taint with theirs, and he is
thrust out of their gates. They too, the matrons of whose kin, struck by
Bacchus, trample in choirs down the pathless woods—nor is Amata's name
a little thing—they too gather together from all sides and weary themselves
with the battle-cry. Omens and oracles of gods go down before them, and
all under malign influence clamour for awful war. Emulously they surround
Latinus' royal house. He withstands, even as a rock in ocean unremoved, as
a rock in ocean when the great crash comes down, firm in its own mass
among many waves slapping all about: in vain the crags and boulders hiss
round it in foam, and the seaweed on its side is flung up and sucked away.
But when he may in nowise overbear their blind counsel, and all goes at
fierce Juno's beck, with many an appeal to gods and void sky, 'Alas!' he
cries, 'we are broken of fate and driven helpless in the [595-626]storm. With
your very blood will you pay the price of this, O wretched men! Thee, O
Turnus, thy crime, thee thine awful punishment shall await; too late wilt
thou address to heaven thy prayers and supplication. For my rest was won,
and my haven full at hand; I am robbed but of a happy death.' And without
further speech he shut himself in the palace, and dropped the reins of state.
There was a use in Hesperian Latium, which the Alban towns kept in holy
observance, now Rome keeps, the mistress of the world, when they stir the
War-God to enter battle; whether their hands prepare to carry war and
weeping among Getae or Hyrcanians or Arabs, or to reach to India and
pursue the Dawn, and reclaim their standards from the Parthian. There are
twain gates of War, so runs their name, consecrate in grim Mars' sanctity
and terror. An hundred bolts of brass and masses of everlasting iron shut
them fast, and Janus the guardian never sets foot from their threshold.
There, when the sentence of the Fathers stands fixed for battle, the Consul,
arrayed in the robe of Quirinus and the Gabine cincture, with his own hand
unbars the grating doors, with his own lips calls battles forth; then all the
rest follow on, and the brazen trumpets blare harsh with consenting breath.
With this use then likewise they bade Latinus proclaim war on the
Aeneadae, and unclose the baleful gates. He withheld his hand, and shrank
away averse from the abhorred service, and hid himself blindly in the dark.
Then the Saturnian queen of heaven glided from the sky, with her own hand
thrust open the lingering gates, and swung sharply back on their hinges the

iron-bound doors of war. Ausonia is ablaze, till then unstirred and
immoveable. Some make ready to march afoot over the plains; some,
mounted on tall horses, ride amain in clouds of dust. All seek out arms; and
now they rub their shields smooth and make their spearheads glitter with
[627-659]fat lard, and grind their axes on the whetstone: rejoicingly they
advance under their standards and hear the trumpet note. Five great cities
set up the anvil and sharpen the sword, strong Atina and proud Tibur, Ardea
and Crustumeri, and turreted Antemnae. They hollow out head-gear to
guard them, and plait wickerwork round shield-bosses; others forge
breastplates of brass or smooth greaves of flexible silver. To this is come the
honour of share and pruning-hook, to this all the love of the plough: they re-
temper their fathers' swords in the furnace. And now the trumpets blare; the
watchword for war passes along. One snatches a helmet hurriedly from his
house, another backs his neighing horses into the yoke; and arrays himself
in shield and mail-coat triple-linked with gold, and girds on his trusty
sword.
Open now the gates of Helicon, goddesses, and stir the song of the kings
that rose for war, the array that followed each and filled the plains, the men
that even then blossomed, the arms that blazed in Italy the bountiful land:
for you remember, divine ones, and you can recall; to us but a breath of
rumour, scant and slight, is wafted down.
First from the Tyrrhene coast savage Mezentius, scorner of the gods, opens
the war and arrays his columns. By him is Lausus, his son, unexcelled in
bodily beauty by any save Laurentine Turnus, Lausus tamer of horses and
destroyer of wild beasts; he leads a thousand men who followed him in vain
from Agylla town; worthy to be happier in ancestral rule, and to have other
than Mezentius for father.
After them beautiful Aventinus, born of beautiful Hercules, displays on the
sward his palm-crowned chariot and victorious horses, and carries on his
shield his father's device, the hundred snakes of the Hydra's serpent-wreath.
Him, in the wood of the hill Aventine, Rhea the priestess [660-693]bore by
stealth into the borders of light, a woman mingled with a god, after the
Tirynthian Conqueror had slain Geryon and set foot on the fields of
Laurentum, and bathed his Iberian oxen in the Tuscan river. These carry for
war javelins and grim stabbing weapons, and fight with the round shaft and

sharp point of the Sabellian pike. Himself he went on foot swathed in a vast
lion skin, shaggy with bristling terrors, whose white teeth encircled his
head; in such wild dress, the garb of Hercules clasped over his shoulders, he
entered the royal house.
Next twin brothers leave Tibur town, and the people called by their brother
Tiburtus' name, Catillus and valiant Coras, the Argives, and advance in the
forefront of battle among the throng of spears: as when two cloud-born
Centaurs descend from a lofty mountain peak, leaving Homole or snowy
Othrys in rapid race; the mighty forest yields before them as they go, and
the crashing thickets give them way.
Nor was the founder of Praeneste city absent, the king who, as every age
hath believed, was born of Vulcan among the pasturing herds, and found
beside the hearth, Caeculus. On him a rustic battalion attends in loose order,
they who dwell in steep Praeneste and the fields of Juno of Gabii, on the
cool Anio and the Hernican rocks dewy with streams; they whom rich
Anagnia, and whom thou, lord Amasenus, pasturest. Not all of them have
armour, nor shields and clattering chariots. The most part shower bullets of
dull lead; some wield in their hand two darts, and have for head-covering
caps of tawny wolfskin; their left foot is bare wherewith to plant their steps;
the other is covered with a boot of raw hide.
But Messapus, tamer of horses, the seed of Neptune, whom none might ever
strike down with steel or fire, calls quickly to arms his long unstirred
peoples and bands [694-727]disused to war, and again handles the sword.
These are of the Fescennine ranks and of Aequi Falisci, these of Soracte's
fortresses and the fields of Flavina, and Ciminus' lake and hill, and the
groves of Capena. They marched in even time, singing their King; as
whilome snowy swans among the thin clouds, when they return from
pasturage, and utter resonant notes through their long necks; far off echoes
the river and the smitten Asian fen. . . . Nor would one think these vast
streaming masses were ranks clad in brass; rather that, high in air, a cloud
of hoarse birds from the deep gulf was pressing to the shore.
Lo, Clausus of the ancient Sabine blood, leading a great host, a great host
himself; from whom now the Claudian tribe and family is spread abroad
since Rome was shared with the Sabines. Alongside is the broad battalion of

Amiternum, and the Old Latins, and all the force of Eretum and the
Mutuscan oliveyards; they who dwell in Nomentum town, and the Rosean
country by Velinus, who keep the crags of rough Tetrica and Mount
Severus, Casperia and Foruli, and the river of Himella; they who drink of
Tiber and Fabaris, they whom cold Nursia hath sent, and the squadrons of
Horta and the tribes of Latinium; and they whom Allia, the ill-ominous
name, severs with its current; as many as the waves that roll on the Libyan
sea-floor when fierce Orion sets in the wintry surge; as thick as the ears that
ripen in the morning sunlight on the plain of the Hermus or the yellowing
Lycian tilth. Their shields clatter, and earth is amazed under the trampling
of their feet.
Here Agamemnonian Halaesus, foe of the Trojan name, yokes his chariot
horses, and draws a thousand warlike peoples to Turnus; those who turn
with spades the Massic soil that is glad with wine; whom the elders of
Aurunca sent from their high hills, and the Sidicine low country [728-
761]hard by; and those who leave Cales, and the dweller by the shallows of
Volturnus river, and side by side the rough Saticulan and the Oscan bands.
Polished maces are their weapons, and these it is their wont to fit with a
tough thong; a target covers their left side, and for close fighting they have
crooked swords.
Nor shalt thou, Oebalus, depart untold of in our verses, who wast borne,
men say, by the nymph Sebethis to Telon, when he grew old in rule over
Capreae the Teleboïc realm: but not so content with his ancestral fields, his
son even then held down in wide sway the Sarrastian peoples and the
meadows watered by Sarnus, and the dwellers in Rufrae and Batulum, and
the fields of Celemnae, and they on whom from her apple orchards Abella
city looks down. Their wont was to hurl lances in Teutonic fashion; their
head covering was stripped bark of the cork tree, their shield-plates
glittering brass, glittering brass their sword.
Thee too, Ufens, mountainous Nersae sent forth to battle, of noble fame and
prosperous arms, whose race on the stiff Aequiculan clods is rough beyond
all other, and bred to continual hunting in the woodland; they till the soil in
arms, and it is ever their delight to drive in fresh spoils and live on plunder.

Furthermore there came, sent by King Archippus, the priest of the
Marruvian people, dressed with prosperous olive leaves over his helmet,
Umbro excellent in valour, who was wont with charm and touch to sprinkle
slumberous dew on the viper's brood and water-snakes of noisome breath.
Yet he availed not to heal the stroke of the Dardanian spear-point, nor was
the wound of him helped by his sleepy charms and herbs culled on the
Massic hills. Thee the woodland of Angitia, thee Fucinus' glassy wave, thee
the clear pools wept. . . .
Likewise the seed of Hippolytus marched to war, Virbius [762-796]most
excellent in beauty, sent by his mother Aricia. The groves of Egeria nursed
him round the spongy shore where Diana's altar stands rich and gracious.
For they say in story that Hippolytus, after he fell by his stepmother's
treachery, torn asunder by his frightened horses to fulfil a father's revenge,
came again to the daylight and heaven's upper air, recalled by Diana's love
and the drugs of the Healer. Then the Lord omnipotent, indignant that any
mortal should rise from the nether shades to the light of life, launched his
thunder and hurled down to the Stygian water the Phoebus-born, the
discoverer of such craft and cure. But Trivia the bountiful hides Hippolytus
in a secret habitation, and sends him away to the nymph Egeria and the
woodland's keeping, where, solitary in Italian forests, he should spend an
inglorious life, and have Virbius for his altered name. Whence also hoofed
horses are kept away from Trivia's temple and consecrated groves, because,
affrighted at the portents of the sea, they overset the chariot and flung him
out upon the shore. Notwithstanding did his son train his ruddy steeds on
the level plain, and sped charioted to war.
Himself too among the foremost, splendid in beauty of body, Turnus moves
armed and towers a whole head over all. His lofty helmet, triple-tressed
with horse-hair, holds high a Chimaera breathing from her throat Aetnean
fires, raging the more and exasperate with baleful flames, as the battle and
bloodshed grow fiercer. But on his polished shield was emblazoned in gold
Io with uplifted horns, already a heifer and overgrown with hair, a lofty
design, and Argus the maiden's warder, and lord Inachus pouring his stream
from his embossed urn. Behind comes a cloud of infantry, and shielded
columns thicken over all the plains; the Argive men and Auruncan forces,
the Rutulians and old Sicanians, the Sacranian ranks and Labicians with
[797-817]painted shields; they who till thy dells, O Tiber, and Numicus'

sacred shore, and whose ploughshare goes up and down on the Rutulian
hills and the Circaean headland, over whose fields Jupiter of Anxur
watches, and Feronia glad in her greenwood: and where the marsh of Satura
lies black, and cold Ufens winds his way along the valley-bottoms and sinks
into the sea.
Therewithal came Camilla the Volscian, leading a train of cavalry,
squadrons splendid with brass: a warrior maiden who had never used her
woman's hands to Minerva's distaff or wool-baskets, but hardened to endure
the battle shock and outstrip the winds with racing feet. She might have
flown across the topmost blades of unmown corn and left the tender ears
unhurt as she ran; or sped her way over mid sea upborne by the swelling
flood, nor dipt her swift feet in the water. All the people pour from house
and field, and mothers crowd to wonder and gaze at her as she goes, in
rapturous astonishment at the royal lustre of purple that drapes her smooth
shoulders, at the clasp of gold that intertwines her tresses, at the Lycian
quiver she carries, and the pastoral myrtle shaft topped with steel.

BOOK EIGHTH
THE EMBASSAGE TO EVANDER

When Turnus ran up the flag of war on the towers of Laurentum, and the
trumpets blared with harsh music, when he spurred his fiery steeds and
clashed his armour, straightway men's hearts are in tumult; all Latium at
once flutters in banded uprisal, and her warriors rage furiously. Their chiefs,
Messapus, and Ufens, and Mezentius, scorner of the gods, begin to enrol
forces on all sides, and dispeople the wide fields of husbandmen. Venulus
too is sent to the town of mighty Diomede to seek succour, to instruct him
that Teucrians set foot in Latium; that Aeneas in his fleet invades them with
the vanquished gods of his home, and proclaims himself the King
summoned of fate; that many tribes join the Dardanian, and his name swells
high in Latium. What he will rear on these foundations, what issue of battle
he desires, if Fortune attend him, lies clearer to his own sight than to King
Turnus or King Latinus.
Thus was it in Latium. And the hero of Laomedon's blood, seeing it all,
tosses on a heavy surge of care, and throws his mind rapidly this way and
that, and turns it on all hands in swift change of thought: even as when the
quivering light of water brimming in brass, struck back [23-56]from the
sunlight or the moon's glittering reflection, flickers abroad over all the
room, and now mounts aloft and strikes the high panelled roof. Night fell,
and over all lands weary creatures were fast in deep slumber, the race of
fowl and of cattle; when lord Aeneas, sick at heart of the dismal warfare,
stretched him on the river bank under the cope of the cold sky, and let sleep,
though late, overspread his limbs. To him the very god of the ground, the
pleasant Tiber stream, seemed to raise his aged form among the poplar
boughs; thin lawn veiled him with its gray covering, and shadowy reeds hid
his hair. Thereon he addressed him thus, and with these words allayed his
distresses:
'O born of the family of the gods, thou who bearest back our Trojan city
from hostile hands, and keepest Troy towers in eternal life; O long looked

for on Laurentine ground and Latin fields! here is thine assured home, thine
home's assured gods. Draw not thou back, nor be alarmed by menace of
war. All the anger and wrath of the gods is passed away . . . And even now
for thine assurance, that thou think not this the idle fashioning of sleep, a
great sow shall be found lying under the oaks on the shore, with her new-
born litter of thirty head: white she couches on the ground, and the brood
about her teats is white. By this token in thirty revolving years shall
Ascanius found a city, Alba of bright name. My prophecy is sure. Now
hearken, and I will briefly instruct thee how thou mayest unravel and
overcome thy present task. An Arcadian people sprung of Pallas, following
in their king Evander's company beneath his banners, have chosen a place
in these coasts, and set a city on the hills, called Pallanteum after Pallas
their forefather. These wage perpetual war with the Latin race; these do
thou take to thy camp's alliance, and join with them in league. Myself I [57-
89]will lead thee by my banks and straight along my stream, that thou
mayest oar thy way upward against the river. Up and arise, goddess-born,
and even with the setting stars address thy prayers to Juno as is meet, and
vanquish her wrath and menaces with humble vows. To me thou shalt pay a
conqueror's sacrifice. I am he whom thou seest washing the banks with full
flood and severing the rich tilth, glassy Tiber, best beloved by heaven of
rivers. Here is my stately home; my fountain-head is among high cities.'
Thus spoke the River, and sank in the depth of the pool: night and sleep left
Aeneas. He arises, and, looking towards the radiant sky of the sunrising,
holds up water from the river in fitly-hollowed palms, and pours to heaven
these accents:
'Nymphs, Laurentine Nymphs, from whom is the generation of rivers, and
thou, O father Tiber, with thine holy flood, receive Aeneas and deign to
save him out of danger. What pool soever holds thy source, who pitiest our
discomforts, from whatsoever soil thou dost spring excellent in beauty, ever
shall my worship, ever my gifts frequent thee, the hornèd river lord of
Hesperian waters. Ah, be thou only by me, and graciously confirm thy will.'
So speaks he, and chooses two galleys from his fleet, and mans them with
rowers, and withal equips a crew with arms.
And lo! suddenly, ominous and wonderful to tell, the milk-white sow, of
one colour with her white brood, is espied through the forest couched on the

green brink; whom to thee, yes to thee, queenly Juno, good Aeneas offers in
sacrifice, and sets with her offspring before thine altar. All that night long
Tiber assuaged his swelling stream, and silently stayed his refluent wave,
smoothing the surface of his waters to the fashion of still pool and quiet
mere, to spare [90-121]labour to the oar. So they set out and speed on their
way with prosperous cries; the painted fir slides along the waterway; the
waves and unwonted woods marvel at their far-gleaming shields, and the
gay hulls afloat on the river. They outwear a night and a day in rowing,
ascend the long reaches, and pass under the chequered shadows of the trees,
and cut through the green woodland in the calm water. The fiery sun had
climbed midway in the circle of the sky when they see afar fortress walls
and scattered house roofs, where now the might of Rome hath risen high as
heaven; then Evander held a slender state. Quickly they turn their prows to
land and draw near the town.
It chanced on that day the Arcadian king paid his accustomed sacrifice to
the great son of Amphitryon and all the gods in a grove before the city. With
him his son Pallas, with him all the chief of his people and his poor senate
were offering incense, and the blood steamed warm at their altars. When
they saw the high ships, saw them glide up between the shady woodlands
and rest on their silent oars, the sudden sight appals them, and all at once
they rise and stop the banquet. Pallas courageously forbids them to break
off the rites; snatching up a spear, he flies forward, and from a hillock cries
afar: 'O men, what cause hath driven you to explore these unknown ways?
or whither do you steer? What is your kin, whence your habitation? Is it
peace or arms you carry hither?' Then from the lofty stern lord Aeneas thus
speaks, stretching forth in his hand an olive bough of peace-bearing:
'Thou seest men born of Troy and arms hostile to the Latins, who have
driven us to flight in insolent warfare. We seek Evander; carry this message,
and tell him that chosen men of the Dardanian captains are come pleading
for an armed alliance.'
Pallas stood amazed at the august name. 'Descend,' [122-154]he cries, 'whoso
thou art, and speak with my father face to face, and enter our home and
hospitality.' And giving him the grasp of welcome, he caught and clung to
his hand. Advancing, they enter the grove and leave the river. Then Aeneas
in courteous words addresses the King:

'Best of the Grecian race, thou whom fortune hath willed that I supplicate,
holding before me boughs dressed in fillets, no fear stayed me because thou
wert a Grecian chief and an Arcadian, or allied by descent to the twin sons
of Atreus. Nay, mine own prowess and the sanctity of divine oracles, our
ancestral kinship, and the fame of thee that is spread abroad over the earth,
have allied me to thee and led me willingly on the path of fate. Dardanus,
who sailed to the Teucrian land, the first father and founder of the Ilian city,
was born, as Greeks relate, of Electra the Atlantid; Electra's sire is ancient
Atlas, whose shoulder sustains the heavenly spheres. Your father is
Mercury, whom white Maia conceived and bore on the cold summit of
Cyllene; but Maia, if we give any credence to report, is daughter of Atlas,
that same Atlas who bears up the starry heavens; so both our families
branch from a single blood. In this confidence I sent no embassy, I framed
no crafty overtures; myself I have presented mine own person, and come a
suppliant to thy courts. The same Daunian race pursues us and thee in
merciless warfare; we once expelled, they trust nothing will withhold them
from laying all Hesperia wholly beneath their yoke, and holding the seas
that wash it above and below. Accept and return our friendship. We can give
brave hearts in war, high souls and men approved in deeds.'
Aeneas ended. The other ere now scanned in a long gaze the face and eyes
and all the form of the speaker; then thus briefly returns:
'How gladly, bravest of the Teucrians, do I hail and [155-188]own thee! how I
recall thy father's words and the very tone and glance of great Anchises! For
I remember how Priam son of Laomedon, when he sought Salamis on his
way to the realm of his sister Hesione, went on to visit the cold borders of
Arcadia. Then early youth clad my cheeks with bloom. I admired the
Teucrian captains, admired their lord, the son of Laomedon; but Anchises
moved high above them all. My heart burned with youthful passion to
accost him and clasp hand in hand; I made my way to him, and led him
eagerly to Pheneus' high town. Departing he gave me an adorned quiver and
Lycian arrows, a scarf inwoven with gold, and a pair of golden bits that now
my Pallas possesses. Therefore my hand is already joined in the alliance
you seek, and soon as to-morrow's dawn rises again over earth, I will send
you away rejoicing in mine aid, and supply you from my store. Meanwhile,
since you are come hither in friendship, solemnise with us these yearly rites

which we may not defer, and even now learn to be familiar at your
comrades' board.'
This said, he commands the feast and the wine-cups to be replaced whence
they were taken, and with his own hand ranges them on the grassy seat, and
welcomes Aeneas to the place of honour, with a lion's shaggy fell for
cushion and a hospitable chair of maple. Then chosen men with the priest of
the altar in emulous haste bring roasted flesh of bulls, and pile baskets with
the gift of ground corn, and serve the wine. Aeneas and the men of Troy
with him feed on the long chines of oxen and the entrails of the sacrifice.
After hunger is driven away and the desire of food stayed, King Evander
speaks: 'No idle superstition that knows not the gods of old hath ordered
these our solemn rites, this customary feast, this altar of august sanctity;
saved from bitter perils, O Trojan guest, do we worship, and [189-225]most
due are the rites we inaugurate. Look now first on this overhanging cliff of
stone, where shattered masses lie strewn, and the mountain dwelling stands
desolate, and rocks are rent away in vast ruin. Here was a cavern, awful and
deep-withdrawn, impenetrable to the sunbeams, where the monstrous half-
human shape of Cacus had his hold: the ground was ever wet with fresh
slaughter, and pallid faces of men, ghastly with gore, hung nailed on the
haughty doors. This monster was the son of Vulcan, and spouted his black
fires from his mouth as he moved in giant bulk. To us also in our desire
time bore a god's aid and arrival. For princely Alcides the avenger came
glorious in the spoils of triple Geryon slain; this way the Conqueror drove
the huge bulls, and his oxen filled the river valley. But savage Cacus,
infatuate to leave nothing undared or unhandled in craft or crime, drives
four bulls of choice shape away from their pasturage, and as many heifers
of excellent beauty. And these, that there should be no straightforward
footprints, he dragged by the tail into his cavern, the track of their
compelled path reversed, and hid them behind the screen of rock. No marks
were there to lead a seeker to the cavern. Meanwhile the son of
Amphitryon, his herds filled with food, was now breaking up his pasturage
and making ready to go. The oxen low as they depart; all the woodland is
filled with their complaint as they clamorously quit the hills. One heifer
returned the cry, and, lowing from the depth of the dreary cave, baffled the
hope of Cacus from her imprisonment. At this the grief and choler of
Alcides blazed forth dark and infuriate. Seizing in his hand his club of

heavy knotted oak, he seeks with swift pace the aery mountain steep. Then,
as never before, did we see Cacus afraid and his countenance troubled; he
goes flying swifter than the wind and seeks his cavern; fear wings his feet.
As he shut himself in, and, bursting the [226-260]chains, dropped the vast
rock slung in iron by his father's craft, and blocked the doorway with its
pressure, lo! the Tirynthian came in furious wrath, and, scanning all the
entry, turned his face this way and that and ground his teeth. Thrice, hot
with rage, he circles all Mount Aventine; thrice he assails the rocky portals
in vain; thrice he sinks down outwearied in the valley. There stood a sharp
rock of flint with sides cut sheer away, rising over the cavern's ridge a vast
height to see, fit haunt for foul birds to build on. This—for, sloping from the
ridge, it leaned on the left towards the river—he loosened, urging it from
the right till he tore it loose from its deep foundations; then suddenly shook
it free; with the shock the vast sky thunders, the banks leap apart, and the
amazed river recoils. But the den, Cacus' huge palace, lay open and
revealed, and the depths of gloomy cavern were made manifest; even as
though some force tearing earth apart should unlock the infernal house, and
disclose the pallid realms abhorred of heaven, and deep down the
monstrous gulf be descried where the ghosts flutter in the streaming
daylight. On him then, surprised in unexpected light, shut in the rock's
recesses and howling in strange fashion, Alcides from above hurls missiles
and calls all his arms to aid, and presses hard on him with boughs and
enormous millstones. And he, for none other escape from peril is left,
vomits from his throat vast jets of smoke, wonderful to tell, and enwreathes
his dwelling in blind gloom, blotting view from the eyes, while in the cave's
depth night thickens with smoke-bursts in a darkness shot with fire. Alcides
broke forth in anger, and with a bound hurled himself sheer amid the
flames, where the smoke rolls billowing and voluminous, and the cloud
surges black through the enormous den. Here, as Cacus in the darkness
spouts forth his idle fires, he grasps and twines tight round him, till his eyes
start out and his throat [261-295]is drained of blood under the strangling
pressure. Straightway the doors are torn open and the dark house laid plain;
the stolen oxen and forsworn plunder are shewn forth to heaven, and the
misshapen carcase dragged forward by the feet. Men cannot satisfy their
soul with gazing on the terrible eyes, the monstrous face and shaggy
bristling chest, and the throat with its quenched fires. Thenceforth this
sacrifice is solemnised, and a younger race have gladly kept the day;

Potitius the inaugurator, and the Pinarian family, guardians of the rites of
Hercules, have set in the grove this altar, which shall ever be called of us
Most Mighty, and shall be our mightiest evermore. Wherefore arise, O men,
and enwreathe your hair with leafy sprays, and stretch forth the cups in your
hands; call on our common god and pour the glad wine.' He ended; when
the twy-coloured poplar of Hercules hid his shaded hair with pendulous
plaited leaf, and the sacred goblet filled his hand. Speedily all pour glad
libation on the board, and supplicate the gods.
Meanwhile the evening star draws nigher down the slope of heaven, and
now the priests went forth, Potitius at their head, girt with skins after their
fashion, and bore torches aflame. They renew the banquet, and bring the
grateful gift of a second repast, and heap the altars with loaded platters.
Then the Salii stand round the lit altar-fires to sing, their brows bound with
poplar boughs, one chorus of young men, one of elders, and extol in song
the praises and deeds of Hercules; how first he strangled in his gripe the
twin terrors, the snakes of his stepmother; how he likewise shattered in war
famous cities, Troy and Oechalia; how under Eurystheus the King he bore
the toil of a thousand labours by Juno's malign decrees. Thine hand,
unconquered, slays the cloud-born double-bodied race, Hylaeus and Pholus,
the Cretan monster, and the huge lion in the hollow Nemean rock. Before
thee the Stygian pools [296-329]shook for fear, before thee the warder of hell,
couched on half-gnawn bones in his blood-stained cavern; to thee not any
form was terrible, not Typhoeus' self towering in arms; thou wast not bereft
of counsel when the snake of Lerna encompassed thee with thronging
heads. Hail, true seed of Jove, deified glory! graciously visit us and these
thy rites with favourable feet. Such are their songs of praise; they crown all
with the cavern of Cacus and its fire-breathing lord. All the woodland
echoes with their clamour, and the hills resound.
Thence all at once, the sacred rites accomplished, retrace their way to the
city. The age-worn King walked holding Aeneas and his son by his side for
companions on his way, and lightened the road with changing talk. Aeneas
admires and turns his eyes lightly round about, pleased with the country;
and gladly on spot after spot inquires and hears of the memorials of earlier
men. Then King Evander, founder of the fortress of Rome:

'In these woodlands dwelt Fauns and Nymphs sprung of the soil, and a tribe
of men born of stocks and hard oak; who had neither law nor grace of life,
nor did they know to yoke bulls or lay up stores or save their gains, but
were nurtured by the forest boughs and the hard living of the huntsman.
Long ago Saturn came from heaven on high in flight before Jove's arms, an
exile from his lost realm. He gathered together the unruly race scattered on
the mountain heights, and gave them statutes, and chose Latium to be their
name, since in these borders he had found a safe hiding-place. Beneath his
reign were the ages named of gold; thus, in peace and quietness, did he rule
the nations; till gradually there crept in a sunken and stained time, the rage
of war, and the lust of possession. Then came the Ausonian clan and the
tribes of Sicania, and many a time the land of Saturn put away her name.
Then were kings, [330-364]and fierce Thybris with his giant bulk, from whose
name we of Italy afterwards called the Tiber river, when it lost the true
name of old, Albula. Me, cast out from my country and following the
utmost limits of the sea, Fortune the omnipotent and irreversible doom
settled in this region; and my mother the Nymph Carmentis' awful warnings
and Apollo's divine counsel drove me hither.'
Scarce was this said; next advancing he points out the altar and the
Carmental Gate, which the Romans call anciently by that name in honour of
the Nymph Carmentis, seer and soothsayer, who sang of old the coming
greatness of the Aeneadae and the glory of Pallanteum. Next he points out
the wide grove where valiant Romulus set his sanctuary, and the Lupercal in
the cool hollow of the rock, dedicate to Lycean Pan after the manner of
Parrhasia. Therewithal he shows the holy wood of Argiletum, and calls the
spot to witness as he tells the slaying of his guest Argus. Hence he leads
him to the Tarpeian house, and the Capitol golden now, of old rough with
forest thickets. Even then men trembled before the wood and rock. 'This
grove,' he cries, 'this hill with its leafy crown, is a god's dwelling, though
whose we know not; the Arcadians believe Jove himself hath been visible,
when often he shook the darkening aegis in his hand and gathered the
storm-clouds. Thou seest these two towns likewise with walls overthrown,
relics and memorials of men of old. This fortress lord Janus built, this
Saturn; the name of this was once Janiculum, of that Saturnia.'
With such mutual words they drew nigh the house of poor Evander, and saw
scattered herds lowing on the Roman Forum and down the gay Carinae.

When they reached his dwelling, 'This threshold,' he cries, 'Alcides the
Conqueror stooped to cross; in this palace he rested. Dare thou, my guest, to
despise riches; mould thyself to [365-396]like dignity of godhead, and come
not exacting to our poverty.' He spoke, and led tall Aeneas under the low
roof of his narrow dwelling, and laid him on a couch of stuffed leaves and
the skin of a Libyan she-bear. Night falls and clasps the earth in her dusky
wings.
But Venus, stirred in spirit by no vain mother's alarms, and moved by the
threats and stern uprisal of the Laurentines, addresses herself to Vulcan, and
in her golden bridal chamber begins thus, breathing divine passion in her
speech:
'While Argolic kings wasted in war the doomed towers of Troy, the fortress
fated to fall in hostile fires, no succour did I require for her wretched
people, no weapons of thine art and aid: nor would I task, dear my lord,
thee or thy toils for naught, though I owed many and many a debt to the
children of Priam, and had often wept the sore labour of Aeneas. Now by
Jove's commands he hath set foot in the Rutulian borders; I now therefore
come with entreaty, and ask armour of the god I worship. For the son she
bore, the tears of Nereus' daughter, of Tithonus' consort, could melt thine
heart. Look what nations are gathering, what cities bar their gates and
sharpen the sword against me for the desolation of my children.'
The goddess ended, and, as he hesitates, clasps him round in the soft
embrace of her snowy arms. He suddenly caught the wonted flame, and the
heat known of old pierced him to the heart and overran his melting frame:
even as when, bursting from the thunder peal, a sparkling cleft of fire shoots
through the storm-clouds with dazzling light. His consort knew, rejoiced in
her wiles, and felt her beauty. Then her lord speaks, enchained by Love the
immortal:
'Why these far-fetched pleas? Whither, O goddess, is thy trust in me gone?
Had like distress been thine, [397-431]even then we might unblamed have
armed thy Trojans, nor did doom nor the Lord omnipotent forbid Troy to
stand, and Priam to survive yet ten other years. And now, if thou purposest
war, and this is thy counsel, whatever charge I can undertake in my craft, in
aught that may be made of iron or molten electrum, whatever fire and air

can do, cease thou to entreat as doubtful of thy strength.' These words
spoken, he clasped his wife in the desired embrace, and, sinking in her lap,
wooed quiet slumber to overspread his limbs.
Thereon, so soon as sleep, now in mid-career of waning night, had given
rest and gone; soon as a woman, whose task is to sustain life with her distaff
and the slender labours of the loom, kindles the ashes of her slumbering
fire, her toil encroaching on the night, and sets a long task of fire-lit
spinning to her maidens, that so she may keep her husband's bed unsullied
and nourish her little children,—even so the Lord of Fire, nor slacker in his
hours than she, rises from his soft couch to the work of his smithy. An
island rises by the side of Sicily and Aeolian Lipare, steep with smoking
cliffs, whereunder the vaulted and thunderous Aetnean caverns are
hollowed out for Cyclopean forges, the strong strokes on the anvils echo in
groans, ore of steel hisses in the vaults, and the fire pants in the furnaces:
the house of Vulcan, and Vulcania the land's name. Hither now the Lord of
Fire descends from heaven's height. In the vast cavern the Cyclopes were
forging iron, Brontes and Steropes and Pyracmon with bared limbs. Shaped
in their hands was a thunderbolt, in part already polished, such as the Father
of Heaven hurls down on earth in multitudes, part yet unfinished. Three
coils of frozen rain, three of watery mist they had enwrought in it, three of
ruddy fire and winged south wind; now they were mingling in their work
the awful splendours, the sound and terror, and the [432-469]angry pursuing
flames. Elsewhere they hurried on a chariot for Mars with flying wheels,
wherewith he stirs up men and cities; and burnished the golden serpent-
scales of the awful aegis, the armour of wrathful Pallas, and the entwined
snakes on the breast of the goddess, the Gorgon head with severed neck and
rolling eyes. 'Away with all!' he cries: 'stop your tasks unfinished, Cyclopes
of Aetna, and attend to this; a warrior's armour must be made. Now must
strength, now quickness of hand be tried, now all our art lend her guidance.
Fling off delay.' He spoke no more; but they all bent rapidly to the work,
allotting their labours equally. Brass and ore of gold flow in streams, and
wounding steel is molten in the vast furnace. They shape a mighty shield, to
receive singly all the weapons of the Latins, and weld it sevenfold, circle on
circle. Some fill and empty the windy bellows of their blast, some dip the
hissing brass in the trough. They raise their arms mightily in responsive
time, and turn the mass of metal about in the grasp of their tongs.

While the lord of Lemnos is busied thus in the borders of Aeolia, Evander is
roused from his low dwelling by the gracious daylight and the matin songs
of birds from the eaves. The old man arises, and draws on his body raiment,
and ties the Tyrrhene shoe latchets about his feet; then buckles to his side
and shoulder his Tegeaean sword, and swathes himself in a panther skin that
droops upon his left. Therewithal two watch-dogs go before him from the
high threshold, and accompany their master's steps. The hero sought his
guest Aeneas in the privacy of his dwelling, mindful of their talk and his
promised bounty. Nor did Aeneas fail to be astir with the dawn. With the
one went his son Pallas, with the other Achates. They meet and clasp hands,
and, sitting down within the house, at length enjoy unchecked converse.
The King begins thus: . . .
[470-505]'Princely chief of the Teucrians, in whose lifetime I will never allow
the state or realm of Troy vanquished, our strength is scant to succour in
war for so great a name. On this side the Tuscan river shuts us in; on that
the Rutulian drives us hard, and thunders in arms about our walls. But I
purpose to unite to thee mighty peoples and the camp of a wealthy realm;
an unforeseen chance offers this for thy salvation. Fate summons thy
approach. Not far from here stands fast Agylla city, an ancient pile of stone,
where of old the Lydian race, eminent in war, settled on the Etruscan ridges.
For many years it flourished, till King Mezentius ruled it with insolent sway
and armed terror. Why should I relate the horrible murders, the savage
deeds of the monarch? May the gods keep them in store for himself and his
line! Nay, he would even link dead bodies to living, fitting hand to hand and
face to face (the torture!), and in the oozy foulness and corruption of the
dreadful embrace so slay them by a lingering death. But at last his citizens,
outwearied by his mad excesses, surround him and his house in arms, cut
down his comrades, and hurl fire on his roof. Amid the massacre he escaped
to the refuge of Rutulian land and the armed defence of Turnus' friendship.
So all Etruria hath risen in righteous fury, and in immediate battle claim
their king for punishment. Over these thousands will I make thee chief, O
Aeneas; for their noisy ships crowd all the shore, and they bid the standards
advance, while the aged diviner stays them with prophecies: "O chosen men
of Maeonia, flower and strength of them, of old time, whom righteous anger
urges on the enemy, and Mezentius inflames with deserved wrath, to no
Italian is it permitted to hold this great nation in control: choose foreigners

to lead you." At that, terrified by the divine warning, the Etruscan lines have
encamped on the plain; Tarchon himself hath sent ambassadors to me with
the crown [506-539]and sceptre of the kingdom, and offers the royal attire will
I but enter their camp and take the Tyrrhene realm. But old age, frozen to
dulness, and exhausted with length of life, denies me the load of empire,
and my prowess is past its day. I would urge it on my son, did not the
mixture of blood by his Sabellian mother make this half his native land.
Thou, to whose years and race alike the fates extend their favour, on whom
fortune calls, enter thou in, a leader supreme in bravery over Teucrians and
Italians. Mine own Pallas likewise, our hope and comfort, I will send with
thee; let him grow used to endure warfare and the stern work of battle under
thy teaching, to regard thine actions, and from his earliest years look up to
thee. To him will I give two hundred Arcadian cavalry, the choice of our
warlike strength, and Pallas as many more to thee in his own name.'
Scarce had he ended; Aeneas, son of Anchises, and trusty Achates gazed
with steadfast face, and, sad at heart, were revolving inly many a labour,
had not the Cytherean sent a sign from the clear sky. For suddenly a flash
and peal comes quivering from heaven, and all seemed in a moment to
totter, and the Tyrrhene trumpet-blast to roar along the sky. They look up;
again and yet again the heavy crash re-echoes. They see in the serene space
of sky armour gleam red through a cloud in the clear air, and ring clashing
out. The others stood in amaze; but the Trojan hero knew the sound for the
promise of his goddess mother; then he speaks: 'Ask not, O friend, ask not
in any wise what fortune this presage announces; it is I who am summoned
of heaven. This sign the goddess who bore me foretold she would send if
war assailed, and would bring through the air to my succour armour from
Vulcan's hands. . . . Ah, what slaughter awaits the wretched Laurentines!
what a price, O Turnus, wilt thou pay me! how many shields and helmets
and brave bodies of men shalt thou, [540-573]Lord Tiber, roll under thy
waves! Let them call for armed array and break the league!'
These words uttered, he rises from the high seat, and first wakes with fresh
fire the slumbering altars of Hercules, and gladly draws nigh his tutelar god
of yesternight and the small deities of the household. Alike Evander, and
alike the men of Troy, offer up, as is right, choice sheep of two years old.
Thereafter he goes to the ships and revisits his crew, of whose company he
chooses the foremost in valour to attend him to war; the rest glide down the

water and float idly with the descending stream, to come with news to
Ascanius of his father's state. They give horses to the Teucrians who seek
the fields of Tyrrhenia; a chosen one is brought for Aeneas, housed in a
tawny lion skin that glitters with claws of gold. Rumour flies suddenly,
spreading over the little town, that they ride in haste to the courts of the
Tyrrhene king. Mothers redouble their prayers in terror, as fear treads closer
on peril and the likeness of the War God looms larger in sight. Then
Evander, clasping the hand of his departing son, clings to him weeping
inconsolably, and speaks thus:
'Oh, if Jupiter would restore me the years that are past, as I was when, close
under Praeneste, I cut down their foremost ranks and burned the piled
shields of the conquered! Then this right hand sent King Erulus down to
hell, though to him at his birth his mother Feronia (awful to tell) had given
three lives and triple arms to wield; thrice must he be laid low in death; yet
then this hand took all his lives and as often stripped him of his arms. Never
should I now, O son, be severed from thy dear embrace; never had the
insolent sword of Mezentius on my borders dealt so many cruel deaths,
widowed the city of so many citizens. But you, O heavenly powers, and
thou, Jupiter, Lord and Governor of Heaven, have compassion, I pray, on
[574-609]the Arcadian king, and hear a father's prayers. If your deity and
decrees keep my Pallas safe for me, if I live that I may see him and meet
him yet, I pray for life; any toil soever I have patience to endure. But if, O
Fortune, thou threatenest some dread calamity, now, ah now, may I break
off a cruel life, while anxiety still wavers and expectation is in doubt, while
thou, dear boy, my one last delight, art yet clasped in my embrace; let no
bitterer message wound mine ear.' These words the father poured forth at
the final parting; his servants bore him swooning within.
And now the cavalry had issued from the open gates, Aeneas and trusty
Achates among the foremost, then other of the Trojan princes, Pallas
conspicuous amid the column in scarf and inlaid armour; like the Morning
Star, when, newly washed in the ocean wave, he shews his holy face in
heaven, and melts the darkness away. Fearful mothers stand on the walls
and follow with their eyes the cloud of dust and the squadrons gleaming in
brass. They, where the goal of their way lies nearest, bear through the
brushwood in armed array. Forming in column, they advance noisily, and
the horse hoof shakes the crumbling plain with four-footed trampling. There

is a high grove by the cold river of Caere, widely revered in ancestral awe;
sheltering hills shut it in all about and girdle the woodland with their dark
firs. Rumour is that the old Pelasgians, who once long ago held the Latin
borders, consecrated the grove and its festal day to Silvanus, god of the tilth
and flock. Not far from it Tarchon and his Tyrrhenians were encamped in a
protected place; and now from the hill-top the tents of all their army might
be seen outspread on the fields. Lord Aeneas and his chosen warriors draw
hither and refresh their weary horses and limbs.
But Venus the white goddess drew nigh, bearing her gifts through the
clouds of heaven; and when she saw her [610-646]son withdrawn far apart in
the valley's recess by the cold river, cast herself in his way, and addressed
him thus: 'Behold perfected the presents of my husband's promised
craftsmanship: so shalt thou not shun, O my child, soon to challenge the
haughty Laurentines or fiery Turnus to battle.' The Cytherean spoke, and
sought her son's embrace, and laid the armour glittering under an oak over
against him. He, rejoicing in the magnificence of the goddess' gift, cannot
have his fill of turning his eyes over it piece by piece, and admires and
handles between his arms the helmet, dread with plumes and spouting
flame, as when a blue cloud takes fire in the sunbeams and gleams afar;
then the smooth greaves of electrum and refined gold, the spear, and the
shield's ineffable design. There the Lord of Fire had fashioned the story of
Italy and the triumphs of the Romans, not witless of prophecy or ignorant of
the age to be; there all the race of Ascanius' future seed, and their wars
fought one by one. Likewise had he fashioned the she-wolf couched after
the birth in the green cave of Mars; round her teats the twin boys hung
playing, and fearlessly mouthed their foster-mother; she, with round neck
bent back, stroked them by turns and shaped their bodies with her tongue.
Thereto not far from this he had set Rome and the lawless rape of the
Sabines in the concourse of the theatre when the great Circensian games
were celebrated, and a fresh war suddenly arising between the people of
Romulus and aged Tatius and austere Cures. Next these same kings laid
down their mutual strife and stood armed before Jove's altar with cup in
hand, and joined treaty over a slain sow. Not far from there four-horse
chariots driven apart had torn Mettus asunder (but thou, O Alban, shouldst
have kept by thy words!), and Tullus tore the flesh of the liar through the
forest, his splashed blood dripping from the briars. Therewithal Porsena

commanded [647-681]to admit the exiled Tarquin, and held the city in the
grasp of a strong blockade; the Aeneadae rushed on the sword for liberty.
Him thou couldst espy like one who chafes and like one who threatens,
because Cocles dared to tear down the bridge, and Cloelia broke her bonds
and swam the river. Highest of all Manlius, warder of the Tarpeian fortress,
stood with the temple behind him and held the high Capitoline; and the
thatch of Romulus' palace stood rough and fresh. And here the silver goose,
fluttering in the gilded colonnades, cried that the Gauls were there on the
threshold. The Gauls were there among the brushwood, hard on the fortress,
secure in the darkness and the dower of shadowy night. Their clustering
locks are of gold, and of gold their attire; their striped cloaks glitter, and
their milk-white necks are entwined with gold. Two Alpine pikes sparkle in
the hand of each, and long shields guard their bodies. Here he had
embossed the dancing Salii and the naked Luperci, the crests wreathed in
wool, and the sacred shields that fell from heaven; in cushioned cars the
virtuous matrons led on their rites through the city. Far hence he adds the
habitations of hell also, the high gates of Dis and the dooms of guilt; and
thee, O Catiline, clinging on the beetling rock, and shuddering at the faces
of the Furies; and far apart the good, and Cato delivering them statutes.
Amidst it all flows wide the likeness of the swelling sea, wrought in gold,
though the foam surged gray upon blue water; and round about dolphins, in
shining silver, swept the seas with their tails in circle as they cleft the tide.
In the centre were visible the brazen war-fleets of Actium; thou mightest see
all Leucate swarm in embattled array, and the waves gleam with gold. Here
Caesar Augustus, leading Italy to battle with Fathers and People, with gods
of household and of state, stands on the lofty stern; prosperous flames jet
round his brow, and his [682-715]ancestral star dawns overhead. Elsewhere
Agrippa, with favouring winds and gods, proudly leads on his column; on
his brows glitters the prow-girt naval crown, the haughty emblazonment of
the war. Here Antonius with barbarian aid and motley arms, from the
conquered nations of the Dawn and the shore of the southern sea, carries
with him Egypt and the Eastern forces of utmost Bactra, and the shameful
Egyptian woman goes as his consort. All at once rush on, and the whole
ocean is torn into foam by straining oars and triple-pointed prows. They
steer to sea; one might think that the Cyclades were uptorn and floated on
the main, or that lofty mountains clashed with mountains, so mightily do
their crews urge on the turreted ships. Flaming tow and the winged steel of

darts shower thickly from their hands; the fields of ocean redden with fresh
slaughter. Midmost the Queen calls on her squadron with the timbrel of her
country, nor yet casts back a glance on the twin snakes behind her. Howling
Anubis, and gods monstrous and multitudinous, level their arms against
Neptune and Venus and against Minerva; Mars rages amid the havoc,
graven in iron, and the Fatal Sisters hang aloft, and Discord strides rejoicing
with garment rent, and Bellona attends her with blood-stained scourge.
Looking thereon, Actian Apollo above drew his bow; with the terror of it all
Egypt and India, every Arab and Sabaean, turned back in flight. The Queen
herself seemed to call the winds and spread her sails, and even now let her
sheets run slack. Her the Lord of Fire had fashioned amid the carnage, wan
with the shadow of death, borne along by the waves and the north-west
wind; and over against her the vast bulk of mourning Nile, opening out his
folds and calling with all his raiment the conquered people into his blue lap
and the coverture of his streams. But Caesar rode into the city of Rome in
triple triumph, and dedicated his vowed [716-731]offering to the gods to stand
for ever, three hundred stately shrines all about the city. The streets were
loud with gladness and games and shouting. In all the temples was a band
of matrons, in all were altars, and before the altars slain steers strewed the
ground. Himself he sits on the snowy threshold of Phoebus the bright,
reviews the gifts of the nations and ranges them on the haughty doors. The
conquered tribes move in long line, diverse as in tongue, so in fashion of
dress and armour. Here Mulciber had designed the Nomad race and the
ungirt Africans, here the Leleges and Carians and archer Gelonians.
Euphrates went by now with smoother waves, and the Morini utmost of
men, and the hornèd Rhine, the untamed Dahae, and Araxes chafing under
his bridge.
These things he admires on the shield of Vulcan, his mother's gift, and
rejoicing in the portraiture of unknown history, lifts on his shoulder the
destined glories of his children.

BOOK NINTH
THE SIEGE OF THE TROJAN CAMP

And while thus things pass far in the distance, Juno daughter of Saturn sent
Iris down the sky to gallant Turnus, then haply seated in his forefather
Pilumnus' holy forest dell. To him the child of Thaumas spoke thus with
roseate lips:
'Turnus, what no god had dared promise to thy prayer, behold, is brought
unasked by the circling day. Aeneas hath quitted town and comrades and
fleet to seek Evander's throne and Palatine dwelling-place. Nor is it enough;
he hath pierced to Corythus' utmost cities, and is mustering in arms a troop
of Lydian rustics. Why hesitate? now, now is the time to call for chariot and
horses. Break through all hindrance and seize the bewildered camp.'
She spoke, and rose into the sky on poised wings, and flashed under the
clouds in a long flying bow. He knew her, and lifting either hand to heaven,
with this cry pursued her flight: 'Iris, grace of the sky, who hath driven thee
down the clouds to me and borne thee to earth? Whence is this sudden
sheen of weather? I see the sky parting asunder, and the wandering stars in
the firmament. I follow the high omen, whoso thou art that callest me to
arms.' And with these words he drew nigh the wave, and [23-58]caught up
water from its brimming eddy, making many prayers to the gods and
burdening the air with vows.
And now all the army was advancing on the open plain, rich in horses, rich
in raiment of broidered gold. Messapus rules the foremost ranks, the sons of
Tyrrheus the rear. Turnus commands the centre: even as Ganges rising high
in silence when his seven streams are still, or the rich flood of Nile when he
ebbs from the plains, and is now sunk into his channel. On this the
Teucrians descry a sudden cloud of dark dust gathering, and the blackness
rising on the plain. Caïcus raises a cry from the mound in front: 'What mass
of misty gloom, O citizens, is rolling hitherward? to arms in haste! serve out
weapons, climb the walls. The enemy approaches, ho!' With mighty

clamour the Teucrians pour in through all the gates and fill the works. For
so at his departure Aeneas the great captain had enjoined; were aught to
chance meanwhile, they should not venture to range their line or trust the
plain, but keep their camp and the safety of the entrenched walls. So,
though shame and wrath beckon them on to battle, they yet bar the gates
and do his bidding, and await the foe armed and in shelter of the towers.
Turnus, who had flown forward in advance of his tardy column, comes up
suddenly to the town with a train of twenty chosen cavalry, borne on a
Thracian horse dappled with white, and covered by a golden helmet with
scarlet plume. 'Who will be with me, my men, to be first on the foe? See!'
he cries; and sends a javelin spinning into the air to open battle, and
advances towering on the plain. His comrades take up the cry, and follow
with dreadful din, wondering at the Teucrians' coward hearts, that they issue
not on even field nor face them in arms, but keep in shelter of the camp.
Hither and thither he rides furiously, tracing the walls, and seeking entrance
where way is none. And as a wolf prowling [59-92]about some crowded
sheepfold, when, beaten sore of winds and rains, he howls at the pens by
midnight; safe beneath their mothers the lambs keep bleating on; he, savage
and insatiate, rages in anger against the flock he cannot reach, tired by the
long-gathering madness for food, and the throat unslaked with blood: even
so the Rutulian, as he gazes on the walled camp, kindles in anger, and
indignation is hot in his iron frame. By what means may he essay entrance?
by what passage hurl the imprisoned Trojans from the rampart and fling
them on the plain? Close under the flanking camp lay the fleet, fenced
about with mounds and the waters of the river; it he attacks, and calls for
fire to his exultant comrades, and eagerly catches a blazing pine-torch in his
hand. Then indeed they press on, quickened by Turnus' presence, and all the
band arm them with black faggots. The hearth-fires are plundered; the
smoky brand trails a resinous glare, and the Fire-god sends clouds of
glowing ashes upward.
What god, O Muses, guarded the Trojans from the rage of the fire? who
repelled the fierce flame from their ships? Tell it; ancient is the assurance
thereof, but the fame everlasting. What time Aeneas began to shape his fleet
on Phrygian Ida, and prepared to seek the high seas, the Berecyntian, they
say, the very Mother of gods, spoke to high Jove in these words: 'Grant, O
son, to my prayer, what her dearness claims who bore thee and laid

Olympus under thy feet. My pine forest beloved of me these many years,
my grove was on the mountain's crown, whither men bore my holy things,
dim with dusky pine and pillared maples. These, when he required a fleet, I
gave gladly to the Dardanian; now fear wrings me with sharp distress.
Relieve my terrors, and grant a mother's prayers such power that they may
yield to no stress of voyaging or of stormy gust: be birth on our hills their
avail.'
[93-126]Thus her son in answer, who wheels the starry worlds: 'O mother,
whither callest thou fate? or what dost thou seek for these of thine? May
hulls have the right of immortality that were fashioned by mortal hand? and
may Aeneas traverse perils secure in insecurity? To what god is power so
great given? Nay, but when, their duty done, they shall lie at last in their
Ausonian haven, from all that have outgone the waves and borne their
Dardanian captain to the fields of Laurentum, will I take their mortal body,
and bid them be goddesses of the mighty deep, even as Doto the Nereïd and
Galatea, when they cut the sea that falls away from their breasts in foam.'
He ended; and by his brother's Stygian streams, by the banks of the pitchy
black-boiling chasm he nodded confirmation, and shook all Olympus with
his nod.
So the promised day was come, and the destinies had fulfilled their due
time, when Turnus' injury stirred the Mother to ward the brands from her
holy ships. First then a strange light flashed on all eyes, and a great glory
from the Dawn seemed to dart over the sky, with the choirs of Ida; then an
awful voice fell through air, filling the Trojan and Rutulian ranks: 'Disquiet
not yourselves, O Teucrians, to guard ships of mine, neither arm your
hands: sooner shall Turnus burn the seas than these holy pines. You, go free;
go, goddesses of the sea; the Mother bids it.' And immediately each ship
breaks the bond that held it, as with dipping prows they plunge like
dolphins deep into the water: from it again (O wonderful and strange!) they
rise with maidens' faces in like number, and bear out to sea.
The Rutulians stood dumb: Messapus himself is terror-stricken among his
disordered cavalry; even the stream of Tiber pauses with hoarse murmur,
and recoils from sea. But bold Turnus fails not a whit in confidence; nay, he
[127-158]raises their courage with words, nay, he chides them: 'On the Trojans
are these portents aimed; Jupiter himself hath bereft them of their wonted

succour; nor do they abide Rutulian sword and fire. So are the seas pathless
for the Teucrians, nor is there any hope in flight; they have lost half their
world. And we hold the land: in all their thousands the nations of Italy are
under arms. In no wise am I dismayed by those divine oracles of doom the
Phrygians insolently advance. Fate and Venus are satisfied, in that the
Trojans have touched our fruitful Ausonian fields. I too have my fate in
reply to theirs, to put utterly to the sword the guilty nation who have robbed
me of my bride; not the sons of Atreus alone are touched by that pain, nor
may Mycenae only rise in arms. But to have perished once is enough! To
have sinned once should have been enough, in all but utter hatred of the
whole of womankind. Trust in the sundering rampart, and the hindrance of
their trenches, so little between them and death, gives these their courage:
yet have they not seen Troy town, the work of Neptune's hand, sink into
fire? But you, my chosen, who of you makes ready to breach their palisade
at the sword's point, and join my attack on their fluttered camp? I have no
need of Vulcanian arms, of a thousand ships, to meet the Teucrians. All
Etruria may join on with them in alliance: nor let them fear the darkness,
and the cowardly theft of their Palladium, and the guards cut down on the
fortress height. Nor will we hide ourselves unseen in a horse's belly; in
daylight and unconcealed are we resolved to girdle their walls with flame.
Not with Grecians will I make them think they have to do, nor a Pelasgic
force kept off till the tenth year by Hector. Now, since the better part of day
is spent, for what remains refresh your bodies, glad that we have done so
well, and expect the order of battle.'
[159-192]Meanwhile charge is given to Messapus to blockade the gates with
pickets of sentries, and encircle the works with watchfires. Twice seven are
chosen to guard the walls with Rutulian soldiery; but each leads an hundred
men, crimson-plumed and sparkling in gold. They spread themselves about
and keep alternate watch, and, lying along the grass, drink deep and set
brazen bowls atilt. The fires glow, and the sentinels spend the night awake
in games. . . .
Down on this the Trojans look forth from the rampart, as they hold the
height in arms; withal in fearful haste they try the gates and lay gangways
from bastion to bastion, and bring up missiles. Mnestheus and valiant
Serestus speed the work, whom lord Aeneas appointed, should misfortune
call, to be rulers of the people and governors of the state. All their

battalions, sharing the lot of peril, keep watch along the walls, and take
alternate charge of all that requires defence.
On guard at the gate was Nisus son of Hyrtacus, most valiant in arms,
whom Ida the huntress had sent in Aeneas' company with fleet javelin and
light arrows; and by his side Euryalus, fairest of all the Aeneadae and the
wearers of Trojan arms, showing on his unshaven boy's face the first bloom
of youth. These two were one in affection, and charged in battle together;
now likewise their common guard kept the gate. Nisus cries: 'Lend the gods
this fervour to the soul, Euryalus? or does fatal passion become a proper
god to each? Long ere now my soul is restless to begin some great deed of
arms, and quiet peace delights it not. Thou seest how confident in fortune
the Rutulians stand. Their lights glimmer far apart; buried in drunken sleep
they have sunk to rest; silence stretches all about. Learn then what doubt,
what purpose, now rises in my spirit. People and senate, they all cry that
Aeneas [193-226]be summoned, and men be sent to carry him tidings. If they
promise what I ask in thy name—for to me the glory of the deed is enough
—methinks I can find beneath yonder hillock a path to the walls of
Pallanteum town.'
Euryalus stood fixed, struck through with high ambition, and therewith
speaks thus to his fervid friend: 'Dost thou shun me then, Nisus, to share thy
company in highest deeds? shall I send thee alone into so great perils? Not
thus did my warrior father Opheltes rear and nurture me amid the Argive
terror and the agony of Troy, nor thus have I borne myself by thy side while
following noble Aeneas to his utmost fate. Here is a spirit, yes here, that
scorns the light of day, that deems lightly bought at a life's price that honour
to which thou dost aspire.'
To this Nisus: 'Assuredly I had no such fear of thee; no, nor could I; so may
great Jupiter, or whoso looks on earth with equal eyes, restore me to thee
triumphant. But if haply—as thou seest often and often in so forlorn a hope
—if haply chance or deity sweep me to adverse doom, I would have thee
survive; thine age is worthier to live. Be there one to commit me duly to
earth, rescued or ransomed from the battlefield: or, if fortune deny that, to
pay me far away the rites of funeral and the grace of a tomb. Neither would
I bring such pain on thy poor mother, she who singly of many matrons hath
dared to follow her boy to the end, and slights great Acestes' city.'

And he: 'In vain dost thou string idle reasons; nor does my purpose yield or
change its place so soon. Let us make haste.' He speaks, and rouses the
watch; they come up, and relieve the guard; quitting their post, he and Nisus
stride on to seek the prince.
The rest of living things over all lands were soothing their cares in sleep,
and their hearts forgot their pain; the foremost Trojan captains, a chosen
band, held council [227-261]of state upon the kingdom; what should they do,
or who would now be their messenger to Aeneas? They stand, leaning on
their long spears and grasping their shields, in mid level of the camp. Then
Nisus and Euryalus together pray with quick urgency to be given audience;
their matter is weighty and will be worth the delay. Iülus at once heard their
hurried plea, and bade Nisus speak. Thereon the son of Hyrtacus: 'Hear, O
people of Aeneas, with favourable mind, nor regard our years in what we
offer. Sunk in sleep and wine, the Rutulians are silent; we have stealthily
spied the open ground that lies in the path through the gate next the sea. The
line of fires is broken, and their smoke rises darkly upwards. If you allow us
to use the chance towards seeking Aeneas in Pallanteum town, you will
soon descry us here at hand with the spoils of the great slaughter we have
dealt. Nor shall we miss the way we go; up the dim valleys we have seen
the skirts of the town, and learned all the river in continual hunting.'
Thereon aged Aletes, sage in counsel: 'Gods of our fathers, under whose
deity Troy ever stands, not wholly yet do you purpose to blot out the Trojan
race, when you have brought us young honour and hearts so sure as this.' So
speaking, he caught both by shoulder and hand, with tears showering down
over face and feature. 'What guerdon shall I deem may be given you, O
men, what recompense for these noble deeds? First and fairest shall be your
reward from the gods and your own conduct; and Aeneas the good shall
speedily repay the rest, and Ascanius' fresh youth never forget so great a
service.'—'Nay,' breaks in Ascanius, 'I whose sole safety is in my father's
return, I adjure thee and him, O Nisus, by our great household gods, by the
tutelar spirit of Assaracus and hoar Vesta's sanctuary—on your knees I lay
all my fortune and trust—recall my father; [262-296]give him back to sight;
all sorrow disappears in his recovery. I will give a pair of cups my father
took in vanquished Arisba, wrought in silver and rough with tracery, twin
tripods, and two large talents of gold, and an ancient bowl of Sidonian
Dido's giving. If it be indeed our lot to possess Italy and grasp a conquering

sceptre, and to assign the spoil; thou sawest the horse and armour of Turnus
as he went all in gold; that same horse, the shield and the ruddy plume, will
I reserve from partition, thy reward, O Nisus, even from now. My father
will give besides twelve mothers of the choicest beauty, and men captives,
all in their due array; above these, the space of meadow-land that is now
King Latinus' own domain. Thee, O noble boy, whom mine age follows at a
nearer interval, even now I welcome to all my heart, and embrace as my
companion in every fortune. No glory shall be sought for my state without
thee; whether peace or war be in conduct, my chiefest trust for deed and
word shall be in thee.'
Answering whom Euryalus speaks thus: 'Let but the day never come to
prove me degenerate from this daring valour; fortune may fall prosperous or
adverse. But above all thy gifts, one thing I ask of thee. My poor mother of
Priam's ancient race, whom neither the Ilian land nor King Acestes' city
kept from following me forth, her I now leave in ignorance of this danger,
such as it is, and without a farewell, because—night and thine hand be
witness!—I cannot bear a parent's tears. But thou, I pray, support her want
and relieve her loneliness. Let me take with me this hope in thee, I shall go
more daringly to every fortune.' Deeply stirred at heart, the Dardanians shed
tears, fair Iülus before them all, as the likeness of his own father's love
wrung his soul. Then he speaks thus: . . . 'Assure thyself all that is due to
thy mighty enterprise; [297-330]for she shall be a mother to me, and only in
name fail to be Creüsa; nor slight is the honour reserved for the mother of
such a son. What chance soever follow this deed, I swear by this head
whereby my father was wont to swear, what I promise to thee on thy
prosperous return shall abide the same for thy mother and kindred.' So
speaks he weeping, and ungirds from his shoulder the sword inlaid with
gold, fashioned with marvellous skill by Lycaon of Gnosus and fitly set in a
sheath of ivory. Mnestheus gives Nisus the shaggy spoils of a lion's hide;
faithful Aletes exchanges his helmet. They advance onward in arms, and as
they go all the company of captains, young and old, speed them to the gates
with vows. Likewise fair Iülus, with a man's thought and a spirit beyond his
years, gave many messages to be carried to his father. But the breezes shred
all asunder and give them unaccomplished to the clouds.
They issue and cross the trenches, and through the shadow of night seek the
fatal camp, themselves first to be the death of many a man. All about they

see bodies strewn along the grass in drunken sleep, chariots atilt on the
shore, the men lying among their traces and wheels, with their armour by
them, and their wine. The son of Hyrtacus began thus: 'Euryalus, now for
daring hands; all invites them; here lies our way; see thou that none raise a
hand from behind against us, and keep far-sighted watch. Here will I deal
desolation, and make a broad path for thee to follow.' So speaks he and
checks his voice; therewith he drives his sword at lordly Rhamnes, who
haply on carpets heaped high was drawing the full breath of sleep; a king
himself, and King Turnus' best-beloved augur, but not all his augury could
avert his doom. Three of his household beside him, lying carelessly among
their arms, and the armour-bearer and charioteer of Remus go [331-364]down
before him, caught at the horses' feet. Their drooping necks he severs with
the sword, then beheads their lord likewise and leaves the trunk spouting
blood; the dark warm gore soaks ground and cushions. Therewithal
Lamyrus and Lamus, and beautiful young Serranus, who that night had
played long and late, and lay with the conquering god heavy on every limb;
happy, had he played out the night, and carried his game to day! Even thus
an unfed lion riots through full sheepfolds, for the madness of hunger urges
him, and champs and rends the fleecy flock that are dumb with fear, and
roars with blood-stained mouth. Nor less is the slaughter of Euryalus; he too
rages all aflame; an unnamed multitude go down before his path, and Fadus
and Herbesus and Rhoetus and Abaris, unaware; Rhoetus awake and seeing
all, but he hid in fear behind a great bowl; right in whose breast, as he rose
close by, he plunged the sword all its length, and drew it back heavy with
death. He vomits forth the crimson life-blood, and throws up wine mixed
with blood in the death agony. The other presses hotly on his stealthy
errand, and now bent his way towards Messapus' comrades, where he saw
the last flicker of the fires go down, and the horses tethered in order
cropping the grass; when Nisus briefly speaks thus, for he saw him carried
away by excess of murderous desire; 'Let us stop; for unfriendly daylight
draws nigh. Vengeance is sated to the full; a path is cut through the enemy.'
Much they leave behind, men's armour wrought in solid silver, and bowls
therewith, and beautiful carpets. Euryalus tears away the decorations of
Rhamnes and his sword-belt embossed with gold, a gift which Caedicus,
wealthiest of men of old, sends to Remulus of Tibur when plighting
friendship far away; he on his death-bed gives them to his grandson for his
own; after his death the Rutulians captured them as spoil of war; these he

fits on the shoulders valiant [365-396]in vain, then puts on Messapus' light
helmet with its graceful plumes. They issue from the camp and make for
safety.
Meanwhile an advanced guard of cavalry were on their way from the Latin
city, while the rest of their marshalled battalions linger on the plains, and
bore a reply to King Turnus; three hundred men all under shield, in
Volscens' leading. And now they approached the camp and drew near the
wall, when they descry the two turning away by the pathway to the left; and
in the glimmering darkness of night the forgotten helmet betrayed Euryalus,
glittering as it met the light. It seemed no thing of chance. Volscens cries
aloud from his column: 'Stand, men! why on the march, or how are you in
arms? or whither hold you your way?' They offer nothing in reply, but
quicken their flight into the forest, and throw themselves on the night. On
this side and that the horsemen bar the familiar crossways, and encircle
every outlet with sentinels. The forest spread wide in tangled thickets and
dark ilex; thick growth of briars choked it all about, and the muffled
pathway glimmered in a broken track. Hampered by the shadowy boughs
and his cumbrous spoil, Euryalus in his fright misses the line of way. Nisus
gets clear; and now unthinkingly he had passed the enemy, and the place
afterwards called Albani from Alba's name; then the deep coverts were of
King Latinus' domain; when he stopped, and looked back in vain for his lost
friend. 'Euryalus, unhappy! on what ground have I left thee? or where shall
I follow, again unwinding all the entanglement of the treacherous woodland
way?' Therewith he marks and retraces his footsteps, and wanders down the
silent thickets. He hears the horses, hears the clatter and signal-notes of the
pursuers. Nor had he long to wait, when shouts reach his ears, and he sees
Euryalus, whom even now, in the perplexity of ground and [397-431]darkness,
the whole squadron have borne down in a sudden rush, and seize in spite of
all his vain struggles. What shall he do? with what force, what arms dare his
rescue? or shall he rush on his doom amid their swords, and find in their
wounds a speedy and glorious death? Quickly he draws back his arm with
poised spear, and looking up to the moon on high, utters this prayer: 'Do
thou give present aid to our enterprise, O Latonian goddess, glory of the
stars and guardian of the woodlands: by all the gifts my father Hyrtacus
ever bore for my sake to thine altars, by all mine own hand hath added from
my hunting, or hung in thy dome, or fixed on thy holy roof, grant me to

confound these masses, and guide my javelin through the air.' He ended,
and with all the force of his body hurls the steel. The flying spear whistles
through the darkness of the night, and comes full on the shield of Sulmo,
and there snaps, and the broken shaft passes on through his heart. Spouting
a warm tide from his breast he rolls over chill in death, and his sides throb
with long-drawn gasps. Hither and thither they gaze round. Lo, he all the
fiercer was poising another weapon high by his ear; while they hesitate, the
spear went whizzing through both Tagus' temples, and pierced and stuck
fast in the warm brain. Volscens is mad with rage, and nowhere espies the
sender of the weapon, nor where to direct his fury. 'Yet meanwhile thy
warm blood shalt pay me vengeance for both,' he cries; and unsheathing his
sword, he made at Euryalus. Then indeed frantic with terror Nisus shrieks
out; no longer could he shroud himself in darkness or endure such agony.
'On me, on me, I am here, I did it, on me turn your steel, O Rutulians! Mine
is all the guilt; he dared not, no, nor could not; to this heaven I appeal and
the stars that know; he only loved his hapless friend too well.' Such words
he was uttering; but the sword driven hard home is gone [432-464]clean
through his ribs and pierces the white breast. Euryalus rolls over in death,
and the blood runs over his lovely limbs, and his neck sinks and settles on
his shoulder; even as when a lustrous flower cut away by the plough droops
in death, or weary-necked poppies bow down their head if overweighted
with a random shower. But Nisus rushes amidst them, and alone among
them all makes at Volscens, keeps to Volscens alone: round him the foe
cluster, and on this side and that hurl him back: none the less he presses on,
and whirls his sword like lightning, till he plunges it full in the face of the
shrieking Rutulian, and slays his enemy as he dies. Then, stabbed through
and through, he flung himself above his lifeless friend, and there at last
found the quiet sleep of death.
Happy pair! if my verse is aught of avail, no length of days shall ever blot
you from the memory of time, while the house of Aeneas shall dwell by the
Capitoline's stedfast stone, and the lord of Rome hold sovereignty.
The victorious Rutulians, with their spoils and the plunder regained, bore
dead Volscens weeping to the camp. Nor in the camp was the wailing less,
when Rhamnes was found a bloodless corpse, and Serranus and Numa and
all their princes destroyed in a single slaughter. Crowds throng towards the
corpses and the men wounded to death, the ground fresh with warm

slaughter and the swoln runlets of frothing blood. They mutually recognise
the spoils, Messapus' shining helmet and the decorations that cost such
sweat to win back.
And now Dawn, leaving the saffron bed of Tithonus, scattered over earth
her fresh shafts of early light; now the sunlight streams in, now daylight
unveils the world. Turnus, himself fully armed, awakes his men to arms,
and each leader marshals to battle his brazen lines and whets their ardour
with varying rumours. Nay, pitiable sight! they [465-499]fix on spear-points
and uprear and follow with loud shouts the heads of Euryalus and Nisus. . . .
The Aeneadae stubbornly face them, lining the left hand wall (for their right
is girdled by the river), hold the deep trenches and stand gloomily on the
high towers, stirred withal by the faces they know, alas, too well, in their
dark dripping gore. Meanwhile Rumour on fluttering wings rushes with the
news through the alarmed town and glides to the ears of Euryalus' mother.
But instantly the warmth leaves her woeful body, the shuttle starts from her
hand and the threads unroll. She darts forth in agony, and with woman's
wailing and torn hair runs distractedly towards the walls and the foremost
columns, recking naught of men, naught of peril or weapons; thereon she
fills the air with her complaint: 'Is it thus I behold thee, O Euryalus?
Couldst thou, the latest solace of mine age, leave me alone so cruelly? nor
when sent into such danger was one last word of thee allowed thine
unhappy mother? Alas, thou liest in a strange land, given for a prey to the
dogs and fowls of Latium! nor was I, thy mother, there for chief mourner, to
lay thee out or close thine eyes or wash thy wounds, and cover thee with the
garment I hastened on for thee whole nights and days, an anxious old
woman taking comfort from the loom. Whither shall I follow? or what land
now holds thy mangled corpse, thy body torn limb from limb? Is this all of
what thou wert that returns to me, O my son? is it this I have followed by
land and sea? Strike me through of your pity, on me cast all your weapons,
Rutulians; make me the first sacrifice of your steel. Or do thou, mighty lord
of heaven, be merciful, and with thine own weapon hurl this hateful life to
the nether deep, since in no wise else may I break away from life's cruelty.'
At this weeping cry their courage falters, and a sigh of sorrow passes all
along; their strength is benumbed and broken for battle. Her, while [500-
535]her grief kindled, at Ilioneus' and weeping Iülus' bidding Idaeus and
Actor catch up and carry home in their arms.

But the terrible trumpet-note afar rang on the shrill brass; a shout follows,
and is echoed from the sky. The Volscians hasten up in even line under their
advancing roof of shields, and set to fill up the trenches and tear down the
palisades. Some seek entrance by scaling the walls with ladders, where the
defenders' battle-line is thin, and light shows through gaps in the ring of
men. The Teucrians in return shower weapons of every sort, and push them
down with stiff poles, practised by long warfare in their ramparts' defence:
and fiercely hurl heavy stones, so be they may break the shielded line;
while they, crowded under their shell, lightly bear all the downpour. But
now they fail; for where the vast mass presses close, the Teucrians roll a
huge block tumbling down that makes a wide gap in the Rutulians and
crashes through their armour-plating. Nor do the bold Rutulians care longer
to continue the blind fight, but strive to clear the rampart with missiles. . . .
Elsewhere in dreadful guise Mezentius brandishes his Etruscan pine and
hurls smoking brands; but Messapus, tamer of horses, seed of Neptune,
tears away the palisading and calls for ladders to the ramparts.
Thy sisterhood, O Calliope, I pray inspire me while I sing the destruction
spread then and there by Turnus' sword, the deaths dealt from his hand, and
whom each warrior sent down to the under world; and unroll with me the
broad borders of war.
A tower loomed vast with lofty gangways at a point of vantage; this all the
Italians strove with main strength to storm, and set all their might and
device to overthrow it; the Trojans in return defended it with stones and
hurled showers of darts through the loopholes. Turnus, leading the attack,
threw a blazing torch that caught flaming on the [536-570]side wall; swoln by
the wind, the flame seized the planking and clung devouring to the
standards. Those within, in hurry and confusion, desire retreat from their
distress; in vain; while they cluster together and fall back to the side free
from the destroyer, the tower sinks prone under the sudden weight with a
crash that thunders through all the sky. Pierced by their own weapons, and
impaled on hard splinters of wood, they come half slain to the ground with
the vast mass behind them. Scarcely do Helenor alone and Lycus struggle
out; Helenor in his early prime, whom a slave woman of Licymnos bore in
secret to the Maeonian king, and sent to Troy in forbidden weapons, lightly
armed with sheathless sword and white unemblazoned shield. And he, when
he saw himself among Turnus' encircling thousands, ranks on this side and

ranks on this of Latins, as a wild beast which, girt with a crowded ring of
hunters, dashes at their weapons, hurls herself unblinded on death, and
comes with a bound upon the spears; even so he rushes to his death amid
the enemy, and presses on where he sees their weapons thickest. But Lycus,
far fleeter of foot, holds by the walls in flight midway among foes and
arms, and strives to catch the coping in his grasp and reach the hands of his
comrades. And Turnus pursuing and aiming as he ran, thus upbraids him in
triumph: 'Didst thou hope, madman, thou mightest escape our hands?' and
catches him as he clings, and tears him and a great piece of the wall away:
as when, with a hare or snowy-bodied swan in his crooked talons, Jove's
armour-bearer soars aloft, or the wolf of Mars snatches from the folds some
lamb sought of his mother with incessant bleating. On all sides a shout goes
up. They advance and fill the trenches with heaps of earth; some toss
glowing brands on the roofs. Ilioneus strikes down Lucetius with a great
fragment of mountain rock as, carrying fire, he draws [571-606]nigh the gate.
Liger slays Emathion, Asylas Corinaeus, the one skilled with the javelin,
the other with the stealthy arrow from afar. Caeneus slays Ortygius; Turnus
victorious Caeneus; Turnus Itys and Clonius, Dioxippus, and Promolus, and
Sagaris, and Idas where he stood in front of the turret top; Capys Privernus:
him Themillas' spear had first grazed lightly; the madman threw down his
shield to carry his hand to the wound; so the arrow winged her way, and
pinning his hand to his left side, broke into the lungs with deadly wound.
The son of Arcens stood splendid in arms, and scarf embroidered with
needlework and bright with Iberian blue, the beautiful boy sent by his father
Arcens from nurture in the grove of our Lady about the streams of
Symaethus, where Palicus' altar is rich and gracious. Laying down his spear,
Mezentius whirled thrice round his head the tightened cord of his whistling
sling, pierced him full between the temples with the molten bullet, and
stretched him all his length upon the sand.
Then, it is said, Ascanius first aimed his flying shaft in war, wont before to
frighten beasts of the chase, and struck down a brave Numanian, Remulus
by name, but lately allied in bridal to Turnus' younger sister. He advancing
before his ranks clamoured things fit and unfit to tell, and strode along lofty
and voluble, his heart lifted up with his fresh royalty.
'Take you not shame to be again held leaguered in your ramparts, O
Phrygians twice taken, and to make walls your fence from death? Behold

them who demand in war our wives for theirs! What god, what madness,
hath driven you to Italy? Here are no sons of Atreus nor glozing Ulysses. A
race of hardy breed, we carry our newborn children to the streams and
harden them in the bitter icy water; as boys they spend wakeful nights over
the chase, and tire out the woodland; but in manhood, [607-639]unwearied by
toil and trained to poverty, they subdue the soil with their mattocks, or
shake towns in war. Every age wears iron, and we goad the flanks of our
oxen with reversed spear; nor does creeping old age weaken our strength of
spirit or abate our force. White hairs bear the weight of the helmet; and it is
ever our delight to drive in fresh spoil and live on our plunder. Yours is
embroidered raiment of saffron and shining sea-purple. Indolence is your
pleasure, your delight the luxurious dance; you wear sleeved tunics and
ribboned turbans. O right Phrygian women, not even Phrygian men!
traverse the heights of Dindymus, where the double-mouthed flute breathes
familiar music. The drums call you, and the Berecyntian boxwood of the
mother of Ida; leave arms to men, and lay down the sword.'
As he flung forth such words of ill-ominous strain, Ascanius brooked it not,
and aimed an arrow on him from the stretched horse sinew; and as he drew
his arms asunder, first stayed to supplicate Jove in lowly vows: 'Jupiter
omnipotent, deign to favour this daring deed. My hands shall bear yearly
gifts to thee in thy temple, and bring to stand before thine altars a steer with
gilded forehead, snow-white, carrying his head high as his mother's, already
pushing with his horn and making the sand fly up under his feet.' The Father
heard and from a clear space of sky thundered on the left; at once the fated
bow rings, the grim-whistling arrow flies from the tense string, and goes
through the head of Remulus, the steel piercing through from temple to
temple. 'Go, mock valour with insolence of speech! Phrygians twice taken
return this answer to Rutulians.' Thus and no further Ascanius; the
Teucrians respond in cheers, and shout for joy in rising height of courage.
Then haply in the tract of heaven tressed Apollo sate looking down from his
cloud on the [640-673]Ausonian ranks and town, and thus addresses
triumphant Iülus: 'Good speed to thy young valour, O boy! this is the way to
heaven, child of gods and parent of gods to be! Rightly shall all wars fated
to come sink to peace beneath the line of Assaracus; nor art thou bounded in
a Troy.' So speaking, he darts from heaven's height, and cleaving the breezy
air, seeks Ascanius. Then he changes the fashion of his countenance, and

becomes aged Butes, armour-bearer of old to Dardanian Anchises, and the
faithful porter of his threshold; thereafter his lord gave him for Ascanius'
attendant. In all points like the old man Apollo came, voice and colour,
white hair, and grimly clashing arms, and speaks these words to eager Iülus:
'Be it enough, son of Aeneas, that the Numanian hath fallen unavenged
beneath thine arrows; this first honour great Apollo allows thee, nor envies
the arms that match his own. Further, O boy, let war alone.' Thus Apollo
began, and yet speaking retreated from mortal view, vanishing into thin air
away out of their eyes. The Dardanian princes knew the god and the arms of
deity, and heard the clash of his quiver as he went. So they restrain
Ascanius' keenness for battle by the words of Phoebus' will; themselves
they again close in conflict, and cast their lives into the perilous breach.
Shouts run all along the battlemented walls; ringing bows are drawn and
javelin thongs twisted: all the ground is strewn with missiles. Shields and
hollow helmets ring to blows; the battle swells fierce; heavy as the shower
lashes the ground that sets in when the Kids are rainy in the West; thick as
hail pours down from storm-clouds on the shallows, when the rough lord of
the winds congeals his watery deluge and breaks up the hollow vapours in
the sky.
Pandarus and Bitias, sprung of Alcanor of Ida, whom woodland Iaera bore
in the grove of Jupiter, grown now [674-709]tall as their ancestral pines and
hills, fling open the gates barred by their captain's order, and confident in
arms, wilfully invite the enemy within the walls. Themselves within they
stand to right and left in front of the towers, sheathed in iron, the plumes
flickering over their stately heads: even as high in air around the gliding
streams, whether on Padus' banks or by pleasant Athesis, twin oaks rise
lifting their unshorn heads into the sky with high tops asway. The Rutulians
pour in when they see the entrance open. Straightway Quercens and
Aquicolus beautiful in arms, and desperate Tmarus, and Haemon, seed of
Mars, either gave back in rout with all their columns, or in the very gateway
laid down their life. Then the spirits of the combatants swell in rising wrath,
and now the Trojans gather swarming to the spot, and dare to close hand to
hand and to sally farther out.
News is brought to Turnus the captain, as he rages afar among the routed
foe, that the enemy surges forth into fresh slaughter and flings wide his

gates. He breaks off unfinished, and, fired with immense anger, rushes
towards the haughty brethren at the Dardanian gate. And on Antiphates first,
for first he came, the bastard son of mighty Sarpedon by a Theban mother,
he hurls his javelin and strikes him down; the Italian cornel flies through the
yielding air, and, piercing the gullet, runs deep into his breast; a frothing
tide pours from the dark yawning wound, and the steel grows warm where
it pierces the lung. Then Meropes and Erymas, then Aphidnus goes down
before his hand; then Bitias, fiery-eyed and exultant, not with a javelin; for
not to a javelin had he given his life; but the loud-whistling pike came
hurled with a thunderbolt's force; neither twofold bull's hide kept it back,
nor the trusty corslet's double scales of gold: his vast limbs sink in a heap;
earth utters a groan, and the great shield clashes [710-745]over him: even as
once and again on the Euboïc shore of Baiae falls a mass of stone, built up
of great blocks and so cast into the sea; thus does it tumble prone, crashes
into the shoal water and sinks deep to rest; the seas are stirred, and the dark
sand eddies up; therewith the depth of Prochyta quivers at the sound, and
the couchant rocks of Inarime, piled above Typhoeus by Jove's commands.
On this Mars armipotent raised the spirit and strength of the Latins, and
goaded their hearts to rage, and sent Flight and dark Fear among the
Teucrians. From all quarters they gather, since battle is freely offered; and
the warrior god inspires. . . . Pandarus, at his brother's fall, sees how fortune
stands, what hap rules the day; and swinging the gate round on its hinge
with all his force, pushes it to with his broad shoulders, leaving many of his
own people shut outside the walls in the desperate conflict, but shutting
others in with him as they pour back in retreat. Madman! who saw not the
Rutulian prince burst in amid their columns, and fairly shut him into the
town, like a monstrous tiger among the silly flocks. At once strange light
flashed from his eyes, and his armour rang terribly; the blood-red plumes
flicker on his head, and lightnings shoot sparkling from his shield. In
sudden dismay the Aeneadae know the hated form and giant limbs. Then
tall Pandarus leaps forward, in burning rage at his brother's death: 'This is
not the palace of Amata's dower,' he cries, 'nor does Ardea enclose Turnus
in her native walls. Thou seest a hostile camp; escape hence is hopeless.' To
him Turnus, smiling and cool: 'Begin with all thy valiance, and close hand
to hand; here too shalt thou tell that a Priam found his Achilles.' He ended;
the other, putting out all his strength, hurls his rough spear, knotty and

unpeeled. The breezes caught it; Juno, daughter of Saturn, [746-780]made the
wound glance off as it came, and the spear sticks fast in the gate. 'But this
weapon that my strong hand whirls, this thou shalt not escape; for not such
is he who sends weapon and wound.' So speaks he, and rises high on his
uplifted sword; the steel severs the forehead midway right between the
temples, and divides the beardless cheeks with ghastly wound. He crashes
down; earth shakes under the vast weight; dying limbs and brain-spattered
armour tumble in a heap to the ground, and the head, evenly severed,
dangles this way and that from either shoulder. The Trojans scatter and turn
in hasty terror; and had the conqueror forthwith taken thought to burst the
bars and let in his comrades at the gate, that had been the last day of the war
and of the nation. But rage and mad thirst of slaughter drive him like fire on
the foe. . . . First he catches up Phalaris; then Gyges, and hamstrings him;
he plucks away their spears, and hurls them on the backs of the flying
crowd; Juno lends strength and courage. Halys he sends to join them, and
Phegeus, pierced right through the shield; then, as they ignorantly raised
their war-cry on the walls, Alcander and Halius, Noëmon and Prytanis.
Lynceus advanced to meet him, calling up his comrades; from the rampart
the glittering sword sweeps to the left and catches him; struck off by the one
downright blow, head and helmet lay far away. Next Amycus fell, the
deadly huntsman, incomparable in skill of hand to anoint his arrows and
arm their steel with venom; and Clytius the Aeolid, and Cretheus beloved of
the Muses, Cretheus of the Muses' company, whose delight was ever in
songs and harps and stringing of verses; ever he sang of steeds and armed
men and battles.
At last, hearing of the slaughter of their men, the Teucrian captains,
Mnestheus and gallant Serestus, come up, and see their comrades in
disordered flight and the foe [781-814]let in. And Mnestheus: 'Whither next,
whither press you in flight? what other walls, what farther city have you
yet? Shall one man, and he girt in on all sides, fellow-citizens, by your
entrenchments, thus unchecked deal devastation throughout our city, and
send all our best warriors to the under world? Have you no pity, no shame,
cowards, for your unhappy country, for your ancient gods, for great
Aeneas?'
Kindled by such words, they take heart and rally in dense array. Little by
little Turnus drew away from the fight towards the river, and the side

encircled by the stream: the more bravely the Teucrians press on him with
loud shouts and thickening masses, even as a band that fall on a wrathful
lion with levelled weapons, but he, frightened back, retires surly and grim-
glaring; and neither does wrath nor courage let him turn his back, nor can
he make head, for all that he desires it, against the surrounding arms and
men. Even thus Turnus draws lingeringly backward, with unhastened steps,
and soul boiling in anger. Nay, twice even then did he charge amid the
enemy, twice drove them in flying rout along the walls. But all the force of
the camp gathers hastily up; nor does Juno, daughter of Saturn, dare to
supply him strength to countervail; for Jupiter sent Iris down through the
aery sky, bearing stern orders to his sister that Turnus shall withdraw from
the high Trojan town. Therefore neither with shield nor hand can he keep
his ground, so overpoweringly from all sides comes upon him the storm of
weapons. About the hollows of his temples the helmet rings with incessant
clash, and the solid brass is riven beneath the stones; the horsehair crest is
rent away; the shield-boss avails not under the blows; Mnestheus thunders
on with his Trojans, and pours in a storm of spears. All over him the sweat
trickles and pours in swart stream, and no breathing space is given; sick
gasps shake [815-818]his exhausted limbs. Then at last, with a headlong
bound, he leapt fully armed into the river; the river's yellow eddies opened
for him as he came, and the buoyant water brought him up, and, washing
away the slaughter, returned him triumphant to his comrades.

BOOK TENTH
THE BATTLE ON THE BEACH

Meanwhile the heavenly house omnipotent unfolds her doors, and the father
of gods and king of men calls a council in the starry dwelling; whence he
looks sheer down on the whole earth, the Dardanian camp, and the peoples
of Latium. They sit down within from doorway to doorway: their lord
begins:
'Lords of heaven, wherefore is your decree turned back, and your minds
thus jealously at strife? I forbade Italy to join battle with the Teucrians; why
this quarrel in face of my injunction? What terror hath bidden one or
another run after arms and tempt the sword? The due time of battle will
arrive, call it not forth, when furious Carthage shall one day sunder the Alps
to hurl ruin full on the towers of Rome. Then hatred may grapple with
hatred, then hostilities be opened; now let them be, and cheerfully join in
the treaty we ordain.'
Thus Jupiter in brief; but not briefly golden Venus returns in answer: . . .
'O Lord, O everlasting Governor of men and things—for what else may we
yet supplicate?—beholdest thou how the Rutulians brave it, and Turnus,
borne charioted through the ranks, proudly sweeps down the tide of battle?
Bar [22-58]and bulwark no longer shelter the Trojans; nay, within the gates
and even on the mounded walls they clash in battle and make the trenches
swim with blood. Aeneas is away and ignorant. Wilt thou never then let our
leaguer be raised? Again a foe overhangs the walls of infant Troy; and
another army, and a second son of Tydeus rises from Aetolian Arpi against
the Trojans. Truly I think my wounds are yet to come, and I thy child am
keeping some mortal weapons idle. If the Trojans steered for Italy without
thy leave and defiant of thy deity, let them expiate their sin; aid not such
with thy succour. But if so many oracles guided them, given by god and
ghost, why may aught now reverse thine ordinance or write destiny anew?
Why should I recall the fleets burned on the coast of Eryx? why the king of

storms, and the raging winds roused from Aeolia, or Iris driven down the
clouds? Now hell too is stirred (this share of the world was yet untried) and
Allecto suddenly let loose above to riot through the Italian towns. In no
wise am I moved for empire; that was our hope while Fortune stood; let
those conquer whom thou wilt. If thy cruel wife leave no region free to
Teucrians, by the smoking ruins of desolated Troy, O father, I beseech thee,
grant Ascanius unhurt retreat from arms, grant me my child's life. Aeneas
may well be tossed over unknown seas and follow what path soever fortune
open to him; him let me avail to shelter and withdraw from the turmoil of
battle. Amathus is mine, high Paphos and Cythera, and my house of Idalia;
here, far from arms, let him spend an inglorious life. Bid Carthage in high
lordship rule Ausonia; there will be nothing there to check the Tyrian cities.
What help was it for the Trojans to escape war's doom and thread their
flight through Argive fires, to have exhausted all those perils of sea and
desolate lands, while they seek Latium and the towers of a Troy rebuilt?
Were it not better to have [59-91]clung to the last ashes of their country, and
the ground where once was Troy? Give back, I pray, Xanthus and Simoïs to
a wretched people, and let the Teucrians again, O Lord, circle through the
fates of Ilium.'
Then Queen Juno, swift and passionate:
'Why forcest thou me to break long silence and proclaim my hidden pain?
Hath any man or god constrained Aeneas to court war or make armed attack
on King Latinus? In oracular guidance he steered for Italy: be it so: he
whom raving Cassandra sent on his way! Did we urge him to quit the camp
or entrust his life to the winds? to give the issue of war and the charge of his
ramparts to a child? to stir the loyalty of Tyrrhenia or throw peaceful
nations into tumult? What god, what potent cruelty of ours, hath driven him
on his hurt? Where is Juno in this, or Iris sped down the clouds? It shocks
thee that Italians should enring an infant Troy with flame, and Turnus set
foot on his own ancestral soil—he, grandchild of Pilumnus, son of Venilia
the goddess: how, that the dark brands of Troy assail the Latins? that
Trojans subjugate and plunder fields not their own? how, that they choose
their brides and tear plighted bosom from bosom? that their gestures plead
for peace, and their ships are lined with arms? Thou canst steal thine Aeneas
from Grecian hands, and spread before them a human semblance of mist
and empty air; thou canst turn his fleet into nymphs of like number: is it

dreadful if we retaliate with any aid to the Rutulians? Aeneas is away and
ignorant; away and ignorant let him be. Paphos is thine and Idalium, thine
high Cythera; why meddlest thou with fierce spirits and a city big with war?
Is it we who would overthrow the tottering state of Phrygia? we? or he who
brought the Achaeans down on the hapless Trojans? who made Europe and
Asia bristle up in arms, and whose theft shattered the alliance? Was it in my
guidance the [92-125]adulterous Dardanian broke into Sparta? or did I send
the shafts of passion that kindled war? Then terror for thy children had
graced thee; too late now dost thou rise with unjust complaints, and
reproaches leave thy lips in vain.'
Thus Juno pleaded; and all the heavenly people murmured in diverse
consent; even as rising gusts murmur when caught in the forests, and eddy
in blind moanings, betraying to sailors the gale's approach. Then the Lord
omnipotent and primal power of the world begins; as he speaks the high
house of the gods and trembling floor of earth sink to silence; silent is the
deep sky, and the breezes are stilled; ocean hushes his waters into calm.
'Take then to heart and lay deep these words of mine. Since it may not be
that Ausonians and Teucrians join alliance, and your quarrel finds no term,
to-day, what fortune each wins, what hope each follows, be he Trojan or
Rutulian, I will hold in even poise; whether it be Italy's fate or Trojan
blundering and ill advice that holds the camp in leaguer. Nor do I acquit the
Rutulians. Each as he hath begun shall work out his destiny. Jupiter is one
and king over all; the fates will find their way.' By his brother's infernal
streams, by the banks of the pitchy black-boiling chasm he signed assent,
and made all Olympus quiver at his nod. Here speaking ended: thereon
Jupiter rises from his golden throne, and the heavenly people surround and
escort him to the doorway.
Meanwhile the Rutulians press round all the gates, dealing grim slaughter
and girdling the walls with flame. But the army of the Aeneadae are held
leaguered within their trenches, with no hope of retreat. They stand helpless
and disconsolate on their high towers, and their thin ring girdles the walls,
—Asius, son of Imbrasus, and Thymoetes, son of Hicetaon, and the two
Assaraci, and Castor, and old Thymbris together in the front rank: by them
Clarus and [126-160]Themon, both full brothers to Sarpedon, out of high
Lycia. Acmon of Lyrnesus, great as his father Clytius, or his brother

Mnestheus, carries a stone, straining all his vast frame to the huge mountain
fragment. Emulously they keep their guard, these with javelins, those with
stones, and wield fire and fit arrows on the string. Amid them he, Venus'
fittest care, lo! the Dardanian boy, his graceful head uncovered, shines even
as a gem set in red gold on ornament of throat or head, or even as gleaming
ivory cunningly inlaid in boxwood or Orician terebinth; his tresses lie
spread over his milk-white neck, bound by a flexible circlet of gold. Thee,
too, Ismarus, proud nations saw aiming wounds and arming thy shafts with
poison,—thee, of house illustrious in Maeonia, where the rich tilth is
wrought by men's hands, and Pactolus waters it with gold. There too was
Mnestheus, exalted in fame as he who erewhile had driven Turnus from the
ramparts; and Capys, from whom is drawn the name of the Campanian city.
They had closed in grim war's mutual conflict; Aeneas, while night was yet
deep, clove the seas. For when, leaving Evander for the Etruscan camp, he
hath audience of the king, and tells the king of his name and race, and what
he asks or offers, instructs him of the arms Mezentius is winning to his side,
and of Turnus' overbearing spirit, reminds him what is all the certainty of
human things, and mingles all with entreaties; delaying not, Tarchon joins
forces and strikes alliance. Then, freed from the oracle, the Lydian people
man their fleet, laid by divine ordinance in the foreign captain's hand.
Aeneas' galley keeps in front, with the lions of Phrygia fastened on her
prow, above them overhanging Ida, sight most welcome to the Trojan
exiles. Here great Aeneas sits revolving the changing issues of war; and
Pallas, clinging on his left side, asks now [161-195]of the stars and their
pathway through the dark night, now of his fortunes by land and sea.
Open now the gates of Helicon, goddesses, and stir the song of the band
that come the while with Aeneas from the Tuscan borders, and sail in armed
ships overseas.
First in the brazen-plated Tiger Massicus cuts the flood; beneath him are
ranked a thousand men who have left Clusium town and the city of Cosae;
their weapons are arrows, and light quivers on the shoulder, and their
deadly bow. With him goes grim Abas, all his train in shining armour, and a
gilded Apollo glittering astern. To him Populonia had given six hundred of
her children, tried in war, but Ilva three hundred, the island rich in
unexhausted mines of steel. Third Asilas, interpreter between men and gods,

master of the entrails of beasts and the stars in heaven, of speech of birds
and ominous lightning flashes, draws a thousand men after him in serried
lines bristling with spears, bidden to his command from Pisa city, of
Alphaean birth on Etruscan soil. Astyr follows, excellent in beauty, Astyr,
confident in his horse and glancing arms. Three hundred more—all have
one heart to follow—come from the householders of Caere and the fields of
Minio, and ancient Pyrgi, and fever-stricken Graviscae.
Let me not pass thee by, O Cinyras, bravest in war of Ligurian captains, and
thee, Cupavo, with thy scant company, from whose crest rise the swan
plumes, fault, O Love, of thee and thine, and blazonment of his father's
form. For they tell that Cycnus, in grief for his beloved Phaëthon, while he
sings and soothes his woeful love with music amid the shady sisterhood of
poplar boughs, drew over him the soft plumage of white old age, and left
earth and passed crying through the sky. His son, followed on shipboard
with a band of like age, sweeps the huge Centaur forward with his oars; he
leans over the water, and [196-227]threatens the waves with a vast rock he
holds on high, and furrows the deep seas with his length of keel.
He too calls a train from his native coasts, Ocnus, son of prophetic Manto
and the river of Tuscany, who gave thee, O Mantua, ramparts and his
mother's name; Mantua, rich in ancestry, yet not all of one blood, a
threefold race, and under each race four cantons; herself she is the cantons'
head, and her strength is of Tuscan blood. From her likewise hath
Mezentius five hundred in arms against him, whom Mincius, child of
Benacus, draped in gray reeds, led to battle in his advancing pine. Aulestes
moves on heavily, smiting the waves with the swinging forest of an hundred
oars; the channels foam as they sweep the sea-floor. He sails in the vast
Triton, who amazes the blue waterways with his shell, and swims on with
shaggy front, in human show from the flank upward; his belly ends in a
dragon; beneath the monster's breast the wave gurgles into foam. So many
were the chosen princes who went in thirty ships to aid Troy, and cut the
salt plains with brazen prow.
And now day had faded from the sky, and gracious Phoebe trod mid-heaven
in the chariot of her nightly wandering: Aeneas, for his charge allows not
rest to his limbs, himself sits guiding the tiller and managing the sails. And
lo, in middle course a band of his own fellow-voyagers meets him, the

nymphs whom bountiful Cybele had bidden be gods of the sea, and turn to
nymphs from ships; they swam on in even order, and cleft the flood, as
many as erewhile, brazen-plated prows, had anchored on the beach. From
far they know their king, and wheel their bands about him, and Cymodocea,
their readiest in speech, comes up behind, catching the stern with her right
hand: her back rises out, and her left hand oars her passage through the
silent water. Then she thus [228-261]accosts her amazed lord: 'Wakest thou,
seed of gods, Aeneas? wake, and loosen the sheets of thy sails. We are thy
fleet, Idaean pines from the holy hill, now nymphs of the sea. When the
treacherous Rutulian urged us headlong with sword and fire, unwillingly we
broke thy bonds, and we search for thee over ocean. This new guise our
Lady made for us in pity, and granted us to be goddesses and spend our life
under the waves. But thy boy Ascanius is held within wall and trench
among the Latin weapons and the rough edge of war. Already the Arcadian
cavalry and the brave Etruscan together hold the appointed ground. Turnus'
plan is fixed to bar their way with his squadrons, that they may not reach
the camp. Up and arise, and ere the coming of the Dawn bid thy crews be
called to arms; and take thou the shield which the Lord of Fire forged for
victory and rimmed about with gold. To-morrow's daylight, if thou deem
not my words vain, shall see Rutulians heaped high in slaughter.' She
ended, and, as she went, pushed the tall ship on with her hand wisely and
well; the ship shoots through the water fleeter than javelin or windswift
arrow. Thereat the rest quicken their speed. The son of Anchises of Troy is
himself deep in bewilderment; yet the omen cheers his courage. Then
looking on the heavenly vault, he briefly prays: 'O gracious upon Ida,
mother of gods, whose delight is in Dindymus and turreted cities and lions
coupled to thy rein, do thou lead me in battle, do thou meetly prosper thine
augury, and draw nigh thy Phrygians, goddess, with favourable feet.' Thus
much he spoke; and meanwhile the broad light of returning day now began
to pour in, and chased away the night. First he commands his comrades to
follow his signals, brace their courage to arms and prepare for battle. And
now his Trojans and his camp are in his sight as he stands high astern, when
next he lifts the [262-296]blazing shield on his left arm. The Dardanians on
the walls raise a shout to the sky. Hope comes to kindle wrath; they hurl
their missiles strongly; even as under black clouds cranes from the Strymon
utter their signal notes and sail clamouring across the sky, and noisily
stream down the gale. But this seemed marvellous to the Rutulian king and

the captains of Ausonia, till looking back they see the ships steering for the
beach, and all the sea as a single fleet sailing in. His helmet-spike blazes,
flame pours from the cresting plumes, and the golden shield-boss spouts
floods of fire; even as when in transparent night comets glow blood-red and
drear, or the splendour of Sirius, that brings drought and sicknesses on
wretched men, rises and saddens the sky with malignant beams.
Yet gallant Turnus in unfailing confidence will prevent them on the shore
and repel their approach to land. 'What your prayers have sought is given,
the sweep of the sword-arm. The god of battles is in the hands of men. Now
remember each his wife and home: now recall the high deeds of our fathers'
honour. Let us challenge meeting at the water's edge, while they waver and
their feet yet slip as they disembark. Fortune aids daring. . . .' So speaks he,
and counsels inly whom he shall lead to meet them, whom leave in charge
of the leaguered walls.
Meanwhile Aeneas lands his allies by gangways from the high ships. Many
watch the retreat and slack of the sea, and leap boldly into the shoal water;
others slide down the oars. Tarchon, marking the shore where the shallows
do not seethe and plash with broken water, but the sea glides up and spreads
its tide unbroken, suddenly turns his bows to land and implores his
comrades: 'Now, O chosen crew, bend strongly to your oars; lift your ships,
make them go; let the prows cleave this hostile land and the keel plough
[297-330]herself a furrow. I will let my vessel break up on such harbourage if
once she takes the land.' When Tarchon had spoken in such wise, his
comrades rise on their oar-blades and carry their ships in foam towards the
Latin fields, till the prows are fast on dry land and all the keels are aground
unhurt. But not thy galley, Tarchon; for she dashes on a shoal, and swings
long swaying on the cruel bank, pitching and slapping the flood, then
breaks up, and lands her crew among the waves. Broken oars and floating
thwarts entangle them, and the ebbing wave sucks their feet away.
Nor does Turnus keep idly dallying, but swiftly hurries his whole array
against the Trojans and ranges it to face the beach. The trumpets blow. At
once Aeneas charges and confounds the rustic squadrons of the Latins, and
slays Theron for omen of battle. The giant advances to challenge Aeneas;
but through sewed plates of brass and tunic rough with gold the sword
plunges in his open side. Next he strikes Lichas, cut from his mother

already dead, and consecrated, Phoebus, to thee, since his infancy was
granted escape from the perilous steel. Near thereby he struck dead brawny
Cisseus and vast Gyas, whose clubs were mowing down whole files: naught
availed them the arms of Hercules and their strength of hand, nor Melampus
their father, ever of Alcides' company while earth yielded him sore travail.
Lo! while Pharus utters weak vaunts the hurled javelin strikes on his
shouting mouth. Thou too, while thou followest thy new delight, Clytius,
whose cheeks are golden with youthful down—thou, luckless Cydon, struck
down by the Dardanian hand, wert lying past thought, ah pitiable! of the
young loves that were ever thine, did not the close array of thy brethren
interpose, the children of Phorcus, seven in number, and send a sevenfold
shower of darts. Some glance ineffectual from helmet and shield; [331-
365]some Venus the bountiful turned aside as they grazed his body. Aeneas
calls to trusty Achates: 'Give me store of weapons; none that hath been
planted in Grecian body on the plains of Ilium shall my hand hurl at
Rutulian in vain.' Then he catches and throws his great spear; the spear flies
grinding through the brass of Maeon's shield, and breaks through corslet
and through breast. His brother Alcanor runs up and sustains with his right
arm his sinking brother; through his arm the spear passes speeding straight
on its message, and holds its bloody way, and the hand dangles by the
sinews lifeless from the shoulder. Then Numitor, seizing his dead brother's
javelin, aims at Aeneas, but might not fairly pierce him, and grazed tall
Achates on the thigh. Here Clausus of Cures comes confident in his pride of
strength, and with a long reach strikes Dryops under the chin, and, urging
the stiff spear-shaft home, stops the accents of his speech and his life
together, piercing the throat; but he strikes the earth with his forehead, and
vomits clots of blood. Three Thracians likewise of Boreas' sovereign race,
and three sent by their father Idas from their native Ismarus, fall in divers
wise before him. Halesus and his Auruncan troops hasten thither; Messapus
too, seed of Neptune, comes up charioted. This side and that strive to hurl
back the enemy, and fight hard on the very edge of Ausonia. As when in the
depth of air adverse winds rise in battle with equal spirit and strength; not
they, not clouds nor sea, yield one to another; long the battle is doubtful; all
stands locked in counterpoise: even thus clash the ranks of Troy and ranks
of Latium, foot fast on foot, and man crowded up on man.

But in another quarter, where a torrent had driven a wide path of rolling
stones and bushes torn away from the banks, Pallas saw his Arcadians,
unaccustomed to move as infantry, giving back before the Latin pursuit,
when the [366-400]roughness of the ground bade them dismount. This only
was left in his strait, to kindle them to valour, now by entreaties, now by
taunts: 'Whither flee you, comrades? by your deeds of bravery, by your
leader Evander's name, by your triumphant campaigns, and my hope that
now rises to rival my father's honour, trust not to flight. Our swords must
hew a way through the enemy. Where yonder mass of men presses thickest,
there your proud country calls you with Pallas at your head. No gods are
they who bear us down; mortals, we feel the pressure of a mortal foe; we
have as many lives and hands as he. Lo, the deep shuts us in with vast sea
barrier; even now land fails our flight; shall we make ocean or Troy our
goal?'
So speaks he, and bursts amid the serried foe. First Lagus meets him, drawn
thither by malign destiny; him, as he tugs at a ponderous stone, hurling his
spear where the spine ran dissevering the ribs, he pierces and wrenches out
the spear where it stuck fast in the bone. Nor does Hisbo catch him
stooping, for all that he hoped it; for Pallas, as he rushes unguarded on,
furious at his comrade's cruel death, receives him on his sword and buries it
in his distended lungs. Next he attacks Sthenius, and Anchemolus of
Rhoetus' ancient family, who dared to violate the bridal chamber of his
stepmother. You, too, the twins Larides and Thymber, fell on the Rutulian
fields, children of Daucus, indistinguishable for likeness and a sweet
perplexity to your parents. But now Pallas made cruel difference between
you; for thy head, Thymber, is swept off by Evander's sword; thy right
hand, Larides, severed, seeks its master, and the dying fingers jerk and
clutch at the sword. Fired by his encouragement, and beholding his noble
deeds, the Arcadians advance in wrath and shame to meet the enemy in
arms. Then Pallas pierces Rhoeteus as he flies past in his chariot. This
space, this [401-435]much of respite was given to Ilus; for at Ilus he had
aimed the strong spear from afar, and Rhoeteus intercepts its passage, in
flight from thee, noble Teuthras and Tyres thy brother; he rolls from the
chariot in death, and his heels strike the Rutulian fields. And as the
shepherd, when summer winds have risen to his desire, kindles the woods
dispersedly; on a sudden the mid spaces catch, and a single flickering line

of fire spreads wide over the plain; he sits looking down on his conquest
and the revel of the flames; even so, Pallas, do thy brave comrades gather
close to sustain thee. But warrior Halesus advances full on them, gathering
himself behind his armour; he slays Ladon, Pheres, Demodocus; his
gleaming sword shears off Strymonius' hand as it rises to his throat; he
strikes Thoas on the face with a stone, and drives the bones asunder in a
shattered mass of blood and brains. Halesus had his father the soothsayer
kept hidden in the woodland: when the old man's glazing eyes sank to
death, the Fates laid hand on him and devoted him to the arms of Evander.
Pallas aims at him, first praying thus: 'Grant now, lord Tiber, to the steel I
poise and hurl, a prosperous way through brawny Halesus' breast; thine oak
shall bear these arms and the dress he wore.' The god heard it; while
Halesus covers Imaon, he leaves, alas! his breast unarmed to the Arcadian's
weapon. Yet at his grievous death Lausus, himself a great arm of the war,
lets not his columns be dismayed; at once he meets and cuts down Abas, the
check and stay of their battle. The men of Arcadia go down before him;
down go the Etruscans, and you, O Teucrians, invincible by Greece. The
armies close, matched in strength and in captains; the rear ranks crowd in;
weapons and hands are locked in the press. Here Pallas strains and pushes
on, here Lausus opposite, nearly matched in age, excellent in beauty; but
fortune [436-467]had denied both return to their own land. Yet that they
should meet face to face the sovereign of high Olympus allowed not; an
early fate awaits them beneath a mightier foe.
Meanwhile Turnus' gracious sister bids him take Lausus' room, and his fleet
chariot parts the ranks. When he saw his comrades, 'It is time,' he cried, 'to
stay from battle. I alone must assail Pallas; to me and none other Pallas is
due; I would his father himself were here to see.' So speaks he, and his
Rutulians draw back from a level space at his bidding. But then as they
withdrew, he, wondering at the haughty command, stands in amaze at
Turnus, his eyes scanning the vast frame, and his fierce glance perusing him
from afar. And with these words he returns the words of the monarch: 'For
me, my praise shall even now be in the lordly spoils I win, or in illustrious
death: my father will bear calmly either lot: away with menaces.' He speaks,
and advances into the level ring. The Arcadians' blood gathers chill about
their hearts. Turnus leaps from his chariot and prepares to close with him.
And as a lion sees from some lofty outlook a bull stand far off on the plain

revolving battle, and flies at him, even such to see is Turnus' coming. When
Pallas deemed him within reach of a spear-throw, he advances, if so chance
may assist the daring of his overmatched strength, and thus cries into the
depth of sky: 'By my father's hospitality and the board whereto thou camest
a wanderer, on thee I call, Alcides; be favourable to my high emprise; let
Turnus even in death discern me stripping his blood-stained armour, and his
swooning eyes endure the sight of his conqueror.' Alcides heard him, and
deep in his heart he stifled a heavy sigh, and let idle tears fall. Then with
kindly words the father accosts his son: 'Each hath his own appointed day;
short and irrecoverable [468-502]is the span of life for all: but to spread
renown by deeds is the task of valour. Under high Troy town many and
many a god's son fell; nay, mine own child Sarpedon likewise perished.
Turnus too his own fate summons, and his allotted period hath reached the
goal.' So speaks he, and turns his eyes away from the Rutulian fields. But
Pallas hurls his spear with all his strength, and pulls his sword flashing out
of the hollow scabbard. The flying spear lights where the armour rises high
above the shoulder, and, forcing a way through the shield's rim, ceased not
till it drew blood from mighty Turnus. At this Turnus long poises the spear-
shaft with its sharp steel head, and hurls it on Pallas with these words: See
thou if our weapon have not a keener point. He ended; but for all the
shield's plating of iron and brass, for all the bull-hide that covers it round
about, the quivering spear-head smashes it fair through and through, passes
the guard of the corslet, and pierces the breast with a gaping hole. He tears
the warm weapon from the wound; in vain; together and at once life-blood
and sense follow it. He falls heavily on the ground, his armour clashes over
him, and his bloodstained face sinks in death on the hostile soil. And Turnus
standing over him . . .: 'Arcadians,' he cries, 'remember these my words, and
bear them to Evander. I send him back his Pallas as was due. All the meed
of the tomb, all the solace of sepulture, I give freely. Dearly must he pay his
welcome to Aeneas.' And with these words, planting his left foot on the
dead, he tore away the broad heavy sword-belt engraven with a tale of
crime, the array of grooms foully slain together on their bridal night, and
the nuptial chambers dabbled with blood, which Clonus, son of Eurytus,
had wrought richly in gold. Now Turnus exults in spoiling him of it, and
rejoices at his prize. Ah spirit of man, ignorant of fate and the allotted
future, or to keep bounds when elate with prosperity!—the day will [503-
535]come when Turnus shall desire to have bought Pallas' safety at a great

ransom, and curse the spoils of this fatal day. But with many moans and
tears Pallas' comrades lay him on his shield and bear him away amid their
ranks. O grief and glory and grace of the father to whom thou shalt return!
This one day sent thee first to war, this one day takes thee away, while yet
thou leavest heaped high thy Rutulian dead.
And now no rumour of the dreadful loss, but a surer messenger flies to
Aeneas, telling him his troops are on the thin edge of doom; it is time to
succour the routed Teucrians. He mows down all that meets him, and hews
a broad path through their columns with furious sword, as he seeks thee, O
Turnus, in thy fresh pride of slaughter. Pallas, Evander, all flash before his
eyes; the board whereto but then he had first come a wanderer, and the
clasped hands. Here four of Sulmo's children, as many more of Ufens'
nurture, are taken by him alive to slaughter in sacrifice to the shade below,
and slake the flames of the pyre with captive blood. Next he levelled his
spear full on Magus from far. He stoops cunningly; the spear flies quivering
over him; and, clasping his knees, he speaks thus beseechingly: 'By thy
father's ghost, by Iülus thy growing hope, I entreat thee, save this life for a
child and a parent. My house is stately; deep in it lies buried wealth of
engraven silver; I have masses of wrought and unwrought gold. The victory
of Troy does not turn on this, nor will a single life make so great a
difference.' He ended; to him Aeneas thus returns answer: 'All the wealth of
silver and gold thou tellest of, spare thou for thy children. Turnus hath
broken off this thy trafficking in war, even then when Pallas fell. Thus
judges the ghost of my father Anchises, thus Iülus.' So speaking, he grasps
his helmet with his left hand, and, bending back his neck, drives his [536-
572]sword up to the hilt in the suppliant. Hard by is Haemonides, priest of
Phoebus and Trivia, his temples wound with the holy ribboned chaplet, all
glittering in white-robed array. Him he meets and chases down the plain,
and, standing over his fallen foe, slaughters him and wraps him in great
darkness; Serestus gathers the armour and carries it away on his shoulders,
a trophy, King Gradivus, to thee. Caeculus, born of Vulcan's race, and
Umbro, who comes from the Marsian hills, fill up the line. The Dardanian
rushes full on them. His sword had hewn off Anxur's left arm, with all the
circle of the shield—he had uttered brave words and deemed his prowess
would second his vaunts, and perchance with spirit lifted up had promised
himself hoar age and length of years—when Tarquitus in the pride of his

glittering arms met his fiery course, whom the nymph Dryope had borne to
Faunus, haunter of the woodland. Drawing back his spear, he pins the
ponderous shield to the corslet; then, as he vainly pleaded and would say
many a thing, strikes his head to the ground, and, rolling away the warm
body, cries thus over his enemy: 'Lie there now, terrible one! no mother's
love shall lay thee in the sod, or place thy limbs beneath thine heavy
ancestral tomb. To birds of prey shalt thou be left, or borne down sunk in
the eddying water, where hungry fish shall suck thy wounds.' Next he
sweeps on Antaeus and Lucas, the first of Turnus' train, and brave Numa
and tawny-haired Camers, born of noble Volscens, who was wealthiest in
land of the Ausonians, and reigned in silent Amyclae. Even as Aegaeon,
who, men say, had an hundred arms, an hundred hands, fifty mouths and
breasts ablaze with fire, and arrayed against Jove's thunders as many
clashing shields and drawn swords: so Aeneas, when once his sword's point
grew warm, rages victorious over all the field. Nay, lo! he darts full in face
on Niphaeus' four-horse chariot; before his long strides [573-608]and dreadful
cry they turned in terror and dashed back, throwing out their driver and
tearing the chariot down the beach. Meanwhile the brothers Lucagus and
Liger drive up with their pair of white horses. Lucagus valiantly waves his
drawn sword, while his brother wheels his horses with the rein. Aeneas,
wrathful at their mad onslaught, rushes on them, towering high with
levelled spear. To him Liger . . . 'Not Diomede's horses dost thou discern,
nor Achilles' chariot, nor the plains of Phrygia: now on this soil of ours the
war and thy life shall end together.' Thus fly mad Liger's random words. But
not in words does the Trojan hero frame his reply: for he hurls his javelin at
the foe. As Lucagus spurred on his horses, bending forward over the whip,
with left foot advanced ready for battle, the spear passes through the lower
rim of his shining shield and pierces his left groin, knocks him out of the
chariot, and stretches him in death on the fields. To him good Aeneas
speaks in bitter words: 'Lucagus, no slackness in thy coursers' flight hath
betrayed thee, or vain shadow of the foe turned them back; thyself thou
leapest off the harnessed wheels.' In such wise he spoke, and caught the
horses. His brother, slipping down from the chariot, pitiably outstretched
helpless hands: 'Ah, by the parents who gave thee birth, great Trojan, spare
this life and pity my prayer.' More he was pleading; but Aeneas: 'Not such
were the words thou wert uttering. Die, and be brother undivided from
brother.' With that his sword's point pierces the breast where the life lies

hid. Thus the Dardanian captain dealt death over the plain, like some raging
torrent stream or black whirlwind. At last the boy Ascanius and his troops
burst through the ineffectual leaguer and issue from the camp.
Meanwhile Jupiter breaks silence to accost Juno: 'O sister and wife best
beloved, it is Venus, as thou deemedst, [609-639]nor is thy judgment astray,
who sustains the forces of Troy; not their own valour of hand in war, and
untamable spirit and endurance in peril.' To whom Juno beseechingly:
'Why, fair my lord, vexest thou one sick at heart and trembling at thy bitter
words? If that force were in my love that once was, and that was well, never
had thine omnipotence denied me leave to withdraw Turnus from battle and
preserve him for his father Daunus in safety. Now let him perish, and pay
forfeit to the Trojans of his innocent blood. Yet he traces his birth from our
name, and Pilumnus was his father in the fourth generation, and oft and
again his bountiful hand hath heaped thy courts with gifts.'

To her the king of high heaven thus briefly spoke: 'If thy prayer for him is
delay of present death and respite from his fall, and thou dost understand
that I ordain it thus, remove thy Turnus in flight, and snatch him from the
fate that is upon him. For so much indulgence there is room. But if any
ampler grace mask itself in these thy prayers, and thou dreamest of change
in the whole movement of the war, idle is the hope thou nursest.'
And Juno, weeping: 'Ah yet, if thy mind were gracious where thy lips are
stern, and this gift of life might remain confirmed to Turnus! Now his
portion is bitter and guiltless death, or I wander idly from the truth. Yet, oh
that I rather deluded myself with false alarms, and thou who canst wouldst
bend thy course to better counsels.'
These words uttered, she darted through the air straight from high heaven,
cloud-girt in driving tempest, and sought the Ilian ranks and camp of
Laurentum. Then the goddess, strange and ominous to see, fashions into the
likeness of Aeneas a thin and pithless shade of hollow mist, decks it with
Dardanian weapons, and gives it the mimicry of shield and divine helmet
plume, gives unsubstantial [640-673]words and senseless utterance, and the
mould and motion of his tread: like shapes rumoured to flit when death is
past, or dreams that delude the slumbering senses. But in front of the battle-
ranks the phantom dances rejoicingly, and with arms and mocking accents
provokes the foe. Turnus hastens up and sends his spear whistling from far
on it; it gives back and turns its footsteps. Then indeed Turnus, when he
believed Aeneas turned and fled from him, and his spirit madly drank in the
illusive hope: 'Whither fliest thou, Aeneas? forsake not thy plighted bridal
chamber. This hand shall give thee the land thou hast sought overseas.' So
clamouring he pursues, and brandishes his drawn sword, and sees not that
his rejoicing is drifting with the winds. The ship lay haply moored to a high
ledge of rock, with ladders run out and gangway ready, wherein king
Osinius sailed from the coasts of Clusium. Here the fluttering phantom of
flying Aeneas darts and hides itself. Nor is Turnus slack to follow; he
overleaps the barriers and springs across the high gangways. Scarcely had
he lighted on the prow; the daughter of Saturn snaps the hawser, and the
ship, parted from her cable, runs out on the ebbing tide. And him Aeneas
seeks for battle and finds not, and sends many a man that meets him to
death. Then the light phantom seeks not yet any further hiding-place, but,

flitting aloft, melts in a dark cloud; and a blast comes down meanwhile and
sweeps Turnus through the seas. He looks back, witless of his case and
thankless for his salvation, and, wailing, stretches both hands to heaven:
'Father omnipotent, was I so guilty in thine eyes, and is this the punishment
thou hast ordained? Whither am I borne? whence came I? what flight is this,
or in what guise do I return? Shall I look again on the camp or walls of
Laurentum? What of that array of men who followed me to arms? whom—
oh horrible!—I have abandoned all amid [674-707]a dreadful death; and now I
see the stragglers and catch the groans of those who fall. What do I? or how
may earth ever yawn for me deep enough? Do you rather, O winds, be
pitiful, carry my bark on rock or reef; it is I, Turnus, who desire and implore
you; or drive me on the cruel shoals of the Syrtis, where no Rutulian may
follow nor rumour know my name.' Thus speaking, he wavers in mind this
way and that: maddened by the shame, shall he plunge on his sword's harsh
point and drive it through his side, or fling himself among the waves, and
seek by swimming to gain the winding shore, again to return on the Trojan
arms? Thrice he essayed either way; thrice queenly Juno checked and
restrained him in pity of heart. Cleaving the deep, he floats with the tide
down the flood, and is borne on to his father Daunus' ancient city.
But meanwhile at Jove's prompting fiery Mezentius takes his place in the
battle and assails the triumphant Teucrians. The Tyrrhene ranks gather
round him, and all at once in unison shower their darts down on the hated
foe. As a cliff that juts into the waste of waves, meeting the raging winds
and breasting the deep, endures all the threatening force of sky and sea,
itself fixed immovable, so he dashes to earth Hebrus son of Dolichaon, and
with him Latagus, and Palmus as he fled; catching Latagus full front in the
face with a vast fragment of mountain rock, while Palmus he hamstrings,
and leaves him rolling helpless; his armour he gives Lausus to wear on his
shoulders, and the plumes to fix on his crest. With them fall Evanthes the
Phrygian, and Mimas, fellow and birthmate of Paris; for on one night
Theano bore him to his father Amycus, and the queen, Cisseus' daughter,
was delivered of Paris the firebrand; he sleeps in his fathers' city; Mimas
lies a stranger on the Laurentian coast. And as the boar driven by snapping
hounds from the mountain heights, [708-744]many a year hidden by Vesulus
in his pines, many an one fed in the Laurentian marsh among the reedy
forest, once come among the nets, halts and snorts savagely, with shoulders

bristling up, and none of them dare be wrathful or draw closer, but they
shower from a safe distance their darts and cries; even thus none of those
whose anger is righteous against Mezentius have courage to meet him with
drawn weapon: far off they provoke him with missiles and huge clamour,
and he turns slow and fearless round about, grinding his teeth as he shakes
the spears off his shield. From the bounds of ancient Corythus Acron the
Greek had come, leaving for exile a bride half won. Seeing him afar dealing
confusion amid the ranks, in crimson plumes and his plighted wife's purple,
—as an unpastured lion often ranging the deep coverts, for madness of
hunger urges him, if he haply catches sight of a timorous roe or high-
antlered stag, he gapes hugely for joy, and, with mane on end, clings
crouching over its flesh, his cruel mouth bathed in reeking gore. . . . so
Mezentius darts lightly among the thick of the enemy. Hapless Acron goes
down, and, spurning the dark ground, gasps out his life, and covers the
broken javelin with his blood. But the victor deigned not to bring down
Orodes with the blind wound of his flying lance as he fled; full face to face
he meets him, and engages man with man, conqueror not by stealth but
armed valour. Then, as with planted foot, he thrust him off the spear: 'O
men,' he cries, 'Orodes lies low, no slight arm of the war.' His comrades
shout after him the glad battle chant. And the dying man: 'Not unavenged
nor long, whoso thou art, shalt thou be glad in victory: thee too an equal
fate marks down, and in these fields thou shalt soon lie.' And smiling on
him half wrathfully, Mezentius: 'Now die thou. But of me let the father of
gods and king of men take counsel.' So saying, he drew the weapon out of
his body. [745-780]Grim rest and iron slumber seal his eyes; his lids close on
everlasting night. Caedicus slays Alcathoüs, Sacrator Hydaspes, Rapo
Parthenius and the grim strength of Orses, Messapus Clonius and Erichaetes
son of Lycaon, the one when his reinless horse stumbling had flung him to
the ground, the other as they met on foot. And Agis the Lycian advanced
only to be struck from horseback by Valerus, brave as his ancestry; and
Thronius by Salius, and Salius by Nealces with treacherous arrow-shot that
stole from far.
Now the heavy hand of war dealt equal woe and counterchange of death; in
even balance conquerors and conquered slew and fell; nor one nor other
knows of retreat. The gods in Jove's house pity the vain rage of either and
all the agonising of mortals. From one side Venus, from one opposite Juno,

daughter of Saturn, looks on; pale Tisiphone rages among the many
thousand men. But now, brandishing his huge spear, Mezentius strides
glooming over the plain, vast as Orion when, with planted foot, he cleaves
his way through the vast pools of mid-ocean and his shoulder overtops the
waves, or carrying an ancient mountain-ash from the hilltops, paces the
ground and hides his head among the clouds: so moves Mezentius, huge in
arms. Aeneas, espying him in the deep columns, makes on to meet him. He
remains, unterrified, awaiting his noble foe, steady in his own bulk, and
measures with his eye the fair range for a spear. 'This right hand's divinity,
and the weapon I poise and hurl, now be favourable! thee, Lausus, I vow for
the live trophy of Aeneas, dressed in the spoils stripped from the pirate's
body.' He ends, and throws the spear whistling from far; it flies on, glancing
from the shield, and pierces illustrious Antores hard by him sidelong in the
flank; Antores, companion of Hercules, who, sent thither from Argos, had
stayed by Evander, and [781-814]settled in an Italian town. Hapless he goes
down with a wound not his own, and in death gazes on the sky, and Argos is
sweet in his remembrance. Then good Aeneas throws his spear; through the
sheltering circle of threefold brass, through the canvas lining and fabric of
triple-sewn bull-hide it went, and sank deep in his groin; yet carried not its
strength home. Quickly Aeneas, joyful at the sight of the Tyrrhenian's
blood, snatches his sword from his thigh and presses hotly on his struggling
enemy. Lausus saw, and groaned deeply for love of his dear father, and tears
rolled over his face. Here will I not keep silence of thy hard death-doom
and thine excellent deeds (if in any wise things wrought in the old time may
win belief), nor of thyself, O fitly remembered! He, helpless and
trammelled, withdrew backward, the deadly spear-shaft trailing from his
shield. The youth broke forward and plunged into the fight; and even as
Aeneas' hand rose to bring down the blow, he caught up his point and held
him in delay. His comrades follow up with loud cries, so the father may
withdraw in shelter of his son's shield, while they shower their darts and
bear back the enemy with missiles from a distance. Aeneas wrathfully keeps
covered. And as when storm-clouds pour down in streaming hail, all the
ploughmen and country-folk scatter off the fields, and the wayfarer cowers
safe in his fortress, a stream's bank or deep arch of rock, while the rain falls,
that they may do their day's labour when sunlight reappears; thus under the
circling storm of weapons Aeneas sustains the cloud of war till it thunders
itself all away, and calls on Lausus, on Lausus, with chiding and menace:

'Whither runnest thou on thy death, with daring beyond thy strength? thine
affection betrays thee into rashness.' But none the less he leaps madly on;
and now wrath rises higher and fiercer in the Dardanian captain, and the
Fates pass Lausus' last [815-849]threads through their hand; for Aeneas drives
the sword strongly right through him up all its length: the point pierced the
light shield that armed his assailant, and the tunic sewn by his mother with
flexible gold: blood filled his breast, and the life left the body and passed
mourning through the air to the under world. But when Anchises' son saw
the look on the dying face, the face pale in wonderful wise, he sighed
deeply in pity, and reached forth his hand, as the likeness of his own filial
affection flashed across his soul. 'What now shall good Aeneas give thee,
what, O poor boy, for this thy praise, for guerdon of a nature so noble?
Keep for thine own the armour thou didst delight in; and I restore thee, if
that matters aught at all, to the ghosts and ashes of thy parents. Yet thou
shalt have this sad comfort in thy piteous death, thou fallest by great
Aeneas' hand.' Then, chiding his hesitating comrades, he lifts him from the
ground, dabbling the comely-ranged tresses with blood.
Meanwhile his father, by the wave of the Tiber river, stanched his wound
with water, and rested his body against a tree-trunk. Hard by his brazen
helmet hangs from the boughs, and the heavy armour lies quietly on the
meadow. Chosen men stand round; he, sick and panting, leans his neck and
lets his beard spread down over his chest. Many a time he asks for Lausus,
and sends many an one to call him back and carry a parent's sad commands.
But Lausus his weeping comrades were bearing lifeless on his armour,
mighty and mightily wounded to death. Afar the soul prophetic of ill knew
their lamentation: he soils his gray hairs plenteously with dust, and stretches
both hands on high, and clings on the dead. 'Was life's hold on me so sweet,
O my son, that I let him I bore receive the hostile stroke in my room? Am I,
thy father, saved by these wounds of thine, and living by thy death? Alas
and woe! [850-885]now at last exile is bitter! now the wound is driven deep!
And I, even I, O my son, stained thy name with crime, driven in hatred from
the throne and sceptre of my fathers. I owed vengeance to my country and
my people's resentment; might mine own guilty life but have paid it by
every form of death! Now I live, and leave not yet man and day; but I will.'
As he speaks thus he raises himself painfully on his thigh, and though the
violence of the deep wound cripples him, yet unbroken he bids his horse be

brought, his beauty, his comfort, that ever had carried him victorious out of
war, and says these words to the grieving beast: 'Rhoebus, we have lived
long, if aught at all lasts long with mortals. This day wilt thou either bring
back in triumph the gory head and spoils of Aeneas, and we will avenge
Lausus' agonies; or if no force opens a way, thou wilt die with me: for I
deem not, bravest, thou wilt deign to bear an alien rule and a Teucrian lord.'
He spoke, and took his welcome seat on the back he knew, loading both
hands with keen javelins, his head sheathed in glittering brass and shaggy
horse-hair plumes. Thus he galloped in. Through his heart sweep together
the vast tides of shame and mingling madness and grief. And with that he
thrice loudly calls Aeneas. Aeneas knew the call, and makes glad
invocation: 'So the father of gods speed me, so Apollo on high: do thou
essay to close hand to hand. . . .' Thus much he utters, and moves up to meet
him with levelled spear. And he: 'Why seek to frighten me, fierce man, now
my son is gone? this was thy one road to my ruin. We shrink not from
death, nor relent before any of thy gods. Cease; for I come to my death, first
carrying these gifts for thee.' He spoke, and hurled a weapon at his enemy;
then plants another and yet another as he darts round in a wide circle; but
they are stayed on the boss of gold. Thrice he rode wheeling close round
him by the [886-908]left, and sent his weapons strongly in; thrice the Trojan
hero turns round, taking the grim forest on his brazen guard. Then, weary of
lingering in delay on delay, and plucking out spear-head after spear-head,
and hard pressed in the uneven match of battle, with much counselling of
spirit now at last he bursts forth, and sends his spear at the war-horse
between the hollows of the temples. The creature raises itself erect, beating
the air with its feet, throws its rider, and coming down after him in an
entangled mass, slips its shoulder as it tumbles forward. The cries of
Trojans and Latins kindle the sky. Aeneas rushes up, drawing his sword
from the scabbard, and thus above him: 'Where now is gallant Mezentius
and all his fierce spirit?' Thereto the Tyrrhenian, as he came to himself and
gazing up drank the air of heaven: 'Bitter foe, why these taunts and menaces
of death? Naught forbids my slaughter; neither on such terms came I to
battle, nor did my Lausus make treaty for this between me and thee. This
one thing I beseech thee, by whatsoever grace a vanquished enemy may
claim: allow my body sepulture. I know I am girt by the bitter hatred of my
people. Stay, I implore, their fury, and grant me and my son union in the

tomb.' So speaks he, and takes the sword in his throat unfalteringly, and the
lifeblood spreads in a wave over his armour.

BOOK ELEVENTH
THE COUNCIL OF THE LATINS, AND THE LIFE AND
DEATH OF CAMILLA

Meanwhile Dawn arose forth of Ocean. Aeneas, though the charge presses
to give a space for burial of his comrades, and his mind is in the tumult of
death, began to pay the gods his vows of victory with the breaking of the
East. He plants on a mound a mighty oak with boughs lopped away on
every hand, and arrays it in the gleaming arms stripped from Mezentius the
captain, a trophy to thee, mighty Lord of War; he fixes on it the plumes
dripping with blood, the broken spears, and the corslet struck and pierced in
twelve places; he ties the shield of brass on his left hand, and hangs from
his neck the ivory sword. Then among his joyous comrades (for all the
throng of his captains girt him close about) he begins in these words of
cheer:
'The greatest deed is done, O men; be all fear gone for what remains. These
are the spoils of a haughty king, the first-fruits won from him; my hands
have set Mezentius here. Now our way lies to the walls of the Latin king.
Prepare your arms in courage, and let your hopes anticipate the war; let no
ignorant delay hinder or tardy thoughts of fear keep us back, so soon as
heaven grant us to pluck up the standards and lead our army from the camp.
[22-58]Meanwhile let us commit to earth the unburied bodies of our
comrades, since deep in Acheron this honour is left alone. Go,' says he,
'grace with the last gifts those noble souls whose blood won us this land for
ours; and first let Pallas be sent to Evander's mourning city, he whose
valour failed not when the day of darkness took him, and the bitter wave of
death.'
So speaks he weeping, and retraces his steps to the door, where aged
Acoetes watched Pallas' lifeless body laid out for burial; once armour-
bearer to Evander in Parrhasia, but now gone forth with darker omens,
appointed attendant to his darling foster-child. Around is the whole train of
servants, with a crowd of Trojans, and the Ilian women with hair unbound

in mourning after their fashion. When Aeneas entered at the high doorway
they beat their breasts and raise a loud wail aloft, and the palace moans to
their grievous lamentation. Himself, when he saw the pillowed head and
fair face of Pallas, and on his smooth breast the gaping wound of the
Ausonian spear-head, speaks thus with welling tears:
'Did Fortune in her joyous coming,' he cries, 'O luckless boy, grudge thee
the sight of our realm, and a triumphal entry to thy father's dwelling? Not
this promise of thee had I given to Evander thy sire at my departure, when
he embraced me as I went and bade me speed to a wide empire, and yet
warned me in fear that the men were valiant, the people obstinate in battle.
And now he, fast ensnared by empty hope, perchance offers vows and heaps
gifts on his altars; we, a mourning train, go in hollow honour by his corpse,
who now owes no more to aught in heaven. Unhappy! thou wilt see thy son
cruelly slain; is this our triumphal return awaited? is this my strong
assurance? Ah me, what a shield is lost, mine Iülus, to Ausonia and to thee!'
[59-96]This lament done, he bids raise the piteous body, and sends a thousand
men chosen from all his army for the last honour of escort, to mingle in the
father's tears; a small comfort in a great sorrow, yet the unhappy parent's
due. Others quickly plait a soft wicker bier of arbutus rods and oak shoots,
and shadow the heaped pillows with a leafy covering. Here they lay him,
high on their rustic strewing; even as some tender violet or drooping
hyacinth-blossom plucked by a maiden's finger, whose sheen and whose
grace is not yet departed, but no more does Earth the mother feed it or lend
it strength. Then Aeneas bore forth two purple garments stiff with gold, that
Sidonian Dido's own hands, happy over their work, had once wrought for
him, and shot the warp with delicate gold. One of these he sadly folds round
him, a last honour, and veils in its covering the tresses destined to the fire;
and heaps up besides many a Laurentine battle-prize, and bids his spoils
pass forth in long train; with them the horses and arms whereof he had
stripped the enemy, and those, with hands tied behind their back, whom he
would send as nether offering to his ghost, and sprinkle the blood of their
slaying on the flame. Also he bids his captains carry stems dressed in the
armour of the foe, and fix on them the hostile names. Unhappy Acoetes is
led along, outworn with age, he smites his breast and rends his face, and
flings himself forward all along the ground. Likewise they lead forth the
chariot bathed in Rutulian blood; behind goes weeping Aethon the war-

horse, his trappings laid away, and big drops wet his face. Others bear his
spear and helmet, for all else is Turnus' prize. Then follow in mourning
array the Teucrians and all the Tyrrhenians, and the Arcadians with arms
reversed. When the whole long escorting file had taken its way, Aeneas
stopped, and sighing deep, pursued thus: 'Once again war's dreadful destiny
calls us hence to other tears: [97-129]hail thou for evermore, O princely
Pallas, and for evermore farewell.' And without more words he bent his way
to the high walls and advanced towards his camp.
And now envoys were there from the Latin city with wreathed boughs of
olive, praying him of his grace to restore the dead that lay strewn by the
sword over the plain, and let them go to their earthy grave: no war lasts
with men conquered and bereft of breath; let this indulgence be given to
men once called friends and fathers of their brides. To them Aeneas grants
leave in kind and courteous wise, spurning not their prayer, and goes on in
these words: 'What spite of fortune, O Latins, hath entangled you in the toils
of war, and made you fly our friendship? Plead you for peace to the lifeless
bodies that the battle-lot hath slain? I would fain grant it even to the living.
Neither have I come but because destiny had given me this place to dwell
in; nor wage I war with your people; your king it is who hath broken our
covenant and preferred to trust himself to Turnus' arms. Fitter it were
Turnus had faced death to-day. If he will fight out the war and expel the
Teucrians, it had been well to meet me here in arms; so had he lived to
whom life were granted of heaven or his own right hand. Now go, and
kindle the fire beneath your hapless countrymen.' Aeneas ended: they stood
dumb in silence, with faces bent steadfastly in mutual gaze. Then aged
Drances, ever young Turnus' assailant in hatred and accusation, with the
words of his mouth thus answers him again:
'O Trojan, great in renown, yet greater in arms, with what praises may I
extol thy divine goodness? Shall thy righteousness first wake my wonder, or
thy toils in war? We indeed will gratefully carry these words to our fathers'
city, and, if fortune grant a way, will make thee at one with King Latinus.
Let Turnus seek his own alliances. Nay, [130-163]it will be our delight to rear
the massy walls of destiny and stoop our shoulders under the stones of
Troy.'

He ended thus, and all with one voice murmured assent. Twelve days' truce
is struck, and in mediation of the peace Teucrians and Latins stray mingling
unharmed on the forest heights. The tall ash echoes to the axe's strokes;
they overturn pines that soar into the sky, and busily cleave oaken logs and
scented cedar with wedges, and drag mountain-ashes on their groaning
waggons.
And now flying Rumour, harbinger of the heavy woe, fills Evander and
Evander's house and city with the same voice that but now told of Pallas
victorious over Latium. The Arcadians stream to the gates, snatching
funeral torches after their ancient use; the road gleams with the long line of
flame, and parts the fields with a broad pathway of light; the arriving crowd
of Phrygians meets them and mingles in mourning array. When the matrons
saw all the train approach their dwellings they kindle the town with loud
wailing. But no force may withhold Evander; he comes amid them; the bier
is set down; he flings himself on Pallas, and clasps him with tears and sighs,
and scarcely at last does grief leave his voice's utterance free. 'Other than
this, O Pallas! was thy promise to thy father, that thou wouldst not plunge
recklessly into the fury of battle. I knew well how strong was the fresh pride
of arms and the sweetness of honour in a first battle. Ah, unhappy first-
fruits of his youth and bitter prelude of the war upon our borders! ah, vows
and prayers of mine that no god heard! and thou, pure crown of wifehood,
happy that thou art dead and not spared for this sorrow! But I have outgone
my destiny in living, to stay here the survivor of my child. Would I had
followed the allied arms of Troy, to be overwhelmed by Rutulian weapons!
Would my life had been given, and I and not my Pallas were borne home in
this [164-198]procession! I would not blame you, O Teucrians, nor our treaty
and the friendly hands we clasped: our old age had that appointed debt to
pay. Yet if untimely death awaited my son, it will be good to think he fell
leading the Teucrians into Latium, and slew his Volscian thousands before
he fell. Nay, no other funeral than this would I deem thy due, my Pallas,
than good Aeneas does, than the mighty Phrygians, than the Tyrrhene
captains and all the army of Tyrrhenia. Great are the trophies they bring on
whom thine hand deals death; thou also, Turnus, wert standing now a great
trunk dressed in arms, had his age and his strength of years equalled thine.
But why, unhappy, do I delay the Trojan arms? Go, and forget not to carry
this message to your king: Thine hand it is that keeps me lingering in a life

that is hateful since Pallas fell, and Turnus is the debt thou seest son and
father claim: for thy virtue and thy fortune this scope alone is left. I ask not
joy in life; I may not; but to carry this to my son deep in the under world.'
Meanwhile Dawn had raised her gracious light on weary men, bringing
back task and toil: now lord Aeneas, now Tarchon, have built the pyres on
the winding shore. Hither in ancestral fashion hath each borne the bodies of
his kin; the dark fire is lit beneath, and the vapour hides high heaven in
gloom. Thrice, girt in glittering arms, they have marched about the blazing
piles, thrice compassed on horseback the sad fire of death, and uttered their
wail. Tears fall fast upon earth and armour; cries of men and blare of
trumpets roll skyward. Then some fling on the fire Latin spoils stripped
from the slain, helmets and shapely swords, bridles and glowing chariot
wheels; others familiar gifts, the very shields and luckless weapons of the
dead. Around are slain in sacrifice oxen many in number, and bristly swine
and cattle gathered out of all the country [199-234]are slaughtered over the
flames. Then, crowding the shore, they gaze on their burning comrades, and
guard the embers of the pyres, and cannot tear themselves away till dewy
Night wheels on the star-spangled glittering sky.
Therewithal the unhappy Latins far apart build countless pyres and bury
many bodies of men in the ground; and many more they lift and bear away
to the neighbouring country, or send them back to the city; the rest, a vast
heap of undistinguishable slaughter, they burn uncounted and unhonoured;
on all sides the broad fields gleam with crowded rivalry of fires. The third
Dawn had rolled away the chill shadow from the sky; mournfully they piled
high the ashes and mingled bones from the embers, and heaped a load of
warm earth above them. Now in the dwellings of rich Latinus' city the noise
is loudest and most the long wail. Here mothers and their sons' unhappy
brides, here beloved sisters sad-hearted and orphaned boys curse the
disastrous war and Turnus' bridal, and bid him his own self arm and decide
the issue with the sword, since he claims for himself the first rank and the
lordship of Italy. Drances fiercely embitters their cry, and vouches that
Turnus alone is called, alone is claimed for battle. Yet therewith many a
diverse-worded counsel is for Turnus, and the great name of the queen
overshadows him, and he rises high in renown of trophies fitly won.

Among their stir, and while confusion is fiercest, lo! to crown all, the
envoys from great Diomede's city bring their gloomy message: nothing is
come of all the toil and labour spent; gifts and gold and strong entreaties
have been of no avail; Latium must seek other arms, or sue for peace to the
Trojan king. For heavy grief King Latinus himself swoons away. The wrath
of heaven and the fresh graves before his eyes warn him that Aeneas is
borne on by fate's evident will. So he sends imperial summons to [235-269]his
high council, the foremost of his people, and gathers them within his lofty
courts. They assemble, and stream up the crowded streets to the royal
dwelling. Latinus, eldest in years and first in royalty, sits amid them with
cheerless brow, and bids the envoys sent back from the Aetolian city tell the
news they bring, and demands a full and ordered reply. Then tongues are
hushed; and Venulus, obeying his word, thus begins to speak:
'We have seen, O citizens, Diomede in his Argive camp, and outsped our
way and passed all its dangers, and touched the hand whereunder the land
of Ilium fell. He was founding a town, named Argyripa after his ancestral
people, on the conquered fields of Iapygian Garganus. After we entered in,
and licence of open speech was given, we lay forth our gifts, we instruct
him of our name and country, who are its invaders, and why we are drawn
to Arpi. He heard us, and replied thus with face unstirred:
'"O fortunate races, realm of Saturn, Ausonians of old, how doth fortune
vex your quiet and woo you to tempt wars you know not? We that have
drawn sword on the fields of Ilium—I forbear to tell the drains of war
beneath her high walls, the men sunken in yonder Simoïs—have all over the
world paid to the full our punishment and the reward of guilt, a crew
Priam's self might pity; as Minerva's baleful star knows, and the Euboïc
reefs and Caphereus' revenge. From that warfaring driven to alien shores,
Menelaus son of Atreus is in exile far as Proteus' Pillars, Ulysses hath seen
the Cyclopes of Aetna. Shall I make mention of the realm of Neoptolemus,
and Idomeneus' household gods overthrown? or of the Locrians who dwell
on the Libyan beach? Even the lord of Mycenae, the mighty Achaeans'
general, sank on his own threshold edge under his accursed wife's hand,
where the adulterer crouched over conquered Asia. Aye, or that the gods
grudged it me to return to [270-301]my ancestral altars, to see the bride of my
desire, and lovely Calydon! Now likewise sights of appalling presage
pursue me; my comrades, lost to me, have soared winging into the sky, and

flit birds about the rivers—ah me, dread punishment of my people!—and
fill the cliffs with their melancholy cries. This it was I had to look for even
from the time when I madly assailed celestial limbs with steel, and sullied
the hand of Venus with a wound. Do not, ah, do not urge me to such battles.
Neither have I any war with Troy since her towers are overthrown, nor do I
remember with delight the woes of old. Turn to Aeneas with the gifts you
bear to me from your ancestral borders. We have stood to face his grim
weapons, and met him hand to hand; believe one who hath proved it, how
mightily he rises over his shield, in what a whirlwind he hurls his spear.
Had the land of Ida borne two more like him, Dardanus had marched to
attack the towns of Inachus, and Greece were mourning fate's reverse. In all
our delay before that obstinate Trojan city, it was Hector and Aeneas whose
hand stayed the Grecian victory and bore back its advance to the tenth year.
Both were splendid in courage, both eminent in arms; Aeneas was first in
duty. Let your hands join in treaty as they may; but beware that your
weapons close not with his."
'Thou hast heard, most gracious king, at once what is the king's answer, and
what his counsel for our great struggle.'
Scarcely thus the envoys, when a diverse murmur ran through the troubled
lips of the Ausonians; even as, when rocks delay some running river, it
plashes in the barred pool, and the banks murmur nigh to the babbling
wave. So soon as their minds were quieted, and their hurrying lips hushed,
the king, first calling on the gods, begins from his lofty throne:
[302-336]'Ere now could I wish, O Latins, we had determined our course of
state, and it had been better thus; not to meet in council at such a time as
now, with the enemy seated before our walls. We wage an ill-timed war,
fellow-citizens, with a divine race, invincible, unbroken in battle, who
brook not even when conquered to drop the sword. If you had hope in
appeal to Aetolian arms, abandon it; though each man's hope is his own,
you discern how narrow a path it is. Beyond that you see with your eyes
and handle with your hands the total ruin of our fortunes. I blame no one;
what valour's utmost could do is done; we have fought with our whole
kingdom's strength. Now I will unfold what I doubtfully advise and
purpose, and with your attention instruct you of it in brief. There is an
ancient land of mine bordering the Tuscan river, stretching far westward

beyond the Sicanian borders. Auruncans and Rutulians sow on it, work the
stiff hills with the ploughshare, and pasture them where they are roughest.
Let all this tract, with a pine-clad belt of mountain height, pass to the
Teucrians in friendship; let us name fair terms of treaty, and invite them as
allies to our realm; let them settle, if they desire it so, and found a city. But
if they have a mind to try other coasts and another people, and can abide to
leave our soil, let us build twice ten ships of Italian oak, or as many more as
they can man; timber lies at the water's edge for all; let them assign the
number and fashion of the vessels, and we will supply brass, labour,
dockyards. Further, it is our will that an hundred ambassadors of the highest
rank in Latium shall go to bear our words and ratify the treaty, holding forth
in their hands the boughs of peace, and carrying for gifts weight of gold and
ivory, and the chair and striped robe, our royal array. Give counsel openly,
and succour our exhausted state.'
Then Drances again, he whose jealous ill-will was [337-370]wrought to anger
and stung with bitterness by Turnus' fame, lavish of wealth and quick of
tongue though his hand was cold in war, held no empty counsellor and
potent in faction—his mother's rank ennobled a lineage whose paternal
source was obscure—rises, and with these words heaps and heightens their
passion:
'Dark to no man and needing no voice of ours, O gracious king, is that
whereon thou takest counsel. All confess they know how our nation's
fortune sways; but their words are choked. Let him grant freedom of speech
and abate his breath, he by whose disastrous government and perverse way
(I will speak out, though he menace me with arms and death) we see so
many stars of battle gone down and all our city sunk in mourning; while he,
confident in flight, assails the Trojan camp and makes heaven quail before
his arms. Add yet one to those gifts of thine, to all the riches thou bidst us
send or promise to the Dardanians, most gracious of kings, but one; let no
man's passion overbear thee from giving thine own daughter to an
illustrious son and a worthy marriage, and binding this peace by perpetual
treaty. Yet if we are thus terror-stricken heart and soul, let us implore him in
person, in person plead him of his grace to give way, to restore king and
country their proper right. Why again and again hurlest thou these unhappy
citizens on peril so evident, O source and spring of Latium's woes? In war is
no safety; peace we all implore of thee, O Turnus, and the one pledge that

makes peace inviolable. I the first, I whom thou picturest thine enemy, as I
care not if I am, see, I bow at thy feet. Pity thine allies; relent, and retire
before thy conqueror. Enough have we seen of rout and death, and
desolation over our broad lands. Or if glory stir thee, if such strength kindle
in thy breast, and if a palace so delight thee for thy dower, be bold, and
advance stout-hearted upon the foe. We verily, that Turnus [371-406]may have
his royal bride, must lie scattered on the plains, worthless lives, a crowd
unburied and unwept. Do thou also, if thou hast aught of might, if the War-
god be in thee as in thy fathers, look him in the face who challenges. . . .'
At these words Turnus' passion blazed out. He utters a groan, and breaks
forth thus in deep accents:
'Copious indeed, Drances, and fluent is ever thy speech at the moment war
calls for action; and when the fathers are summoned thou art there the first.
But we need no words to fill our senate-house, safely as thou wingest them
while the mounded walls keep off the enemy, and the trenches swim not yet
with blood. Thunder on in rhetoric, thy wonted way: accuse thou me of fear,
Drances, since thine hand hath heaped so many Teucrians in slaughter, and
thy glorious trophies dot the fields. Trial is open of what live valour can do;
nor indeed is our foe far to seek; on all sides they surround our walls. Are
we going to meet them? Why linger? Will thy bravery ever be in that windy
tongue and those timorous feet of thine? . . . My conqueror? Shall any justly
flout me as conquered, who sees Tiber swoln fuller with Ilian blood, and all
the house and people of Evander laid low, and the Arcadians stripped of
their armour? Not such did Bitias and huge Pandarus prove me, and the
thousand men whom on one day my conquering hand sent down to hell,
shut as I was in their walls and closed in the enemy's ramparts. In war is no
safety. Fool! be thy boding on the Dardanian's head and thine own fortunes.
Go on; cease not to throw all into confusion with thy terrors, to exalt the
strength of a twice vanquished race, and abase the arms of Latinus before it.
Now the princes of the Myrmidons tremble before Phrygian arms, now
Tydeus' son and Achilles of Larissa, and Aufidus river recoils from the
Adriatic wave. Or when the scheming villain [407-443]pretends to shrink at
my abuse, and sharpens calumny by terror! never shall this hand—keep
quiet!—rob thee of such a soul; with thee let it abide, and dwell in that
breast of thine. Now I return to thee, my lord, and thy weighty resolves. If
thou dost repose no further hope in our arms, if all hath indeed left us, and

one repulse been our utter ruin, and our fortune is beyond recovery, let us
plead for peace and stretch forth unarmed hands. Yet ah! had we aught of
our wonted manhood, his toil beyond all other is blessed and his spirit
eminent, who rather than see it thus, hath fallen prone in death and once
bitten the ground. But if we have yet resources and an army still unbroken,
and cities and peoples of Italy remain for our aid; but if even the Trojans
have won their glory at great cost of blood (they too have their deaths, and
the storm fell equally on all), why do we shamefully faint even on the
threshold? Why does a shudder seize our limbs before the trumpet sound?
Often do the Days and the varying change of toiling Time restore
prosperity; often Fortune in broken visits makes man her sport and again
establishes him. The Aetolian of Arpi will not help us; but Messapus will,
and Tolumnius the fortunate, and the captains sent by many a nation; nor
will fame be scant to follow the flower of Latium and the Laurentine land.
Camilla the Volscian too is with us, leading her train of cavalry, squadrons
splendid in brass. But if I only am claimed by the Teucrians for combat, if
that is your pleasure, and I am the barrier to the public good, Victory does
not so hate and shun my hands that I should renounce any enterprise for so
great a hope. I shall meet him in courage, did he outmatch great Achilles
and wear arms like his forged by Vulcan's hands. To you and to my father
Latinus I Turnus, unexcelled in bravery by any of old, consecrate my life.
Aeneas calls on him alone: let him, I implore: let not Drances rather
appease with his [444-480]life this wrath of heaven, if such it be, or win the
renown of valour.'
Thus they one with another strove together in uncertainty; Aeneas moved
from his camp to battle. Lo, a messenger rushes spreading confusion
through the royal house, and fills the town with great alarms: the Teucrians,
ranged in battle-line with the Tyrrhene forces, are marching down by the
Tiber river and filling the plain. Immediately spirits are stirred and hearts
shaken and wrath roused in fierce excitement among the crowd. Hurrying
hands grasp at arms; for arms their young men clamour; the fathers shed
tears and mutter gloomily. With that a great noise rises aloft in diverse
contention, even as when flocks of birds haply settle on a lofty grove, or
swans utter their hoarse cry among the vocal pools on the fish-filled river of
Padusa. 'Yes, citizens!' cries Turnus, seizing his time: 'gather in council and
sit praising peace, while they rush on dominion in arms!' Without more

words he sprung up and issued swiftly from the high halls. 'Thou, Volusus,'
he cries, 'bid the Volscian battalions arm, and lead out the Rutulians.
Messapus, and Coras with thy brother, spread your armed cavalry widely
over the plain. Let a division entrench the city gates and man the towers: the
rest of our array attack with me where I command.' The whole town goes
rushing to the walls; lord Latinus himself, dismayed by the woeful
emergency, quits the council and puts off his high designs, and chides
himself sorely for not having given Aeneas unasked welcome, and made
him son and bulwark of the city. Some entrench the gates, or bring up
supply of stones and poles. The hoarse clarion utters the ensanguined note
of war. A motley ring of boys and matrons girdle the walls. Therewithal the
queen with a crowd of mothers ascends bearing gifts to Pallas' towered
temple, and by her side goes maiden Lavinia, source of all that woe, [481-
514]her beautiful eyes cast down. The mothers enter in, and while the temple
steams with their incense, pour from the high doorway their mournful cry:
'Maiden armipotent, Tritonian, sovereign of war, break with thine hand the
spear of the Phrygian plunderer, hurl him prone to earth and dash him down
beneath our lofty gates.' Turnus arrays himself in hot haste for battle, and
even now hath done on his sparkling breastplate with its flickering scales of
brass, and clasped his golden greaves, his brows yet bare and his sword
buckled to his side; he runs down from the fortress height glittering in gold,
and exultantly anticipates the foe. Thus when a horse snaps his tether, and,
free at last, rushes from the stalls and gains the open plain, he either darts
towards the pastures of the herded mares, or bathing, as is his wont, in the
familiar river waters, dashes out and neighs with neck stretched high,
glorying, and his mane tosses over collar and shoulder. Camilla with her
Volscian array meets him face to face in the gateway; the princess leaps
from her horse, and all her squadron at her example slide from horseback to
the ground. Then she speaks thus:
'Turnus, if bravery hath any just self-confidence, I dare and promise to
engage Aeneas' cavalry, and advance to meet the Tyrrhene horse. Permit my
hand to try war's first perils: do thou on foot keep by the walls and guard
the city.'
To this Turnus, with eyes fixed on the terrible maiden: 'O maiden flower of
Italy, how may I essay to express, how to prove my gratitude? But now,
since that spirit of thine excels all praise, share thou the toil with me.

Aeneas, as the report of the scouts I sent assures, hath sent on his light-
armed horse to annoy us and scour the plains; himself he marches on the
city across the lonely ridge of the mountain steep. I am arranging a
stratagem of [515-550]war in his pathway on the wooded slope, to block a
gorge on the highroad with armed troops. Do thou receive and join battle
with the Tyrrhene cavalry; with thee shall be gallant Messapus, the Latin
squadrons, and Tiburtus' division: do thou likewise assume a captain's
charge.'
So speaks he, and with like words heartens Messapus and the allied captains
to battle, and advances towards the enemy. There is a sweeping curve of
glen, made for ambushes and devices of arms. Dark thick foliage hems it in
on either hand, and into it a bare footpath leads by a narrow gorge and
difficult entrance. Right above it on the watch-towers of the hill-top lies an
unexpected level, hidden away in shelter, whether one would charge from
right and left or stand on the ridge and roll down heavy stones. Hither he
passes by a line of way he knew, and, seizing his ground, occupies the
treacherous woods.
Meanwhile in the heavenly dwellings Latona's daughter addressed fleet
Opis, one of her maiden fellowship and sacred band, and sadly uttered these
accents: 'Camilla moves to fierce war, O maiden, and vainly girds on our
arms, dear as she is beyond others to me. For her love of Diana is not newly
born, nor her spirit stirred by sudden affection. Driven from his kingdom
through jealousy of his haughty power, Metabus left ancient Privernum
town, and bore his infant with him in his flight through war and battle, the
companion of his exile, and called her by her mother Casmilla's name, with
a little change, Camilla. Carrying her before him on his breast, he sought a
long ridge of lonely woodland; on all sides angry weapons pressed on him,
and Volscian soldiery spread hurrying round about. Lo, in mid flight swoln
Amasenus ran foaming with banks abrim, so heavily had the clouds burst in
rain. He would swim it; but love of the infant holds him back in alarm for
so dear a burden. Inly revolving [551-586]all, he settled reluctantly on a
sudden resolve: the great spear that the warrior haply carried in his stout
hand, of hard-knotted and seasoned oak, to it he ties his daughter swathed in
cork-tree bark of the woodland, and binds her balanced round the middle of
the spear; poising it in his great right hand he thus cries aloft: "Gracious
one, haunter of the woodland, maiden daughter of Latona, a father devotes

this babe to thy service; thine is this weapon she holds, thine infant
suppliant, flying through the air from her enemies. Accept her, I implore, O
goddess, for thine own, whom now I entrust to the chance of air." He spoke,
and drawing back his arm, darts the spinning spear-shaft: the waters roar:
over the racing river poor Camilla shoots on the whistling weapon. But
Metabus, as a strong band now presses nigher, plunges into the river, and
triumphantly pulls spear and girl, his gift to Trivia, from the grassy turf. No
cities ever received him within house or rampart, nor had his savagery
submitted to it; he led his life on the lonely pastoral hills. Here he nursed
his daughter in the underwood among tangled coverts, on the milk of a wild
brood-mare's teats, squeezing the udder into her tender lips. And so soon as
the baby stood and went straight on her feet, he armed her hands with a
sharp javelin, and hung quiver and bow from her little shoulders. Instead of
gold to clasp her tresses, instead of the long skirted gown, a tiger's spoils
hang down her back. Even then her tender hand hurled childish darts, and
whirled about her head the twisted thong of her sling, and struck down the
crane from Strymon or the milk-white swan. Many a mother among
Tyrrhenian towns destined her for their sons in vain; content with Diana
alone, she keeps unsoiled for ever the love of her darts and maidenhood.
Would she had not plunged thus into warfare and provoked the Trojans by
attack! so were she now dear to me and one of my [587-620]company. But
since bitter doom is upon her, up, glide from heaven, O Nymph, and seek
the Latin borders, where under evil omen they join in baleful battle. Take
these, and draw from the quiver an avenging shaft; by it shall he pay me
forfeit of his blood, whoso, Trojan or Italian alike, shall sully her sacred
body with a wound. Thereafter will I in a sheltering cloud bear body and
armour of the hapless girl unspoiled to the tomb, and lay them in her native
land.' She spoke; but the other sped lightly down the aery sky, girt about
with dark whirlwind on her echoing way.
But meanwhile the Trojan force nears the walls, with the Etruscan captains
and their whole cavalry arrayed in ordered squadrons. Their horses'
trampling hoofs thunder on all the field, as, swerving this way and that, they
chafe at the reins' pressure; the iron field bristles wide with spears, and the
plain is aflame with uplifted arms. Likewise Messapus and the Latin horse,
and Coras and his brother, and maiden Camilla's squadron, come forth
against them on the plain, and draw back their hands and level the

flickering points of their long lances, in a fire of neighing horses and
advancing men. And now each had drawn within javelin-cast of each, and
drew up; with a sudden shout they dart forth, and urge on their furious
horses; from all sides at once weapons shower thick like snow, and veil the
sky with their shadow. In a moment Tyrrhenus and fiery Aconteus charge
violently with crossing spears, and are the first to fall; they go down with a
heavy crash, and their beasts break and shatter chest upon chest. Aconteus,
hurled off like a thunderbolt or some mass slung from an engine, is dashed
away, and scatters his life in air. Immediately the lines waver, and the Latins
wheeling about throw their shields behind them and turn their horses
towards the town. The Trojans pursue; Asilas heads and leads on [621-
653]their squadrons. And now they drew nigh the gates, and again the Latins
raise a shout and wheel their supple necks about; the pursuers fly, and
gallop right back with loosened rein: as when the sea, running up in ebb and
flow, now rushes shoreward and strikes over the cliffs in a wave of foam,
drenching the edge of the sand in its curving sweep; now runs swirling
back, and the surge sucks the rolling stones away. Twice the Tuscans turn
and drive the Rutulians towards the town; twice they are repelled, and look
back behind them from cover of their shields. But when now meeting in a
third encounter, the lines are locked together all their length, and man
singles out his man; then indeed, amid groans of the dying, deep in blood
roll armour and bodies, and horses half slain mixed up with slaughtered
men. The battle swells fierce. Orsilochus hurled his spear at the horse of
Remulus, whom himself he shrank to meet, and left the steel in it under the
ear; at the stroke the charger rears madly, and, mastered by the wound, lifts
his chest and flings up his legs: the rider is thrown and rolls over on the
ground. Catillus strikes down Iollas, and Herminius mighty in courage,
mighty in limbs and arms, bareheaded, tawny-haired, bare-shouldered;
undismayed by wounds, he leaves his vast body open against arms.
Through his broad shoulders the quivering spear runs piercing him through,
and doubles him up with pain. Everywhere the dark blood flows; they deal
death with the sword in battle, and seek a noble death by wounds.
But amid the slaughter Camilla rages, a quivered Amazon, with one side
stripped for battle, and now sends tough javelins showering from her hand,
now snatches the strong battle-axe in her unwearying grasp; the golden
bow, the armour of Diana, clashes on her shoulders; and even when forced

backward in retreat, she turns in flight and [654-691]aims darts from her bow.
But around her are her chosen comrades, maiden Larina, Tulla, Tarpeia
brandishing an axe inlaid with bronze, girls of Italy, whom Camilla the
bright chose for her own escort, good at service in peace and war: even as
Thracian Amazons when the streams of Thermodon clash beneath them as
they go to war in painted arms, whether around Hippolyte, or while martial
Penthesilea returns in her chariot, and the crescent-shielded columns of
women dance with loud confused cry. Whom first, whom last, fierce
maiden, does thy dart strike down? First Euneus, son of Clytius; for as he
meets her the long fir shaft crashes through his open breast. He falls
spouting streams of blood, and bites the gory ground, and dying writhes
himself upon his wound. Then Liris and Pagasus above him; who fall
headlong and together, the one thrown as he reins up his horse stabbed
under him, the other while he runs forward and stretches his unarmed hand
to stay his fall. To these she joins Amastrus, son of Hippotas, and follows
from far with her spear Tereus and Harpalycus and Demophoön and
Chromis: and as many darts as the maiden sends whirling from her hand, so
many Phrygians fall. Ornytus the hunter rides near in strange arms on his
Iapygian horse, his broad warrior's shoulders swathed in the hide stripped
from a bullock, his head covered by a wolf's wide-grinning mouth and
white-tusked jaws; a rustic pike arms his hand; himself he moves amid the
squadrons a full head over all. Catching him up (for that was easy amid the
rout), she runs him through, and thus cries above her enemy: 'Thou wert
hunting wild beasts in the forest, thoughtest thou, Tyrrhenian? the day is
come for a woman's arms to refute thy words. Yet no light fame shalt thou
carry to thy fathers' ghosts, to have fallen under the weapon of Camilla.'
Next Orsilochus and Butes, the two mightiest of mould among the
Teucrians; Butes she pierces in the [692-725]back with her spear-point
between corslet and helmet, where the neck shews as he sits, and the shield
hangs from his left shoulder; Orsilochus she flies, and darting in a wide
circle, slips into the inner ring and pursues her pursuer; then rising her full
height, she drives the strong axe deep through armour and bone, as he
pleads and makes much entreaty; warm brain from the wound splashes his
face. One met her thus and hung startled by the sudden sight, the warrior
son of Aunus haunter of the Apennine, not the meanest in Liguria while fate
allowed him to deceive. And he, when he discerns that no fleetness of foot
may now save him from battle or turn the princess from pursuit, essays to

wind a subtle device of treachery, and thus begins: 'How hast thou glory, if
a woman trust in her horse's strength? Debar retreat; trust thyself to level
ground at close quarters with me, and prepare to fight on foot. Soon wilt
thou know how windy boasting brings one to harm.' He spoke; but she,
furious and stung with fiery indignation, hands her horse to an attendant,
and takes her stand in equal arms on foot and undismayed, with naked
sword and shield unemblazoned. But he, thinking his craft had won the day,
himself flies off on the instant, and turning his rein, darts off in flight,
pricking his beast to speed with iron-armed heel. 'False Ligurian, in vain
elated in thy pride! for naught hast thou attempted thy slippery native arts,
nor will thy craft bring thee home unhurt to treacherous Aunus.' So speaks
the maiden, and with running feet swift as fire crosses his horse, and
catching the bridle, meets him in front and takes her vengeance in her
enemy's blood: as lightly as the falcon, bird of bale, swoops down from
aloft on a pigeon high in a cloud, and pounces on and holds her, and
disembowels her with taloned feet, while blood and torn feathers flutter
down the sky.
But the creator of men and gods sits high on Olympus' [726-759]summit
watching this, not with eyes unseeing: he kindles Tyrrhenian Tarchon to the
fierce battle, and sharply goads him on to wrath. So Tarchon gallops amid
the slaughter where his squadrons retreat, and urges his troops in changing
tones, calling man on man by name, and rallies the fliers to fight. 'What
terror, what utter cowardice hath fallen on your spirits, O never to be stung
to shame, O slack alway? a woman drives you in disorder and routs our
ranks! Why wear we steel? for what are these idle weapons in our hands?
Yet not slack in Venus' service and wars by night, or, when the curving flute
proclaims Bacchus' revels, to look forward to the feast and the cups on the
loaded board (this your passion, this your desire!) till the soothsayer
pronounce the offering favourable, and the fatted victim invite you to the
deep groves.' So speaking, he spurs his horse into the midmost, ready
himself to die, and bears violently down full on Venulus; and tearing him
from horseback, grasps his enemy and carries him away with him on the
saddle-bow by main force. A cry rises up, and all the Latins turn their eyes.
Tarchon flies like fire over the plain, carrying the armed man, and breaks
off the steel head from his own spear and searches the uncovered places,
trying where he may deal the mortal blow; the other struggling against him

keeps his hand off his throat, and strongly parries his attack. And, as when a
golden eagle snatches and soars with a serpent in his clutch, and his feet are
fast in it, and his talons cling; but the wounded snake writhes in coiling
spires, and its scales rise and roughen, and its mouth hisses as it towers
upward; the bird none the less attacks his struggling prize with crooked
beak, while his vans beat the air: even so Tarchon carries Tiburtus out of the
ranks, triumphant in his prize. Following their captain's example and issue
the men of Maeonia charge in. Then Arruns, due to his [760-796]doom, circles
in advance of fleet Camilla with artful javelin, and tries how fortune may be
easiest. Where the maiden darts furious amid the ranks, there Arruns slips
up and silently tracks her footsteps; where she returns victorious and retires
from amid the enemy, there he stealthily bends his rapid reins. Here he
approaches, and here again he approaches, and strays all round and about,
and untiringly shakes his certain spear. Haply Chloreus, sacred to Cybele
and once her priest, glittered afar, splendid in Phrygian armour; a skin
feathered with brazen scales and clasped with gold clothed the horse that
foamed under his spur; himself he shone in foreign blue and scarlet, with
fleet Gortynian shafts and a Lycian horn; a golden bow was on his shoulder,
and the soothsayer's helmet was of gold; red gold knotted up his yellow
scarf with its rustling lawny folds; his tunics and barbarian trousers were
wrought in needlework. Him, whether that she might nail armour of Troy
on her temples, or herself move in captive gold, the maiden pursued in blind
chase alone of all the battle conflict, and down the whole line, reckless and
fired by a woman's passion for spoils and plunder: when at last out of his
ambush Arruns chooses his time and darts his javelin, praying thus aloud to
heaven: 'Apollo, most high of gods, holy Soracte's warder, to whom we
beyond all do worship, for whom the blaze of the pinewood heap is fed,
where we thy worshippers in pious faith print our steps amid the deep
embers of the fire, grant, O Lord omnipotent, that our arms wipe off this
disgrace. I seek not the dress the maiden wore, nor trophy or any spoil of
victory; other deeds shall bring me praise; let but this dread scourge fall
stricken beneath my wound, I will return inglorious to my native towns.'
Phoebus heard, and inly granted half his vow to prosper, half he shred into
the flying breezes. To surprise and strike down Camilla in sudden death,
this he [797-831]yielded to his prayer; that his high home might see his return
he gave not, and a gust swept off his accents on the gale. So, when the spear
sped from his hand hurtled through the air, all the Volscians marked it well

and turned their eyes on the queen; and she alone knew not wind or sound
of the weapon on its aery path, till the spear passed home and sank where
her breast met it, and, driven deep, drank her maiden blood. Her
companions run hastily up and catch their sinking mistress. Arruns takes to
flight more alarmed than all, in mingled fear and exultation, and no longer
dares to trust his spear or face the maiden's weapons. And as the wolf, some
shepherd or great bullock slain, plunges at once among the trackless
mountain heights ere hostile darts are in pursuit, and knows how reckless he
hath been, and drooping his tail lays it quivering under his belly, and seeks
the woods; even so does Arruns withdraw from sight in dismay, and,
satisfied to escape, mingles in the throng of arms. The dying woman pulls at
the weapon with her hand; but the iron head is fixed deep in the wound up
between the rib-bones. She swoons away with loss of blood; chilling in
death her eyes swoon away; the once lustrous colour leaves her face. Then
gasping, she thus accosts Acca, one of her birthmates, who alone before all
was true to Camilla, with whom her cares were divided; and even so she
speaks: 'Thus far, Acca my sister, have I availed; now the bitter wound
overmasters me, and all about me darkens in haze. Haste away, and carry to
Turnus my last message; to take my place in battle, and repel the Trojans
from the town. And now goodbye.' Even with the words she dropped the
reins and slid to ground unconscious. Then the unnerving chill overspread
her, her neck slackened, her head sank overpowered by death, and her arms
fell, and with a moan the life fled indignant into the dark. Then indeed an
[832-867]infinite cry rises and smites the golden stars; the battle grows
bloodier now Camilla is down; at once in serried rants all the Teucrian
forces pour in, with the Tyrrhene captains and Evander's Arcadian
squadrons.
But Opis, Trivia's sentinel, long ere now sits high on the hill-tops, gazing on
the battle undismayed. And when afar amid the din of angry men she espied
Camilla done woefully to death, she sighed and uttered forth a deep cry: 'Ah
too, too cruel, O maiden, the forfeit thou hast paid for daring armed attack
on the Teucrians! and nothing hath availed thee thy lonely following of
Diana in the woodlands, nor wearing our quiver on thy shoulder. Yet thy
Queen hath not left thee unhonoured now thy latter end is come; nor will
this thy death be unnamed among the nations, nor shalt thou bear the fame
of one unavenged; for whosoever hath sullied thy body with a wound shall

pay death for due.' Under the mountain height was a great earthen mound,
tomb of Dercennus, a Laurentine king of old, shrouded in shadowy ilex.
Hither the goddess most beautiful first swoops down, and marks Arruns
from the mounded height. As she saw him glittering in arms and idly
exultant: 'Why,' she cries, 'wanderest thou away? hitherward direct thy
steps; come hither to thy doom, to receive thy fit reward for Camilla. Shalt
thou die, and by Diana's weapons?' The Thracian spoke, and slid out a fleet
arrow from her gilded quiver, and stretched it level on the bow, and drew it
far, till the curving tips met one another, and now her hands touched in
counterpoise, the left the steel edge, the string in the right her breast. At
once and in a moment Arruns heard the whistle of the dart and the
resounding air, as the steel sank in his body. His comrades leave him
forgotten on the unknown dust of the plain, moaning his last and gasping
his life away; Opis wings her flight to the skyey heaven.
[868-901]At once the light squadron of Camilla retreat now they have lost
their mistress; the Rutulians retreat in confusion, brave Atinas retreats.
Scattered captains and thinned companies make for safety, and turn their
horses backward to the town. Nor does any avail to make stand against the
swarming death-dealing Teucrians, or bear their shock in arms; but their
unstrung bows droop on their shoulders, and the four-footed galloping
horse-hoof shakes the crumbling plain. The eddying dust rolls up thick and
black towards the walls, and on the watch-towers mothers beat their breasts
and the cries of women rise up to heaven. On such as first in the rout broke
in at the open gates the mingling hostile throng follows hard; nor do they
escape death, alas! but in the very gateway, within their native city and
amid their sheltering homes, they are pierced through and gasp out their
life. Some shut the gates, and dare not open to their pleading comrades nor
receive them in the town; and a most pitiful slaughter begins between
armed men who guard the entry and others who rush upon their arms.
Barred out before their weeping parents' eyes and faces, some, swept on by
the rout, roll headlong into the trenches; some, blindly rushing with
loosened rein, batter at the gates and stiffly-bolted doorway. The very
mothers from the walls in eager heat (true love of country points the way,
when they see Camilla) dart weapons with shaking hand, and eagerly make
hard stocks of wood and fire-hardened poles serve for steel, and burn to die
among the foremost for their city's sake.

Meanwhile among the forests the terrible news pours in on Turnus, and
Acca brings him news of the mighty invasion; the Volscian lines are
destroyed; Camilla is fallen; the enemy thicken and press on, and have
swept all before them down the tide of battle. Raging he leaves the hills he
had beset—Jove's stern will ordains it [902-915]so—and quits the rough
woodland. Scarcely had he marched out of sight and gained the plain when
lord Aeneas enters the open defiles, surmounts the ridge, and issues from
the dim forest. So both advance swiftly to the town with all their columns,
no long march apart, and at once Aeneas descried afar the plains all
smoking with dust, and saw the Laurentine columns, and Turnus knew
Aeneas terrible in arms, and heard the advancing feet and the neighing of
the horses. And straightway would they join battle and essay the conflict,
but that ruddy Phoebus even now dips his weary coursers in the Iberian
flood, and night draws on over the fading day. They encamp before the city,
and draw their trenches round the walls.

BOOK TWELFTH
THE SLAYING OF TURNUS

When Turnus sees the Latins broken and fainting in the thwart issue of war,
his promise claimed for fulfilment, and men's eyes pointed on him, his own
spirit rises in unappeasable flame. As the lion in Phoenician fields, his
breast heavily wounded by the huntsmen, at last starts into arms, and shakes
out the shaggy masses from his exultant neck, and undismayed snaps the
brigand's planted weapon, roaring with blood-stained mouth; even so
Turnus kindles and swells in passion. Then he thus addresses the king, and
so furiously begins:
'Turnus stops not the way; there is no excuse for the coward Aeneadae to
take back their words or renounce their compact. I join battle; bring the
holy things, my lord, and swear the treaty. Either this hand shall hurl to hell
the Dardanian who skulks from Asia, and the Latins sit and see my single
sword wipe out the nation's reproach; or let him rule his conquest, and
Lavinia pass to his espousal.'
To him Latinus calmly replied: 'O excellent young man! the more thy hot
valour abounds, the more intently must I counsel, and weigh fearfully what
may befall. Thou hast thy father Daunus' realm, hast many towns taken by
[23-55]thine hand, nor is Latinus lacking in gold and goodwill. There are
other maidens unwedded in Latium and Laurentine fields, and of no mean
birth. Let me unfold this hard saying in all sincerity: and do thou drink it
into thy soul. I might not ally my daughter to any of her old wooers; such
was the universal oracle of gods and men. Overborne by love for thee,
overborne by kinship of blood and my weeping wife's complaint, I broke all
fetters, I severed the maiden from her promised husband, I took up
unrighteous arms. Since then, Turnus, thou seest what calamities, what wars
pursue me, what woes thyself before all dost suffer. Twice vanquished in
pitched battle, we scarce guard in our city walls the hopes of Italy: the
streams of Tiber yet run warm with our blood, and our bones whiten the
boundless plain. Why fall I away again and again? what madness bends my

purpose? if I am ready to take them into alliance after Turnus' destruction,
why do I not rather bar the strife while he lives? What will thy Rutulian
kinsmen, will all Italy say, if thy death—Fortune make void the word!—
comes by my betrayal, while thou suest for our daughter in marriage? Cast
a glance on war's changing fortune; pity thine aged father, who now far
away sits sad in his native Ardea.'
In nowise do the words bend Turnus' passion: he rages the more fiercely,
and sickens of the cure. So soon as he found speech he thus made utterance:
'The care thou hast for me, most gracious lord, for me lay down, I implore
thee, and let me purchase honour with death. Our hand too rains weapons,
our steel is strong; and our wounds too draw blood. The goddess his mother
will be far from him to cover his flight, woman-like, in a cloud and an
empty phantom's hiding.'
But the queen, dismayed by the new terms of battle, wept, and clung to her
fiery son as one ready to die: [56-89]'Turnus, by these tears, by Amata's
regard, if that touches thee at all—thou art now the one hope, the repose of
mine unhappy age; in thine hand is Latinus' honour and empire, on thee is
the weight of all our sinking house—one thing I beseech thee; forbear to
join battle with the Teucrians. What fate soever awaits thee in the strife thou
seekest, it awaits me, Turnus, too: with thee will I leave the hateful light,
nor shall my captive eyes see Aeneas my daughter's lord.' Lavinia tearfully
heard her mother's words with cheeks all aflame, as deep blushes set her
face on fire and ran hotly over it. Even as Indian ivory, if one stain it with
sanguine dye, or where white lilies are red with many a rose amid: such
colour came on the maiden's face. Love throws him into tumult, and stays
his countenance on the girl: he burns fiercer for arms, and briefly answers
Amata:
'Do not, I pray thee, do not weep for me, neither pursue me thus ominously
as I go to the stern shock of war. Turnus is not free to dally with death.
Thou, Idmon, bear my message to the Phrygian monarch in this harsh
wording: So soon as to-morrow's Dawn rises in the sky blushing on her
crimson wheels, let him not loose Teucrian or Rutulian: let Teucrian and
Rutulian arms have rest, and our blood decide the war; on that field let
Lavinia be sought in marriage.'

These words uttered, withdrawing swiftly homeward, he orders out his
horses, and rejoicingly beholds them snorting before his face: those that
Orithyia's self gave to grace Pilumnus, such as would excel the snows in
whiteness and the gales in speed. The eager charioteers stand round and pat
their chests with clapping hollowed hands, and comb their tressed manes.
Himself next he girds on his shoulders the corslet stiff with gold and pale
mountain-bronze, and buckles on the sword and shield and scarlet-plumed
[90-124]helmet-spikes: that sword the divine Lord of Fire had himself forged
for his father Daunus and dipped glowing in the Stygian wave. Next, where
it stood amid his dwelling leaning on a massy pillar, he strongly seizes his
stout spear, the spoil of Actor the Auruncan, and brandishes it quivering,
and cries aloud: 'Now, O spear that never hast failed at my call, now the
time is come; thee princely Actor once, thee Turnus now wields in his
grasp. Grant this strong hand to strike down the effeminate Phrygian, to
rend and shatter the corslet, and defile in dust the locks curled with hot iron
and wet with myrrh.' Thus madly he runs on: sparkles leap out from all his
blazing face, and his keen eyes flash fire: even as the bull when before his
first fight he bellows awfully, and drives against a tree's trunk to make trial
of his angry horns, and buffets the air with blows or scatters the sand in
prelude of battle.
And therewithal Aeneas, terrible in his mother's armour, kindles for warfare
and awakes into wrath, rejoicing that offer of treaty stays the war.
Comforting his comrades and sorrowing Iülus' fear, he instructs them of
destiny, and bids bear answer of assurance to King Latinus, and name the
laws of peace.
Scarcely did the morrow shed on the mountain-tops the beams of risen day,
as the horses of the sun begin to rise from the deep flood and breathe light
from their lifted nostrils; Rutulian and Teucrian men measured out and
made ready a field of battle under the great city's ramparts, and midway in it
hearth-fires and grassy altars to the gods of both peoples; while others bore
spring water and fire, draped in priestly dress and their brows bound with
grass of the field. The Ausonian army issue forth, and crowd through the
gates in streaming serried columns. On this side all the Trojan and
Tyrrhenian host pour in diverse armament, girt with iron even as though the
harsh battle-strife [125-158]called them forth. Therewith amid their thousands
the captains dart up and down, splendid in gold and purple, Mnestheus, seed

of Assaracus, and brave Asilas, and Messapus, tamer of horses, brood of
Neptune: then each on signal given retired to his own ground; they plant
their spears in the earth and lean their shields against them. Mothers in
eager abandonment, and the unarmed crowd and feeble elders beset towers
and house-roofs, or stand at the lofty gates.
But Juno, on the summit that is now called the Alban—then the mountain
had neither name nor fame or honour—looked forth from the hill and
surveyed the plain and double lines of Laurentine and Trojan, and Latinus'
town. Straightway spoke she thus to Turnus' sister, goddess to goddess, lady
of pools and noisy rivers: such worship did Jupiter the high king of air
consecrate to her for her stolen virginity:
'Nymph, grace of rivers, best beloved of our soul, thou knowest how out of
all the Latin women that ever rose to high-hearted Jove's thankless bed, thee
only have I preferred and gladly given part and place in heaven. Learn thy
woe, that thou blame not me for it, Juturna. Where fortune seemed to allow
and the Destinies granted Latinus' estate to prosper, I shielded Turnus and
thy city. Now I see him joining battle with unequal fates, and the day of
doom and deadly force draws nigh. Mine eyes cannot look on this battle
and treaty: thou, if thou darest aught of more present help for the brother of
thy blood, go on; it befits thee. Haply relief shall follow misery.'
Scarcely thus: when Juturna's eyes overbrimmed with tears, and thrice and
again she smote her hand on her gracious breast. 'This is not time for tears,'
cries Juno, daughter of Saturn: 'hasten and snatch thy brother, if it may be,
from his death; or do thou waken war, and make [159-191]the treaty abortive.
I encourage thee to dare.' With such urgence she left her, doubting and
dismayed, and grievously wounded in soul.
Meanwhile the kings go forth; Latinus in mighty pomp rides in his four-
horse chariot; twelve gilded rays go glittering round his brows, symbol of
the Sun his ancestor; Turnus moves behind a white pair, clenching in his
hand two broad-headed spears. On this side lord Aeneas, fount of the
Roman race, ablaze in starlike shield and celestial arms, and close by
Ascanius, second hope of mighty Rome, issue from the camp; and the
priest, in spotless raiment, hath brought the young of a bristly sow and an
unshorn sheep of two years old, and set his beasts by the blazing altars.

They, turning their eyes towards the sunrising, scatter salted corn from their
hands and clip the beasts with steel over the temples, and pour cups on the
altars. Then Aeneas the good, with sword drawn, thus makes invocation:
'Be the Sun now witness, and this Earth to my call, for whose sake I have
borne to suffer so sore travail, and the Lord omnipotent, and thou his wife,
at last, divine daughter of Saturn, at last I pray more favourable; and thou,
mighty Mavors, who wieldest all warfare in lordship beneath thy sway; and
on the Springs and Rivers I call, and the Dread of high heaven, and the
divinities of the blue seas: if haply victory fall to Turnus the Ausonian, the
vanquished make covenant to withdraw to Evander's city; Iülus shall quit
the soil; nor ever hereafter shall the Aeneadae return in arms to renew
warfare, or attack this realm with the sword. But if Victory grant battle to us
and ours (as I think the rather, and so the rather may the gods seal their
will), I will not bid Italy obey my Teucrians, nor do I claim the realm for
mine; let both nations, unconquered, join treaty for ever under equal law.
Gods [192-225]and worship shall be of my giving: my father Latinus shall
bear the sword, and have a father's prescribed command. For me my
Teucrians shall establish a city, and Lavinia give the town her name.'
Thus Aeneas first: thereon Latinus thus follows:
'By these same I swear, O Aeneas, by Earth, Sea, Sky, and the twin brood of
Latona and Janus the double-facing, and the might of nether gods and grim
Pluto's shrine; this let our Father hear, who seals treaties with his
thunderbolt. I touch the altars, I take to witness the fires and the gods
between us; no time shall break this peace and truce in Italy, howsoever
fortune fall; nor shall any force turn my will aside, not if it dissolve land
into water in turmoil of deluge, or melt heaven in hell: so surely as this
sceptre' (for haply he bore a sceptre in his hand) 'shall never burgeon into
thin leafage and shady shoot, since once in the forest cut down right to the
stem it lost its mother, and the steel lopped away its tressed arms: a tree of
old: now the craftsman's hand hath bound it in adornment of brass and
given it to our Latin fathers' bearing.'
With such words they sealed mutual treaty midway in sight of the princes.
Then they duly slay the consecrated beasts over the flames, and tear out
their live entrails, and pile the altars with laden chargers.

But long ere this the Rutulians deemed the battle unequal, and their hearts
are stirred in changeful motion; and now the more, as they discern nigher
that in ill-matched strength . . . . heightened by Turnus, as advancing with
noiseless pace he humbly worships at the altar with downcast eye, by his
wasted cheeks and the pallor on his youthful frame. Soon as Juturna his
sister saw this talk spread, and the people's mind waver in uncertainty, into
the mid ranks, in feigned form of Camertus—his family was high in long
ancestry, and his father's name [226-260]for valour renowned, and himself
most valiant in arms—into the mid ranks she glides, not ignorant of her
task, and scatters diverse rumours, saying thus: 'Shame, O Rutulians! shall
we set one life in the breach for so many such as these? are we unequal in
numbers or bravery? See, Troy and Arcadia is all they bring, and those fate-
bound bands that Etruria hurls on Turnus. Scarce is there an enemy to meet
every other man of ours. He indeed will ascend to the gods for whose altars
he devotes himself, and move living in the lips of men: we, our country lost,
shall bow to the haughty rigour of our lords, if we now sit slackly on the
field.'
By such words the soldiers' counsel was kindled yet higher and higher, and
a murmur crept through their columns; the very Laurentines, the very Latins
are changed; and they who but now hoped for rest from battle and rescue of
fortune now desire arms and pray the treaty were undone, and pity Turnus'
cruel lot. To this Juturna adds a yet stronger impulse, and high in heaven
shews a sign more potent than any to confuse Italian souls with delusive
augury. For on the crimsoned sky Jove's tawny bird flew chasing, in a
screaming crowd, fowl of the shore that winged their column; then
suddenly stooping to the water, pounces on a noble swan with merciless
crooked talons. The startled Italians watch, while all the birds together
clamorously wheel round from flight, wonderful to see, and dim the sky
with their pinions, and in thickening cloud urge their foe through air, till,
conquered by their attack and his heavy prey, he yielded and dropped it
from his talons into the river, and winged his way deep into the clouds.
Then indeed the Rutulians clamorously greet the omen, and their hands
flash out. And Tolumnius the augur cries before them all: 'This it was, this,
that my vows often have sought; I welcome and know a deity; [261-
294]follow me, follow, snatch up the sword, O hapless people whom the
greedy alien frightens with his arms like silly birds, and with strong hand

ravages your shores. He too will take to flight, and spread his sails afar over
ocean. Do you with one heart close up your squadrons, and defend in battle
your lost king.' He spoke, and darting forward, hurled a weapon full on the
enemy; the whistling cornel-shaft sings, and unerringly cleaves the air. At
once and with it a vast shout goes up, and all their rows are amazed, and
their hearts hotly stirred. The spear flies on; where haply stood opposite in
ninefold brotherhood all the beautiful sons of one faithful Tyrrhene wife,
borne of her to Gylippus the Arcadian, one of them, midway where the
sewn belt rubs on the flank and the clasp bites the fastenings of the side,
one of them, excellent in beauty and glittering in arms, it pierces clean
through the ribs and stretches on the yellow sand. But of his banded
brethren, their courage fired by grief, some grasp and draw their swords,
some snatch weapons to throw, and rush blindly forward. The Laurentine
columns rush forth against them; again from the other side Trojans and
Agyllines and Arcadians in painted armour flood thickly in: so hath one
passion seized all to make decision by the sword. They pull the altars to
pieces; through all the air goes a thick storm of weapons, and faster falls the
iron rain. Bowls and hearth-fires are carried off; Latinus himself retreats,
bearing the outraged gods of the broken treaty. The others harness their
chariots, or vault upon their horses and come up with swords drawn.
Messapus, eager to shatter the treaty, rides menacingly down on Aulestes
the Tyrrhenian, a king in a king's array. Retreating hastily, and tripped on
the altars that meet him behind, the hapless man goes down on his head and
shoulders. But Messapus flies up with wrathful spear, and strikes him, as he
pleads sore, a deep downward [295-330]blow from horseback with his beam-
like spear, saying thus: That for him: the high gods take this better victim.
The Italians crowd in and strip his warm limbs. Corynaeus seizes a charred
brand from the altar, and meeting Ebysus as he advances to strike, darts the
flame in his face; his heavy beard flamed up, and gave out a scorched smell.
Following up his enemy's confusion, the other seizes him with his left hand
by the hair, and bears him to earth with a thrust of his planted knee, and
there drives the unyielding sword into his side. Podalirius pursues and
overhangs with naked sword the shepherd Alsus as he rushes amid the
foremost line of weapons; Alsus swings back his axe, and severs brow and
chin full in front, wetting his armour all over with spattered blood. Grim
rest and iron slumber seal his eyes; his lids close on everlasting night.

But good Aeneas, his head bared, kept stretching his unarmed hand and
calling loudly to his men: 'Whither run you? What is this strife that so
spreads and swells? Ah, restrain your wrath! truce is already stricken, and
all its laws ordained; mine alone is the right of battle. Leave me alone, and
my hand shall confirm the treaty; these rites already make Turnus mine.'
Amid these accents, amid words like these, lo! a whistling arrow winged its
way to him, sped from what hand or driven by what god, none knows, or
what chance or deity brought such honour to the Rutulians; the renown of
the high deed was buried, nor did any boast to have dealt Aeneas' wound.
Turnus, when he saw Aeneas retreating from the ranks and his captains in
dismay, burns hot with sudden hope. At once he calls for his horses and
armour, and with a bound leaps proudly into his chariot and handles the
reins. He darts on, dealing many a brave man's body to death; many an one
he rolls half-slain, or crushes whole files under his chariot, or seizes and
showers spears on the fugitives. As [331-364]when by the streams of icy
Hebrus Mavors kindles to bloodshed and clashes on his shield, and stirs war
and speeds his furious coursers; they outwing south winds and west on the
open plain; utmost Thrace groans under their hoof-beats; and around in the
god's train rush the faces of dark Terror, and Wraths and Ambushes; even so
amid the battle Turnus briskly lashes on his reeking horses, trampling on the
foes that lie piteously slain; the galloping hoof scatters bloody dew, and
spurns mingled gore and sand. And now hath he dealt Sthenelus to death,
and Thamyrus and Pholus, him and him at close quarters, the other from
afar; from afar both the sons of Imbrasus, Glaucus and Lades, whom
Imbrasus himself had nurtured in Lycia and equipped in equal arms,
whether to meet hand to hand or to outstrip the winds on horseback.
Elsewhere Eumedes advances amid the fray, ancient Dolon's brood,
illustrious in war, renewing his grandfather's name, his father's courage and
strength of hand, who of old dared to claim Pelides' chariot as his price if he
went to spy out the Grecian camp; to him the son of Tydeus told out another
price for his venture, and he dreams no more of Achilles' horses. Him
Turnus descried far on the open plain, and first following him with light
javelin through long space of air, stops his double-harnessed horses and
leaps from the chariot, and descends on his fallen half-lifeless foe, and,
planting his foot on his neck, wrests the blade out of his hand and dyes its
glitter deep in his throat, adding these words withal: 'Behold, thou liest,
Trojan, meting out those Hesperian fields thou didst seek in war. Such

guerdon is theirs who dare to tempt my sword; thus do they found their
city.' Then with a spear-cast he sends Asbutes to follow him, and Chloreus
and Sybaris, Dares and Thersilochus, and Thymoetes fallen flung over his
horse's neck. And as when [365-398]the Edonian North wind's wrath roars on
the deep Aegean, and the wave follows it shoreward; where the blast comes
down, the clouds race over the sky; so, wheresoever Turnus cleaves his
way, columns retreat and lines turn and run; his own speed bears him on,
and his flying plume tosses as his chariot meets the breeze. Phegeus
brooked not his proud approach; he faced the chariot, and caught and
twisted away in his right hand the mouths of his horses, spurred into speed
and foaming on the bit. Dragged along and hanging by the yoke he is left
uncovered; the broad lance-head reaches him, pins and pierces the double-
woven breastplate, and lightly wounds the surface of his body. Yet turning,
he advanced on the enemy behind his shield, and sought succour in the
naked point; when the wheel running forward on its swift axle struck him
headlong and flung him to ground, and Turnus' sword following it smote off
his head between the helmet-rim and the upper border of the breastplate,
and left the body on the sand.
And while Turnus thus victoriously deals death over the plains, Mnestheus
meantime and faithful Achates, and Ascanius by their side, set down Aeneas
in the camp, dabbled with blood and leaning every other step on his long
spear. He storms, and tries hard to pull out the dart where the reed had
broken, and calls for the nearest way of remedy, to cut open the wound with
broad blade, and tear apart the weapon's lurking-place, and so send him
back to battle. And now Iapix son of Iasus came, beloved beyond others of
Phoebus, to whom once of old, smitten with sharp desire, Apollo gladly
offered his own arts and gifts, augury and the lyre and swift arrows: he, to
lengthen out the destiny of a parent given over to die, chose rather to know
the potency of herbs and the practice of healing, and deal in a silent art
unrenowned. Aeneas stood chafing bitterly, propped on his vast spear,
mourning [399-435]Iülus and a great crowd of men around, unstirred by their
tears. The aged man, with garment drawn back and girt about him in
Paeonian fashion, makes many a hurried effort with healing hand and the
potent herbs of Phoebus, all in vain; in vain his hand solicits the arrow-
head, and his pincers' grasp pulls at the steel. Fortune leads him forward in
nowise; Apollo aids not with counsel; and more and more the fierce clash

swells over the plains, and the havoc draws nigher on. Already they see the
sky a mass of dust, the cavalry approaching, and shafts falling thickly amid
the camp; the dismal cry uprises of warriors fighting and falling under the
War-god's heavy hand. At this, stirred deep by her son's cruel pain, Venus
his mother plucked from Cretan Ida a stalk of dittamy with downy leaves
and bright-tressed flowers, the plant not unknown to wild goats when
winged arrows are fast in their body. This Venus bore down, her shape girt
in a dim halo; this she steeps with secret healing in the river-water poured
out and sparkling abrim, and sprinkles life-giving juice of ambrosia and
scented balm. With that water aged Iapix washed the wound, unwitting; and
suddenly, lo! all the pain left his body, all the blood in the deep wound was
stanched. And now following his hand the arrow fell out with no force, and
strength returned afresh as of old. 'Hasten! arms for him quickly! why stand
you?' cries Iapix aloud, and begins to kindle their courage against the
enemy; 'this comes not by human resource or schooling of art, nor does my
hand save thee, Aeneas: a higher god is at work, and sends thee back to
higher deeds.' He, eager for battle, had already clasped on the greaves of
gold right and left, and scorning delay, brandishes his spear. When the
shield is adjusted by his side and the corslet on his back, he clasps Ascanius
in his armed embrace, and lightly kissing him through the helmet, cries:
'Learn of me, O boy, valour [436-470]and toil indeed, fortune of others. Now
mine hand shall give thee defence in war, and lead thee to great reward: do
thou, when hereafter thine age ripens to fulness, keep this in remembrance,
and as thou recallest the pattern of thy kindred, let thy spirit rise to thy
father Aeneas, thine uncle Hector.'
These words uttered, he issued towering from the gates, brandishing his
mighty spear: with him in serried column rush Antheus and Mnestheus, and
all the throng streams forth of the camp. The field drifts with blinding dust,
and the startled earth trembles under the tramp of feet. From his earthworks
opposite Turnus saw and the Ausonians saw them come, and an icy shudder
ran deep through their frame; first and before all the Latins Juturna heard
and knew the sound, and in terror fled away. He flies on, and hurries his
dark column over the open plain. As when in fierce weather a storm-cloud
moves over mid sea to land, with presaging heart, ah me, the hapless
husbandmen shudder from afar; it will deal havoc to their trees and
destruction to their crops, and make a broad path of ruin; the winds fly

before it, and bear its roar to the beach; so the Rhoetean captain drives his
army full on the foe; one and all they close up in wedges, and mass their
serried ranks. Thymbraeus smites massive Osiris with the sword,
Mnestheus slays Arcetius, Achates Epulo, Gyas Ufens: Tolumnius the augur
himself goes down, he who had hurled the first weapon against the foe.
Their cry rises to heaven, and in turn the routed Rutulians give backward in
flight over the dusty fields. Himself he deigns not to cut down the fugitives,
nor pursue such as meet him fair on foot or approach in arms: Turnus alone
he tracks and searches in the thick haze, alone calls him to conflict. Then
panic-stricken the warrior maiden flings Turnus' charioteer out over his
reins, and leaving him far where he slips from the [471-504]chariot-pole,
herself succeeds and turns the wavy reins, tones and limbs and armour all of
Metiscus' wearing. As when a black swallow flits through some rich lord's
spacious house, and circles in flight the lofty halls, gathering her tiny food
for sustenance to her twittering nestlings, and now swoops down the
spacious colonnades, now round the wet ponds; in like wise dart Juturna's
horses amid the enemy, and her fleet chariot passes flying over all the field.
And now here and now here she displays her triumphant brother, nor yet
allows him to close, but flies far and away. None the less does Aeneas
thread the circling maze to meet him, and tracks his man, and with loud cry
cries on him through the scattered ranks. Often as he cast eyes on his enemy
and essayed to outrun the speed of the flying-footed horses, so often Juturna
wheeled her team away. Alas, what can he do? Vainly he tosses on the ebb
and flow, and in his spirit diverse cares make conflicting call; when
Messapus, who haply bore in his left hand two tough spear-shafts topped
with steel, runs lightly up and aims and hurls one of them upon him with
unerring stroke. Aeneas stood still, and gathered himself behind his armour,
sinking on bended knee; yet the rushing spear bore off his helmet-spike, and
dashed the helmet-plume from the crest. Then indeed his wrath swells; and
forced to it by their treachery, while chariot and horses disappear, he calls
Jove oft and again to witness, and the altars of the violated treaty, and now
at last plunges amid their lines. Sweeping terrible down the tide of battle he
wakens fierce indiscriminate carnage, and flings loose all the reins of wrath.
What god may now unfold for me in verse so many woes, so many diverse
slaughters and death of captains whom now Turnus, now again the Trojan
hero, drives over all the field? Was it well, O God, that nations destined to

everlasting peace should clash in so vast a shock? Aeneas [505-540]meets
Sucro the Rutulian; the combat stayed the first rush of the Teucrians, but
delayed them not long; he catches him on the side, and, when fate comes
quickest, drives the harsh sword clean through the ribs where they fence the
breast. Turnus brings down Amycus from horseback with his brother
Diores, and meets them on foot; him he strikes with his long spear as he
comes, him with his sword-point, and hangs both severed heads on his
chariot and carries them off dripping with blood. The one sends to death
Talos and Tanaïs and brave Cethegus, three at one meeting, and gloomy
Onites, of Echionian name, and Peridia the mother that bore him; the other
those brethren sent from Lycia and Apollo's fields, and Menoetes the
Arcadian, him who loathed warfare in vain; who once had his art and
humble home about the river-fisheries of Lerna, and knew not the courts of
the great, but his father was tenant of the land he tilled. And as fires kindled
dispersedly in a dry forest and rustling laurel-thickets, or foaming rivers
where they leap swift and loud from high hills, and speed to sea each in his
own path of havoc; as fiercely the two, Aeneas and Turnus, dash amid the
battle; now, now wrath surges within them, and unconquerable hearts are
torn; now in all their might they rush upon wounds. The one dashes
Murranus down and stretches him on the soil with a vast whirling mass of
rock, as he cries the names of his fathers and forefathers of old, a whole line
drawn through Latin kings; under traces and yoke the wheels spurned him,
and the fast-beating hoofs of his rushing horses trample down their
forgotten lord. The other meets Hyllus rushing on in gigantic pride, and
hurls his weapon at his gold-bound temples; the spear pierced through the
helmet and stood fast in the brain. Neither did thy right hand save thee from
Turnus, O Cretheus, bravest of the Greeks; nor did his gods shield
Cupencus when Aeneas came; he gave his [541-575]breast full to the steel,
nor, alas! was the brazen shield's delay aught of avail. Thee likewise,
Aeolus, the Laurentine plains saw sink backward and cover a wide space of
earth; thou fallest, whom Argive battalions could not lay low, nor Achilles
the destroyer of Priam's realm. Here was thy goal of death; thine high house
was under Ida, at Lyrnesus thine high house, on Laurentine soil thy tomb.
The whole battle-lines gather up, all Latium and all Dardania, Mnestheus
and valiant Serestus, with Messapus, tamer of horses, and brave Asilas, the
Tuscan battalion and Evander's Arcadian squadrons; man by man they
struggle with all their might; no rest nor pause in the vast strain of conflict.

At this Aeneas' mother most beautiful inspired him to advance on the walls,
directing his columns on the town and dismaying the Latins with sudden
and swift disaster. As in search for Turnus he bent his glance this way and
that round the separate ranks, he descries the city free from all this warfare,
unpunished and unstirred. Straightway he kindles at the view of a greater
battle; he summons Mnestheus and Sergestus and brave Serestus his
captains, and mounts a hillock; there the rest of the Teucrian army gathers
thickly, still grasping shield and spear. Standing on the high mound amid
them, he speaks: 'Be there no delay to my words; Jupiter is with us; neither
let any be slower to move that the design is sudden. This city to-day, the
source of war, the royal seat of Latinus, unless they yield them to receive
our yoke and obey their conquerors, will I raze to ground, and lay her
smoking roofs level with the dust. Must I wait forsooth till Turnus please to
stoop to combat, and choose again to face his conqueror? This, O citizens,
is the fountain-head and crown of the accursed war. Bring brands speedily,
and reclaim the treaty in fire.' He ended; all with spirit alike emulous form a
wedge and advance in serried masses to the walls. Ladders are run [576-
611]up, and fire leaps sudden to sight. Some rush to the separate gates, and
cut down the guards of the entry, others hurl their steel and darken the sky
with weapons. Aeneas himself among the foremost, upstretching his hand to
the city walls, loudly reproaches Latinus, and takes the gods to witness that
he is again forced into battle, that twice now do the Italians choose warfare
and break a second treaty. Discord rises among the alarmed citizens: some
bid unbar the town and fling wide their gates to the Dardanians, and pull the
king himself towards the ramparts; others bring arms and hasten to defend
the walls: as when a shepherd tracks bees to their retreat in a recessed rock,
and fills it with stinging smoke, they within run uneasily up and down their
waxen fortress, and hum louder in rising wrath; the smell rolls in darkness
along their dwelling, and a blind murmur echoes within the rock as the
smoke issues to the empty air.
This fortune likewise befell the despairing Latins, this woe shook the whole
city to her base. The queen espies from her roof the enemy's approach, the
walls scaled and firebrands flying on the houses; and nowhere Rutulian
ranks, none of Turnus' columns to meet them; alas! she deems him
destroyed in the shock of battle, and, distracted by sudden anguish, shrieks
that she is the source of guilt, the spring of ill, and with many a mad

utterance of frenzied grief rends her purple attire with dying hand, and ties
from a lofty beam the ghastly noose of death. And when the unhappy Latin
women knew this calamity, first her daughter Lavinia tears her flower-like
tresses and roseate cheeks, and all the train around her madden in her suit;
the wide palace echoes to their wailing, and from it the sorrowful rumour
spreads abroad throughout the town. All hearts sink; Latinus goes with torn
raiment, in dismay at his wife's doom and his city's downfall, defiling his
hoary hair with soilure of sprinkled dust.
[614-648]Meanwhile on the skirts of the field Turnus chases scattered
stragglers, ever slacker to battle, ever less and less exultant in his coursers'
victorious speed. The confused cry came to him borne in blind terror down
the breeze, and his startled ears caught the echoing tumult and disastrous
murmur of the town. 'Ah me! what agony shakes the city? or what is this
cry that fleets so loud from the distant town?' So speaks he, and distractedly
checks the reins. And to him his sister, as changed into his charioteer
Metiscus' likeness she swayed horses and chariot-reins, thus rejoined: 'This
way, Turnus, let us pursue the brood of Troy, where victory opens her
nearest way; there are others whose hands can protect their dwellings.
Aeneas falls fiercer on the Italians, and closes in conflict; let our hand too
deal pitiless death on his Teucrians. Neither in tale of dead nor in glory of
battle shalt thou retire outdone.' Thereat Turnus: . . .
'Ah my sister, long ere now I knew thee, when first thine arts shattered the
treaty, and thou didst mingle in the strife; and now thy godhead conceals
itself in vain. But who hath bidden thee descend from heaven to bear this
sore travail? was it that thou mightest see thy hapless brother cruelly slain?
for what do I, or what fortune yet gives promise of safety? Before my very
eyes, calling aloud on me, I saw Murranus, than whom none other is left me
more dear, sink huge to earth, borne down by as huge a wound. Hapless
Ufens is fallen, not to see our shame; corpse and armour are in Teucrian
hands. The destruction of their households, this was the one thing yet
lacking; shall I suffer it? Shall my hand not refute Drances' jeers? shall I
turn my back, and this land see Turnus a fugitive? Is Death all so bitter? Do
you, O Shades, be gracious to me, since the powers of heaven are
estranged; to you shall I go down, a pure spirit and [649-681]ignorant of your
blame, never once unworthy of my mighty fathers of old.'

Scarce had he spoken thus; lo! Saces, borne flying on his foaming horse
through the thickest of the foe, an arrow-wound right in his face, darts,
beseeching Turnus by his name. 'Turnus, in thee is our last safety; pity thy
people. Aeneas thunders in arms, and threatens to overthrow and hurl to
destruction the high Italian fortress; and already firebrands are flying on our
roofs. On thee, on thee the Latins turn their gazing eyes; King Latinus
himself mutters in doubt, whom he is to call his sons, to whom he shall
incline in union. Moreover the queen, thy surest stay, hath fallen by her own
hand and in dismay fled the light. Alone in front of the gates Messapus and
valiant Atinas sustain the battle-line. Round about them to right and left the
armies stand locked and the iron field shivers with naked points; thou
wheelest thy chariot on the sward alone.' At the distracting picture of his
fortune Turnus froze in horror and stood in dumb gaze; together in his heart
sweep the vast mingling tides of shame and maddened grief, and love stung
to frenzy and resolved valour. So soon as the darkness cleared and light
returned to his soul, he fiercely turned his blazing eyeballs towards the
ramparts, and gazed back from his wheels on the great city. And lo! a spire
of flame wreathing through the floors wavered up skyward and held a turret
fast, a turret that he himself had reared of mortised planks and set on rollers
and laid with high gangways. 'Now, O my sister, now fate prevails: cease to
hinder; let us follow where deity and stern fortune call. I am resolved to
face Aeneas, resolved to bear what bitterness there is in death; nor shalt
thou longer see me shamed, sister of mine. Let me be mad, I pray thee, with
this madness before the end.' He spoke, and leapt swiftly from his chariot to
the field, and darting through weapons [682-718]and through enemies, leaves
his sorrowing sister, and bursts in rapid course amid their columns. And as
when a rock rushes headlong from some mountain peak, torn away by the
blast, or if the rushing rain washes it away, or the stealing years loosen its
ancient hold; the reckless mountain mass goes sheer and impetuous, and
leaps along the ground, hurling with it forests and herds and men; thus
through the scattering columns Turnus rushes to the city walls, where the
earth is wettest with bloodshed and the air sings with spears; and beckons
with his hand, and thus begins aloud: 'Forbear now, O Rutulians, and you,
Latins, stay your weapons. Whatsoever fortune is left is mine: I singly must
expiate the treaty for you all, and make decision with the sword.' All drew
aside and left him room.

But lord Aeneas, hearing Turnus' name, abandons the walls, abandons the
fortress height, and in exultant joy flings aside all hindrance, breaks off all
work, and clashes his armour terribly, vast as Athos, or as Eryx, or as the
lord of Apennine when he roars with his tossing ilex woods and rears his
snowy crest rejoicing into air. Now indeed Rutulians and Trojans and all
Italy turned in emulous gaze, and they who held the high city, and they
whose ram was battering the foundations of the wall, and unarmed their
shoulders. Latinus himself stands in amaze at the mighty men, born in
distant quarters of the world, met and making decision with the sword. And
they, in the empty level field that cleared for them, darted swiftly forward,
and hurling their spears from far, close in battle shock with clangour of
brazen shields. Earth utters a moan; the sword-strokes fall thick and fast,
chance and valour joining in one. And as in broad Sila or high on Taburnus,
when two bulls rush to deadly battle forehead to forehead, the herdsmen
retire in terror, all the herd stands dumb in dismay, and the heifers murmur
in doubt which shall be [719-752]lord in the woodland, which all the cattle
must follow; they violently deal many a mutual wound, and gore with their
stubborn horns, bathing their necks and shoulders in abundant blood; all the
woodland moans back their bellowing: even thus Aeneas of Troy and the
Daunian hero rush together shield to shield; the mighty crash fills the sky.
Jupiter himself holds up the two scales in even balance, and lays in them the
different fates of both, trying which shall pay forfeit of the strife, whose
weight shall sink in death. Turnus darts out, thinking it secure, and rises
with his whole reach of body on his uplifted sword; then strikes; Trojans
and Latins cry out in excitement, and both armies strain their gaze. But the
treacherous sword shivers, and in mid stroke deserts its eager lord. If flight
aid him not now! He flies swifter than the wind, when once he descries a
strange hilt in his weaponless hand. Rumour is that in his headlong hurry,
when mounting behind his yoked horses to begin the battle, he left his
father's sword behind and caught up his charioteer Metiscus' weapon; and
that served him long, while Teucrian stragglers turned their backs; when it
met the divine Vulcanian armour, the mortal blade like brittle ice snapped in
the stroke; the shards lie glittering upon the yellow sand. So in distracted
flight Turnus darts afar over the plain, and now this way and now that
crosses in wavering circles; for on all hands the Teucrians locked him in
crowded ring, and the dreary marsh on this side, on this the steep city
ramparts hem him in.