XXVIII .   "Three days, made doubtful by the blinding gloom,
As many nights, when not a star is seen,
We wander on, uncertain of our doom.
At last the fourth glad daybreak clears the scene,
And rising land, and opening uplands green,
And rolling smoke at distance greet the view.
No longer tarrying; to our oars we lean.
Down drop the sails; in order ranged, each crew 		244
Flings up the foam to heaven, and sweeps the sparkling blue.


XXIX .   "Saved from the sea, the Strophades we gain,
So called in Greece, where dwells, with Harpies, dire
Celæno, in the vast Ionian main,
Since, forced from Phineus' palace to retire,
They fled their former banquet. Heavenly ire
Ne'er sent a pest more loathsome; ne'er were seen
Worse plagues to issue from the Stygian mire—
Birds maiden-faced, but trailing filth obscene, 		253
With taloned hands and looks for ever pale and lean.


XXX .   "The harbour gained, lo! herds of oxen bright
And goats untended browse the pastures fair.
We, sword in hand, make onset, and invite
The gods and Jove himself the spoil to share,
And piling couches, banquet on the fare.
When straight, down-swooping from the hills meanwhile
The Harpies flap their clanging wings, and tear
The food, and all with filthy touch defile, 		262
And, mixt with screams, uprose a sickening stench and vile.


XXXI .   "Once more, within a cavern screened from view,
Where circling trees a rustling shade supply,
The boards are spread, the altars blaze anew.
Back, from another quarter of the sky,
Dark-ambushed, round the clamorous Harpies fly
With taloned claws, and taste and taint the prey.
To arms I call my comrades, and defy
The loathsome brood to battle. They obey, 		271
And swords and bucklers hide amid the grass away.


XXXII .   "So when their screams descending fill the strand,
Misenus from his outlook sounds the fray.
All to the strange encounter, sword in hand,
Rush forth, these miscreants of the deep to slay.
No wounds they take, no weapon wins its way.
Swiftly they soar, all leaving, ere they go,
Their filthy traces on the half-gorged prey.
One perched, Celæno, on a rock, and lo, 		280
Thus croaked the dismal seer her prophecy of woe.


XXXIII .   "'War, too, Laomedon's twice-perjured race!
War do ye bring, our cattle stol'n and slain?
And unoffending Harpies would ye chase
Forth from their old, hereditary reign?
Mark then my words and in your breasts retain.
What Jove, the Sire omnipotent, of old
Revealed to Phoebus, and to me again
Phoebus Apollo at his hest foretold, 		289
I now to thee and thine, the Furies' Queen, unfold.


XXXIV .   "'Ye seek Italia and, with favouring wind,
Shall reach Italia, and her ports attain.
But ne'er the town, by Destiny assigned,
Your walls shall gird, till famine's pangs constrain
To gnaw your boards, in quittance for our slain.'
So spake the Fiend, and backward to the wood
Soared on the wing. Cold horror froze each vein.
Aghast and shuddering my comrades stood; 		298
Down sank at once each heart, and terror chilled the blood.


XXXV .   "No more with arms, for peace with vows and prayer
We sue, and pardon of these powers implore,
Or be they goddesses or birds of air
Obscene and dire; and lifting on the shore
His hands, Anchises doth the gods adore.
'O Heaven!' he cries, 'avert these threats; be kind
And stay the curse, and vex with plagues no more
A pious folk,' then bids the crews unbind 		307
The stern-ropes, loose the sheets and spread them to the wind.


XXXVI .   "The South-wind fills the canvas; on we fly
Where breeze and pilot drive us through the deep.
Soon, crowned with woods, Zacynthos we espy,
Dulichium, Same and the rock-bound steep
Of Neritos. Past Ithaca we creep,
Laertes' realms, and curse the land that bred
Ulysses, cause of all the woes we weep.
Soon, where Leucate lifts her cloud-capt head, 		316
Looms forth Apollo's fane, the seaman's name of dread.


XXXVII .   "Tired out we seek the little town, and run
The sterns ashore and anchor in the bay,
Saved beyond hope and glad the land is won,
And lustral rites, with blazing altars, pay
To Jove, and make the shores of Actium gay
With Ilian games, as, like our sires, we strip
And oil our sinews for the wrestler's play.
Proud, thus escaping from the foemen's grip, 		325
Past all the Argive towns, through swarming Greeks, to slip.


XXXVIII .   "Meanwhile the sun rolls round the mighty year,
And wintry North-winds vex the waves once more.
In front, above the temple-gates I rear
The brazen shield which once great Abas bore,
And mark the deed in writing on the door,
'Æneas these from conquering Greeks hath ta'en';
Then bid my comrades quit the port and shore,
And man the benches. They with rival strain 		334
And slanting oar-blades sweep the levels of the main.


XXXIX .   "Phæacia's heights with the horizon blend;
We skim Epirus, and Chaonia's bay
Enter, and to Buthrotum's town ascend.
Strange news we hear: A Trojan Greeks obey,
Helenus, master of the spouse and sway
Of Pyrrhus, and Andromache once more
Has yielded to a Trojan lord. Straightway
I burn to greet them, and the tale explore, 		343
And from the harbour haste, and leave the ships and shore.


XL .   "Within a grove Andromache that day,
Where Simois in fancy flowed again,
Her offerings chanced at Hector's grave to pay,
A turf-built cenotaph, with altars twain,
Source of her tears and sacred to the slain—
And called his shade. Distracted with amaze
She marked me, as the Trojan arms shone plain.
Heat leaves her frame; she stiffens with the gaze, 		352
She swoons—and scarce at length these faltering words essays:


XLI .   "'Real, then, real is thy face, and true
Thy tidings? Liv'st thou, child of heavenly seed?
If dead, then where is Hector?' Tears ensue,
And wailing, shrill as though her heart would bleed.
Then I, with stammering accents, intercede,
And, sore perplext, these broken words outthrow
To calm her transport, 'Yea, alive, indeed,—
Alive through all extremities of woe. 		361
Doubt not, thou see'st the truth, no shape of empty show.


XLII .   "'Alas! what lot is thine? What worthy fate
Hath caught thee, fallen from a spouse so high?
Hector's Andromache, art thou the mate
Of Pyrrhus?' Then with lowly downcast eye
She dropped her voice, and softly made reply.
'Ah! happy maid of Priam, doomed instead
At Troy upon a foeman's tomb to die!
Not drawn by lot for servitude, nor led 		370
A captive thrall, like me, to grace a conqueror's bed.


XLIII .   "'I, torn from burning Troy o'er many a wave,
Endured the lust of Pyrrhus and his pride,
And knew a mother's travail as his slave.
Fired with Hermione, a Spartan bride,
Me, joined in bed and bondage, he allied
To Helenus. But mad with love's despair,
And stung with Furies for his spouse denied,
At length Orestes caught the wretch unware, 		379
E'en by his father's shrine, and smote him then and there.


XLIV .   "'The tyrant dead, a portion of his reign
Devolves on Helenus, who Chaonia calls
From Trojan Chaon the Chaonian plain,
And on these heights rebuilds the Trojan walls.
But thou—what chance, or god, or stormy squalls
Have driven thee here unweeting?—and the boy
Ascanius—lives he, or what hap befalls
His parents' darling, and their only joy? 		388
Breathes he the vital air, whom unto thee now Troy—


XLV .   "'Still grieves he for his mother? Doth the name
Of sire or uncle make his young heart glow
For deeds of valour and ancestral fame?'
Weeping she spake, with unavailing woe,
And poured her sorrow to the winds, when lo,
In sight comes Helenus, with fair array,
And hails his friends, and hastening to bestow
Glad welcome, toward his palace leads the way; 		397
But tears and broken words his mingled thoughts betray.


XLVI .   "I see another but a tinier Troy,
A seeming Pergama recalls the great.
A dried-up Xanthus I salute with joy,
And clasp the portals of a Scæan gate.
Nor less kind welcome doth the rest await.
The monarch, mindful of his sire of old,
Receives the Teucrians in his courts of state.
They in the hall, the viands piled on gold, 		406
Pledging the God of wine, their brimming cups uphold.


XLVII .   "One day and now another passed; the gale
Sings in the shrouds, and calls us to depart,
When thus the prophet Helenus I hail,
'Troy-born interpreter of Heaven! whose art
The signs of Phoebus' pleasure can impart;
Thou know'st the tripod and the Clarian bay,
The stars, the voices of the birds, that dart
On wings with omens laden, speak and say,— 		415
Since fate and all the gods foretell a prosperous way.


XLVIII .   "'And point to far Italia,—One alone,
Celæno, sings of famine foul and dread,
A nameless prodigy, a plague unknown,—
What perils first to shun? what path to tread,
To win deliverance from such toils?' This said,
I ceased, and Helenus with slaughtered kine
Implores the god, and from his sacred head
Unbinds the wreath, and leads me to the shrine, 		424
Awed by Apollo's power, and chants the doom divine:


XLIX .   "'O Goddess-born, high auspices are thine,
And heaven's plain omens guide thee o'er the main.
Thus Jove, by lot unfolding his design,
Assorts the chances, and the Fates ordain.
This much may I of many things explain,
How best o'er foreign seas to urge thy keel
In safety, and Ausonian ports attain,
The rest from Helenus the Fates conceal, 		433
And Juno's envious power forbids me to reveal.


L .   "'Learn then, Italia, that thou deem'st so near,
And thither dream'st of lightly passing o'er,
Long leagues divide, and many a pathless mere.
First must Trinacrian waters bend the oar,
Ausonian waves thy vessels must explore,
First must thou view the nether world, where flows
Dark Styx, and visit that Ææan shore,
The home of Circe, ere, at rest from woes, 		442
Thou build the promised walls, and win the wished repose.


LI .   "'These tokens bear, and in thy memory store.
When, musing sad and pensive, thou hast found
Beside an oak-fringed river, on the shore,
A huge sow thirty-farrowed, and around,
Milk-white as she, her litter, mark the ground,
That spot shall see thy promised town; for there
Thy toils are ended, and thy rest is crowned.
Fear not this famine—'tis an empty scare; 		451
The Fates will find a way, and Phoebus hear thy prayer.


LII .   "'As for yon shore and that Italian coast,
Washed, where the land lies nearest, by our main,
Shun them; their cities hold a hostile host.
There Troy's old foes, the evil Argives, reign,
Locrians of Narycos her towns contain.
There fierce Idomeneus from Crete brought o'er
His troops to vex the Sallentinian plain;
There, girt with walls and guarded by the power 		460
Of Philoctetes, stands Petelia's tiny tower.


LIII .   "'Nay, when thy vessels, ranged upon her shore,
Rest from the deep, and on the beach ye light
The votive altars, and the gods adore,
Veil then thy locks, with purple hood bedight,
And shroud thy visage from a foeman's sight,
Lest hostile presence, 'mid the flames divine,
Break in, and mar the omen and the rite.
This pious use keep sacred, thou and thine, 		469
The sons of sons unborn, and all the Trojan line.


LIV .   "'When, wafted to Sicilia, dawns in sight
Pelorus' channel, keep the leftward shore,
Though long the circuit, and avoid the right.
These lands, 'tis said, one continent of yore
(Such change can ages work) an earthquake tore
Asunder; in with havoc rushed the main,
And far Sicilia from Hesperia bore,
And now, where leapt the parted lands in twain, 		478
The narrow tide pours through, 'twixt severed town and plain.


LV .   "'Here Scylla, leftward sits Charybdis fell,
Who, yawning thrice, her lowest depths laid bare,
Sucks the vast billows in her throat's dark hell,
Then starward spouts the refluent surge in air.
Here Scylla, gaping from her gloomy lair,
The passing vessels on the rocks doth hale;
A maiden to the waist, with bosom fair
And human face; below, a monstrous whale, 		487
Down from whose wolf-like womb hangs many a dolphin's tail.


LVI .   "'Far better round Pachynus' point to steer,
Though long the course, and tedious the delay,
Than once dread Scylla to behold, or hear
The rocks rebellow with her hell-hounds' bay.
This more, besides, I charge thee to obey,
If any faith to Helenus be due,
Or skill in prophecy the seer display,
And mighty Phoebus hath inspired me true, 		496
These warning words I urge, and oft will urge anew:


LVII .   "'Seek Juno first; great Juno's power adore;
With suppliant gifts the potent queen constrain,
And winds shall waft thee to Italia's shore.
There, when at Cumæ landing from the main,
Avernus' lakes and sounding woods ye gain,
Thyself shalt see, within her rock-hewn shrine,
The frenzied prophetess, whose mystic strain
Expounds the Fates, to leaves of trees consign 		505
The notes and names that mark the oracles divine.


LVIII .   "'Whate'er the maiden on those leaves doth trace,
In rows she sorts, and in the cave doth store.
There rest they, nor their sequence change, nor place,
Save when, by chance, on grating hinge the door
Swings open, and a light breath sweeps the floor,
Or rougher blasts the tender leaves disperse.
Loose then they flutter, for she recks no more
To call them back, and rearrange the verse; 		514
Untaught the votaries leave, the Sibyl's cave to curse.


LIX .   "'But linger thou, nor count thy lingering vain,
Though comrades chide, and breezes woo the fleet.
Approach the prophetess; with prayer unchain
Her voice to speak. She shall the tale repeat
Of wars in Italy, thy destined seat,—
What toils to shun, what dangers to despise,—
And make the triumph of thy quest complete.
Thou hast whate'er 'tis lawful to advise; 		523
Go, and with deathless deeds raise Ilion to the skies.'


LX .   "So spake the seer, and shipward bids his friends
Rich gifts convey, and store them in the hold.
Gold, silver plate, carved ivory he sends,
With massive caldrons of Dodona's mould;
A coat of mail, with triple chain of gold,
And shining helm, with cone and flowing crest,
The arms of Pyrrhus, glorious to behold.
Nor lacks my sire his presents; for the rest 		532
Steeds, guides and arms he finds, and oarsmen of the best.


LXI .   "Then to Anchises, as he bids us spread
The sails, with reverence speaks Apollo's seer,
'Far-famed Anchises, honoured with the bed
Of haughty Venus, Heaven's peculiar care,
Twice saved from Troy! behold Ausonia there,
Steer towards her coasts, yet skirt them; far away
That region lies, which Phoebus doth prepare.
Blest in thy son's devotion, take thy way. 		541
Why should more words of mine the rising South delay?'


LXII .   "Nor less Andromache, sore grieved to part,
Rich raiment fetches, wrought with golden thread,
And Phrygian scarf, and still with bounteous heart
Loads him with broideries. 'Take these,' she said,
'Sole image of Astyanax now dead.
Thy kin's last gifts, my handiwork, to show
How Hector's widow loved the son she bred.
Such eyes had he, such very looks as thou, 		550
Such hands, and oh! like thine his age were ripening now!'


LXIII .   "With gushing tears I bid the pair farewell.
Live happy ye, whose destinies are o'er;
We still must wander where the Fates compel.
Your rest is won; no oceans to explore,
No fair Ausonia's ever-fading shore.
Ye still can see a Xanthus and a Troy,
Reared by your hands, old Ilion to restore,
And brighter auspices than ours enjoy, 		559
Nor tempt, like ours, the Greeks to ravage and destroy.


LXIV .   "'If ever Tiber and the fields I see
Washed by her waves, ere mingling with the brine,
And build the city which the Fates decree,
Then kindred towns and neighbouring folk shall join,
Yours in Epirus, in Hesperia mine,
And linked thenceforth in sorrow and in joy,
With Dardanus the founder of each line,—
So let posterity its pains employ, 		568
Two nations, one in heart, shall make another Troy.'


LXV .   "On fly the barks o'er ocean. Near us frown
Ceraunia's rocks, whence shortest lies the way
To Italy. And now the sun goes down,
And darkness gathers on the mountains grey.
Close by the water, in a sheltered bay,
A few as guardians of the oars we choose,
Then stretched at random on the beach we lay
Our limbs to rest, and on the toil-worn crews 		577
Sleep steals in silence down, and sheds her kindly dews.


LXVI .   "Nor yet had Night climbed heaven, when up from sleep
Starts Palinurus, and with listening ear
Catches the breeze. He marks the stars, that keep
Their courses, gliding through the silent sphere,
Arcturus, rainy Hyads and each Bear,
And, girt with gold, Orion. Far away
He sees the firmament all calm and clear,
And from the stern gives signal. We obey, 		586
And shifting camp, set sail and tempt the doubtful way.


LXVII .   "The stars were chased, and blushing rose the day.
Dimly, at distance through the misty shroud
Italia's hills and lowlands we survey,
'Italia,' first Achates shouts aloud;
'Italia,' echoes from the joyful crowd.
Then sire Anchises hastened to entwine
A massive goblet with a wreath, and vowed
Libations to the gods, and poured the wine 		595
And on the lofty stern invoked the powers divine:


LXVIII .   "'Great gods, whom Earth and Sea and Storms obey,
Breathe fair, and waft us smoothly o'er the main.'
Fresh blows the breeze, and broader grows the bay,
And on the cliffs is seen Minerva's fane.
We furl the sails, and shoreward row amain.
Eastward the harbour arches, scarce descried.
Two jutting rocks, by billows lashed in vain,
Stretch out their arms the narrow mouth to hide. 		604
Far back the temple stands, and seems to shun the tide.


LXIX .   "Lo, here, first omen offered to our eyes,
Four snow-white steeds are grazing on the plain.
''Tis war thou bringest us,' Anchises cries,
'Strange land! For war the mettled steed they train,
And war these threaten. Yet in time again
These beasts are wont in harness to obey,
And bear the yoke, as guided by the rein.
Peace yet is hopeful.' So our vows we pay 		613
To Pallas, famed in arms, whose welcome cheered the way.


LXX .   "Veiled at her shrines in Phrygian hood we stand,
And chief to Juno, mindful of the seer,
Burnt-offerings pay, as pious rites demand.
This done, the sailyards to the wind we veer,
And leave the Grecians and the land of fear.
Lo, there Tarentum's harbour and the town,
If fame be true, of Hercules, and here
Lacinium's queen and Caulon's towers are known, 		622
And Scylaceum's rocks, with shattered ships bestrown.


LXXI .   "Far off is seen, above the billowy mere,
Trinacrian Ætna, and the distant roar
Of ocean and the beaten rocks we hear,
And the loud burst of breakers on the shore;
High from the shallows leap the surges hoar,
And surf and sand mix eddying. 'Behold
Charybdis!' cries Anchises, ''tis the shore,
The dreaded rocks that Helenus foretold. 		631
Row, comrades, for dear life, and let the oars catch hold.'


LXXII .   "He spake, 'twas done; and Palinurus first
Turns the prow leftward: to the left we ply
With oars and sail, and shun the rocks accurst.
Now curls the wave, and lifts us to the sky,
Now sinks and, plunging in the gulf we lie.
Thrice roar the caverned shore-cliffs, thrice the spray
Whirls up and wets the dewy stars on high.
Thus tired we drift, as sinks the wind and day, 		640
Unto the Cyclops' shore, all weetless of the way.


LXXIII .   "It was a spacious harbour, sheltered deep
From access of the winds, but looming vast
With awful ravage, Ætna's neighbouring steep
Thundered aloud, and, dark with clouds, upcast
Smoke and red cinders in a whirlwind's blast.
Live balls of flame, with showers of sparks, upflew
And licked the stars, and in combustion massed,
Torn rocks, her ragged entrails, molten new, 		649
The rumbling mount belched forth from out the boiling stew.


LXXIV .   "Here, while from Ætna's furnaces the flame
Bursts forth, Enceladus, 'tis said, doth lie,
Scorched by the lightning. As his wearied frame
He shifts, Trinacria, trembling at the cry
Moans through her shores, and smoke involves the sky.
There all night long, screened by the woods, we hear
The dreadful sounds, and know not whence nor why,
For stars are none, nor planet gilds the sphere; 		658
Night holds the moon in clouds, and heaven is dark and drear.


LXXV .   "Now rose the Day-star from the East, and cleared
The mists, that melted with advancing Morn,
When suddenly from out the woods appeared
An uncouth form, a creature wan and worn,
Scarce like a man, in piteous plight forlorn.
Suppliant his hands he stretches to the shore;
We turn and look on tatters tagged with thorn,
Dire squalor and a length of beard,—what more, 		667
A Greek, to Troy erewhile in native arms sent o'er.


LXXVI .   "He scared to see the Dardan garb once more
And Trojan arms, stood faltering with dismay,
Then rushed, with prayer and weeping, to the shore.
'O, by the stars, and by the Gods, I pray,
And life's pure breath, this light of genial day,
Take me, O Teucrians; wheresoe'er ye go,
Enough to bear me from this land away.
I once was of the Danaan crews, I know, 		676
And came to Trojan homes and Ilion as a foe.


LXXVII .   "'For that, if that be such a crime to you,
O strew me forth upon the watery waste,
And drown me in the deep. If death be due,
'Twere sweet of death by human hands to taste.'
He cried, and, grovelling, our knees embraced,
And, clasping, clung to us. We bid him stand
And tell his birth and trouble; and in haste
Himself the sire Anchises pledged his hand, 		685
And he at length took heart, and answered our demand.


LXXVIII .   "'My name is Achemenides. I come
From Ithaca. To Troy I sailed the sea
With evil-starred Ulysses, leaving home
And father, Adamastus;—poor was he,
And O! if such my poverty could be.
Me here my thoughtless comrades, hurrying fast
To quit the cruel threshold and be free,
Leave in the Cyclops' cavern. Dark and vast 		694
That house of slaughtered men, and many a foul repast.


LXXIX .   "'Himself so tall, he strikes the lofty skies
(O gods, rid earth of such a monstrous brood!),
None dare with speech accost, nor mortal eyes
Behold him. Human entrails are his food.
Myself have seen him, gorged with brains and blood,
Pluck forth two comrades, in his cave bent back,
And dash them till the threshold swam with blood,
Then crunch the gobbets in his teeth, while black 		703
With gore the limbs still quivered, and the bones did crack:


LXXX .   "'Not unavenged; nor brave Ulysses deigned
To brook such outrage. In that hour of tyne
True to himself the Ithacan remained.
When, gorged with food, and belching gore and wine,
With drooping neck, the giant snored supine,
Then, closing round him, to the gods we pray,
Each at his station, as the lots assign,
And where, beneath the frowning forehead, lay, 		712
Huge as an Argive shield, or like the lamp of day,


LXXXI .   "'His one great orb, deep in the monster's head
We drive the pointed weapon, joy'd at last
To wreak such vengeance for our comrades dead.
But fly, unhappy Trojans, fly, and cast
Your cables from the shore. Such and so vast
As Polyphemus, when the cave's huge door
Shuts on his flocks, and for his night's repast
He milks them, lo! a hundred Cyclops more 		721
Roam on the lofty hills, and range the winding shore.


LXXXII .   "'Now thrice the Moon hath filled her horns with light,
And still in woods and lonely dens I lie,
And see the Cyclops stalk from height to height,
And hear their tramp, and tremble at their cry.
My food—hard berries that the boughs supply,
And roots of grass. Thus wandering, as I scanned
The distant ocean with despairing eye,
I saw your ships first bearing to the land, 		730
And vowed, whoe'er ye proved, the strangers' slave to stand.


LXXXIII .   "'Enough, these monsters to escape; O take
My life, and tear me as you will from day,
Rather than these devour me!'—Scarce he spake,
When from the mountains to the well-known bay,
The shepherd Polyphemus gropes his way;
Huge, hideous, horrible in shape and show,
And visionless. A pine-trunk serves to stay
And guide his footsteps, and around him go 		739
The sheep, his only joy and solace of his woe.


LXXXIV .   "Down came the giant, wading in the main,
And rinsed his gory socket from the tide,
Gnashing his teeth and moaning in his pain.
On through the deep he stalks with awful stride,
So tall, the billows scarcely wet his side.
Forthwith our flight we hasten, prickt with fear,
On board—'twas due—we let the suppliant hide,
Then, mute and breathless, cut the stern-ropes clear, 		748
Bend to the emulous oar, and sweep the whitening mere.


LXXXV .   "He heard, and turned his footsteps to the sound.
Short of its mark the huge arm idly fell
Outstretched, and swifter than his stride he found
The Ionian waves. Then rose a monstrous yell;
All Ocean shudders and her waves upswell;
Far off, Italia trembles with the roar,
And Ætna groans through many a winding cell,
And trooping to the call the Cyclops pour 		757
From wood and lofty hill, and crowding fill the shore.


LXXXVI .   "We see them scowling impotent, the band
Of Ætna, towering to the stars above,
An awful conclave! Tall as oaks they stand,
Or cypresses—the lofty trees of Jove,
Or cone-clad guardians of Diana's grove.
Fain were we then, in agony of fear,
To shake the canvas to the winds, and rove
At random; natheless, we obey the seer, 		766
Who past those fatal rocks had warned us not to steer,


LXXXVII .   "Where Scylla here, and there Charybdis lies,
And death lurks double. Backward we essay
Our course, when lo, from out Pelorus flies
The North-Wind, sent to waft us on our way.
We pass the place where, mingling with the spray,
Through narrow rocks Pantagia's stream outflows;
We see low-lying Thapsus and the bay
Of Megara. These shores the suppliant shows, 		775
Known from the time he shared his wandering chieftain's woes.


LXXXVIII .   "Far-stretcht against Plemmyrium's wave-beat shore
An island lies, before Sicania's bay,
Now called Ortygia—'twas its name of yore.
Hither from distant Elis, legends say,
Beneath the seas Alpheus stole his way,
And, mingling now with Arethusa here,
Mounts, a Sicilian fountain, to the day.
Here we with prayer, obedient to the seer, 		784
Invoke the guardian gods to whom the place is dear.


LXXXIX .   "Thence past Helorus' marish speeds the bark,
Where fat and fruitful shines the meadowy lea.
We graze the cliffs and jutting rocks, that mark
Pachynus. Camarina's fen we see,
Fixt there for ever by the fates' decree;
Then Gela's town (the river gave the name)
And Gela's plains, far-stretching from the sea,
And distant towers and lofty walls proclaim 		793
Steep Acragas, once known for generous steeds of fame.


XC .   "Thee too we pass, borne onward by the wind,
Palmy Selinus, and the treacherous strand
And shoals of Lilybæum leave behind.
Last, by the shore at Drepanum we stand
And take the shelter of her joyless land,
Here, tost so long o'er many a storm-lashed main,
We lose the stay and comfort of our band,
Here thou, best father, leav'st me to my pain, 		802
Thou, saved from countless risks, but saved, alas, in vain.


XCI .   "Not Helenus, who many an ill forecast,
Warned us to think such sorrow was in store,
Not even dire Celæno. There at last
My wanderings ended, and my toils were o'er,
And thence a God hath led me to your shore."
Thus, while mute wonder did the rest compose,
The Sire Æneas did his tale outpour,
And told his fates, his wanderings and his woes; 		811
Then ceased at length his speech, and sought the wished repose.

BOOK FOUR

ARGUMENT

Dido opens her heart to her sister. But for her promised loyalty to the dead Sychæus, she must have yielded (1-36). Anna pleads for Æneas, and Dido half-yielding sacrifices to the marriage-gods. The growth of her passion is described (37-104). Venus feigns assent to Juno's proposal that Æneas shall marry Dido and be king of Carthage. At a hunting Juno will send a storm and the lovers will shelter in a cave, and there plight their vows (105-144). The plot is consummated. Dido yields (145-198). Description of Rumour, who bruits abroad the story and rouses the jealous Iarbas to conjure his father, Jupiter, to interpose (199-248). Jupiter sends Mercury to remind Æneas of his mission (249-298). Æneas, terrified by the message, prepares for instant flight, to the delight of his followers and the despair of Dido (299-342), who entreats him to stay, and rehearses the dangers to which he is leaving her (343-374). Æneas is obdurate. Although he loves Dido, he is the slave of a destiny which he must at all costs fulfil (375-410). After calling down a solemn curse upon him Dido swoons, but crushing the impulse to comfort her, he hastens his preparations for departure (411-468). Dido sends Anna with a last appeal to Æneas, who nevertheless, in spite of struggles, obeys the gods (469-513). In utter misery Dido, on pretext of burning all Æneas' love-gifts, prepares a pyre and summons a sorceress. Her preparations complete, she utters her last lament (514-639). Mercury repeats his warning to Æneas, who sails forthwith (640-671). Daybreak reveals his flight, and Dido—cursing her betrayer—falls by her own hand, to the despair of her sister and the consternation of her subjects (672-837).


I .   Long since a prey to passion's torturing pains,
The Queen was wasting with the secret flame,
The cruel wound was feeding on her veins.
Back to the fancy of the lovelorn dame
Came the chief's valour and his country's fame.
His looks, his words still lingered in her breast,
Deep-fixt. And now the dewy Dawn upcame,
And chased the shadows, when her love's unrest 		1
Thus to her sister's soul responsive she confessed:


II .   "What dreams, dear Anna, fill me with alarms;
What stranger guest is this? like whom in face?
How proud in portance, how expert in arms!
In sooth I deem him of celestial race;
Fear argues souls degenerate and base;
But he—how oft by danger sore bestead,
What warlike exploits did his lips retrace.
Were not my purpose steadfast, ne'er to wed, 		10
Since love first played me false, and mocked me with the dead,


III .   "Were I not sick of bridal torch and bower,
This once, perchance, I had been frail again.
Anna—for I will own it—since the hour
When, poor Sychæus miserably slain,
A brother's murder rent a home in twain,
He, he alone my stubborn will could tame,
And stir the balance of my soul. Too plain
I know the traces of the long-quenched flame; 		19
The sparks of love revive, rekindled, but the same.


IV .   "But O! gape Earth, or may the Sire of might
Hurl me with lightning to the Shades amain,
Pale shades of Erebus and abysmal Night,
Ere, wifely modesty, thy name I stain,
Or dare thy sacred precepts to profane.
Nay, he whose love first linked us long ago,
Took all my love, and he shall still retain
And guard it with him in the grave below." 		28
She spake, and o'er her lap the gushing tears outflow.


V .   Then Anna: "Sister, dearer than the day,
Why thus in loneliness and endless woe
Wilt thou for ever wear thy youth away?
Nor care sweet sons, fair Venus' gifts to know?
Think'st thou such grief concerns the shades below?
What though no husband, Libyan or of Tyre,
Could bend a heart made desolate; what though
In vain Iarbas did thy love desire, 		37
And Africa's proud chiefs, why quench a pleasing fire?


VI .   "Think too, whose lands surround thee: on this side,
Gætulian cities, an unconquered race,
Numidians, reinless as the steeds they ride,
And cheerless Syrtis hold thee in embrace;
There fierce Barcæans and a sandy space
Wasted by drought. Why tell of wars from Tyre,
A brother's threats? Well know I Juno's grace
And heaven's propitious auspices conspire 		46
To find for Trojans here the home of their desire.


VII .   "Sister, how glorious even now these towers,
What realm shall rise, with such a wondrous pair
When Teucrian arms join fellowship with ours,
What glory shall the Punic state upbear!
Pray thou to heaven and, having gained thy prayer,
Indulge thy welcome, and thy guest entreat
To tarry. Bid him winter's storms beware;
Point to Orion's watery star, the fleet 		55
Still shattered, and the skies for mariners unmeet."


VIII .   So fanned, her passion kindled into flame:
Hope scattered scruples, and her doubts gave way,
And loosed were all the lingering ties of shame.
First to the fane the sisters haste away,
And there for peace at every shrine they pray,
And chosen ewes, as ancient rites ordain,
To Sire Lyæus, to the God of Day,
And Ceres, giver of the law, are slain, 		64
And most to Juno's power, who guards the nuptial chain.


IX .   Herself, the lovely Dido, bowl in hand,
O'er a white heifer's forehead pours the wine,
Or by the Gods' rich altars takes her stand,
And piles the gifts, and o'er the slaughtered kine
Pores, from the quivering heartstrings to divine
The doom of Fate. Blind seers, alas! what art
To calm her frenzy, now hath vow or shrine?
Deep in her marrow feeds the tender smart, 		73
Unseen, the silent wound is festering in her heart


X .   Poor Dido burns, and roams from street to street,
Wild as a doe, whom heedless, far away,
Some swain hath pierced amid the woods of Crete,
And left, unware, the flying steel to stay,
While through the forests and the lawns his prey
Roams, with the death-bolt clinging to her side.
Now to Æneas doth the queen display
Her walls and wealth, the dowry of his bride; 		82
Oft she essays to speak, so oft the utterance died.


XI .   Again, when evening steals upon the light,
She seeks the feast, again would fain give ear
To Troy's sad tale and, ravished with delight,
Hangs on his lips; and when the hall is clear,
And the moon sinks, and drowsy stars appear,
Alone she mourns, clings to the couch he pressed,
Him absent sees, his absent voice doth hear,
Now, fain to cheat her utter love's unrest, 		91
Clasps for his sire's sweet sake Ascanius to her breast.


XII .   No longer rise the growing towers, nor care
The youths in martial exercise to vie,
Nor ports nor bulwarks for defence prepare.
The frowning battlements neglected lie,
And lofty scaffolding that threats the sky.
Her, when Saturnian Juno saw possessed
With love so tameless, as would dare defy
The shame that whispers in a woman's breast, 		100
Forthwith the queen of Jove fair Venus thus addressed:


XIII .   "Fine spoils, forsooth, proud triumph ye have won,
Thou and thy boy,—vast worship and renown!
Two gods by fraud one woman have undone.
But well I know ye fear the rising town,
The homes of Carthage offered for your own.
When shall this end? or why a feud so dire?
Let lasting peace and plighted wedlock crown
The compact. See, thou hast thy heart's desire, 		109
Poor Dido burns with love, her blood is turned to fire.


XIV .   "Come then and rule we, each with equal power,
These folks as one. Let Tyrian Dido bear
A Phrygian's yoke, and Tyrians be her dower."
Then Venus, for she marked the Libyan snare
To snatch Italia's lordship, "Who would care
To spurn such offer, or with thee contend,
Should fortune follow on a scheme so fair?
'Tis Fate, I doubt, if Jupiter intend 		118
The sons of Tyre and Troy in common league to blend.


XV .   "Thou art his consort; 'tis thy right to learn
By prayer the counsels of his breast. Lead thou,
I follow." Quickly Juno made return:
"Be mine that task. Now briefly will I show
What means our purpose shall achieve, and how.
Soon as to-morrow's rising sun is seen,
And Titan's rays unveil the world below,
Forth ride Æneas and the love-sick Queen, 		127
With followers to the chase, to scour the woodland green.


XVI .   "While busy beaters round the lawns prepare
Their feathered nets, thick sleet-storms will I shower
And rend all heaven with thunder. Here and there
The rest shall fly, and in the darkness cower.
One cave shall screen both lovers in that hour.
There will I be, if thou approve, meanwhile
And make her his in wedlock. Hymen's power
Shall seal the rite."—Not adverse, with a smile 		136
Sweet Venus nods assent, and gladdens at the guile.


XVII .   Meanwhile Aurora o'er the deep appears.
At daybreak, issuing from the gates is seen
A chosen train, with nets and steel-tipt spears
And wide-meshed toils; and sleuth-hounds, staunch and keen,
Mixed with Massylian riders, scour the green.
Each on his charger, by the doorway sit
The princes, waiting for the lingering Queen.
Her steed, with gold and purple housings fit, 		145
Impatient paws the ground, and champs the foaming bit.


XVIII .   Now forth at length, with numbers in her train,
She comes in state, majestic to behold,
Wrapped in a purpled scarf of Tyrian grain.
All golden is her quiver; knots of gold
Confine her hair; a golden clasp doth hold
Her purple cloak. Behind her throng amain
The Trojans, with Iulus, blithe and bold,
And good Æneas, with the rest, as fain, 		154
Joins in, and steps along, the comeliest of the train.


XIX .   As when from wintry Lycia and the shore
Of Xanthus, to his mother's Delian seat
Apollo comes, the dances to restore.
Around his shrines Dryopians, sons of Crete,
And tattooed Agathyrsians shouting meet.
He, on high Cynthus moving, binds around
His flowing locks the foliage soft and sweet,
And braids with gold: his arms behind him sound, 		163
So firm Æneas strode, such grace his features crowned.


XX .   The hill-tops and the pathless lairs they gain.
Lo! from the rocks dislodged, the goats in fear
Bound o'er the crags. In dust-clouds o'er the plain
Down from the mountains rush the frightened deer.
On mettled steed the boy, in wild career,
Outrides them, glorying in the chase. No more
He heeds such timid prey, but longs to hear
The tawny lion, issuing with a roar 		172
Forth from the lofty hills, and front the foaming boar.


XXI .   Meanwhile deep mutterings vex the louring sky,
And, mixt with hail, in torrents comes the rain.
Scar'd, o'er the fields to diverse shelter fly
Troy's sons, Ascanius, and the Tyrian train.
Down from the hills the deluge pours amain.
One cave protects the pair. Earth gives the sign,
With Juno, mistress of the nuptial chain.
And heaven bears witness, and the lightnings shine, 		181
And from the crags above shriek out the Nymphs divine.